In the early 1960s, most every surfer patched their own dings. It wasn’t always pretty, and it was nearly always messy, but if you didn’t do it, who would?
In a time before solar drying resin in a tube, the process was an involved one requiring a can of laminating resin, a tube of catalyst, acetone, masking tape, X-Acto knife, razor blade, various grades of sandpaper, squeegee, paintbrush, disposable gloves, disposable bucket, a foot or so of fiberglass cloth and, if the ding was bad enough, a block of polyurethane foam.
There were those among us who were so good at patching dings, you could never tell that their stick had been damaged. I was not one of them.
Living inland, there were no surf shops nearby and gathering materials was a ritual involving a long walk to the hobby shop or the hardware store. When the foam on the board in question was sufficiently dry, all excessive glass was cut away. The surrounding area was then sanded and masked off.
Once fiberglass cloth was cut in the shape of the fractured region, resin and catalyst were mixed. That was the tricky part. Too little catalyst and a board does not dry. Too much catalyst and you can burn down your garage. You had to work fast because catalyzed resin can go off before you’re ready to slap it onto the dinged area.
I know this sounds like a big headache and it is. That’s why nobody can be blamed for paying one of the excellent craftsmen in our region to bring their favorite possessions back to life.
If patching a perfect ding is an art, surfboard restoration is more so. These craftsmen are so skilled that they can make a board look better than new.
I recently came across a surfboard so stunningly beautiful that I am forced to comment on it. It can be seen at “La Jolla Surf,” an exhibit curated by surf historian and ace photographer John Durant for the La Jolla Historical Society. (The show runs through May 25, and I strongly suggest you check it out, if you have not already done so.)
Along with the board Bob Simmons was riding before he drowned at Windansea in 1954, the Caster serves as the centerpiece of the exhibit and is a showstopper, at least for me. This board belonged to one of Windansea’s favorite sons, Chris O’Rourke, and was shaped by one of the best board builders of all time, Bill Caster. What frames its fearful symmetry?
Beneath Chris’s talented feet, this board traveled places most of us can’t dream of. Its fine curves are made to run through water at high speed. It is a coiled spring waiting to be released by just the right amount of pressure.
What can now be viewed as one of San Diego surfing’s most cherished relics had been dinged, yellowed, delaminated, abandoned like a Dickens character after suffering years of neglect.
Local surfer Bob Merson took pity on this orphaned hunk of brittle foam and brought it back to something covetingly beautiful. Merson, who does not restore surfboards for a living, is nonetheless a master of the craft. While O’Rourke’s board is proof of Bob’s skill and dedication, there are many other restorations that say far more about his art than his humble words ever could.
To learn more about surfboard restoration and Bob Merson’s journey in reanimating the craft we love, please check out his book, “Never Board, Fiberglass Resurrection,” by visiting https://www.blurb.com/b/11086976-never-board
