Cowabunga!

If you live in Sonoma County, chances are your surf commute looks a lot like this:
We have greenery, we have a wild, wild ocean, and we have cows.
Perhaps the countless pre-dawn miles logged between SebTown and B-Bay put the zap on Bobert's melon--they say that the imprinting impulse of the human brain is equal to that of ducks and geese.
Mathematicians would undoubtedly reference the Transitive Property of Equality: if stoke is associated with waves, and waves are associated with cows, then cows are the proprieters of stoke. Or something. I was an English major.
And I just finished my second homemade margarita.
Regardless of the principle, the thinking is sound, and what better thing to represent our local surf culture than the Holstein cow? Holsteins are described by an unnvervingly deep-voiced narrative on my daughter's first-season of Sesame Street DVD as, "warm, calm animals," and they are.
Until you piss them off. Then they become much like our local surfers: territorial, aggresssive, and improprietous.
Just kidding. Sesame Street had them pegged at warm and calm. I'll add curious, but that doesn't really strike fear into the hearts of interlopers. Unless they're from a Red State.
So what does this have to do with Bobert's new stick?
Nothing, yet. The initial order was standard: 8'3 Northcoast rounded pintail e-winged five finner with a beefy stringer to withstand our punishing surf conditions. It looked like this:
Then, things started to happen. Bobert began, appropos of nothing, to refer to his new stick, resting gently on the racks at Leslie's, as the Bovine Board. He initiated an email thread amongst his surf crew, extolling his enthusiasm for the cow.
This may not have been wise. The crew, eager to pounce on deviations of any stripe, responded.
Images of unicorns appeared in subsequent email. The winged beast Pegasus was attached several times. There were rainbows and wings and equine nuzzling and a disturbing, anatomically correct (?) manhorse named Steed. There were references to Disney and Trapper Keeper notebooks and, worst of all, Celine Dion.
But Bobert had a vision and, like all visionaries he let the jokes, the chides, and the castigations fizzle.
Bobert endured. He had a vision, and it was good.
The Cowabonza.
The Cowabonza is both in and of NotB. The shape reflects long paddles, steep drops, and frigid, lonely, zero visibility mornings. The glass (and keep in mind all color is done by Leslie Anderson with pigmented resin) reflects our past, our ideology, the basic building blocks of who we are.
And who are we?
We are lovers of place, of ocean, of community. We are smitten with tradition, and innovation, and hand made things.
And it helps if these hand made things are useful, and lovely, and help you get over the ledge at S__m__ _re__ on a morning when nobody else will see you through the fog, or the wind, or the rain. And if someone you don't recognize comments on your CowBoard in the parking lot, just remember you are of this place: a warm, calm cow angling through the pit of an overhead grinder, hardened against the Northwest winds and glassy-capped ocean surface, dancing with the dark green. You are a warrior, and a cow, and I just dove into my third margarita so I'll shut up now, as I am a small man with a small tolerance for all things alcoholic.
Fresh limes from your own tree are the key.
Lots of stuff coming up in 2011!

The Greymember

William Shakespeare didn't live in Northern California. If he had, his Sonnet 18, which compares his beloved to a summer's day, would have mentioned northwest winds, coastal fog, and dry riesling before 5pm. He redeems himself at the beginning of the third stanza, however, by introducing the concept of the 'eternal summer' inside us. He concludes the stanza with a reference to 'eternal lines' as well. Perhaps The Bard was a surfer after all...?
Anyway, stoked Bay Area shredder Dan has a plan for the eternal lines of summer: The Greymember.
The board stands a diminutive, yet fleshy 5'4" with a slimming dark cedar stringer and Member-specific keels.
The slate gray opaque reverse wrap (tapered!) reinforces the tombstone likeness, and just a hint of swallow tail keeps things lively in the back.
The "S" deck: meat where you want it, neat where you don't.
When I told Dan this was strictly a head high and under board, he said, "I'm gonna ride it in overhead Ocean Beach."
The kid's got moxie!

Glasser's Choice

The exhilaration in making a shortboard lies in the imagination—wondering what lines the board will be asked to draw, what spaces on the wave-map it will be asked to fill.
The shortboard, the thing of it, is a tool. A vessel. It gains us access to something else.
Shaping longboards, for me, is a different experience. The joy in making them comes from the thing itself. Witnessing its taking-of-form—its process is its own end. Not that the lines of a shortboard aren’t beautiful, or that shaping a longboard doesn’t stimlate the imagination. The bend of a nose rocker or the curve of a rounded pintail can absolutely shorten the breath, and walking down the length of a longboard rail is as close to shaking hands with Velzy as I’ll ever get.
But when people are in my shop and there’s a longboard on the racks, they can’t keep their hands off of it.

And sometimes I can’t get my hands off of them when they come back from Leslie’s shop.

This one's got some bells and whistles--blue high density foam stringer, red cedar sticks, opaque pigment volan deck patch, glass leash loop, and some sweet resin deck lines from the hands of La Meistra.
Poplar and bloodwood fin, and some resin tip-nips to keep things real at the nose and rear.
Andale!