Tom Curren on the Finless Movement

Tom Curren, three-time World Champ, style master, always thoughtful and insightful.
Courtesy of SURFER

Don't Be Fooled By the Name, Firewire's Creeper Looks Really Fun

It seems like a match made in heaven. Firewire and Rob Machado have teamed up to create a new surfboard, The Creeper. While the name may conjure up some negative imagery, the design looks fantastic for those surfers that don't feel the need to pretend they're Mick Fanning on a daily basis. The Creeper has an old-school look to it in every way, from the woody appearance down to the dimensions and specs.

The Creeper looks like it should be named The Cruiser, and it definitely has the feel of a Rob-inspired board. Machado's effortless style endeared him to many a surfing fan when he was on the Pro Tour in the '90s, and he remains one of the most popular free surfers on the planet. He's a personal favorite of mine, perhaps somewhat due to Encinitas bias, but there is no denying that the guy oozes surf style in and out of the water. As for Firewire, I've had a Baked Potato for a few years, and it's probably my favorite board in my small quiver. Last year it accompanied me on a three-month trip to Costa Rica, and I couldn't have been happier with my choice to bring it, even when the swell picked up. The Creeper certainly looks different than the Baked Potato, especially in the tail, but it appears decisively casual in every way. Plus, with the TimberTek design it's a bit better for the environment than your average stick. Alexander Haro has a nice, little piece on The Creeper over at The Inertia, and I'd say it's worth a read.

Follow Morgan, founder of Go Left, on Twitter @GoLeftSurf 

Props to Firewire and Hansen's

Last week I found that the deck of my Firewire Baked Potato had a crack in it. This discovery was a bit of a shocker considering that I had surfed it in two-foot surf the day before and couldn't recall a single wipeout of consequence. After I got over the initial shock, I took the board down to the shop from which I ordered it, Hansen's in Encinitas. The guys in the boardroom said that they hadn't ever seen a crack in a board like that before, but chalked it up to the technograin/timbertek material. They said that the damage might have been due to a structural problem in the board, as the crack had occurred right at the seam of two pieces of wood. Now hopeful instead of crushed, I left my favorite stick with the boys down there to wait for their call.

A few days later I got the news that Firewire would be replacing the board free of cost. For a stick that ran me more than $700, that was obviously a big deal, but it was even more so because of how much I love riding the thing. The Baked Potato is the perfect summer board for Southern California, when you see a lot of two-foot days. It catches waves easier than any non-longboard I've ever ridden, and is one of the smoothest rides you can experience on a shortboard. It's wide and thick, and as a 6'2", 180-pound guy I ride a 5'7"; the thing floats me no problem. I mostly ride it as a quad, but it has a five-fine setup, so you can also ride it was a twin, a thruster or a quad with a little nub. I've ridden it in up to four-foot surf, maybe even a few five-foot waves, and it holds up surprisingly well, though I'd still opt for a traditional thruster for a big winter swell. The Baked Potato turns on a dime, though, is crazy fast down the line and rips apart small waves that otherwise seem unrippable. I couldn't be happier with it.

So a big thanks to Firewire and Hansen's.

Peanut Butter: A Short About a Surfboard

Leah Dawson is a surfer, media creator, live camera operator and self-described positive living enthusiast. She created a little short called "Peanut Butter," in which the main character and "narrator" is a surfboard named, you guessed it, Peanut Butter. Very creative, very fun. If anyone can understand the love of a surfboard, it's me.

The Smell of a Dead Fish

Something felt off as I took off on that left. It wasn't the swell, a fun though unspectacular southwest that had been spitting out two and three-foot lefties for me all morning. It wasn't the weather, high 60s without a cloud daring to blemish the huge expanse of blue sky above. It wasn't the water, clear as can be and finally starting to warm after a long, chilly winter season. But something was certainly off, and as I finished my bottom turn and tried to drive up toward the lip I knew. I knew it was over. I surfed the wave, managing a pair of meager turns that lacked any of my typical exuberance.

As I kicked out, I felt the urge to just paddle back out into the lineup; I didn't want to look. Knowing I had to, I slunk into the water, allowing my head to slowly submerge as if my beloved Pacific would cleanse me of the dread that had seeped into my bones as it had washed away countless troubles before. This time the feeling remained. As my head broke the surface, water ran into my eyes and I did nothing to wipe it away. I did not want to see what I was about to see. With a deep breath I flipped my cherished 6'0” twin fin fish over and surveyed the situation. It was then that the nightmare became a reality, as my eyes set on the massive indent in that gorgeous blue epoxy, crude fissures outlining the section of the stick that must have taken the reef in a seemingly innocuous wipeout one wave prior. This was no ding, not something that a little resin could take care of, nor a trip to the surf shop could remedy. This was a kill shot.

My heart sank; the session was over, but it was more than that. It was the end of an era, a four-year love affair that saw me ride that fish whether it was two feet and mushy or six feet and hollow; I didn't care. I gave away my thrusters, content to live aboard my smooth machine for what would be an eternity as far as I was concerned. I needed no quiver; I needed no fancy fin setups or hybrids. My fish took to the ocean like a shortfin mako, sleek and swift, racing down the line just in time to get to that closeout section for one last thrash.

The wave that took my fish away I can barely recall; it's the next one that's burned into my brain, the one where I felt the powerlessness of my vessel; it's etched in my memory as clear as some of my most treasured rides. I'll miss that fish forever. It was more than just a surfboard; it was a part of my life, a part of me. Whether it's weaving in and out of crowds of summer waders or duck-diving that first wave of a frigid February dawn patrol session, I'll have the fondest of memories of my friend. But it's absence will haunt me for a while; the void is palpable and the what-ifs unbearable. What could have I done differently? What if I hadn't paddled for that wave? How did it happen on such a small day? I'll never know, but there is one thing I am sure of; this time there are no other fish in the sea.