Board not Bored Stories

Board not Bored Stories

Those in the Pacific NW are desperately surf-deprived. Waves that would demolish the Seahawks entire D-line have been chugging in with a regularity that would make the postal service proud. Landlocked and dry, I’ve been forced to maintain the stoke in other ways. Most of which entail endless hours on the computer. One discovery is an episode of my friend Micah Wolf on Board Stories. I apologize for the shameless promotion, but just trying to help a brother out. Besides, there’s tasty footage of Pipe.

Man vs. Machine

While driving to pick up a half-pipe, a group of my surf cronies got into a debate. The crux of the argument being the relative merits of a handcrafted board versus a machined one. I mostly sat on the sidelines and listened as Chum and Nash argued it out.

They both raised pertinent points. Chum championed the artistry and soul that goes into a custom board. He spoke about his recent purchase of a Mandala, and how he developed a relationship with Manny that would translate into a more personal connection to the final product.

Nash on the other hand countered that the best shapers in the world were entering their templates into machines and creating great, if not perfect, boards. And, these boards were offered at a substantially lower price. Meaning you can replace your go-to thruster much more easily, if need be.

The question hit closer to home last night when I stumbled upon an Anacapa board. Anacapa is Al Merrick’s side project that allows him to offer well-designed boards at cut rates, because the boards are shaped by a machine instead of a hand.

Obviously, Merrick isn’t putting these boards under the Channel Islands umbrella, but he is putting the considerable weight of his name behind the project. So as far as my next board is concerned, the jury is still out.

Is the soul of a surfboard worth 200 extra dollars?

WWF'ed Up

What can I say? Nothing really. As the adage goes - a picture is worth a thousand words. I'll waste a few here to try and justify myself and my friends.

Well, it started out innocently enough - a few friends getting together for a festive Halloween party - and before we knew it we were knee-deep in champagne, wine and dirty martinis. That's when the fun began. Chum and I stripped to our speediest Speedo (though you might not be able to tell through the hirsute) and assumed our alter egos, Macho Man Randy Savage and the Ultimate Warrior, respectively.

We met up with our compatriot, Ergman aka Hulk Hogan, and the Molsen Ice flowed like all the rivers of Canada. The more we drank, the more our inner-wrestlers came out. Soon we were shouting insults and taunts across the kitchen. From out of nowhere the Junk Yard Dog appeared and toppled the Hulkster and Ultimate. We bounced back up like the champs we are and promptly took a shot of tequila.

After which, we caught a ride from Thing 1 and Thing 2 to the local club, where we danced the night away until a feisty Tanya Harding cleared the dance floor with a vicious haymaker.