Grand Canyon Fold-Top Table

Camp tables come in all shapes and sizes. There's the rubber roll-top type you can get at REI, or those handmade hardwood ones that'll cost you an arm and a leg. Shit, some people just put a piece of plywood on top of a milk crate, or cut and cook stuff on top of their cooler. To each their own. But for the last two years, Karissa and I haven't had one - cooking on whatever flat surface we could find. And when I say "we," what I really mean is Karissa, because I couldn't cook a can of soup to save my life. Anyhow. Our friends at Travel Chair were kind enough to send us one of their Grand Canyon tables ($119), an all aluminium fold-top table with friction locking legs and a carry case.

At it's lowest height, the Grand Canyon table can accommodate 225 lbs (75 lbs when it's all the way upright). When fully assembled, the table measures 35.5" x 27.5" and is adjustable from 18" to 28" tall. The table is large enough to fit our Camp Chef cook stove, a stack of plastic plates, an assortment of utensils and all kinds of accouterments, such as ketchup, mustard, peanut butter and bananas. And it's tall enough that you can stand and cook, which keeps Karissa from looking like a two foot tall troll. Fit and finish is fantastic, and the whole thing packs into a bag the same size as our Teddy chairs. An essential for any car camper, in our opinion.

Polar Primates

What I've been listening to lately...

Hundred Mile Hike

Some say it can take ten days to get down there. A hundred mile hike through a forbidden forest full of evergreens and eagles. Others say that you'll have to hold your breath for a half an hour, and that the only way out there is through a tree lined tunnel with big spinning razor blades on both sides - just like Indiana Jones. But it was worth it, that long walk to the water, because there were waist high waves at the other end. Beautiful blue-green water hills breaking alongside a big brown rock. With a smooth, sandy bottom just below the surface and a forest of black colored kelp on the outside.

This wave isn't like others, however. Blocked by an outcropping of rocks - atop which live KOOK eating creatures, or so they say - it breaks both ways; steep on the one side, soft and slow on the other. We surfed for four or five hours. Dropping in on each other, disregarding any and all etiquette. There were waves for everyone, though. And when the sun began to set and our fingers felt frozen, we started taking pictures with the waterproof camera Karissa acquired on accident. It was an excellent evening - surfing with my friends and my father near the end of the earth. Follow the link for a few more photos.

This is Alex

Interesting little edit featuring the strangest of sliders, Alex Knost. Brought to you by Taylor Bonin.

Sunny Side Up

It's hard to give up what you know to be good. Unwilling to explore at times. Stick to whatcha know and all that. But I'll be goddamned if the grass wasn't greener. Like some kind of well groomed football field. All good and glassy. It was Andy's idea, honestly. Inspired by a week long trip to the Midwest, he was eager for other opportunities - somewhere new to surf. And while I won't tell you where we were, I will tell you that the waves were wonderful, the wind absent and the company couldn't have been better. Karissa tried to capture some of our slides, but I fucked up the camera settings, washing out everything but a few of the photos. Oh well. Here's what we have. More mañana.

The Bu Bu

Karissa and I drove through Malibu back in 2007, noting all of the enormous hillside homes, shitty little stores and plethora of Porsche's. But the point wasn't working when we were there, and honestly, I wasn't all that interested. This time, however, we made a point to visit the point. Which just so happened to be working. And while I've been known to avoid surfing backside, that lil' inside break at the Bu looked pretty damn delicious; albeit crowded and full of kooks. But that's Malibu, and had I not already shipped my stick back to Seattle, I probably would have paddled out for some fun ones. Next time.

Tip Tops & No Tails

Inspired by the snaggle-toothed sepulatoids at Stoke Harvester, we've decided to try and sell some t-shirts through Teespring. Printed on American Apparel, these glorious grey goodies are guaranteed to make you more amazing, as well as prevent the attachment of a tail. Ten shirts. Ten days. $15.

The Emporium of Postmodern Activities

The dudes at Deus are doing a damn fine job of cultivating a culture. Lets call it 'surf inspired moto madness.' Inside their operation(s) you'll find assorted apparel, custom surfboards and hand built bikes - and everything in between. They've got three locations: The House of Simple Pleasures in Sydney, Australia, the Temple of Enthusiasm on the Indonesian island of Bali, and the Emporium of Postmodern Activities, located in a brand new building on Venice Blvd. Which is where we went. To watch the Moto GP race and shoot the shit with a few of our friends after eating breakfast near the beach.

The usual suspects were in attendance - my good buddy Grant (creative director turned dual-sport daredevil), a mustached man some people call Stefan (aka Deus USA Dude #1), our mutual mate, Sean (who somehow managed to survive this shit), and Joe and Flora, two CanaNewMerican filmmakers who've decided to live in the desert. It was Sunday, so there were plenty of other people. Some came to see Rossi wreck, others were there to ogle the apparel, drink coffee and stare at screens. An eclectic mix, that's for sure. The store itself is stellar. With all kinds of cool clothing, framed photos and asymmetrical shapes. So if you're in the LA area, I highly recommend you take some time to see their shop.

Seaside Surf Swap

If you're in the OR area, stop by the Seaside Surf Shop tomorrow, Saturday, June 15th, for their fifth annual surfy swap. Plate lunch is just $5 and it sounds like everything in their shop will be on sale.

Uppers, Lowers & Middles

Big waves don't bother me. I've surfed shit I probably shouldn't have, on boards that were way too big. I guess I'm just not interested in surfing a shorter stick. Well, maybe a Mini Simmons - but not now. So when that southwest swell showed up in Southern California, I was a little bummed I'm not a member of the Tiny Twig Tribe. It was epic, to say the least. We knew it would be. Which is why we took a trip to Trestles. You could see the swell from the street. Huge walls of water, rising and peeling and crashing along the coastline. It took about twenty minutes to walk from where we parked to where we watched. There were hundreds, yes, HUNDREDS of people in the water. Insane. But of all those that were out there, only a handful could actually catch anything. There's so much show in So-Cal. Everyone wants to be seen surfing - whether you're good at it seems to matter a lot less. Anyhow. It was interesting, albeit a little boring. Big waves produce the same style in almost everyone: survival. Big drop, bottom turn, rail grab and then out the other end. Follow the link for a few more photos from our time at Trestles.

Clovis Donizetti

Clovis Donizetti from Biarritz, France, shares his thoughts on surfing big sticks. As seen on OXBOW.

Cardiff-by-the-Sea

Aside from last week, I'd surfed in Southern California just once, in 2007, when Karissa and I drove from Seattle to San Diego, stopping along the way to watch waves and eat tasty tacos. And while I had heard of places like Huntington Beach and Malibu twelve-hundred times, I really had no idea where we should surf. Because picking the right place to paddle out is a lot like finding good food in an unknown area. There's all sorts of shit. Too many taco stands! And although it'd be a lot easier if someone showed you where to score a few slides; where's the fun in that?! So before we landed in the LBC, I Google'd every goddamn spot from upper LA to the southern part of San Diego, trying to find the best place to surf my new stick, a nine eight noserider.

So on Monday morning, after acquiescing a friend's automobile, we drove past the pier at Huntington, skipped San Clemente and went all the way down to Cardiff-by-the-Sea, a sleepy little section of the Coast Highway, just south of Encinitas. After picking up my new board from the boys at Bing, we settled on a spot that people call Pipes... I think. It was pretty small, but sunny. I only surfed for a few hours, as Karissa was without a wave riding apparatus, requiring us to share a stick. Apparently a squirrel broke into our bag while I was in the water, nibbling on a loaf of bread we'd just bought. Somehow Karissa managed to snap a photo of the salty Sciuridae shortly after he'd escaped with a slice.

We stayed in the area for a few days, surfing different spots along that same stretch of sand. It was alright, even when it got windy in the afternoon. Encinitas is quite cool, I might add, and the chile pineapple margaritas at Las Olas are to die for. But when that southwest swell showed up - something like two feet at twenty two seconds - it got a little bit big for my new board. We scurried south, searching for something a little smaller. No such luck. Everywhere we went was windy. So after exhausting our options, we decided to skip the surfing and spend some time at Trestles watching people ride walls of water.