The Donald Takayama Experience

So let's get this straight right now: nearly 20 years ago while struggling to master even the most plebeian nuances of the potato chip thruster, I stumbled onto something that changed my surfing life (second colon) (:) the longboard.  In a dazzlingly quick introduction to a varietal succession of shapes and epochal designs, my heart found a place among, what was then, a perch reserved only for the walri (or walruses as the linguistic case may be.) And for years I shunned much that were under nine feet.  Sure, every now and then I'd venture to the eight foot gun, especially if it were of the 70s or 80s basement garage variety. And yes, sometimes I'd jump on some kind of bizarro twin fin fish pig nub bucket pail.  But for the most part, the longer the better.  Usually the flatter the better.  The older the better. Or simply the cruddier the better. But lately, always it is with the lately around here, lately I've been thinking of going shorter.  So when Coffee Cup called with the opportunity for just such a venture, and a venture shaped by the hands of D. Takayama no less, I jumped. I've only surfed it now a handful of times, fiddling with the fin placement in different waves sizes and qualities.  One thing I'll say (or make that two):  first, the thing is a magic board that works as well as it looks and it looks really really good, and two, make sure on that midsummer 90˚ day you've re-waxed the thing with some stiff summery peraffin. It's not so much the back foot slipping off with astonishing consistency as it is the wax that gets stuck in the leg hairs.