<img src="/forum/images/graemlins/laugh.gif" alt="" /> All harrassing aside, here's a little accounting of a trippy little experience on a thirteen foot board.
An Olo Surf Report
Nearly eight years ago, I moved to southern California, and I began my journey of surfing. Since day one, it’s been for me far more than just a sport or a hobby; it’s something far deeper. It’s about health, self-knowledge, discovery, humility… and about connection; to self, to spirit, to the sea. Connection.
Nearly eight years ago, I became a part of a tribe of humans who understand these things. Nearly eight years ago, I also began socialising with a number of these tribe members in the online world by way of a surfing bulletin board. There I first became acquainted with an eclectic craftsman who builds intriguing wooden boards by hand and with a devotion that I found impressive long ago. This was Roy Stewart of the North Island, NZ.
I won’t go into the details here, but suffice to say that yesterday as I stood on the deck of a 13 foot work of art in head high surf at Taylor’s Mistake on New Zealand’s South Island – the amazing interconnectedness of the story of its presence underfoot was not lost on me. Through a chain of events that simply unfolded over the years as by cosmic intention, I found myself in New Zealand with one of Roy’s creations; which had arrived in my presence via a circuitous route atop the van of a guy I’ve known for years but had never until the previous day actually met. Life is pretty damned interesting stuff when you really pay attention.
Doof – the driver of the aforementioned van - had been all around North Island, down the South Island’s west coast and back up its east in the past weeks – and had been totally disheartened in terms of waves. Finding Raglan blown out, his fortune only deteriorated and the most surf he’d found was the wake of a boat on the lake in Queenstown on which he’d paddled the olo out for the fun of it. Christchurch had been getting swell for three days when he and his wife arrived, but it was accompanied by a stereotypical howling nor east which all but ruined the surfing. On Monday we rose before dawn and checked Brighton at first light. Some size remained, but it was chunky and misshapen, inconsistent and already onshore.
Loading the olo onto the station wagon, the former being nearly as long as the latter, we headed off in search of something cleaner and rideable. Scarborough was our destination and we were dismayed to find it not even breaking; a still-sinking near-full moon was pulling up a huge tide and killed any prospect of Scarbs working. The last ditch would be Taylor’s Mistake.
Coming down the hill we were encouraged and uplifted to see that lines were rolling through and what appeared to be shoulder to head high waves were breaking rideable through the middle with only about a dozen guys out. We hauled the olo out of its gargantuan custom board bag, already tagged with the writings of the riders before us in the Olo’s Hikoi so far and I got my first look at its full glory. Since this would be Doof’s last shot at waves before leaving NZ, and since he’d ferried the olo around the islands for over a week without a wave, I insisted he go first and take as long as he want; I’d be on the beach behind the lens. Heading out to the beach the curious looks from bystanders began – and would continue into the lineup for the rest of our morning out there. People had an obvious appreciation for the thing, once they worked out just what it was. Though from some of the initial looks there was scepticism, I would later read a certain respect in the faces of those around us. Doof picked a peak over the far east side of the bay where fewer people would present obstacles to negotiate, and paddled out. His timing led him directly into a set and where most would have been denied, the olo saw him through the whitewater walls with relative ease and he was soon out the back. Shooting from an elevated spot on the beach, I was intrigued to see both nose and tail sticking well above the waterline, testifying to the extreme rocker profile of the massive board.
It took some while of paddling and positioning before Doof went for one – it was clear he was getting his comfort zone for it. The first wave was maybe chest to shoulder and didn’t have a heap of pitch or power, but the olo cruised into it like a reliable old Cadillac and accelerated slowly but smoothly down the line. He swept a few long arcing turns, then attempted a harder cutback and went over the side headfirst apparently discovering that sudden inputs to the olo don’t have the same effect as they do on a shortboard or even a modern longboard.
His next wave was a bit bigger and had some grunt to it, he made a pretty nice little drop and the board once again picked up speed gradually, in the manner less of a sports car than of a 747. It gave the definite impression that once it was at cruising speed, there would be no stopping it. His third and final wave was the wave of the morning between us; slightly overhead, pitchy and punchy he dropped in right at the critical point, and the board just slid right into the pocket with impressive ease. He’d later tell me that he’d found himself convinced he was about to eat it as the board had taken the drop so fast and furious he felt he’d be challenged to hang on. From the beach though, it looked fully relaxed, stylistic and in control. The wave walled up and gave him a nice speed run, then a few turns out the shoulder as he began to get it wired a bit.
Then he came in – having done a “Dale Webster” (3 waves minimum every session) and been happy and rewarded to have got that wave of the morning on the great wooden board. Now it was my turn. Doof gave me no indication, no expectation other than “it’s kinda… well, you’ll see.” I paddled out. Timing the sets like magic I managed a dry hair paddle out and was amazed at how this smoothly and speedily the thing paddled. The efficiency of the olo when you’re in trim and paddling it is just incredible. I’ve never moved so quickly on a board under my own power, and it made getting out the back as easy breathing.
Out back I sat well beyond the lineup, and had brazenly paddled out to the middle left peak – closer to the pack than Doof. Being goofy foot, I wanted the bigger set lefts.
Beyond the impressive paddling characteristics, my first surprise was how much effort it takes to manoeuvre the great beast around out there. Forget about your standard longboard “windmilling” it’ll get you nowhere. It took sitting as far back on the pointy tail as possible and at the same time windmilling my legs and pulling with my arms and torso to get the thing to come round. As a result I missed the first few sets because my timing was so far off. Then I got the unpleasant experience of getting side-on to a set wave that broke just outside of me. This I dealt with by diving as deeply as possible and covering my head like a little girl; images of death by unconsciousness lingering beside me under the foaming torrent above. But I cleared it without problem and after being dragged twenty meters or so by the ankle, I recovered the board and began the slow and difficult process of getting it turned back round and paddling back out.
After botching several attempted sets I finally managed to get myself into position for a decent left. I’d noticed on the previous waves that I was still too far back on the board, and it wasn’t planing enough to get into the them despite a bit of push. Now, on this set, I found my eye level only a couple feet back from the nose. This was about the same positioning wherein I’d found the incredibly smooth paddling earlier. From up toward the nose, I easily got into this set wave and popped up and began to feel the momentum of the olo. Slowly at first, it moved into the belly of the wave and as it accelerated it gradually became more stable and responsive. I managed to bottom turn quite readily, with only minimal input to the board, then slung down the line and felt the speed continuing to pick up. Though this was a choppy, onshore day, the board felt nothing but smooth. After riding the wave basically straight down the line well to the inside, I found myself left off the back of the shoulder as a consequence for having timed the top turn wrong; initiating the turn too late for the big cruisy board’s preference, my ride was done.
On the inside I learnt how difficult it can be to get the board turned nose seaward, and I struggled for a bit as I bobbed in the impact zone with several waves bearing down on me. I quickly discovered it was a lot easier simply to let the waves pass over me, holding on to the tail and fin and pulling it down with me before the oncoming whitewater. That done, the wave’s energy simply melted along the highly hydrodynamic planshape and I discovered that I really didn’t get washed back much at all – much to my surprise. Once the set passed, I laboriously got the board spun back ‘round and headed out the back again.
My next two waves were lefts, though one of them I’d have been better off going the right. In both cases I was treated to the horrified face of a guy stuck inside of me and in a mild state of panic with the behemoth wooden board steaming directly at him. It was surprising even to me that I managed to avoid whacking him clean in half.
The lefts were head high and fun, with nice standup walls and one of them a big crumbly section. The olo seemed to know what to do with the section on its own, and soon I was back on green face. I admit, it was the board’s doing, not mine… and beyond the section there was nothing for it but straight down the line. I’ve definitely got a fair bit to go before I have turning the beast wired.
My last wave wasn’t quite as big, but well-formed and notable in that it earned me a hoot from one of the guys in the lineup as I glided along with the warm feel of wood at my feet. The wave delivered me right to the beach, where I stepped off onto the sand – always a great way to end a session. It had been a brief but successful maiden voyage.
I’d tackled some decent size and thump on a thirteen foot wooden board I’d never paddled out on before. I’d had a great start to the day with a new friend I’ve known for years but only just met. In some cosmic way I’d put up a marker on the path of life; signifying the intriguing interconnectedness of things that began nearly eight years ago, or perhaps much, much longer.
There will be more to say about Roy’s board. For now I’ll sum it up by saying that my first experience with the olo was rewarding, fun, unexpected, eye-opening and exactly as it should be.
An Olo Surf Report
Nearly eight years ago, I moved to southern California, and I began my journey of surfing. Since day one, it’s been for me far more than just a sport or a hobby; it’s something far deeper. It’s about health, self-knowledge, discovery, humility… and about connection; to self, to spirit, to the sea. Connection.
Nearly eight years ago, I became a part of a tribe of humans who understand these things. Nearly eight years ago, I also began socialising with a number of these tribe members in the online world by way of a surfing bulletin board. There I first became acquainted with an eclectic craftsman who builds intriguing wooden boards by hand and with a devotion that I found impressive long ago. This was Roy Stewart of the North Island, NZ.
I won’t go into the details here, but suffice to say that yesterday as I stood on the deck of a 13 foot work of art in head high surf at Taylor’s Mistake on New Zealand’s South Island – the amazing interconnectedness of the story of its presence underfoot was not lost on me. Through a chain of events that simply unfolded over the years as by cosmic intention, I found myself in New Zealand with one of Roy’s creations; which had arrived in my presence via a circuitous route atop the van of a guy I’ve known for years but had never until the previous day actually met. Life is pretty damned interesting stuff when you really pay attention.
Doof – the driver of the aforementioned van - had been all around North Island, down the South Island’s west coast and back up its east in the past weeks – and had been totally disheartened in terms of waves. Finding Raglan blown out, his fortune only deteriorated and the most surf he’d found was the wake of a boat on the lake in Queenstown on which he’d paddled the olo out for the fun of it. Christchurch had been getting swell for three days when he and his wife arrived, but it was accompanied by a stereotypical howling nor east which all but ruined the surfing. On Monday we rose before dawn and checked Brighton at first light. Some size remained, but it was chunky and misshapen, inconsistent and already onshore.
Loading the olo onto the station wagon, the former being nearly as long as the latter, we headed off in search of something cleaner and rideable. Scarborough was our destination and we were dismayed to find it not even breaking; a still-sinking near-full moon was pulling up a huge tide and killed any prospect of Scarbs working. The last ditch would be Taylor’s Mistake.
Coming down the hill we were encouraged and uplifted to see that lines were rolling through and what appeared to be shoulder to head high waves were breaking rideable through the middle with only about a dozen guys out. We hauled the olo out of its gargantuan custom board bag, already tagged with the writings of the riders before us in the Olo’s Hikoi so far and I got my first look at its full glory. Since this would be Doof’s last shot at waves before leaving NZ, and since he’d ferried the olo around the islands for over a week without a wave, I insisted he go first and take as long as he want; I’d be on the beach behind the lens. Heading out to the beach the curious looks from bystanders began – and would continue into the lineup for the rest of our morning out there. People had an obvious appreciation for the thing, once they worked out just what it was. Though from some of the initial looks there was scepticism, I would later read a certain respect in the faces of those around us. Doof picked a peak over the far east side of the bay where fewer people would present obstacles to negotiate, and paddled out. His timing led him directly into a set and where most would have been denied, the olo saw him through the whitewater walls with relative ease and he was soon out the back. Shooting from an elevated spot on the beach, I was intrigued to see both nose and tail sticking well above the waterline, testifying to the extreme rocker profile of the massive board.
It took some while of paddling and positioning before Doof went for one – it was clear he was getting his comfort zone for it. The first wave was maybe chest to shoulder and didn’t have a heap of pitch or power, but the olo cruised into it like a reliable old Cadillac and accelerated slowly but smoothly down the line. He swept a few long arcing turns, then attempted a harder cutback and went over the side headfirst apparently discovering that sudden inputs to the olo don’t have the same effect as they do on a shortboard or even a modern longboard.
His next wave was a bit bigger and had some grunt to it, he made a pretty nice little drop and the board once again picked up speed gradually, in the manner less of a sports car than of a 747. It gave the definite impression that once it was at cruising speed, there would be no stopping it. His third and final wave was the wave of the morning between us; slightly overhead, pitchy and punchy he dropped in right at the critical point, and the board just slid right into the pocket with impressive ease. He’d later tell me that he’d found himself convinced he was about to eat it as the board had taken the drop so fast and furious he felt he’d be challenged to hang on. From the beach though, it looked fully relaxed, stylistic and in control. The wave walled up and gave him a nice speed run, then a few turns out the shoulder as he began to get it wired a bit.
Then he came in – having done a “Dale Webster” (3 waves minimum every session) and been happy and rewarded to have got that wave of the morning on the great wooden board. Now it was my turn. Doof gave me no indication, no expectation other than “it’s kinda… well, you’ll see.” I paddled out. Timing the sets like magic I managed a dry hair paddle out and was amazed at how this smoothly and speedily the thing paddled. The efficiency of the olo when you’re in trim and paddling it is just incredible. I’ve never moved so quickly on a board under my own power, and it made getting out the back as easy breathing.
Out back I sat well beyond the lineup, and had brazenly paddled out to the middle left peak – closer to the pack than Doof. Being goofy foot, I wanted the bigger set lefts.
Beyond the impressive paddling characteristics, my first surprise was how much effort it takes to manoeuvre the great beast around out there. Forget about your standard longboard “windmilling” it’ll get you nowhere. It took sitting as far back on the pointy tail as possible and at the same time windmilling my legs and pulling with my arms and torso to get the thing to come round. As a result I missed the first few sets because my timing was so far off. Then I got the unpleasant experience of getting side-on to a set wave that broke just outside of me. This I dealt with by diving as deeply as possible and covering my head like a little girl; images of death by unconsciousness lingering beside me under the foaming torrent above. But I cleared it without problem and after being dragged twenty meters or so by the ankle, I recovered the board and began the slow and difficult process of getting it turned back round and paddling back out.
After botching several attempted sets I finally managed to get myself into position for a decent left. I’d noticed on the previous waves that I was still too far back on the board, and it wasn’t planing enough to get into the them despite a bit of push. Now, on this set, I found my eye level only a couple feet back from the nose. This was about the same positioning wherein I’d found the incredibly smooth paddling earlier. From up toward the nose, I easily got into this set wave and popped up and began to feel the momentum of the olo. Slowly at first, it moved into the belly of the wave and as it accelerated it gradually became more stable and responsive. I managed to bottom turn quite readily, with only minimal input to the board, then slung down the line and felt the speed continuing to pick up. Though this was a choppy, onshore day, the board felt nothing but smooth. After riding the wave basically straight down the line well to the inside, I found myself left off the back of the shoulder as a consequence for having timed the top turn wrong; initiating the turn too late for the big cruisy board’s preference, my ride was done.
On the inside I learnt how difficult it can be to get the board turned nose seaward, and I struggled for a bit as I bobbed in the impact zone with several waves bearing down on me. I quickly discovered it was a lot easier simply to let the waves pass over me, holding on to the tail and fin and pulling it down with me before the oncoming whitewater. That done, the wave’s energy simply melted along the highly hydrodynamic planshape and I discovered that I really didn’t get washed back much at all – much to my surprise. Once the set passed, I laboriously got the board spun back ‘round and headed out the back again.
My next two waves were lefts, though one of them I’d have been better off going the right. In both cases I was treated to the horrified face of a guy stuck inside of me and in a mild state of panic with the behemoth wooden board steaming directly at him. It was surprising even to me that I managed to avoid whacking him clean in half.
The lefts were head high and fun, with nice standup walls and one of them a big crumbly section. The olo seemed to know what to do with the section on its own, and soon I was back on green face. I admit, it was the board’s doing, not mine… and beyond the section there was nothing for it but straight down the line. I’ve definitely got a fair bit to go before I have turning the beast wired.
My last wave wasn’t quite as big, but well-formed and notable in that it earned me a hoot from one of the guys in the lineup as I glided along with the warm feel of wood at my feet. The wave delivered me right to the beach, where I stepped off onto the sand – always a great way to end a session. It had been a brief but successful maiden voyage.
I’d tackled some decent size and thump on a thirteen foot wooden board I’d never paddled out on before. I’d had a great start to the day with a new friend I’ve known for years but only just met. In some cosmic way I’d put up a marker on the path of life; signifying the intriguing interconnectedness of things that began nearly eight years ago, or perhaps much, much longer.
There will be more to say about Roy’s board. For now I’ll sum it up by saying that my first experience with the olo was rewarding, fun, unexpected, eye-opening and exactly as it should be.
