Duct-Tape Doc-Umentary

Feast your eyes on some of the finest logging I ever did see. Filmed by Andrew Gough and edited by Nathan Oldfield, this short film highlights the TCSS's involvement in last year's Duct Tape Invitational.


Stroke Hardener Shirts

Looks like the salty scoundrels at Stoke Harvester have designed a new shirt honoring the wayward life of a Washington surf searcher. It's being made by Teespring, a crowdfunded clothing company, and will be printed on American Apparel; available in both men's and women's shapes and sizes. So if you're into this sorta thing, set aside an Andrew Jackson and secure your shirt before it's too late.


Beautiful bit of film made by our friend, Keith Novosel, following a surf trip somewhere down south.


Laugh Out Loud

Three day weekends are the worst. You're completely unprepared for the sore shoulders, the excessive alcohol consumption, the four nights you'll spend around a campfire - hot dogs for dinner - and the crowd of kids that go surfing once or twice a summer. But you make the most of it. Especially when the weather is so wonderful; a little rain, some sun, offshore wind and t-shirt temperatures. Memorial Day is always a shit show, no matter where you decide to surf. Everyone and their brother is out there - wherever. And that's alright. You just need to prepare yourself for what'll happen that weekend. No need to get upset. Because a crowd here is an empty lineup elsewhere. It's all relative in the end. And like last year, we surfed for five or six hours every day, spent quality time with friends and family, ate food cooked over a fire and dodged dawn patrol in favor of coffee, strawberry scones and a few extra hours of sleep. Oh, and the waves, they were wonderful. Follow the link for a few more photos.

Alex Mell + Jared Knost

Jared Mell and Alex Knost sliding some stuff at Blackies by the Sea. As seen on Surf-a-Billy.

The Plight of the Torpedo People

I buy a lot of books. My wife would tell you too many. A nasty habit I acquired from my old man. Buy three, read one. But coffee table books don't count. Because you can't really "read" them. You pick it up on occasion, peel through a few pages, ogle some images and then return it to its home on the hardwood (cause glass coffee tables should have stayed in the 80s). This book, however, is an exception, as it accompanies Come Hell or High Water, a body surfing film made by Keith Malloy. Now, to be completely honest, I didn't watch the movie until after I'd already browsed through the book. Maybe a mistake. But the images inside The Plight of the Torpedo People are incredible, and as far as I'm concerned, they can be appreciated with or without an introduction to their importance. There are also screen grabs from the film, which offer the "reader" a window into the world of a surfer sans stuff. A poem by Mark Cunningham captures their connection - Torpedo People pulling to big peelers, falling down the face, escaping underwater. A connection us above water wave riders can't have. It's a beautiful book. One that'll make you wanna pick up a pair of fins and swim out when it's shitty. Or when it isn't.


One Arvo

Jai Lee surfing Noosa Heads before this year's Duct Tape Invitational. Brought to you by Andy Staley.

Carapace Custom-Fit Wetsuits

Custom-fit wetsuits can be expensive. Just ask my old man. He had one made for me when I was three years old. It was bright red with black sleeves and had a Killer Whale (orca for all you politically correct assholes out there) across the chest. That was the only one, though. He bought my next few suits off the rack. They fit alright - a little long, or two wide on top. I've owned quite a few suits since that custom made Killer Whale one. Mostly size medium, which fits just fine, but they're sure as hell not custom cut. There's plenty of room for improvement. So when I stumbled across Carapace (pronounced "care-uh-pace"), a custom-fit wetsuit company based somewhere in Southern California, I was admittedly excited.

Carapace is planning to crowd fund their project courtesy of Kickstarter, providing those that pledge with an assortment of incentives, including t-shirts and sweatshirts, wetsuits and surfboards. Made from limestone based, Yamamoto neoprene, their suits feature pre-bent knees, form retaining wrist seals, an external key pocket and magnetic zipper stops. They are developing two different suits at this time, the EXO1 and EXO2, both of which will be available in 3/2mm and 4/3mm thicknesses. And the best part is that a $350 donation will score you a new custom-fit suit! Click here to learn more about the company.


Taylor | Eveline

Sunday slides with Taylor Nelson and Eveline Van Brande. We'll see you soon, Southern California!


Five Hundred Forty One

Five hundred and forty one miles. That's what happened this weekend. A serious circle in search of surf, friends and food. It started with a quick trip to the Fish Tale Brew Pub in Everett where we picked up a couple of six-packs. From there we drove back to our house on Alki, filled up Fargo and continued south. We ate dinner in Olympia, then rotated right and drove west toward the water. Our friend Jake had offered us a place to park, so after taking a look at Todd Fischer's new art gallery, we drove toward John's River, crossed a creepy wooden walkway, took a seat in his trailer and drank a few bottles of Spire Mountain cider before going to bed.

We woke up to wind and rain and grey skies. The beach was blown out, and the spot toward the top of town was too small. We decided to wait awhile, eating donuts and drinking coffee at Little Richard's in the interim. Derek had driven down in hopes of taking a few photos, but by the time we'd walked back to the beach he was already packing up his equipment - unwilling to stand in the rain and watch people paddle into that big white washing machine. We ate lunch at the Half Moon Bay Bar and Grill and then went our separate ways. Karissa and I, desperate for a few windless waves, decided to drive north - fingers crossed.

We'd never driven that way. Where Highway 101 hugs the west side of Washington. A beautiful bit of coastline. We stopped at some spots and took a few photos before finding a place to park. Karissa cooked chicken sausage over the campfire and kale on our new Camp Chef stove, while I smoked some of the whiskey cavendish pipe tobacco Derek had given me. The sun set shortly after eight, and we drank Pinot noir in pink plastic cups and brandy from my flask. It was an excellent evening. There was more wind in the morning, though. Waves, but wind. We'd made arrangements to meet friends we'd met in Mexico, so we didn't surf. We did, however, have a wonderful weekend. Follow the link for a few more photos.


When Winter

A beautiful bit of film from one of the worst weekends last winter. Brought to you by Bokanev.

The Waterman's Corner

I've got an assortment of excuses as to why we went to Westport this weekend. There was nothing but wind out west. The swell looks kinda shitty. We wanted to eat in Olympia. Etc. One of our excuses was that we wanted to take a look at Todd Fischer's new art gallery, located on the corner of Cove Ave., just across the street from the Half Moon Bay Bar & Grill. The building is beautiful. With big, wide windows, drift wood decorations and lots of light. A perfect place to display some paintings.

I've seen a lot of Todd's art over the years - signs on surf shops, paintings, posters, surf contest shirts, etc. I even own an original. And I have Todd to thank for the Peanut Butter Coast crest, as well as my wedding invitation art, among other things. But this was the first time I'd seen so much of his stuff in one place, well lit, with drift wood frames and little tags with titles and prices on each piece. It was inspiring. And I am excited to share some images from the time we spent gawking in his gallery.


Sweater Weather

What I've been listening to lately...



Yea, I know - Old News, Captain Coffey! But Kassia Meador cheating five and trimming across the top of some waist high waves?! Or that dude Mikey DeTemple looking all kinds of composed at the end of his white wave stick?! I dig what they're doing. Old-Timey. 8mm. Lots of logs. An assortment of single fins. It's dubbed Daughter, and it shouldn't be that bad. Click here to learn more about the movie.


The Breathing of Eternity

“Although the rhythm of the waves beats a kind of time, it is not clock or calendar time. It has no urgency. It happens to be timeless time. I know that I am listening to a rhythm which has been just the same for millions of years, and it takes me out of a world of relentlessly ticking clocks. Clocks for some reason or other always seem to be marching, and, as with armies, marching is never to anything but doom. But in the motion of waves there is no marching rhythm. It harmonizes with our very breathing. It does not count our days. Its pulse is not in the stingy spirit of measuring, of marking out how much still remains. It is the breathing of eternity, like the God Brahma of Indian mythology inhaling and exhaling, manifesting and dissolving the worlds, forever. As a mere conception this might sound appallingly monotonous, until you come to listen to the breaking and washing of waves."

- Alan Watts


Loggin' the Buck 2.0

Wet was our word this weekend. We should have known, though. A forty percent chance of precipitation translates to one hundred when it comes to the coast. We had no idea, however, that it would rain all day and all night, for forty-eight hours! Oh well. Friday was fantastic, and the company couldn't have been better. So I really can't complain. We left around three-thirty on Thursday. Drove out to Angel's, ate soba noodles that Quinton had cooked, exchanged gifts (Sunday being both my birthday and Mother's Day) then fell asleep in Fargo. We woke up early the next morning - seven something. Grabbed a cup of coffee and a fresh-out-of-the-oven strawberry scone from Oven Spoonful. You don't know delicious until you've had one of them things!

We headed west shortly thereafter. A small, southwest swell was what the internet had indicated, and small was certainly what awaited us. After securing some space, setting up a couple of tents and circling our chairs around an empty fire pit, we slipped into our suits and paddled out. It was pretty good and glassy. Shin to thigh with a few wild ones. I surfed my old man's Mark Martinson, which is wider and thicker than my Feral Pig, but only half as heavy. It was alright. Four hours forward and we were out of the water, heating up hot dogs and drinking beer in the back of Junior's new Custom Cruiser.

Jared Mell + Central America

Jared Mell surfing somewhere in Central America. Shot and edited by James Kinnaird.


Waist Deep

I had been in the water for awhile. Five hours following a big breakfast, on what was our second day of surfing after a handful of weekends without waves, or too much wind. I was exhausted. Arms unable to bring my board back from the beach. A beer was all I wanted. Some kind of cold can. But because I had been paddling back and forth, looking for that perfect peak, I was about a quarter mile south of where I started - which is one hell of a long walk when there's a Feral Pig under you arm.

Right as I rounded the corner into the campground, Andy came running - wetsuit around his waist, my waterproof camera in his hand. "Get back out there, Juice!" Fuck. "Just a few photos. You and Karissa are always taking pictures of me, it's time I returned the favor." Fair. But I was in no condition to continue. Tired is an understatement. But there was still stoke to be mined, and Andy was willing to take a few photos - evidence of our efforts. So I paddled out, pitched a few tight turns and tried to twinkle some toes. Thankfully the camera was damn near dead, so there was only time for five or six photos.


A short bit of film made by Thomas Brown, featuring the smooth sliding styles of Jack Norton.


Summer Stuff

Sixty five and sunny spells summer in Seattle. Everyone slips on their shorts and their sandals and the sunglasses buried in their glove compartment. They ride their bikes along Alki and fill their Coleman coolers full of Corona. All the things they wish they could do more than once or twice every twelve months. For me, however, summer means spending even more time outside of the city - shooting slingshots and building big ass fires and cooking with cast iron. It means eight hours in the water, jazzing some goddamn glass. And drinking big brown bottles of beer that I can barely lift because my arms are all out of energy. Yes, summer might be short lived, but that doesn't mean you can't make the most of it. Because after all, the sweet wouldn't be as sweet without the sour. And having some cool stuff might help you have a little more fun. Follow the link to see what's on my summer shit list.


It's sunny and warm outside (warning: if you read this in the Seattle area and I have written this a few days ago, this statement may no longer be valid), so for my first music pick, I've chosen a song from a San Diego-based surf/punk/lo-fi band called Wavves. Their new album, "Afraid of Heights," has been out since March and features some Nirvana-inspired riffs and self-loathing lyrics. Unlike Nirvana, however, Wavves is based in So-Cal, so any self-depreciating moments usually end in "screw it, let's go surf." Check out the 'Lord of the Flies' thing they've got going on in this video for "Demons to Lean On."

This bit of music was brought to you by Bokanev.


One Wave

Cyrus Sutton sliding something small, somewhere down south. Found on Regressing Forward.

Eighty One & Offshore

Some people go to church on Sunday. Some stay home and nurse a nasty hangover, or have a late breakfast with a few friends. I on the other hand, manage to accomplish all three. What used to feel like a lot of work - a few too many around the fire, followed by overzealous idiots eager to be the first ones in the water - Sunday mornings are now my time to sleep in, drink coffee, eat food with friends and paddle out when I feel it's appropriate. Praise my Lord. Sunday surf is my religion. The small swell and offshore winds my church. And the friends I share my coffee with, that's the congregation.

I used to feel rushed. Burdened by the agenda of others - mostly people unwilling to surf solo, excited to share the experience. Fair enough. But ever since I met Brandy and Angel, all of that has changed. No longer am I anxious. Worried the waves will go away. I take more time. Not because I'm nursing the aforementioned hangover, or because I'm lazy (anyone that knows me will vouch for my endless energy), it's because there will always be waves. More on Monday. A few more on Friday. And I am tired of surfing on someone else's schedule.

So this Sunday was similar. We woke up around eight, maybe nine. Brewed a few cups of coffee on our crappy camp stove, ate bread and bananas and peanut butter and paddled out when we wanted to. The swell had shrunk - down about a foot. But the wind was still working and it was all sorts of sunny. I surfed for four or five hours, until my arms could no longer propel me properly. Goddamn it was good.

2013 Cape Kiwanda Longboard Classic

The 15th annual Cape Kiwanda Longboard Classic will take place from September 20th-22nd in Pacific City, OR. The event, which is sponsored by our friends at Moment Surf Company, will play host to more than 100 longboarders competing in 20 minute heats, for two consecutive days. So if you're into that sorta thing, I suggest you head south this September, sign up and show off your stuff. Click here for additional info. Click here for a few photos from last year's competition.


May Day

And then there's that day. The one that makes all those ugly ones worth the waste. The winter months without. The cold and the rain and the wind. It's almost unbearable. But this'll make it better. Because the wind wasn't from the west. And the waves weren't closing out like a grocery store after Easter. No. There were golden green faces and long white tails across the top. There were lots of lefts and just the right amount of rights. We surfed for six hours. Maybe more. The sun was starting to set at the end of our second session. Exhausted. Angel and Andy had arrived and were putting on their wetsuits when I wandered back from the beach. After a short shower and a small snack, I walked back just in time to catch our friend Cash making the most of what little light was left. I took a few photos, built a big fire with the boys and ate one too many tacos. Saturday, you did not suck.


Damn Van

Jay Nelson, a San Francisco based artist known for constructing abstract abodes on the back of automobiles, recently redid the inside of Rob Machado's surf wagon. As seen on the Surfer's Journal.


Tellason Topper Denim Shirt

I try not to take too much shit with me when we go surfing on the weekends. Two t-shirts, two pairs of socks, one pair of pants, something warm to wear and some kinda baseball cap. Only the essentials. Things I can take to work with me in my Duck Camo Daypack. Recently, however, I've been wearing my Topper Denim Shirt instead of outerwear, and skipping the socks in favor of flip-flops.

The shirt, which is hand-sewn in San Francisco by our friends at Tellason, is rope-dyed and made from 6.5 oz. Cone Mills White Oak denim. It's an interesting mix of western and work, with a broad yoke on the back and a plethora of pockets, including a place to put your pencil. It has a wider collar than most shirts that I wear, but I've become quite fond of it, actually. Keeps my neck warm at night.

The stitching is an off-yellow color and there are two buttons at each end of the sleeves, which makes rolling them up that much easier. I've washed it once, just to see how much it might shrink, however I wear it on top of a t-shirt, which helps keep the shirt from getting too funky. Yes, it's expensive, but I'll be damned if any denim shirt from Sears can compare. And besides, it'll only get better with age.

The Noserider

Tyler Surfboards test pilot, Josh Gilberts, surfing a ten-foot Noserider somewhere down south.