Hallowed Ground

As a tribe, we gather in unusual locations.  Our meeting places, where stories are shared and surf culture is perpetuated are not, I would argue, in the ocean - that is where we surf.  In the water our conversations are often stilted and broken, interrupted by the catching of waves or made difficult by wind or distance.  The ocean is where the stories occur and where legends are made, but it is often the parking lot that is the incubator of our culture. Almost anywhere where you can surf there is space nearby to park a car, whether it’s on the roadside, in a large tarmac lot, on a patch of dirt, or in a clearing in the sand dunes or forest.  Sometimes where everybody parks is a walk away from the waves, but quite often the spot where you pull up, check the waves and get changed has a pretty good view of the surf.  It’s where, in mid-winter, surfers hunch over their steering wheels with the windscreen wipers squeaking across the glass trying to keep warm whilst drumming up the motivation to pull on a wetsuit.  It’s where we talk about the best sand banks and surf forecasts through rolled down windows, where we compliment each other on sick waves and look back at the sea whilst towelling off in the hope that it’s getting worse, not better, and where we take phone-photos to show our friends what they missed today.  Most photos of waves aren’t taken by water-photographers swimming with a housing or stood on the sand with a zoom lens, they’re taken by surfers stood in the parking lot; how many surfers actually walk back down the beach to take a photo?

It’s in car parks where surfers stand with a coffee in the morning evaluating how accurate the forecast was and rescheduling their day around planned surfs, and where surfers lean on bonnets or sit on tailgates in the evening sharing beers and talking story.  It’s in car parks where wax is gifted, where the secret of where car keys are stashed is guarded, and sometimes it’s where water-borne scores are settled.

The ocean is where we ride waves, and this is a personal and solo pursuit.  The beach is, more often than not, just the thin band of sand that we run across to get to the water.  For so many though, the car par is where we congregate.  It’s where we are “surfers”, not just a surfer.

The Inquisitive Mind of Tom Blake

Thomas Edward Blake is one of the most important figures in surfing, and probably the most important single person in the history of wooden surfboards.  Whilst Polynesians had been riding waves on wooden surfboards for hundreds of years, it was Blake whose experiments and innovations through the 1920s and 30s led to lighter paddleboards and surfboards, alternative (and widely accessible) construction techniques, the introduction of the fin and a rudimentary leash.  Esteemed surf writer Drew Kampion credited Blake with transforming surfing from a Polynesian curiosity into a 20^th century lifestyle, and rightly so.

In 1927, the same year that he pioneered surfing at Malibu, California with Sam Reid, Tom Blake built a replica Olo surfboard in Hawaii.  The board was fifteen foot long, and would’ve been enormously heavy (somewhere in the region of 150lbs), so he drilled hundreds of holes through the deck to remove excess weight and sealed the ends of the holes with a wooden veneer.  The reduced weight helped Tom to win many paddleboard races, so he continued to experiment with lighter boards.  He had some success chambering a solid board by cutting it into strips, carving out internal sections and then putting it all back together, before moving onto constructing surfboards from multiple component parts rather than shaping them from a solid timber.  Blake started to build his paddleboards using a skin and frame technique similar to that used in the construction of aircraft wings, which made them significantly lighter than the solid plank boards most widely used at the time weighing as little as 40lbs.  Whilst Blake’s boards had solid wood, straight-edged rails, planked or plywood decks and were held together with brass screws and pins sealed (caulked) with black pitch, construction techniques for wooden surfboards have improved in the intervening 84 years since he patented the design in 1931.  Nevertheless, the original design was used for decades on beaches around the world as a lifeguard rescue board, and produced commercially by several manufacturers (Thomas Rogers Company of Venice, CA, the Los Angeles Ladder Company and Catalina Equipment Company).

It was in 1935, however, that Tom Blake made his most significant contribution to surfing.  In an attempt to provide some directional stability whilst surfing, he attached an aluminium skeg salvaged from a speedboat onto the bottom of his cedar surfboard and encased it in a thin layer of wood for protection.  At a foot long and 4 inches high, many surfers would struggle to recognise it as a fin, however it was this that allowed surfers to ride at a tighter angle across peeling waves and to begin to effectively turn surfboards.  Tom Blake’s inquisitive mind and relentless quest to improve the performance of his equipment changed surfing forever.  It has been said that if Duke Kahanamoku was the father of modern surfing then Tom Blake was its inventor, and rightly so.  Modern surfers certainly owe him a great debt of gratitude, so why not say a little thank you to Tom next time you lean into a turn.

“Along the shore I wander, free,

A beach comber at Waikiki,

Where time worn souls who seek in vain,

Hearts ease, in vagrant, wondering train.

A beach comber from choice, am I,

Content to let the world drift by,

Its strife and envy, pomp and pride,

I’ve tasted, and am satisfied.”

Thomas Edward Blake

1902-1994

For a more thorough biography please take a look at the fantastic Encyclopaedia of Surfing or the Legendary Surfers website.

All images reproduced from the Surfing Heritage Foundation.

Splinters

Wooden surfboards are at the root of many countries traditional wave riding cultures, and this is certainly the case for Papua New Guinea.  Here, "splinter" surfboards have been used for generations to ride the waves that break over the reefs and black sand beaches, the boards being carved from indigenous trees or pieces of old canoes.  At the end of last month the multi-award winning documentary film Splinters toured the UK with several screenings in the South West and London, including one just down the road from me in Porthtowan which I was quick to get tickets for.  Andrew Abel, President of the Surfing Association of Papua New Guinea and a star of the film, was on hand and I was lucky enough to catch up with him after the screening to ask him some questions about wooden surfboard riding and it's place in the surf culture of PNG to feature on the Otter Surfboards journal that I curate.  This piece went out on the Otter Surfboards site last week but, for those of you who may not have seen it, here it is for you to enjoy.

What exactly is a splinter and where did they get their name from?

Splinters is a name given to the traditional boards that the local kids belly board or surf on around PNG...the local equivalent pidgin word is “palang”.  A Splinter can be cut out from an old canoe or cut from a tree trunk and shaped according to the eye of the carver, be it a young kid or his father or uncle...these days with the introduction of modern surfboards donated by the SAPNG and purchased by local surfers from visiting surfing tourists, Splinters are being carved to nearly identical dimensions as fibreglass boards, with fins fashioned from timber or plastic and leg ropes out of twine and tyre inner-tubes.

How did surfing on wooden boards develop in PNG?

Surfing on Palang wooden boards in PNG developed hundreds of years ago and has been passed down from father to son until the present day.  Over the past 27 years I have, in my role as the president of SAPNG, introduced modern boards but at the same time respected the craft of the resource custodians still carving and surfing their own hand carved Palang or Splinters as it is unique and something that must be continued and protected from dying out.  These surfboards are very much part of our PNG surfing culture.

Are they still used or seen regularly?

Yes, Palang boards or Splinters are still being ridden prone all around PNG, and more so being surfed standing up in the surf clubs in Vanimo, Sandaun Province, Tupira Surf Club, Bogia District, Madang province, New Ireland Province and in Wewak, East Sepik Province.

What are they made from and how are they made?The Palang or Splinters are made from light weight timber from the jungles along the coastline....the boards are cut out and shaped using axes and bush knives or machetes.

​

Are splinters/wooden surfboards a valued part of PNG's surf culture and historical development?

Yes absolutely, and myself and SAPNG take great pride in them and work hard to ensure that this important part of our surfing culture is carried on for generations to come. We are instilling in the traditional resource custodian host communities that we work with (in partnership in developing the surfing and surf tourism industry of PNG under our SAPNG model and policies) that this is unique to PNG and an added attraction and show piece of the evolution of the growing surfing culture of PNG.  I have, in my role as President of SAPNG, been approached by the PNG National Museum to develop an exhibition within the museum to celebrate our surfing culture and evolution. In addition, whilst I was in California presenting the Splinters movie I was asked to do Q&A at the San Clemente Surfing History Musuem and the Director of the Museum asked if I/SAPNG would be able to donate a genuine Splinters carved board to sit in their collection of historic surfboards alongside surfboards ridden by the likes of Duke Kahanamoku.

I am currently working on this and at the right time I will be taking two Splinters, that are sun bleached and worn from years of surfing, to be presented to the History of Surfing Museum in California so that SAPNG has a place amongst the surfing nations of the world.  I hope also to be able to present a Splinters surfboard to a national collection in the UK.

Would you like to see a return to using native (and less toxic?) resources for surfboard materials in PNG?I think it is inevitable that all our young local surfers in all of ourSAPNG established surf clubs will want to step up to modern day fibreglass boards as they all want to surf better and compete against their peers and other clubs. However, the art of carving a Palang or a Splinter only requires an axe and machete/bush knife without the need for any toxic materials like resin to make such a unique board, therefore I can see the traditional boards still being used by the younger grommies coming through the ranks until they are old enough and proficient enough to step up to a modern shortboard. 

In having said that, as part of staging our national surfing titles, the SAPNG will at all events ensure that we have an "expression session" style event where all competing surfers from the respective clubs will have an opportunity to have their best surfers compete on traditional Palang/Splinter boards, on the same waves and under the same ISA competition surfing rules as they do on modern day boards.  

In actual fact, as we are working towards staging our inaugural Mens WQS and Womens WCT in PNG in partnership with ASP Australasia, one of the events planned will pitch local PNG surfers against the visiting WQS and WCT surfing on Palang surfboards, on their home turf.  This will be the ultimate challenge for the PNG surfers who are experts in surfing these Palang/ Splinters to show off their skills against some of the world's best in the same waves and surfing conditions.

For me personally, as the President and Co Founder of SAPNG as we mark 27 years since foundation, it will be the most exciting moment seeing the kids that we have been nurturing being given the opportunity to stand tall and represent SAPNG and PNG on our traditional boards and show the surfing world how it is done.  For the families and clans of these young PNG surfers, it will be something to be proud of and remember for generations to come!

I would like to thank Andrew Abel and the Surfing Association of Papua New Guinea (SAPNG) for taking the time to talk wooden surfboards with me and for providing me with such a wonderful set of images to accompany his answers. 

All images courtesy of and copyright SAPNG.

You can find and follow SAPNG on facebook if you're interested in finding out more about this intriguing surf destination.

The Arrival of Approaching Lines

If you dig on the the words/images/movies side of surfing almost as much as you like the act of riding a  wave itself - if you have a bedroom chock-full of stacks of old surf magazines and you're reducing your attention span by incessantly goggling 3 minute surfing shorts on the interweb - then this weekend is like waking up to see the first lines of a new swell marching in.

Approaching Lines is a collective of surfers who between them churn out a wide range of words, images, movies, artwork, design and music, headed up by Chris Nelson and Demi Taylor.  Chris and Demi are the directors of the London Surf Film Festival, and between them have edited numerous surf magazines and authored a number of books and surf guides (Surfing Europe and Cold Water Souls to name just a couple).  They're perfectly placed to craft and collate interesting and relevant content to satiate your appetite for wave riding cultural goodness.  As such, I am still bemused as to why they approached me to contribute.  I am massively honoured though, and really made up to see my work alongside the work of some really talented people such as Tim Nunn, Mark Leary, Chris McLean and Calum Creasy to name but a few.  
The idea, as Chris explained to me, is to create a platform to share the stories of surfing from our corner of the planet with surfers from our corner of the planet, to provide an alternative to the Californian and Australian mouthpieces of surf culture;  Stories of surfing that are real, true and accessible rather than sensationalistic or aspirational, and work that transcends the internet, spilling out into printed pages, special events and trips.  Here it is in Chris', far more concise and eloquent words:

"Approaching Lines is about ideas – big and small. It’s about the lines we draw in the water, the words we’re compelled to put down, the inspirations and images we want to share. It’s the lines traced on a finger-worn map. It’s about championing creativity, celebrating the makers and the doers; the artists and artisans, the films and filmmakers, the waveriders and purveyors of the glide. It’s the people and places that stoke the fires. Approaching Lines is a chronicle of our times and tides. It’s a haven for tall tales, and home spun yarns, a place to share. You can find us online, or at our regular socials and happenings. And we’re suckers for the smell of the freshly printed page. Above all Approaching Lines is about the stories, the stoke and the surfing."

The site went live a couple of days ago, and there will be new stuff going up all the time so it's one to bookmark and keep checking back on.  
The first social event is the Slyder Cup, an annual "friction affliction spring convention" where fins will be off-limits:  it'll be all about bodysurfing, mat-surfing, alaias, paipos and laughing and having fun.  It'll be going down at Lusty Glaze in Newquay on Saturday April 13th.  Bring yourself and something to catch a wave with, there's even a "run-what-you-brung" expression session planned if you want to catch a wave on a fast-food tray or inflatable pool toy.

So stop reading this, click through to Approaching Lines and have a dig around all of the good oil on there already.  But please come back to An Tor Orth An Mor next Sunday...

The Cormorant's Captain

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Christian Beamish for a short piece in the current issue of The Surfer's Path (issue 92 Sep/Oct 2012).  Christian is the former associate editor of The Surfer's Journal, a writer, wooden boat builder and wilderness surf adventurer who lives in California.  I had a hundred questions that I wanted to ask him, but had to parr it back to fit on a single page.  Below is the full transcript of our interview, with some of the images that he sent through and a recent video vignette produced to promote his brilliant book, "The Voyage of the Cormorant"; absorb and enjoy.

How did your ocean attraction begin?

From an early age I spent a lot of time at the beach with my Dad bodysurfing, boogie boarding, and then, naturally, board surfing at around 10-years-old. An L.A. County lifeguard in California’s “golden era” of the 1950s, my father raised me with what I now recognize as an overall waterman sensibility: Free diving the reefs of Laguna, sailing and fishing were all background activities to the main pursuit of wave riding. In my grown up surfing life I have pursued wilderness surfing experiences as much as possible, having nevertheless surfed a lot of “parking lot” beaches in Southern California. What I find most interesting about surfing is the way that it puts us into the natural world with such immediacy. It was in this spirit that I set out to explore wilderness shores in my small, open boat.

Can you please tell us about your boat, Cormorant.

A Shetland Isle beach boat, designed by Iain Oughtred on the Isle of Skye, Cormorant is 18-feet long by 5’4” in the beam. Although modeled on traditional craft, the boat is built in marine grade plywood, secured with epoxy resin. The boat carries about two weeks of food and water. With a mainsail (a balanced lug) and a smaller mizzen, Cormorant makes about 5 knots. There are three reef points in the mainsail and the “double ended” design handles a following sea very well, so it is truly a “sea boat.” Historically, the Shetland Islanders fished banks 40 miles offshore in these boats, and then landed in small coves.

What inspired and drove you to build your own boat for solo surf searches?

A feeling has nagged me that our headlong embrace of electric gadgetry threatens to sever us from an essential, physical, aspect of ourselves developed over the 50,000 years (or however long it has been) of our modern human physiology. I suppose it’s a longing for a forest home and the adventure of open water that informs the notion that florescent lighting, emails and automobiles make machines out of us. I was living on the grounds of a lighthouse, on the North Coast above Santa Cruz, California, and the maritime history seemed to haunt the place. There were historic photos of  fishermen plying those waters in traditional craft and a vision hit me so hard that I knew right then that I needed to experience that kind of essential human endeavor.

Where have you sailed her to date?  

I’ve got about one thousand miles “under the hull” (as Iain Oughtred has said). Two long Baja sails, a couple of 30 mile crossings to the Santa Barbara Channel Islands (with circum navigations of Santa Rosa and Santa Cruz Islands), countless “local” trips from Dana Point and San Clemente down to Trestles and up to Laguna, and a great month-long journey in Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada.

Can you give us some high and a low points from your adventures in Cormorant?

The high points are nice sailing conditions and the quite glide of it all. Low points are abject terror, far offshore when conditions threaten to overwhelm – but in those situations one is too involved in the moment to really judge “high” or “low”. The low is running out of supplies, far from help and feeling the inherent limitations of such a small vessel. 

Did you ever miss a surf to work on the boat in the two years that you spent building her?

I wouldn’t have missed “epic” days, but sitting in a line-up with a bunch of people in tiny waves will always be less appealing than the mediation of building a boat (or shaping a surfboard for that matter!).

How did your experiences with Cormorant lead into you surfing Mavericks?

I can’t say that building and sailing Cormorant led directly somehow to surfing Mavs. But once on that program I recognized a real similarity to the feeling of being in “big water” with just yourself and your equipment (self-built) to rely on. But neither pursuit – solo expeditions or big wave riding – has ever had an element of being something I wanted to “challenge,” “overcome,” or “conquer.” The inherent danger is not to be dismissed, as much as accounted for. Then I make an assessment of my abilities and the conditions for any particular day. Luck plays a huge role for anyone involved in ocean work.

Is/was Cormorant just the start of a much deeper relationship with the ocean?

Yes. I sometimes shudder when I think of some of the situations I’ve put myself in. Oddly, I think I’ll be more cautious now in my ocean forays… they’re not done, but I want to make a few adjustments.

What lessons did you learn from reducing your immediate world to an 18’ x 5’ space?

Hard to say, but Cormorant was my transport and shelter, and traveling this way is much like traveling by bicycle with a tent to sleep in at night. So it wasn’t quite like a monk in his cell… I sometimes rowed ashore and set up a beach camp, or, if staying aboard, I’m off surfing or fishing most of the day, leaving the boat at anchor. One of the great feelings is having a snug cove you’re anchored in, a good meal you’ve cooked (and caught) on the camp stove, and a good book to read by lantern light. It’s sort of the small boy and his “fort” made in the woods feeling.

What’s next for Cormorant and your boat building exploits?  Do you have plans to extend your fleet at all?

Solo expeditions have their place, but I’ve also greatly enjoyed traveling with friends. The vision I have is to build two new boats (need to speak with Mr. Oughtred!) scaled-up to 22- or 24-feet. I want to sail with 2-surfers per boat in wilderness areas. The boats will stick together and share camp duties and of course the fun and challenges of these adventures.

Were your trips simply surf trips, or were they by their very nature more multi-dimensional?

Multi-dimensional, but guiding by a foundation in surfing. A lot of the old timers say that “it’s all surfing,” and with beach boats that really is true.

And finally, on a purely inquisitive level based on my own boat building experiences (and not part of the main interview), how many clamps did you have to use??!

Always about twice the number I had was what was needed it seemed!

Christian recorded some of his adventures as a podcast for The Dirtbag Diaries a while back.  I listened to his piece and immediately reigned in the plans that I harboured for adventures in the boat that I was building at the time.  Click here to listen to 3/8th of an inch to eternity.

Here's how it looked in print...

You can purchase Christian's book, The Voyage of the Cormorant, here.

All images are copyright Christian Beamish which means that if you want them then you have to ask nicely, please don't just take them - it ain't cool.