PHOTO GALLERY | Baggin Waves

Back in August, Kyra and I borrowed a pair of Victory Motorcycles (the mid-sized Octane and a full-dress Cross Country), then proceeded to pack wetsuits, swim fins and an inflatable surf mat onto the bikes before making our way from Southern California to Seattle, riding waves and windy roads along the way. The story about our adventure was recently published by Outside Magazine (read it here). The number of photos Outside was able to publish was limited to just six shots, so I thought I'd share an assortment of images that both Kyra and myself took while riding up the West Coast.

Baggin Waves

Can't divulge the details, or too many images for that matter, but basically we've been riding a pair of Victory Motorcycles from Southern California to Seattle, with inflatable surf mats, wetsuits and swim fins strapped to the tail. Check the #BagginWaves tag for a few photos, and stay tuned for the full story on Outside!

Scenes From Silverado

I picked up an old Ricoh FF-90 point-and-shoot camera about a year ago. I found it at a thrift store in Sequim. I think I paid $2.00 for it. The first few rolls I burned weren't bad. It was fast and fun, and something I could shoot shitty Kodak through when I came across it - you know, the expired stuff, or the box of Fujifilm 400 you find in the bins at your local Goodwill. Anyhow. I shot a handful of photos while we were visiting Mike and Cindee a few months back. Nothing to write home about, although I am pretty stoked on the shot of Kyra taking a shower outside (BEWARE OF BUTT!). What follows is the result of my most recent roll - what will likely be my last with the ol' FF - as it's time to take the new T2 out for a spin!

Finstinct

Corey Colapinto surfing some empty So Cal spots. Shot and edited by Evan Adamson for KORDUROY.tv

Blue Panel Pig

Chris from POA Films shot this at Sliders Point during our #peelgrimage to Southern California.

Baja Bound

Before we leave for Baja at the end of October, Kyra and I have a lot of logistics, equipment and other shit to sort out. A month in Mexico aboard small dual-sports is no easy feat, and so in an effort to organize our accessories I put together a different sort of duds - one absent of surfing stuff. I'm sure some of you would love to give me shit since I haven't been surfing this summer, but all this Baja business is taking up a lot of my time and energy, and to be honest, it's been rather nice not worrying about waves. Because dirt bikes are always awesome, and they certainly won't skunk you on a Sunday. It's a different addiction, no doubt - petrol replacing peelers - but it's been beneficial, not spending my weekends searching for surf, allowing other activities to occupy a similar space. So with that said, take a look at some of the stuff we'll be taking with us on our #WESTx1000 adventure.

Akela Surf's Zebra Dress

I’ll admit, at first I was skeptical of Akela Surf’s Zebra Dress: the material, the shape, the stripes. These were qualities a bit unfamiliar to me. I’m a petite lady, meaning loose fitting, thick strapped items tend to display me on the “frumpier” side. It was only on a surf trip to Malibu that I understood what had been missing from my life.

Triangularly cut with wide arms, a crew neck and, yes, thick straps made the dress incredibly easy to put on and off. This could be a feature completely overlooked by the average vested woman, but to an avid nature dweller, ease is as important as comfort - which it was just that. Covered in sand 'n salt and sticky from sweat, I had no problems slipping on my Akela dress to slip -more like peel- my wet suit off. I typically opt for a towel which can be cumbersome and precarious. The dress however gave me plenty of room, kept me modest and draped me stylishly. Best of all, because of the thinner (bathing suit?) material I was hardly concerned about getting my dress wet. It warms and dries on a quick stroll in the sun to your post-surf gelato.

Morning Wood

I pull into the parking lot, pay the guy at the gate and then find a spot for Fargo. Most mornings are a mess. Weekday, weekend, holiday, who knows. The crowd is always out there. Increasing exponentially as the day drags on. My earliest experiences were awkward. Where do I wait? How deep should I sit? Can I drop in on this kid? He looks like he knows what he's doing... Wait... No! He doesn't. Dammit!

High tide keeps the kelp from fucking with your fin, and also offers a fun inside section, where you can get waves if you wait. I slide my board out the back, slip into a short suit and walk down to the beach by myself. I knew no one those first few weeks. Surfing solo. I watched the old guys on the end snag some of that 'low and slow' stuff. And then a set would show up. Three, maybe four if we were lucky. Everyone at attention! Some people share. Some get upset.

This place gets a bad rap. Crowded with kooks, angry assholes and grumpy old guys. Sure some of that is true, but if you're willing to accept that you - like everyone else - is there for the same reason, it becomes better. Bearable. Dare I say... Fun?! Like Alex Swanson said to me in Seattle at the end of last summer, "I don't know why everyone gets so upset, we're all just playing in the ocean." Too true.

And so after a few months of surfing Malibu in the morning, I'd like to reflect on all the fun I've had, the waves I've caught and the people I've met. From Joel Tudor and Kassia Meador, to that old guy from Indiana, and the eye surgeon from San Clemente (who did not suck at surfing). Good people. Good times. I will also miss my morning routine: peanut butter toast, two Oreos, a cup of Cuban coffee and the 45 minute drive from Los Feliz to the lagoon. I'll even miss the mayhem. Sharing a wave with four or five people, dodging tourists, or blocking boards. And the ones I had on my own.... They were few and far between, tis true, but better than just about anything, or anywhere else. I'll be back, 'Bu. Promise.

Lessons in the Lab

The more time I spend with Mike, the more I realize he's experiencing the true state of Stoke. The fully immersed. All the way out there. He's disconnected in one way, and yet completely hooked in another. He works during the week and surfs on Saturdays, which can suck, but somehow stays Stoked. He doesn't let the little things sour his mood. He moves on. He picks a pig. And when it too big to slide the swine, he pulls out his piglet, puts on a pair of fins and gets fully shacked at the San Clemente pier. We showed up late to The Lab this particular night. I wasn't sure if he'd be up for an evening. Boy was I wrong. We drank plenty of IPAs, played 'Siete' - that goddamn game I couldn't recall a couple of weeks ago - listened to Slayer (on repeat) and entertained the animals. It was an epic evening. Unlike the last, and yet somehow very similar. Perhaps because Mike is magic and his Stoke is kinda contagious.

From the Phone - Vol.6

These last few weeks have been rather wild. Living in Los Angeles, I've been surfing Malibu in the mornings, spending my weekends in San Clemente, drinking beer with Mike Black, eating chicken and waffles at Roscoe's, filming, photographing, and little bit of everything in between. They tried to tow Fargo the Cargo Van, I watched a dude drowned, have had plenty of Pizza Port, one too many margaritas and am getting sorta sick on living inland. Like I've said so many times before, though, the sweet wouldn't be as sweet without the sour. And so, due in part to my lack of time and energy, I give you the latest selection of cell phone shots, some of which you may have seen on our Instagram.

Southern Summer

Sounds like I'll be spending the summer in Southern California. Maybe Malibu, or somewhere near San Clemente. Surf is certain, but so are long afternoons spent sitting inside, making money with my Macintosh. And so for the latest edition of #duds, I've decided to include a few indoor essentials - coffee from my part of the country, some bad ass blues, beer that'll make you feel like it's Friday and a briefcase-turned-backpack so you can make that money come Monday. Follow the link for a list.

Tales from the Tropicana

Overindulgence: the action or fact of having too much of something enjoyable. Also: excessive gratification of a person's wishes. Sounds like my Saturday. I mean, it was my birthday after all. And what better way to celebrate the end of eight and the start of nine than renting a room at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel?! It may not be a good idea to discuss the details of the day, but lets just say that shit got a little wild. One too many mango margaritas, inflatable Orca Whales, espresso martinis, steak-frites, old fashioned's in The Library, top-floor tomfoolery and pizza well past my bedtime. It was an excellent afternoon. The kind that could kill you. But in a good way. Get it?

No City in Sight

The road, it rules. Steering your wheels, aimed somewhere south. Searching for some kind of conclusion, an answer to that question you can’t quite ask. Fuel moves fast. The tank full and you feel free. Options are endless. You look ahead; a long stretch of pavement, at the end is another side of yourself. A new edition, modified by your experiences. You talk about The Timeline. From a distance it seems straight, but the closer you look the greater each experience, each action becomes increasingly more important.

Ups and downs. Like a heart monitor at the hospital. You push on the pedal. Time travels. The plateau passes. As the sun begins to set you see a city at some distance. Tall, dark towers. Smoke stacks and skyscrapers. Etc. An ever important part of the process. Producing. Reproducing. Consuming.

You find a place to park.

If you wondered what matters most, that thing that’ll wake you up from some kind of drug or alcohol induced delirium, you need look no further than the peeling waves of the Pacific. The sound of surf. Waves crashing over round rock. It’ll take everything in you. You’ll pull your face from that pink sparkle pillow that your mom made you. You’ll put pants on. A shirt. You’ll climb out of the van and rub your eyes, your brain trying to bang its way out the back. The sun shines. Bright, with big shadows stretched across the parking lot pavement. You’ll wear a wetsuit. You’ll stumble over the stones.

You paddle your Pig.

The first one won’t work. Tired. Alcohol still in your system. A fuzzy spot in front of your face. An hour will pass and then, like a dial turned to ten, you’ll connect. Section with section, lines across the face, trimming, tip-toeing toward the tip. Words you’ve used to describe your experiences once or twice - wasted words. As this experience, this blip on your terminal timeline, will disappear into the distance, just as the road rolls on endlessly at times. With no city in sight.

The Bing Surf Shop

After nearly two years of planning, Royce Cansler, in conjunction with Matt and Margaret Calvani, has opened the new Bing Surf Shop in Leucadia, CA. Located along the Pacific Coast Highway, a stone’s throw from Beacon’s, the new shop is a surfboard showroom that highlights the wide variety of shapes, shirts and other equipment that Bing has to offer. Inside the shop you'll find all kinds of eye candy, from Pucks and Ravens, to Silver Spoons and the new Mr. Rodgers Model. Clothing, eyewear and apparel is kept to a minimum, allowing the shop to focus on what Bing does best, building beautiful surfing boards. Follow the link for some more photos of their new surf shop.

The Lab

Passionate pursuits.... What drives a man? You might ask Mike. He seems to be fueled by fire, or perhaps Pliny the Elder. He's someone I hold in high regard, set atop some kind of surfing-meets-science pedestal floating above a slow peeling left hand point break - pig perfect. He's a math teacher, a father, a friend. He surfs pigs, shoots long riffles, enjoys an IPA and is an integral part of this project, as well as the progression of my surfing. To tell you the entire tale would take too long, and honestly, it'd be best told above a beer. But with that being said, I think it's important to shed some light on 'The Lab.'

Nestled in a Cookie Cutter, White Picket Fence, Mom Yoga type neighborhood, The Lab takes up two-thirds of what was once a two-car garage - the other third occupied by an assortment of princess paraphernalia and a fifteen foot long, eight foot tall chalk board, upon which Mike does math. And doodles. Four pigs are perched on the wall to your left as you enter; three other boards occupy the space above a small desk on the opposite wall.

Art, items, words of wisdom and an eclectic mix of things known and unknown are scattered around the room. An octopus light sits on the desk, one eye covered by a beer cap. Paintings of pigs and people surfing pigs hang in the free spaces between boards, while a meteorite that Mike found as a kid hangs from the garage door opening device. Eclectic is an understatement.

We downed a brown bottle of Ballast Point and then plotted our search for Pliny the Elder, a much sought after IPA. Tom, Mike's old mate, came through the back door with wonderful news: the pretentious pizza place down the street (no idea the name) had Pliny on tap, for a limited time. Onward!

One dog, one daughter, four dudes... eager for an IPA, and some tiny corndogs. We ate cumquats from a tall tree in the parking lot before taking the first table within our reach. An odd bunch, undoubtedly. The little lady took photos with her toy ATM while Tom ordered a round (unfortunately our hostess felled the first four). One turned to three. Conversation ensued. By the time we paid for our Pliny, all three of us were feeling the effect. We wandered back to the The Lab.

Here's where things got good...

There was this game - I can't remember the name - it involved a metal loop attached to some string that hung from the ceiling, a hook in the tool closet across the room, and a long sheet of paper upon which Mike had written the rules. Something about a pirate, or a man who'd lost three fingers? I can't be certain. We swung the circle. "MISSFIRE!" must be called before the pendulum swings past half. Ten tries. An abacus at either end to keep track of how many times you've looped the hook, or whatever.

Tom cooked chicken. Which we ate. Stuffing our faces and licking our fingers. We sat in a circle and consumed a custom Rice Krispie, after which we all lost our minds. Or so it seemed. Then Mike took down a well read copy of Natural History written by our famous beer brother, Gaius Plinius Secundus. He read from within; ideas, inspiration, the seemingly obvious, something about suicide and then, after a few hours, and perhaps additional IPAs (?), the part which Mike felt was most important: "God is man helping men. This is the way to everything glory."

The Peelgrimage: Part Five

We been parked at Camp Pendelton for more than a week now. A stones throw from Churches. The weather, as with so much of Southern California, has been wonderful. Good and glassy when you get up, windy in the afternoon, alright in the evening. We've had decent days, riding waves that wrap their way around, trimming, tip toeing, twinkling. We've had early evenings; nights spent sitting at Starbucks, working on all sorts of shit. We've also had the pleasure of harvesting stoke with the likes of Alex Swanson, Joel Tudor (!) Erin Ashley and a handful of high school kids that were laying down some serious log-sense. It's been interesting, to say the least. Here's a few photos.

The Peelgrimage: Part Four

Internet friends are funny. Because of a common connection, you know almost everything about them - from where they work and what they do for fun, to where they've traveled, the friends they keep close and more often than not, what they eat everyday. So when you sit down for dinner with a table full of internet friends you've never met, not in person anyways, it's interesting how easy it can be. Conversations come naturally, as you already know what sort stuff they're into. You ask a couple of questions, and then fill in the gaps that Facebook or Instagram haven't been able to harvest.

You drink wine and beer and eat potato tacos and explain Elephant Ears to the uninitiated. You laugh. You tell surfing stories. And then, at the end of the night, you part ways better friends than you were before. Because the internet, in all its glory, cannot replace a dinner served on a long wood table outside someone's house in Ojai, a stones throw from the Los Padres National Forest. And those experiences, those people, are what make a trip like this worth while.

The next chapter, however, involves a top secret surprise, surfing a cove in a rather upscale community, excessive whiskey consumption, a place called Beverlywood, a pit bull puppy named Kurt, a BBQ with the Eastside Moto Babes, Venice Beach and our eventual escape from the shit show that is Los Angeles. Stay tuned. The Peelgrimage continues.

Ryan Lovelace Surfcraft

Santa Barbara is an interesting area. Rocky, right hand point breaks dot the coast, from Refugio to Rincon. The waves are a bit better than what you'll find down south - faster, bigger and considerably more consistent. Which is why Ryan Lovelace, a Seattle born, Southern California shaper settled in this area. Ryan shapes in a small shed, nestled between flower farms and other organic growing operations. His boards are built by hand, from beginning to end. He scrapes, shapes, color coats and glasses each one himself. Watching him work was like standing behind someone performing complicated calculations on a TI-84; quite confusing to the uninitiated. But we stayed for a few hours, chatting with Ryan about his boards, the process and his interest in shaping everything by hand. We even locked ourselves inside his shed while he glassed a board. Ryan is a self-taught shaper. He never apprenticed under anyone, or worked his way from factory floor to an air tight shaping space. Instead, Ryan learned the hard way - trial and error. And now, some ten years later, his boards are being sold on both sides of the states, and in countless countries. Hat's off, amigo.

The Peelgrimage: Part Two

I'd seen people surf it in short videos shot by guys like Michael Kew. I heard them call it The Queen; a rocky point break just south of Santa Barbara. Rincon goes right. On a good day, forever. One section connecting to the next. A fast wave by comparison. And while I had heard and seen so many things about this break, as with a lot of stuff in life, it's not the same until you've seen it yourself.

I paddled out on my Pig. Not the best board for that particular place, but it's what I brought, and what I'm most comfortable on. We paddled past people's homes on the point. Empty, with shades and curtains across their windows - hiding from the sea shredders stumbling past. Ten or twelve people were also in the water. Friendly faces. A few frumpy ones.

That evening, shortly before sunset, we drove back to see what she looked like. Lines followed by lines. Rolling right across the rocks. Ryan Lovelace and a few friends were in the water, taking full advantage of the swell. We had our turn with The Queen, although it seemed we should have waited. Oh well.

The Peelgrimage: Part One

In an effort to avoid over analyzing our experience, I'd like to look at the idea as opposed to the activities. Two guys, travelling in a mildly modified cargo van, sleeping on the side of the road, searching for surf, eating, drinking, and working when we have to. I'm aware this is something most people can't accomplish. Tied down to a desk, a dog, an apartment or an idea. So when Chris came to me, willing to split the cost of gas and sleep in a small space while we wandered from Washington to somewhere south of San Diego, I agreed before he finished his first sentence.

As long as I have access to the internet, I can, hypothetically, be just about anywhere. So we settled on the month of March. Chris would fly into Seattle on the 2nd, load his shit into the van, and head south as soon as possible. Logistics were our only issue. When and where to surf, etc. A problem that would be remedied following a few phone calls.

Three logs lay atop our cargo van as we pulled onto I-5, with the front end pointed due south. The bed Karissa and I built the year prior would serve as both sleeping and storage space. Chris brought quite a few cameras, an assortment of wetsuits and a duffle bag with all sorts of other stuff. I packed equally as light. We had arranged to stay at Point Mugu, a military base on the coast of California, just south of Ventura. Ten days in that area, and then south toward San Diego.

It was almost midnight by the time we pulled into our friend Angel's driveway just north of Portland. She fed us roasted chicken and peach pie. The next morning we ate a late breakfast before getting on the road around noon. The second day of our trip would take us all the way to Williams, CA, where we would sleep in a truck stop parking lot. On the the third day we went to see my friend Steve, who was visiting his mother's vineyard, somewhere to the west of Cazadero.

Rough roads turned to gravel. Our cargo van creeping through the corners. The vineyard sits on something like forty acres, seven of which have been planted with grapes for syrah and pinot. That afternoon, after exploring a small piece of the property, we drank wine and watched the sun set through a clearing in the trees. Set on Santa Cruz, we said our goodbyes and then wound our way through the woods, arriving at New Brighton State Beach shortly before 3am.