El Nino 1982-83

La Jolla Shores, 1982-83, El Nino. Late December

                                                                

                Oft times the only thing good that comes out of a situation is the story we tell.

                Mid-winter at La Jolla Shores.  Griff and I had paddled out through the largest, rideable, waves we had ever seen at the shores.  We worked ourselves out to the furthest area of the line-up and had successfully ridden several of the larger set waves.  During the lull between sets we noticed, on the horizon, what appeared to be an uneasy edge like the tracks left by a chip in a thick dip.  This was a definite indication that a seriously, larger, set was on the way.  A set this size would surely be all total close outs and our best move was to stroke for the horizon and deeper water.  We were already at the outside point of the line-up and felt sure that we would, with a good effort, easily get to a safe area to wait out the coming monsters.

                As the set got close it seemed to get bigger.  The first two waves rose under us with a powerful lift but were of no threat to us.  Looking at the third we could see it trying to feather and come over but that one also only threw buckets of water in our faces. As I rode down the back I could see number four coming at me with lots of water blowing up and over the face which was ready to break, possibly on me.  I stroked with all my might up the base. It rose abruptly pushing me to an almost vertical position when I heard Griff yell out as he popped over the crest, “there’s a bigger one outside”.  The wave was now coming over and I punched the nose of the board into the belly of the crest, I felt it grab on to me but I had enough speed to burst through and exploded out the back completely leaving the water as it pulled away.  Looking out I saw what Griff had, a huge wave that I had no chance of getting past. 

                As my board slapped down on the back of Number four I just sat up and looked at what was coming.  “Joe never told me what to do in this situation”.  Should I stroke as hard as I could, possibly, to get past the crashing lip and maybe get spit out the back with minimal damage.  Should I stay where I was and let the lip come over just short of me and hope for the best in the aftermath of the impact.  Possibly in either case the lip could land directly on me leading to no good.  My choice was to abandon the board and try to get to the bottom and make like a sand crab.

                All of these thoughts occurred in the matter of a second, two at most. It seemed like longer at the time.

                I heard the impact of the wave crashing down on the surface and then felt the weight of tons of water smashing me down on the sandy bottom.  I was pressed there for a moment then yanked up toward the surface by the bounce only to be crushed back down by the massive body of the wave, again bouncing off the bottom to be once again grabbed up by the main part of the wave, dragged all the way to the top popping out at the highest point just long enough for one gulp of air and time enough to know where I was and that things were just beginning to happen.  Then over the edge for the full drop becoming a just bit of flotsam crashing toward the surface and beyond, ultimately, again, to the bottom. There I remained bouncing and tumbling along in a blend of sand, water and bubbles for a time and then a bit longer.  Time came for me to stop relaxing, to save oxygen, and get to the surface for some air but where, exactly was the surface. I, finally, felt the bottom and pushed off stroking towards the air. My head popped out to be met by froth and foam; I kicked to get above it and finally got another gasp in the air. 

As soon as I inhaled another wave came down on my head.  By this time I had been drug inside to where the normal, large, sets were breaking. Down I went again to the bottom.

                Up to this point I had not even thought of my board but with this wave I felt a great pull on my leg and then an instant release, the leash had snapped. My first thought was “thank god I can go home”, I am a good body surfer and knew I could get to the beach safely.

                I tumbled around some more and made my way to the surface planning to start swimming but as I looked around I saw my board floating about ten feet from me, what a loyal board.  I swam over and grabbed it just as the next wave arrived. That wave grabbed me and my floatation device and off we went toward the beach.

                I had to struggle to get in a good position over the tail for the ride home.  The ride was very bumpy and I could not get my head out of the white water to get more air. It was a little humorous thinking that after all I had just gone through I was going to drown on my board because of the size of the white water.

                When I arrived at the beach I was exhausted, I rested in the shallows for a few minutes, stood up and with my board struggled up the beach.  Looking south down the beach I saw, what appeared to be, ten or more loose, boards with broken leashes. 

                         This was a definitive “Sneaker”, Clean-up Set a product of the El Nino, 1983.       

Big wave rescue

       Link 
EMS Rescue Team Works Big Wave World Tour
A good read on who is there when our big wave riders have mishaps.
By Loralee Olejnik, Monica Thatcher

http://www.jems.com/article/training/ems-rescue-team-works-big-wave-world-tou

The bones above

•   The photo top left is an example of what Hotrod Surfboards is involved in.  This is a photo of the bulkheads, nose and tail block of a c. 1930 Kook Box from the Tom Blake school of hollow, paddle and surf boards.  These were the state of the art newest devices for propelling one self through the water beginning in the mid-nineteen twenties.  The weight of this one is fifty two pounds and the length is 13' 3".
     This one came in to our collection as an, almost, gift from, a friend, Hans Newman about 15 years ago in very poor condition. The deck had full length linear separations, all of the seams were loose, most of the finish was gone and termites had gotten to the gunnel on one side. one special point about the box was that most of it was put together using bronze ring shank boat nails.  Most of the kook boxes were held together with brass screws.
     This became a pet project.
     To begin with the box had been coated many years ago with resin, no fiberglass, just resin and where it remained it had to be sanded. The rest of the box had weathered badly and would also need sanding to match.  When I would carry the box to my sanding area nails from the deck would fall along my path.  After sanding I commenced to disassemble the box taking it down to its individual parts.  This was fairly easy in that the nails were all loose in their positions and came out with little effort.  This provided a later problem.
     Once the box was apart I began repairing all of the broken areas.  Each side of the deck and bottom were of single pieces of  5/16 inch Mahogany.  I had to make special glue blocks to rejoin the splits and not become stuck to the deck it self.  There were also places where I had to fill in gaps with newer materials and on the rotted gunnel a lite weight boat putty was used. 
     To reassemble the box I discovered that an acrylic resin used in water proof decks was also very strong, flexible and a good water proof glue, this proved exceptional in gluing and sealing the box.  When it came to the nails I knew that the original ones would never hold so I located a boat repair supplier in Delaware who had over sized bronze ring shank nails made for this purpose and used in older boats.  The gunnels were made of spruce and the wood in the nail holes had taken on the quality of bristles.  This I dealt with by dripping a drop or two down each hole, letting them dry and then driving the nails in.  It worked perfectly.
    One more sanding and it was ready for the finish.  
•   So far I have coated it with nine layers of boat varnish and at this point I think it might be finished. 
•   The older gentleman is Woody Brown.
•      JBR
  

Color, Lots of Color

               The only old surfboard that is thought to have real value is one in its original condition with maybe a polish on it and nothing more.  The closer a board is to this state, the higher its value.  A board like this is one that never saw extensive use.  It was probably bought for a youngster who had visions of The Pipe Line and taking the Van Artsdalen line across the face-swish, but, on attempting to ride it found it, for one reason or another, to be something he would rather not do. 

The board was then set aside, put in one place, then another, and always found to be in the way.  Ultimately it would be stuffed up in the rafters of the garage, slid under the house, or placed behind some building where it would be covered over by foliage or other discarded materials.  Here it would reside for decades until the time came to sell the house.  It would then be uncovered or dug out of its seclusion to be put out at a garage sale or given to a friend who had shown interest in it.  At some point the board would find its way to a “collector” who would clean it up, neatly repair any dry land pukas, polish it, and then haul it down to some local gathering place. There he would display it to his interested associates, telling of how he found it, giving a brief history of it, and its cost to him, all of these points being quite possibly contrived.

            That is a short story of how some of these fine museum-quality boards find their ways into the collections of a few.  But what of the more than 95 percent of the boards that were manufactured, then sold maybe several times? They were ridden to the point of being water logged and stained, dinged and plugged with Bondo, darkened by the sun, delaminated, missing a fin, and possibly broken in half at some time or another.

            What of these boards with their histories of exciting times? Should they be relegated to the refuse pit, just more oil bye-product trash to be buried and forgotten?  What of provenance and patina - should they be of any value? That is the thinking that created the Hotrod Surf Board concept. Rebuilding classic surf boards, doing to them what has been done with old cars for more than 50 years: cleaning, repairing, coloring and polishing them; taking damaged hulks from not so much to a resurrected, and, at most times to a very usable state. 
            The purpose of this blog is to update you on the development of our business and passion, Hotrod Surf Boards, and the characters we meet along the way, as the people of surfing, much like the boards themselves, are all about color, lots of color.