Today I’m writing with weary arms and a surfed-out mind, so apologies if I’m nonsensical. The reason being: I surfed a new board today, a lot. Well newish.. And kind of a lot. But I’ll get to that in just a sec. Lately, I’ve been consuming the surf marketing machine — chewing it up and digesting its toxic messages, which in turn results in frustrating sessions on boards that are too small for my feeble abilities.
What do I mean by this? Well, day after day we are blasted (while on the toilet, working out, working, doing the dishes, dinner dates, etc.) with content of far superior surfers, surfing far superior waves. We look at the boards they’re riding, and it looks easy and we think, well, we think we can surf those boards too. I get in my truck, with my 5′ 8″ thruster, small and skatey, and drive to the beach. Welling with surf anxiety, ready to pop like a Chinese spy balloon; ready to shred, release the fins, and stick it to the man, only to find the waves about town are small, mushy and wind-blown. A critical physical and mental blow. It hurts so bad. But I usually paddle out anyway and find myself slapping the water and screaming like I just ingested an amphetamine. Barking like a dog in the lineup will clear the space in minutes — try at your own risk.
The reason we surf these boards (or at least the reason I do) is because that seems to be the coolest interpretation of the sport at the moment. That’s what the industry prescribed, that’s what the marketing machine is telling you. After many sleepless nights, and a couple of booze-fueled sob sessions, I realized that the answer’s been there all along. So I went back in the archives and I took notes from my own article: The Best Surfboard Buying Guide on the Internet. I purchased a FishBeard. A beautiful design that was inspired by a traditional fish but with more modern high-performance alterations. This board is 5′ 10″ x 19 7/8 x 2 9/16 and is probably the fastest board I’ve ever stepped these heavy feet upon. I have a need for speed (can’t do much else on a wave, so why not go fast).
This new board, with retro, fluorescent logos, put me on a the Fish Diet. I just made that term up, but as soon as I bought it, I ate, slept and lived fish-style surfing content for days. I wanted to learn a little bit more about how this design came to be and why everyone is not riding a fish!
The fish in essence was born out of rebellion. From thinking outside of the narrow parameters cemented by the industry. The fish, in essence, was surfing. Steve Lis, the knee-boarding pioneer of the shape from San Diego, wanted to create something that would shield his swim fins from dragging in the water while also having less foam in the tail. Hence, the two pins at the end of a swallow. The boards of this era (1967) were long, bulky gliders that really only allowed for trimming and simple maneuvers. This new fish design, like a pencil to paper, opened up an unthinkable realm of creativity. The design allowed surfers to fit in parts of the wave that were, at the time, unridden, and draw lines that were out of the ordinary. The 2016 film, Fish, the Documentary, chronicles the journey of a design that broke industry shackles and unleashed freedom on a wave for all.
It makes you think that history really does repeat itself, that rebelion and innovation happen and give birth to magical boards, but then that becomes the new norm. Going against the grain keeps it interesting and surfing alternative crafts reinvigorates the core purpose of being out in the ocean.
Surfing the FishBeard, although because of its high-performance qualities its in a way similar to substituting cigarettes for nicotine pouches (I couldn’t quit cold turkey), reminded me that that there are many ways of interpreting wave riding.
— Barney Beadette