Family Business

Surf lessons are in the Mattison blood. Check out my brother's operation in Costa Rica: http://ranchodiandrew.com/?p=744. Poetry and photos by our illustrious father, Richard.

Hydrodynamica

Now that I think about it, you should just go over to Hydrodynamica and read the whole site. Here is the link: http://hydrodynamica.com/

Mini Simmons Love

My friend, B.'s, brother, G. and his brother's friend, M., picked this board up at a surf swap -- they all three kind of co-own it -- in a sense it's a community board. It's a 4'11" Mini Simmons shape by Steve Forstall. The Mini Simmons was designed by Bob Simmons. Simmons was a pioneer of surfboard and skeg design. Surfline has a very concise history about him that you can read here. The little gem pictured above was my first encounter with such a shape. I saw it first at B.'s loft-warming party in Bushwick (no joke -- as a digression I am also doing research on the origination of the hipster phenomenon in Brooklyn -- I am having trouble deciphering whether I am one and then that makes me think that the category is far too large). It was love at first sight. I could barely talk to other people at the party. I knew that I had to go out with it some time. Then B. came down with a gnarly case of ingrown toenail so he was out of commission from February thru April. Time passed and I put the hope of riding this board out of my mind. Then May swung around and B.'s toed healed up. Of course he never stopped monitoring conditions and thus he shot me a surf text the day before a fun little swell was predicted to arise. A mission quickly formed and set. I picked up Th. and T. first in the Lower East Side, then cruised to the outer Wick to scoop B. He had two boards in hand: his 5’6” simmons-esque quad and the above 4’11”. We did the 6am hustle out to Long Beach and were greeted by hazy 3-4 foot peaks. I rode my thruster for the first hour or so. Got a few sneaky head dips, but nothing too special. The tide came up quickly and the waves started to bog out. We had left the little wonder on the beach -- first come first serve style. When I went in to make the switch B.’s quad was in its place. So I took that out. It’s really skatey but a bit too loose and stiff for my taste. Just doesn’t have that magic zip. Still I rode it a bit until I saw that B. got tired and went in. The time finally arrived for me and the 4’11”s first date. Everything that followed was pure bliss. Paddling was cake. The thing absolutely zooms into waves. I caught wave after wave, weaving and dashing into the shorebreak. I hadn’t felt that sort of speed and responsiveness since the first time I rode my CI fish (which still goes great by the way -- just a bit of a different feel). This board provides the kind of surfing for me where I don’t need to think too much. Its curves and my style have a natural symbiosis. I have surfed it twice since then and those sessions were equally as enjoyable. The new dilemma: how do I own one for myself? I will get more chances to ride this one but I definitely need one of my own. I’d also like to experiment going smaller -- like 4’6” or so -- real biscuity. I have since looked at other Mini Simmonses and they all have this bulky and heavy look to them. I like that this one is made out of very light epoxy and has shortboard-esque rails to it. I do know that this board used to belong to Montauk shredder Mike Detemple (whom I don’t know personally), and I’ve tried to contact him via Twitter to see if he has any others for sale, but no dice. That’s cool. I might just have to dig harder. Thinking about getting Steve Forstall to shape me one. I did some research on him (see link). He was very influenced by this design in his early shaping days and has immense knowledge about east coast waves, plus he shaped this wonder, so he’s definitely worth contacting, but then I dunno how I’d get it to NY from Florida on a gradstudent budget. I think a good route might be to talk to some surf shop bros or to just find a longboard, saw the nose off, find some skegs, and make my own. Whatever route I take, I am determined to make something like this mine. Oh and if you want to read/see more info on such like boards check out Hydrodynamica’s cool little piece on them here.

Open Season for Surf Lessons!!!!

Here's a pic of the pick up of my first lesson for this summer. Davith's wife, Lexi, bought him two lessons for his birthday. Here they are getting ready to go to the beach in front of Saturdays on Crosby. The lesson went super well and we're all looking forward to #2.

I've also started receiving a lot of other calls and emails regarding lessons this summer. Start booking now to ensure you get your slot! Also, remember that my lessons are not so much focused on getting you to stand up on the board but are more about the overall experience and knowledge and style of surfing. Surfing is 95% paddling, seeing, judging, and navigating and 5% standing up on a wave. Summer and its crowds makes this even more true. I see so many beginners every time I surf wander into an area where they should not be. You can avoid this kind of catastrophe by learning the right way the first time. You will also get better faster because you'll learn how to find waves where others don't.

A photo my friend Steve took and put on his instagram. It spoke to me so much I commented that I wanted to “reblog” it, so Steve sent it to me in an email attachment. This is so real to surfing and so indicative of the type of lifestyle and culture that the masses barely even think of when surfing comes to mind. I grew up in a heavily localized area—definitely more localized than Rincon. Watched guys put sugar in people’s gas tanks, pop tires, start fights, run guys out of the water, throw sticks at people, and just general malingering and hate-mongering. I don’t find it as nasty on the East Coast so far. Dudes in Jersey are a little grumpy, but nothing matches California localism. What makes CA localism that much nastier is that “Team Kook” can apply to the locals themselves. Some guys/gals who don’t even surf well act all hard. In Hawaii (or Australia for that matter) it is clear who the top dogs are because they rip and have a firmly defined spot in the lineup and the pecking order and so you stay away from them and pick off inside waves they aren’t even looking at. Kooks aren’t allowed to regulate, but somehow the laws of bro-dom make it possible in California. The real kooks aren’t beginning surfers. The real kooks are the guys/gals with stink ass style who get all nasty at people who are just trying to have a good time; who overcompensate with their poor surfing skills with crappy attitudes and negativity. This is why I’m never a local anymore. I surf a ton of places and just catch the waves no one even sees, which (hint hint) are usually the best waves anyhow.

Out of Rhythm -- It Happens.

I am sitting in my blue chair. There is a distinctive ache in a number of places in my muscles and bones. My tail bone is bruised. It hurts to walk. My triceps, deltoids, upper back, calves, and quads all have lactic acid surging around them. My left forearm has a small sore spot on the bone. All of these are a result of getting my ass handed to me at a mysto beach out east. It wasn't that big. Maybe 4ft. But it was thick and square and shallow and I was slow and out of rhythm.

With my busy grad student schedule I have either two half days or one whole day a week to surf. Last weekend, when I wrote the post "Tal Vez", I over-amped on Dane Reynolds videos and pulled the trigger prematurely. I surfed the crappiest day in the window. Don't get me wrong—I still had a blast at gusty west wind Long Beach. But the next day Jersey fired and I was stuck at home doing research. C'est la vie as they say.

Yesterday was the beginning of my spring break and the only day in the next few weeks with swell, so I decided that an all day surf mission was in order. My buddy Juan and I drove out of Brooklyn around 8:30am and went straight to 67th St. in Rockaway. The dawn patrol crew was just coming in. It was waist high and starting to get closed out. We decided to keep looking. We skipped the Long Beach jetties, which in hindsight could have been a bad move. I know it was good there, but I surf there all of the time and craved a different kind of wave. We kept checking spots further east and then further east still. Nothing was quite right and the winds were starting to funkify, which looked ominous for an all-day driving mission. Fear of getting skunked set in. But there was plenty of pulse and more pulse the further east we drove, so I kept my hope alive.

After a million text messages (from Juan to friends—I was driving safe), we got a healthy tip. At 1pm after about 4 hours of searching we scooted up to a Hamptons moon-scape and to heaving top-to-bottom rights breaking in about 1 foot of water. The winds were pretty strong out of the Northwest, but they curved around just right for this little zone. There were three of us—all goofy. Rubber space men with three-finned probing tools. The water was in the 40 degree range. Icebergs to the face. Just being out there seeing these slabbing pits made all of the driving worth it. There was no where on our journey that offered waves that packed this many pounds per square inch. Juan picked up a few off the bat. I got a left soul arch close-out. My left should was behaving funny. I knew I was out of rhythm immediately. Connor, the local with the knowledge, scored the backside barrel of the day. I refused to know limits, and despite the fact that I was out of rhythm, continued to chucked myself over the ledge with abandon. While Juan was getting little pocket rides and slashing cutties I was getting pitched into oblivion. I have not had such an off session in ages. To top it off I swung on one of the bigger, squarer sets and fell from the very top straight into the sand, right onto my tailbone. The shock that rang through my body at the moment was tremendous. I got absolutely trashed and came up hogtied. Clearly hurt, I continued to surf. I had one redemptive wave at the end where I picked the right line and stayed in the pocket, straightening out at the very end. When the tide pushed in the waves shut down. Sore and limping, I walked back to the car.

We checked another spot after. It looked to have massive potential. Instead of hitting it immediately we warmed up in Connor's car. He told us a story about a Russian gangster buying boats from he and his dad's company. The gangster needed to make sure that blood didn't stick to the deck. He made Connor deliver the boats to sketchy spot in Queens, and also made him drive to the Bronx, and had his hit man sit with him the whole time. After Connor told us this crazy story we checked one other spot. By the time we got back to surf the wind had switched onshore. We paddled out anyhow. The ocean was hating me. Rip current; white water spray in the eyeball like a paint gun; arms that felt heavy and wouldn't move. I saw Juan catch a few, but even he, who had a good run at the previous spot, had a few sections deny him. It was just funky.

In the end, I am glad to have spent the whole day searching for waves and checking new spots. The world just opened up a bit for me and I've finally started exploring the east coast thanks to my new found surf buddies. Next time with those winds and those conditions I'd probably stick to Long Beach, but now I know. It is small this way today. $20 says the spots we surfed yesterday were probably fun as heck this morning early.

Tal Vez

There might be surf this weekend. Fingers are crossed. All of this Quik Pro action is making me want to put the fish down and get on the tri-fin.