Aberrations of Summer

The ever eccentric artist and filmmaker, Thomas Campbell, was asked to make a short film featuring a few of Tory Burch's summer swimsuits. This is what he came up with. As seen on Stoke Harvester.

Thirty Five Millimeter

Sometimes I get tired of taking pictures. There's too much to know, you know? Aperture, exposure, all that other noise. Sometimes I just want to surf. Or sleep. Or stay warm. Especially when it's winter. And honestly, I don't really like what happens when I try to capture light correctly. Point-and-shoot, that's the shit I'm interested in. It's easy. Which is why I picked up one of those waterproof Kodak cameras couple of weeks ago. I figured I could snap a few photos while I waited for waves. Or better yet, when I was on a wave. Wishful thinking.

The damn thing was a lot to deal with, though. Around your wrist, it was in the way. Around your neck, it was hard to get your hands on. And with those lobster claws I wear in the winter, it wasn't easy to re-wind. All that to say, I only took ten or twelve photos with the fucking thing. The rest were wasted; taken when I was out of the water, where frozen fingers wouldn't fuck up a photo. Anyhow, here's a few that came off that camera. Funny, but Karissa_Would take all these images, as most of the ones I tried to take didn't turn out. Go figure.

Why Knot

Tyler Warren sliding atop a Model-T, which was shaped by Donald Takayama prior to his passing.

Board as Fuck

We've got this thing going. I guess you could call it a routine. But those get boring. We usually flee the city around five on Friday. We drive north in a hurry, forgoing any opportunity to spend time with friends or family. Sometimes we eat dinner while we wait for the ferry - Marination Ma Kai makes killer kimchi fried rice. Following a twenty-five minute float, we stop to buy beer and fill up Fargo. We'll usually pull into Port Angeles after eight; find a few friends, drink a couple of cans and shoot the proverbial shit. If we're lucky, we'll get up around nine the next morning. From sleeping to the sea takes but ten minutes.

This weekend, like the last, a buzzing sound beneath the bed woke both of us up. It was a text message from our dear friend, Dr.Jake: "Waves are waist high. No wind." Well hot damn! But by the time we ate breakfast, drank coffee and paid to park, there was wind. Lots of it. We stood on the sand for over an hour, hoping it would die down. Bored, Bricky decided to put on his man pants and paddle out. I stayed ashore. Sometimes you score. Sometimes you sit. It's a goddamn dice game. Anyhow. Here's a few photos from the time we spent standing around on Saturday.

Under the Mist

Bing board rider, James Parry, surfing the south coast of Cornwall. Filmed by Frankie Davies.

OLDEST

Justin Quintal, Nick Collins and Chris Tincher share some waves in So-Flo. Directed by Drew Miller.

Swing Mood & Southern Sojourns

I've been having a hell of a time. Unlike others in the industry, who seem to be consumed by consumption - some strange desire to desire - I find myself fulfilled. And yet, at the same time, entirely empty. Without the right words, it's hard to explain. There's a lot to look forward to. Weekends away, a sojourn down south, maybe another trip to MX. But behind it all, when I peel back the bullshit, I'm left with this lingering feeling of self doubt and disillusionment. Like I'm not seeing what's right in front of me.

My thoughts come quickly. One or two sentences at a time. Frustrated. Feeling as though I'm the only one aware that none of this is going to last. That whatever you want is not worth it's weight in whiskey. That you should acquire experiences - be them good or bad - and not all the accouterments. All that excess. Surfing seems to help. And perhaps all this is the result of me not having surfed for what feels like forever (two weeks?!). But even the best wave, the one you chalked up as your finest work that weekend, fades from memory faster than the time you spent on the tip. Flickering. Because if you're lucky, you might remember a moment of that moment.

Or maybe it's that I'm surrounded by people that I have little in common with. Preoccupied with house wives and house work and all the other shit that you're supposed to do following those few years you're allowed to say "what the fuck." Is it age? Or is it that I'm wholly unwilling to let the little shit stop me from pursuing some sense of serenity? Why the fuck do I feel this way?

For whatever reason I think of a conversation I had with a woman I once worked with. She was in her late fifties and well aware of the fact that those with a lot almost always want more than those with very little. She said to me one morning, after a beautiful young woman had walked past our window - husband hanging back a few feet, obviously uninterested in what was right in front of him - "Show me a beautiful woman and I'll show you a man that's tired of fucking her."

Mexico Logging

Cyrus Sutton surfing an Aquatic Almond somewhere down south. Featured on Regressing Forward.

Not New York

I was in New York all week for work; the International Motorcycle Show at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center just south of Hell's Kitchen. I like New York... a lot. More meat, less lettuce. Anyhow, while I was outta town the wife went looking for waves. I'd been eyeballing the weather report all week, and although I was nowhere near, and certainly in no position to surf what I saw, it looked like there'd be some reasonably sized swell - with big intervals and offshore winds. Goddamnit! I knew it'd be nice. So on Sunday, Karissa and our friend Steve headed west in search of surf. Clearly it was cold. But it sounds like they scored. Follow the link for a few photos of what I missed last weekend.

The Weekend

What I've been listening to lately...

Independent Temperament

"No witness is needed to one's accomplishments out here, nor an adversary with whom to compete in order to make one's effort meaningful. The activity is sovereign, complete unto itself, and hence it attracts those of a certain independent temperament. But the simple, unspoken act of sharing with a good friend the joys of wave riding adds a precious layer to the experience, like some secret trust between you."

- Allan C. Weisbecker

Post Modern Pig

Sean Tully surfing a 9'10 Zamora PMP at Malibu. The board, which they describe as "a pig inspired log with a twist of the modern noserider," features a wide point aft, fuller deck, deep blended nose concave, flatter rocker and just enough tail kick to help you twinkle all ten toes. As seen on Stoke Harvester.