The Big Book of Bing

I recently received a copy Paul Holmes' new book, Bing Surfboards: Fifty Years of Craftsmanship and Innovation, which not only highlights five decades of surfboard manufacturing, but Bing Copeland's personal and professional life, as well as his role in the evolution of surfing and surfboard design. This hardcover coffee-table style book measures 9.5" x 12.25" and features 192 pages of information and images, including a variety of vintage photographs, handwritten pages from old-school order books and every Bing advertisement ever published. Separated into sections that help tell the story of both Bing and his surfboard business, Holmes' book pays homage to the Bing brand, as well as an assortment of individuals that were involved in its evolution.

In addition to highlighting the history, the book features a complete review of all Bing Surfboards models and the contributions they made to surfboard design, as well as three pages dedicated specifically to fin design. An excellent addition to my ever growing collection of surf history schwag, Bing Surfboards: Fifty Years of Craftsmanship and Innovation is more than just a book about boards. It tells a tale. A story that starts in 1959 and continues today, with Matt Calvani building boards the same way Bing did back in the day. So buy the book and learn a little something about surfboards. Just don't let it collect dust like all those other big coffee-table books you've bought!

Frownin

What I've been listening to lately...

Sapphire

Ed Solt, Mike Siordia and JT Sabala surfing Sapphire. Produced by Perk & Pearl.

Puppy Blood & The Brahlai Lama

There's certain people that I like to surf with. Stoked people. People that don't take shit too seriously. That enjoy the bad waves as much as the good ones. People that laugh those deep, honest laughs and smile those big, stupid smiles. People that don't say it sucks, even if it does, but instead suggest you surf, because maybe it'll suck more the next morning. Jeff Abandonato is one of those people. His energy is contagious. You can't help but smile when you surf with him. He's not extremely eager, but he's not a complacent person either. He'll catch more waves than most men, all while running back and forth from the beach to check on his children. People used to say that he must drink puppy blood, because his energy seemed endless.

I remember stumbling into his surf shop as a kid - I was all sorts of overzealous and idealistic - and there'd be Jeff, sitting behind the counter, chatting with all the weekend warriors and summer surfers, seemingly unaware of their kook like condition. He was honest, but knew how to keep a secret. He never naysayed other peoples opinions, but instead offered his own. Honestly, I'm not sure he's aware of the role he's played in my life. Because he helped me stay stoked at a time in my life when surfing came second, or third. He inspired me to smile more, to not take myself so seriously and to watch Star Wars on the weekends. Which is why surfing with him last Sunday was a long awaited opportunity to share the stoke he helped cultivate. I can only hope to inspire others the way he has inspired me.

Surf Til Dark

Seventy three second film featuring Spencer Hayes surfing well past sunset. Made by John Lynch.

Purple Potatoes & Peach Pie

We ate all sorts of stuff on Saturday. Wood fired pizza cooked in a big black buoy. Purple potatoes and skirt steak, avocados and eggs. Little lingcod tacos and peach pie and some big ass breakfast burritos. But it wasn't because there weren't any waves. Oh no. Saturday saw a sizeable swell show up; albeit a little messy with intervals of no more than six or seven seconds. But there were waves. Fun ones. And Jeff and Ina were in attendance. It was the first time we had surfed with them this summer. I can't tell you how good it was to see the Brahlai Lama and his offspring. We were in the water for four or five hours, sharing short slides and a lots of laughs. Exhausted from our summer stoke harvest, we retired to the warmth of whiskey and wood. It was an excellent evening. One filled with good food, old friends and big bubbles!

T'was Tasmania Times

Matt Chojnacki and Andy Warhaurst sliding a perfect lil point near Hobart, Tasmania.

The Pleasure of Patience

I've blogged about patience previously. The waiting game and whatnot. How our anxiety can overpower other emotions. Wishing we had waited - when the wind dies down and our arms are exhausted. But we've been getting better. More willing to wait. Taking our time. It ain't easy, though. The first thing you wanna do following four hours in an automobile is anything aside from sit. So you throw on your suit and paddle out, sometimes without even looking at the ocean. And don't even try to tell me you've never done that before! I see you. Lately, though, I've had the pleasure of patience. Eating a big breakfast, drinking a cup of coffee, waiting for the waves or the wind to pick up (or die down). And when we do finally decide to don our suits and drag our surfboards down the beach, it's almost always worth the wait. Sorta like Saturday.

California Summer

The strange summer slidings of RVCA advocate, Alex Knost. Filmed and edited by James Kinnaird.

The Vixen

Last Sunday, shortly after we'd stopped surfing and were eagerly awaiting an empty outdoor shower stall, a rather interesting automobile, er, make that motorhome, pulled in and parked across from where we were camped. It was long and low and looked uniquely European. I swore I'd seen one before - in a parking lot in Port Angeles - but after Karissa and Angel did some investigating, we discovered this was not an ordinary RV (and certainly not the one I'd seen). This was a vintage Vixen 21 TD!

Thanks, Lalo

Louis White, Garrett Goodwin and Cooper J. Nielsen jazzing the glass. Brought to you by Adam Burns.

Twelve More Months

Karissa and I celebrated our very first wedding anniversary this weekend. Having driven all the way out following work on Friday, we were able to spend two whole days in the same place we did the deed. There was champagne and cake, campfires and clean waves. We camped amongst a crowd of summer surfers, dodging dummies on the inside and thanking everything that's holy when the power went out entirely. There was fog the same as the Friday we were wed - lying low over the ocean, covering all of the clean little lefts and rights that arrived at (relatively) relaxed intervals. The sun showed up on Sunday, but so did the wind. We surfed for six hours on Saturday, four or five the following day. Arms exhausted and tummies eager for something a little more serious than the yogurt and granola we'd been eating all weekend, we decided to stop at The Bushwhacker for a burger - our first in many months. I could say all sorts of stuff about our anniversary, but sometimes I think its best if certain things go unsaid.