Handle with care, Fragile when smashed.
Day 43
On a glassy mid sized morning, Brett and I were surfing inconsistent waves amidst the weekend early crowd. Long waits between sets provided ample time for idle conversation. As the set waves came in, both of us paddled around frantically trying to catch at least one or two while the set lasted.
I found a small peak and paddled after it, intending to go to the right. Brett was about twenty yards to my right, looking back at a second peak of the same wave. He was lining up to go left. We were both paddling.
Both peaks formed well, and we both dropped into the wave face, turning right towards each other. Faster than either of us could do anything about it, we were on a collision course. Both of us jumped off our boards backwards into the foaming wave behind. In retrospect, this was the worst thing either of us could have done.
Both boards shot out forward, propelled by the push of jumping feet. There was a loud crack as the nose of my board slammed into the bottom of Brett's. A second cracking sound followed.
The wave passed by. Each of us found our boards and assessed the damage. The forensics of the accident indicated that the nose of my board had slammed into the bottom of Brett's, then slid down the length of Brett's board for a second hard impact with the left fin. Brett's board had a three inch by six inch impact wound in the bottom, just at the right rail about mid way down the board. My surfboard had a four inch gash in the left front, having been slashed by the fin.
We exchanged a few uncomfortable glances and apologies. Brett paddled immediately to shore, not wanting the water to soak into the exposed foam core of his surfboard. I stayed in the water, long enough to make my quota of three waves, and then came in. Brett was disturbed, and planned to make the repairs that afternoon. Unlike Brett, I had a backup surfboard which I could use. Even though the surf was small, I rode my shortboard for the next few days until the weekend, when I could devote time to the job.
Neither of us could determine whether to blame the other or not. Initially, we were both angry and guilt ridden at the same time. Eventually, we had to write the crash off to an excess of familiarity. I would have let the wave go, had it been anyone but Brett perched in the spot he was at. Brett admitted he would have though twice about dropping in, had it been anyone but me looking twards him. We both learned that the best thing to do when heading towards another surfer on the same wave is to turn towards shore. If both of us had made quick turns towards the sand, we would have been riding next to each other in the foam, rather than slamming into each other on the open wave face.
Most surfers I know do their own repair work for small and medium sized repair jobs. Surf shops sell a variety of surfboard repair kits which generally include fiberglass cloth, polyester resin, hardening catalyst, a few mixing supplies, and sandpaper. There are some products which, for very minor bruises, come in a squeeze tube and offer cure times of less than an hour when exposed to the UV rays of the sun. For heavier damage, a trip to the hardware store is often required for sheets of sandpaper of various roughness, rubber gloves, and filler material.
Filler material for large dings is an area that I've had to experiment with, as it is not included in any of the commercially available patch kits. With varying degrees of success, I've used sealing foam, drywall plaster compound, multiple layers of resin thickened by flour or corn starch, and even flour and water paste. On his lunch break, the day of our crash, Brett made a wonderful discovered in the paint isle of a large hardware retailer. It was an epoxy putty stick, approximately one half in in diameter, consisting of resin putty wrapped with a thin layer of catalyst putty. The stick could be mashed together to mix the catalyst and the resin, then pressed into the repair area. The mixed putty cured to forms a solid which could then be sanded and covered with a final coat of fiberglass and resin.
For the surfer who doesn't have the inkling of doing his or her own repair work, there are professional repair outlets. For major jobs, local surf shops or friendly surfers can refer surfboard repair specialist who will do the job for a fee. Piecemeal surfboard repair, however, is not the type of lucrative business which draws a competitive field of highly skilled and reliable technicians. The market is a little more underground, and consists of an interesting group of characters.
My brother Kevin once needed a fin repaired in for his longboard in Hawaii. He enlisted the services of a local methamphetamine addict, known for his fine surfboard repair work and completely unpredictable schedule. “I paid him up front.” my brother recalled. “So, by the next day, I'm sure he'd already spent the money.” After several inquiries, Kevin finally got his board back. He showed me the fin. “Pretty nice looking job, though, eh?”
I used to know the secret location of one such fiberglass repair man locally. It was a small apartment in a run down housing complex, just a few quick turns away from Beach Boulevard, near Little Saigon, an area of Orange County boasting the second largest population of Vietnamese people in the world.
I met the repairman through Paul, a friend who took me along while taking a surfboard in for repair a nasty wound to the tail section.
“I'll introduce you to this guy.” Paul had told me. “And then you'll know where to find him if you ever need him.”
If one knew where to find this repairman, one could request his services. His prices and time estimates were subject to wide variations based on the prospective customers needs, connections, and religious affiliation (he was a avid Christian fundamentalist, who gave preferential treatment to fellow Christians) and any planed that he might have. The repairman had no marketing material whatsoever. He told us that he had some business cards, but never showed us one. Paul had the phone number written in a matchbook. I made it a mental note to always remember where the apartment was, just in case.
The apartment was littered with dozens of surfboards in various stages of disrepair. Two steel posts had been added to a late 1970s surfboard, which served as a bench on the front porch. In addition to repair work for surfers, the repairman did a full trade in buying, repairing and selling used surf boards. On most summer weekends, his camper full of used boards would be parked in the lot of a local strip mall on Beach Boulevard near the Westminister courthouse, where several merchants had combined to set up an open air market of rugs, home decorations, and used surfboards.
The name of this retail and repair business, as far as I know, was “the guy with the camper on Beach Boulevard”.
Last summer, I referred a coworker to the location for a used board, and received a report that the operation was no longer there. I conducted some research in an effort to determine what had happened to the business. “Brett.” I asked. “What ever happened to the guy with the camper on Beach Boulevard?” Unfortunately, my research produced no viable results.
More Later
-Travis
copyright 2004 by Travis R. English
On a glassy mid sized morning, Brett and I were surfing inconsistent waves amidst the weekend early crowd. Long waits between sets provided ample time for idle conversation. As the set waves came in, both of us paddled around frantically trying to catch at least one or two while the set lasted.
I found a small peak and paddled after it, intending to go to the right. Brett was about twenty yards to my right, looking back at a second peak of the same wave. He was lining up to go left. We were both paddling.
Both peaks formed well, and we both dropped into the wave face, turning right towards each other. Faster than either of us could do anything about it, we were on a collision course. Both of us jumped off our boards backwards into the foaming wave behind. In retrospect, this was the worst thing either of us could have done.
Both boards shot out forward, propelled by the push of jumping feet. There was a loud crack as the nose of my board slammed into the bottom of Brett's. A second cracking sound followed.
The wave passed by. Each of us found our boards and assessed the damage. The forensics of the accident indicated that the nose of my board had slammed into the bottom of Brett's, then slid down the length of Brett's board for a second hard impact with the left fin. Brett's board had a three inch by six inch impact wound in the bottom, just at the right rail about mid way down the board. My surfboard had a four inch gash in the left front, having been slashed by the fin.
We exchanged a few uncomfortable glances and apologies. Brett paddled immediately to shore, not wanting the water to soak into the exposed foam core of his surfboard. I stayed in the water, long enough to make my quota of three waves, and then came in. Brett was disturbed, and planned to make the repairs that afternoon. Unlike Brett, I had a backup surfboard which I could use. Even though the surf was small, I rode my shortboard for the next few days until the weekend, when I could devote time to the job.
Neither of us could determine whether to blame the other or not. Initially, we were both angry and guilt ridden at the same time. Eventually, we had to write the crash off to an excess of familiarity. I would have let the wave go, had it been anyone but Brett perched in the spot he was at. Brett admitted he would have though twice about dropping in, had it been anyone but me looking twards him. We both learned that the best thing to do when heading towards another surfer on the same wave is to turn towards shore. If both of us had made quick turns towards the sand, we would have been riding next to each other in the foam, rather than slamming into each other on the open wave face.
Most surfers I know do their own repair work for small and medium sized repair jobs. Surf shops sell a variety of surfboard repair kits which generally include fiberglass cloth, polyester resin, hardening catalyst, a few mixing supplies, and sandpaper. There are some products which, for very minor bruises, come in a squeeze tube and offer cure times of less than an hour when exposed to the UV rays of the sun. For heavier damage, a trip to the hardware store is often required for sheets of sandpaper of various roughness, rubber gloves, and filler material.
Filler material for large dings is an area that I've had to experiment with, as it is not included in any of the commercially available patch kits. With varying degrees of success, I've used sealing foam, drywall plaster compound, multiple layers of resin thickened by flour or corn starch, and even flour and water paste. On his lunch break, the day of our crash, Brett made a wonderful discovered in the paint isle of a large hardware retailer. It was an epoxy putty stick, approximately one half in in diameter, consisting of resin putty wrapped with a thin layer of catalyst putty. The stick could be mashed together to mix the catalyst and the resin, then pressed into the repair area. The mixed putty cured to forms a solid which could then be sanded and covered with a final coat of fiberglass and resin.
For the surfer who doesn't have the inkling of doing his or her own repair work, there are professional repair outlets. For major jobs, local surf shops or friendly surfers can refer surfboard repair specialist who will do the job for a fee. Piecemeal surfboard repair, however, is not the type of lucrative business which draws a competitive field of highly skilled and reliable technicians. The market is a little more underground, and consists of an interesting group of characters.
My brother Kevin once needed a fin repaired in for his longboard in Hawaii. He enlisted the services of a local methamphetamine addict, known for his fine surfboard repair work and completely unpredictable schedule. “I paid him up front.” my brother recalled. “So, by the next day, I'm sure he'd already spent the money.” After several inquiries, Kevin finally got his board back. He showed me the fin. “Pretty nice looking job, though, eh?”
I used to know the secret location of one such fiberglass repair man locally. It was a small apartment in a run down housing complex, just a few quick turns away from Beach Boulevard, near Little Saigon, an area of Orange County boasting the second largest population of Vietnamese people in the world.
I met the repairman through Paul, a friend who took me along while taking a surfboard in for repair a nasty wound to the tail section.
“I'll introduce you to this guy.” Paul had told me. “And then you'll know where to find him if you ever need him.”
If one knew where to find this repairman, one could request his services. His prices and time estimates were subject to wide variations based on the prospective customers needs, connections, and religious affiliation (he was a avid Christian fundamentalist, who gave preferential treatment to fellow Christians) and any planed that he might have. The repairman had no marketing material whatsoever. He told us that he had some business cards, but never showed us one. Paul had the phone number written in a matchbook. I made it a mental note to always remember where the apartment was, just in case.
The apartment was littered with dozens of surfboards in various stages of disrepair. Two steel posts had been added to a late 1970s surfboard, which served as a bench on the front porch. In addition to repair work for surfers, the repairman did a full trade in buying, repairing and selling used surf boards. On most summer weekends, his camper full of used boards would be parked in the lot of a local strip mall on Beach Boulevard near the Westminister courthouse, where several merchants had combined to set up an open air market of rugs, home decorations, and used surfboards.
The name of this retail and repair business, as far as I know, was “the guy with the camper on Beach Boulevard”.
Last summer, I referred a coworker to the location for a used board, and received a report that the operation was no longer there. I conducted some research in an effort to determine what had happened to the business. “Brett.” I asked. “What ever happened to the guy with the camper on Beach Boulevard?” Unfortunately, my research produced no viable results.
More Later
-Travis
copyright 2004 by Travis R. English
posted by travinator @ 4:07 PM
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