Mike Doyle Celebration of Life Tribute. By: Annie Doyle and Jamie McCafferty
]]>It was a beautiful day. No wind, a fresh dusting and beautiful carving conditions. Mike says “stay a bit behind me and follow my tracks”. For about 30 seconds I was on his tail mirroring his lines. But quickly I started to fall behind. Wanting to impress Mike as well as pump up my own pride, I started to push harder. And for a brief moment I was catching up. But then it all went to shit. Mike was laying down these deep carves transitioning from edge to edge. He was on his heelside, close to the edge of the run going probably 45-50 MPH. The drop off was 25-30 feet. From the run all you could see was the tops of trees. I was behind about 10 yards and tried to follow his carve but found out very quickly that I was going too fast and the turn wasn’t going to happen. I straight lined off the edge like I was shot out of a cannon. Sailing through the air all I could think of was I hope I don’t hit a tree and what I was going to tell my wife.
Thank the good lord I landed in about 5 feet of powder. It was a small patch surrounded by trees. It took a couple of minutes to regain my senses and realized I was stuck. I landed head first like a fucking javelin in 5 feet of powder with my legs extended upwards and my feet still in the bindings. The onset of panic was quick. Being claustrophobic, I’m starting to freak. Just about then my knight in shining armor arrives. I feel Mike digging with his board around my legs. He assures me everything is okay and asks if I’m hurt. Other than my pride, I let him know I’m good. On the way back up the hillside to the run Mike says “you need to bend your knees more, turn your shoulders, keep your hands in front of you and look where you want to go and not directly in front of you”. With my tail between my legs I reply “Next time for sure”.
Thanks Mike,for looking out for me that day as well as many other days. You are an amazing brother in law, uncle and friend.
Love you- DC, Nanc & Zack
#doylesurfboards #livetosurf #surftolive #corduroy #lifeguardmike
]]>Meeting Mike Doyle has been life changing for the Tovey family!
It all began about 10 years ago. I was surfing at Old Man’s and happened to hear a surfer talking to her friend in the line up. That surfer was Annie and she was talking about how excited she was about her husband Mike getting back into kitesurfing. At that time I was just getting into kitesurfing and was thinking about selling my Casa because it was such a long drive to our favorite kiting spot. I paddled over to Annie and asked if she could introduce me to Mike. Wow, am I thankful she said yes!
Mike and I had a ton of things in common from the day that I met him. Actually, having Mike as a great friend has been life changing for the Tovey family. Mike instantly introduced me to many of his friends in area, they're just super cool ,down to earth people. I have enjoyed so many epic kiting and surfing sessions with Mike and friends over the years that have created the most amazing memories for my family and I. Money can’t even buy these great times and memories!
I will never forget the first time my kids met Mike and Annie at their Casa. They were so impressed about how super cool Mike is and just liked him from the first meeting! He is a very dynamic person and makes quite an impression on people. I remember when some of my friends from Jacksonville that are surfers found out Mike was coming over for dinner they were like kids in a candy store all trying to talk to the surf legend! My kids and Karen started checking out some of Mike’s art work and would not stop talking about the beautiful, vibrant colors and gorgeous scenery of Cabo he painted. The family asked me to ask Mike if he could paint some beautiful paintings for our home in Cabo and also in Florida. These pictures bring our family much happiness and help us remember all the fun times with family and friends in Cabo. Jenna even brought her paintings to college with her to have a piece of Cabo with her at Florida State University.
I have so many memories of Mike calling every morning to give me the surf and wind report before I would head out! I love Mike’s hilarious stories and his amazing laugh that is so contagious. He has amazing energy and charisma and he elevates everyone’s mood when he is around. Karen always says how handsome he is and how he has the most beautiful, strikingly blue eyes she has ever seen! We both have appreciated how Mike and Annie have always given of their time to help our kids with surfing and kiteboarding advice. We have always been impressed with how they always stop to enjoy and take in the beauty of the ocean and Cabo and have never taken it for granted. My friendship with Mike has been a true blessing to me! I thank you Mike for all the fun times and memories we have made together. I am so thankful that I met Annie that day in the line up! We love you both!
Love,
Kirk Tovey
#doylesurfboards #livetosurf #surftolive #morningglass #doyle100mphhat
Grubby was a great pet for you and I felt so honored, when you had to be gone for a long time, that you asked me to take care of her while I was at UCSB. I had a lot of fun with her on the beaches in Carpinteria. Thank you for that special time and trusting me with your “daughter”.
We rode Hansen surfboards together and even shaped in the same room for a short time. You got me into one of the best sandbar days ever at Pupakea during Christmas in 1964. I remember surfing for six hours straight.
You also took me on a road trip to one of the best days at K38 ½ in Mexico in my early teens. Well overhead and only about 8 of us in the lineup the whole day. Thank you for hauling around a gremmie!!!!!
Lastly, in another era, we did some great snowboarding together in Aspen and at Powder Mountain. A great story from Powder Mountain was when one of my buddies, Ron LaClergue was riding up the Timberline lift with an older ski patrolman. Ron had stopped snowboarding and had gone back to skiing at this time but as he rode the chair twice with the aging patrolman, as they watched four brightly outfitted carvers coming down the Sidewinder run right under the chair. The patrolman bellowed to Ron in disgust that these “kids” were tearing up and destroying the run. That they had no experience, no respect for the mountain or their elders.
Ron leaned over to the guy and stated as we started down the run carving beautiful 10+ ribbon turns that first one in red was 65 (Moon), the second one in black was 63 (Chris Colgate), the third one in blue was 72 (Mike) and the last little one in red --” she” was only 50 (Annie). The patrolman couldn’t say anything and got off the lift and left the scene. He couldn’t handle the humiliation.
Well, I hope this puts a smile on your face and gives you a giggle.
Aloha,
Dickie Moon
My family moved to Cocoa Beach Florida in 1959. It wasn’t until 1962 that I surfed on a polyfoam-surfboard. It was the spring of 1962 PAFB Cocoa Beach Fla., the day my universe changed. I got on the cerebral meat wagon for school & was summoned by my friends to the back of the bus - the highest courtroom in my world. My friend Bobby says "... things are going to be different for you this day forward. We're going to be surfers. No more Brylcreem, top buttons & brown shoes for you buddy boy. Drop by my house after school, Campbell Surfboards is delivering my new board. You with us? Cuz if you're not, you'll be branded a Hodad & an outcast." Took me about 2 seconds to cave to the peer pressure. After school Bobby & I waited in his front yard. A little later a Woodie pulled up and a man (probably 20) got out & pulled Bobby's board from the back. Carrying it to the porch he said, "I'm going to spend a few minutes showing you how to take care of your new board." He opened a box of Gulf paraffin canning wax and started to show us the technique of waxing the board. There was this over whelming sweet fragrance of still curing resin that by today's standards was getting me stoned. It must have been the fumes because I was mesmerized by the demonstrations and the colorful design of the board. I knew right then & there that I was going to be surfing my whole life. I found out much later that Doug Haut had shaped the board.
At first I had to borrow a board from a girl in my class. She learned quick what I was really interested in and dumped me. After bagging groceries, mowing lawns, and a paper route I was able to buy my first board, an O’Hare from Cocoa Beach. My father would not loan me money because “surfers were bums”. Then Murph the Surf stole the Star of India gem and I almost had to sell my board & quit surfing. My dad was not impressed. Thank God my Mom talked him out of it.
I consumed surfing. Surf media was still fairly grass roots and I saw a few surf movies in a rec hall in Cocoa Beach. That’s when I noticed this lanky surfer named Mike Doyle. I liked Mike’s style and would try to imitate him albeit I was a goofy foot. Unfortunately, the only thing we had in common was we were both lanky with curly hair. Later in 1966 one of my friends showed up at the beach with a Hanson Mike Doyle Model. I rode it for a few days & was impressed. Unfortunately, I believe he bought it at Ron Jons surf shop which was a serious “No No” for the locals.
I would see Mike in the movies & the mags for years. What a life! When the book “Morning Glass” came out I was blown away at everything he had done up to that point in his life. I have given that book to several friends including a pro windsurfer girl Sarah Hauser with similar life situations. She found it inspirational. I still reread that book from time to time opining that that was the life I wanted to live.
Then there is Jeff King. Every time I would see Jeff, he would always have a few “Him & Doyle” stories from Cabo. So many I wondered if they were true. I finally told him how much I’d enjoy meeting Mike and a year later this beautiful girl walks up behind me while I was shooting photos and says “my husband Mike would like to meet you. I had no idea it was Mike Doyle. When I walked into their camp later, on the point at PSC and I almost fell over. Holy Crap it was Mike Doyle! That was truly a magic moment for me. Thanks, Mike, for fulfilling a lifelong dream. I always enjoy seeing you and Annie when you all visit PSC. I still say Mike is the luckiest S.O.B on the planet for snagging Annie.
So, thanks for being an inspiration to me for over 50 years. Thanks for writing “Morning Glass”. You have left an indelible positive mark in the annals of surfing history. Long may you run.
Clark
Solo Sport Adventures
My son Larry, who stayed in California after graduating from USC, was getting serious with his new girlfriend, so he was invited to her parents' house to meet them for dinner. He was nervous about the meeting wanting to make a good impression.
After introductions and pleasantries, they move to the dinner table. Sometime during their conversation, her father says, “So, I hear you are a surfer”, (this was said in a pleasant and respectful way, which was never my experience when meeting parents).
"Yes, my father had us at the beach every summer and introduced us to surfing when we were growing up”.
“You know I’m a surfer, I grew up in Leucadia and surfed all the time. My 9'-6" Takayama is upstairs in our bedroom,” he says, as his wife raises her eyebrows at the exposer. “In fact, one day I surfed with Mike Doyle. I didn’t really know him, but he also lived in Leucadia back then and one day when I was out he paddled out and surfed with us", he beamed.
My son replies, very matter of factly, “Yeah, my dad is probably having dinner with him now.”
After dinner, my now daughter-in-law says to Larry, “How could you make up that BS story about your dad when you know that my father was being very proud of the fact that he got to surf with his hero?”
My son defensively replies, "Its all true, honest. My dad and Mike are friends. He is staying down with Mike in Cabo right now, and they were probably having dinner.”
"Yeah right.”
My son and his bride-to-be retell the story the next time we see them, both with equal bits of laughter and anger in their telling.
“Exactly when was that dinner?” They give me the date. I think a minute and tell them both, “Yeah, not only was I with Mike, but Joey and Yana were also staying at the house then and that particular night Garth Murphy had us over to his house for dinner.”
They both reply simultaneously, "Yeah right.”
Mike, I don’t think you’ll ever know how many people you’ve touched and inspired. It’s a privilege to call you a friend.
Love you both,
Larry & Elaine Castruita
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Dear Mike,
I want to let you know how grateful I am to you, for always treating me with kindness and friendliness, ever since I was a kid. I have always thought of you as a beloved big brother, who I could count on, and who I looked up to and admired. It was probably 1957 when you first came to visit Kemp at our family home in Pacific Palisades. I was ten and you and Kemp were about 17 and surf-stoked beyond all sensibility! You guys had spent the day surfing fun waves at Malibu and you came home with Kemp to spend the night. I was fascinated to hear you and Kemp talk about all the bitchin' rides you had that day. I can picture your smiling face and sparkling eyes, filled with surf stoke, your tan chiseled build, and your hair, bleach out on top from the sun. And of course, you were wearing your cool homemade Tiki God necklace. You have always been so artistic and great with your hands. Your bright, enthusiastic, and generous spirit made a big impression on me that day in '57. To this day, my first encounter with you shines bright in my memory.
When I think of you, Mike, so many fond and colorful memories flood my mind....I remember when you were a Santa Monica Lifeguard, stationed in the tower in front of Chris Wilson's family beach mansion. All my gremmie friends and I loved to huddle around and listen to you tell surf stories. Sometimes you'd go out surfing in front of your tower on your big board and show us how it was done. You were always generous about giving us surfing tips! I remember Chris Wilson raving about how you took him surfing at the Ventura Overhead on a big day and showed him how to negotiate the humongous deep-peak take off there. I remember the early San Onofre days and you tandem surfing with Linda Merrill, and how, in the early sixties, you and Corky Carroll entered and won every surfing contest that popped up on the coast.
My memories of you, during the sweet summer of 1965, down in Encinitas, are especially vivid. Don Hansen gave me a job patching surfboards. So, I came down from the Pacific Palisades and worked at his old shop on the coast highway, across the street from Cardiff. Malcolm McCassy let me camp out in my '58 VW bus, in front of his house on D street, and every morning his young wife would pack me a brown-bag lunch and I was off to work at Hansen's. Malcolm was the salesman there. Adjacent to Don's showroom was an old wooden building that served as a factory for building surfboards. I remember you had your shaping room there that summer and you were busy sculpting Hansen "Mike Doyle Model" surfboards. Those boards were a big seller for Hansen! I loved my Mike Doyle Model! It was a great board. I wish I still had it.
Next door to your shaping room I had my little saw horses set up, surrounded by sticky cans of resin, and a pile of broken boards that needed to be patched. "Diamond" Don would trudge over, puffing on a big cigar, and make sure I was working hard. His surfboard business was really starting to take off that summer. Sometime I'd help Eric Murphy and Gary Brummette "rub out" rails of new surfboards and box them up, to be shipped to the East Coast. The highlight of my day was taking a lunch break and eating my brown-bag lunch, while listening to you and Ken Adler talk surfing. I remember Ken had shaping room there, too. He was a another big admirer of yours. Sometimes, after work, we'd all go out at Cardiff or the Proving Grounds. Surfing with you was always a inspiration. I remember you had a house nearby in Encinitas. I think your brother Danny was staying there, too. It was a real treat, the evenings you invited me to come over and hang out with you guys at your house. It was a great summer and a special time to be a surfer. One day you took me for a ride on the back of your motorcycle. The 5 Freeway was just being built then and not yet open to the public. I remember racing down it full speed on the back of your bike. Another time, that summer we went horseback riding, with those cute sisters. They were local girls, but I can't remember their names right now. Maybe it was Pam Boltler and her sister? Anyway, I do remember, as always, we had lots of laughs. You have a great sense of humor!
I feel like I'm just scratching the surface, Mike, but I think that's enough out of me for now.
I want to send you lots of love, peace and aloha, my friend. You are always in my thoughts and in my prayers.
You're the greatest!
Love you, brother!
Denny Aaberg
Photos: Jim Ganzer, ?, John Severson, Wilkins
From Don Hansen:
Rusty help! I was trying to remember the details of the trip that I sent you and Mike Doyle and Garth Murphy onto the East Coast I believe it was a promotional trip for surf research and I bought a brand new Ford Mustang for you guys to take on the trip? As I recall somewhere on the way to the East Coast you guys had some kind of a wreck and screwed up the car up?
Garth stepped up:
So here is the real story in bullet points. I will write it out in full for a soon-coming Netflix screenplay..
Don is correct only in that the trip took place and the Mustang was pink. Year summer of 65 I think.
Why Diamond Don bought a NEW Pink Mustang is beyond me. Not the best board carrying vehicle nor Hanson Surfboards billboard, but great for picking up girls.
The trip was a promotion for Hanson Surfboards' east coast summer season. (Surf Research was the result of that trip's hi-jinx and insights into the markets for surfing equipment.) Rusty was US Champion and Doyle Duke Champ so Don decided they should do a celebrity summer tour of all his East Coast dealerships to promote his new models. I was the shop salesman assigned to chaperone the older and more rambunctious stars. Rusty was on the University of the Seven Seas luxury liner doing a round the world sex and social studies cruise that finished in New York. Doyle was too big a star to ask to drive the Mustang across the continent, so he flew in to meet us. Don grudgingly provided me with a credit card that only I could sign on and entrusted me and Mike Devorak with the 4 day and night Mustang ride to the Manhattan docks. Devorak would be copilot and take the bus home once we hit NY.
The cross-country trip: I had never had a credit card or driven a new car so felt the burden of responsibility from the outset. Neither of us had ever been west of Julian. We ceremoniously launched one afternoon from the shop with Don waving hopefully and me driving the pink shiny new ride with racks and two boards strapped on.
At the Arizona border we changed seats because I was tired. It was a pitch-black night and I climbed in back and dozed off. Awoke to a crash and scream from Devorak as we rear-ended a much larger car. My co-pilot had fallen asleep at the wheel and run up on another night crawler speeding in the tunnel of dark desert. I was only worried about the Mustang. Not a thought for the other driver. Mustang looked good but for paint on the bumper. Struck vehicle had a small dent on trunk. Driver exited holding his neck and rubbed it while we examined the cars in our headlights. MY panic then switched to visions of cops and whiplash and lawsuits and insurance.
At the last-minute, before we took off, Don had felt guilty that we had no cash and given me two one-hundred dollar bills "just in case." I carefully peeled one off and handed it to the injured party, said I'm sorry this should cover it, we really have to go, on our way to New York. Need to meet a ship. Sorry sir. Good luck.
I jumped behind the wheel, Devorak slipped into shotgun and we peeled out, leaving a sore neck a dinged car and half of our cash budget by the side of the road. I gave D the silent treatment and thenceforth did all the driving, D's only contribution was to make sure I stayed awake. Fueled by fear and caffeine we did not stop until New York.
New York navigation was a nightmare of stress for the country bumpkins, but with a paper map I managed to get to the Greyhound bus station, seaport dock and the airport, to deposit D and pick up Rusty and Mike all in one day, without hitting any cars, buildings or pedestrians. We raced out to Long Island, arriving in the dark to stay our first night back east at the home of a dealer, Ron Jon himself.
So much for the planned romantic route 66 crossing of the continent in a pink Mustang. I do not remember a single state but Arizona, a single stop for food or gas, or any wonder of the world river, purple mountains majesty or fruited plains. Just black top and that mug of milky coffee with four cubes of white sugar.
The tour itself is a road movie so I will save it for the Netflix special, but Rusty got off the boat as a worldly, global experienced and multi-cultural bon vivant. A know it all who treated Mike and me like lowly surf dogs. Mike was trying to sell his latest and worst ever invention, the Mama Doyle hat, a complete failure that made us look like circus clowns and which I refused to wear. The official Doyle hat photo features me with hat in hand and closed eyes, making myself invisible in some Don Juan peyote dream lesson attempt, and Mike and Rusty looking like, well, embare-assed clowns. I still have it somewhere.
Mike was in love with Jamie Robinson and pining to be with her. Rusty had just laid a ship-full of women on a worldwide rampage. Full of confidence he hound-hunted for fair game on land. My girlfriend had just married her high school boyfriend. I was broken hearted and plotting to kidnap her and have George Greenough drive us out to the Channel Islands and maroon us there together. We were a moral and mental mess and the surfing exhibitions were mostly in shit or no surf, the shop events poorly attended, leaving me especially feeling the guilty kook as I doled out Don's money..
My power over the stars was the credit card, which I cruelly wielded on a daily basis, including diet health control of their big appetites for booze and burgers. Uh huh!
We got good surf in New Jersey. Little offshore wind-swell rights, long rides parallel to the beach I could nose ride on. I met a girl at a party who assuaged my inferiority complex and broken heart as only a beautiful woman can. The highlight of my trip. Mike and I tortured Rusty by being overly gauche, bad mannered and insensitive to racial and social issues - to dampen his relentless world wise political correctness.
In Florida Mike bought a 22 pistol, semi-automatic that he and I took pleasure in shooting out the Mustang windows at signs and crows and anything under the bar of murder. At one point in west Florida Rusty, foreseeing carnage in every wild shot, (there was none) angrily demanded we stop, or he was getting out. I slammed on the brakes and he tumbled out screaming at us as we burned rubber west, heading for Texas. Eventually we tuned around, after recovering from a dangerous-driving laughing fit. When Rusty slowly got in the back seat, Mike punched it and swung the wheel wildly just as he felt Rusty's butt hit the seat. Rusty tried the silent scowl so I pulled out the 22 and fired a couple of quick shots out the window as a conversation opener/closer.
There was a plane strike so Mike and I could not fly home and we drove to Texas to get the nearest plane to LA.
Rusty went back alone to retrace our steps, going north from dealer to dealer, making sure to quitter-dis us at every stop and violate any of the women that had liked me. This I found out when my New Jersey lady friend came to CA to visit and she recounted Rusty's aggressive play on her giblets - which he claims was successful and she steadfastly denied. Lest we forget, those were the days when ships were made of wood, men were made of steel and women were, well they were great and did not complain much, so long as we supported their issues: the burning and discarding of bras, abortion and general women's liberation. Men were respected, before they started taking our jobs, took rape and molestation away from strangers in the woods and dark alleys, and discovered it in conjugal bedrooms, friendly drive-ins, fraternities and college dorms. The times they were a changin'!! Still are.
The pink Mustang? Mike and I turned it over to Rusty in perfect nick so he bears the responsibility for any destruction thereof.
On our return Mike married Jamie and I went to live with them in Del Mar back by the estuary. I stayed dumped and in the dumps. They took great care of me which I repaid by testifying in court at their divorce hearing, nervously recounting how Jamie had hit mike in the nose with a vicious swing of a snow ski. The truth.
In those days divorce was not easy, you needed to have a good reason to declare incompatibility. Husband beating worked and they both thanked me.
1966, Don, Mike, Rusty and I started Surf Research, as Don said, to give us something constructive to do. Bill Engler, John Dahl, Fred and Mary Ryan, and the Lienhardts, Kathy and Cindy were co-conspirators. We toed the line for three years, with Mike inventing surf products and surf culture like a mad scientist, creating a mountain of work for ourselves, stretching into the furthest future - which was scary.
We went our separate ways after the big swells of 69 - to Ocean Pacific for Don, Kauai for Rusty, Oregon for lumberjack Mike, and me and Bill to Australia. Four more Netflix episodes of incredible adventures.
We are all still effortlessly friends. Kind of brain-alive and happy to be so. The ageing bodies tag along but don't take frontal lobe orders as well as they did in the 60's. Please drink with those of us whom blindly devoted their lives to our despot of kings. It’s a great ride. Makes love feel real. There's a lot more to say but its nap time!
Hasta Pronto,
Garth
Rusty replied:
First of all, the 1967 Ford Mustang that Mike, Garth (Stork) and I were entrusted with was Bronze in colour, not pink. I took control after they flew back to California and proceeded back up the east coast (accident free). That particular summer (66) was a most successful surf sales safari for getting Hansen surfboards heaps of orders. And the association with Mike Doyle helped our Surf Research wax sales also. Mike was a born promoter, always awake and thinking creatively. Mike was also a ball to be with and a challenge too… We had sooooo much fun and laughs. At that time (mid to late sixties) Mike Doyle was featured in almost every surf movie there was. He was the very icon of what our surf tribe considered a pure waterman…He had been several times in the Catalina to Manhattan pier paddle race, a 32 miles marathon. We called him the Golden Eagle as his stance, overall carrying and style was so large, (6’3”) grand and regal. I was blessed to have so many special surf adventures with him. His dynamic spirit permeates our surf culture.
Rusty Miller
Byron Bay, Australia
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One day in Cabo Mike says to me, “You should go visit my mom the next time you’re in North County”. I had never met her and thought okay feeling honored that he was asking me. "I just think you guys will really get along," he said. (I think he may have known that someday I would be writing this story). I told him the next time I’m there I’ll email you so you can let her know I’m coming over.
A few months later I emailed Mike that I was going to be in North County. He wrote back telling me, “She’s looking forward to meeting you”. Feeling a bit uncomfortable I drove to her house in Fallbrook and knocked on the door. “Oh hi Larry, Mike’s told me all about you. Come on in.” I instantly felt at home. It was a wooden home with lots of antiques, nicknacks, and artwork. It felt warm and cozy. I was offered some tea and we sat and chatted for a while. She kept asking if I knew some of Mike’s old friends from the ’60s. Some I hadn’t met but had heard lots of stories about. She would tell me stories about dropping Mike off at Malibu on summer mornings and leaving him there for the day, later picking him up after work. She mostly talked about his contest years in the ’60s and could recall the names of all the competitors in all the heats of the day. Her mind was sharp and quick. She could tell you who Mike had beat in any given heat and how he placed in any given contest. She knew the people who ran the contests and most of the regulars who showed up to watch. Her memory for all those details and names was impressive. I wish I would have recorded her that day. She was a walking encyclopedia of ’60 surfing.
What impressed me the most was the love of a mother for her son, her only child. Her love for Mike then and now was evident. She raised Mike on her own and once she knew that Mike really loved surfing she supported him any way she could in his efforts to be at the beach, and with his competing. It seemed to me that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him when it came to surfing.
She gave me a tour of her house and the property. Inside were more of her paintings. At Mike's house in Cabo, I had seen some of her artwork including a large painting of an older Mexican lady wearing an apron while cooking tortillas in her kitchen. The painting really struck me and captured the essence in still life of a simple Mexican kitchen. Man, I loved that painting. It hung in the room I would stay in. I wanted to buy it from Mike but hesitated. Then one day I showed up and it was gone. Mike had sold it to someone who hadn't hesitated to buy it.
Momma Doyle then gave me the property tour. It was sizable. Outside the house was an area where Mike had cleared heavy brush for croquet, volleyball, and lawn games. A creek divided the lot with a bridge she said Mike had built and rebuilt over the small rivulet that would sometimes flood and wash away the previous bridge. On the other side was the tree house Mike writes about in his book Morning Glass. She had me climb up to have a look. Next to the tree house was a one-bedroom house Mike had built with a garage for shaping boards; the board racks were still there. Inside were some of Mike’s things, most surf related, including photos and a few surf trophies. She said Mike didn’t like keeping things and would throw the trophies in the trash. Giggling she said that she would go out and pull them out of the can and hide them for safekeeping. (This wasn’t the Inglewood house where Mike was raised but a house she had purchased later.)
A couple of hours later we said our goodbyes. I really enjoyed the visit and was glad that Mike had recommended it.
A few years later Mike was inducted into the Surfers’ Hall of Fame in Huntington Beach. He invited Elaine and I to come to the event knowing we would be in the area at the time. At the ceremony, I got to see Momma Doyle again. She, Mike’s aunt, and some other family members were also there. She was gleaming with pride the whole time knowing that Mike was being acknowledged and would gain some permanent recognition for his accomplishments in surfing.
That would be the last time I saw her. Not too long after that, she passed away. I was with Mike on the flight to Cabo when he carried her ashes down to be spread at her favorite beach on the cape.
A few years after my visit to Fallbrook and the induction, Mike and I were on a surf trip in mainland Mexico. Mike was working on a new chapter for the coffee table addition of his Morning Glass book. He would run ideas by me. I had told him he really needed to acknowledge his mother and all the things she had done for him in those early surf years. "Through her support and love she really made you who you are," I had said.
The following winter I arrived early in the morning at Joey Cabell’s home in Aspen. We were going snowboard carving. Mike was staying at Joey’s then having just gotten there from Cabo. The guys were still getting ready when I walked in. On the kitchen table was a copy of Mike’s new book. I went straight to the last chapter. In it, I saw a section on Momma Doyle and just smiled.
Larry Castruita
Vail Colorado 1/5/19
What can I say, Mike Doyle has always been on the forefront of innovations in the surf industry. First it was the invention of surf wax, Surf Research, with Fred Ryan and Garth Murphy. Then came the first soft surfboard the Doyle Soft. Then he and Bill Baine invented the single ski which eventually started the snowboard craze.
I first met Mike in the early seventies hippy era when he owned a home in Leucadia which had the coolest tree house in a big cyprus tree in his back yard. I was lucky enough to acquire a mid sixties Hansen Mike Doyle model in the late seventies when longboards were not in fashion and got to surf it at Cardiff and Swamis with my yellow labrador. Wish I still had that board. I posted a few shots of myself and my sweet dog Tootsie on his Doyle model below.
Only in the last few years have I been lucky enough to spend some quality time with Mike and Annie who were here on Kauai to surf and attend the Legends party at a friend of ours house on the north shore. We surfed and enjoyed the festivities. My only regret is that I haven't been able to spend more time with Mike through the years. He's a talented good kind soul who only wants to share his love for life with all of us.
Much Aloha to you Mike and Annie
Your friend Peter Sellas
I first heard about Mike in 1958 when some of my older beach friends were talking about surfing and his name came up with a kind of reverence that is associated with Tarzan or Hercules. I was 10 years old and I would become a surfer the following year. Surfing movies were still in their infant stages and Bud Browne was the man doing the lead work of capturing those early moments. That is when I got to see Mike Doyle in action. He was a handsome figure resembling Rodin's early Roman statues - tall and muscular with a head of curls and a strong roman nose. This man could do everything well. He pioneered small-wave hotdogging and ruled the massive steep faces of Waimea. He was a Tandem surfer without peer and a champion long-distance paddler and fantastic body surfer. Not only a waterman of the highest caliber, but a champion skier who was the man who invented the single ski and influenced the very first snow board designs. As I rose through the ranks of the surfing elite, I became friends with Mike and many of his friends, like Joey Cabell and Rusty Miller who, like Doyle, reserved that sacred hero space. I worked with Mike at Hansen surfboards in Cardiff in 1967 making resin fins from silicone rubber molds and getting to know this vibrant life-loving man whose attitude was always reflected by a positive smile and a friendly laugh, not to mention a human being in perpetual motion. Around this period of time, Garth Murphy and Mike opened up a little shop in Encinitas and started producing a new form of surfboard wax that would be the first of its kind called Wax Research. It would make the old paraffin wax bars obsolete and create a revolution that spawned a cottage industry.
In 2003, I was invited to Park City Utah by Ray Santa Maria, one of Mike's good friends to attend a snowboarding party that included Joey Cabell, Nat Young, Gerry Lopez, LJ Richards, Herbie Fletcher, Mickey Munoz, Barfoot, a snowboarding legend and a host of other talented skiers and boarders. It was atop a steep valley at 10,000 vertical feet in the Wascatch range that we heard the news of Micky Dora's passing. We all bowed our heads and prayed for one of our surfing brothers. As we raised our heads, a massive Golden Eagle swooped down into the valley and dipped its wings in a large flying circle and left. One of the guides said he had never seen an Eagle up there. Rare? Later that evening we would retire to a condo that housed all of us and we would party.
As I recollect, Mike Doyle was the last man standing. The next morning I joined Mike, Nat, and Joey to do some snowboard carving. They were all seasoned vets and they were there to teach me the basics. So, for three hours they patiently helped me along. I remember the sparkle in Doyle's eyes and that wide grin when I finally got it. An hour later I would take a nasty fall and separate both my achilles tendons. Ouch! But what fun we had! Being with all those guys is a lifetime memory. I want to take the opportunity to thank Mike for all he has done for me personally and the rest of the surfing and skiing world. Our job is done when we make this a better place than we found it, and Mr. Mike Doyle, you have done that and more!!!
All the best Bill Hamilton
]]>It’s nice to hear about stories from all of Mike’s good friends. I personally have had the opportunity to surf with Mike many times over the last 30 years in Baja California. I would like to share with all of you what made my experiences of surfing with Mike special. But first I must point out that Mike had a "little brother" named Jeff King and on most occasions when surfing with Mike, Jeff was also in the water.
Now I am not personally as strong a paddler and overall water man and surfer as those guys, but like most of us I have a true love for the ocean and I’ve spent many years racing sailboats, on power boats, fishing, surfing, kitesurfing, windsurfing and diving. Because I have spent so much time in the ocean in many different conditions, I have a huge respect for it.
My career over the last 40 years kept me from spending the kind of time required to become a serious waterman, but I have had the occasion to surf some special surfing spots at locations in the South Pacific and also in Hawaii. I confess that a lot of it was very intimidating for me. Surfing large waves and looking in at dry reefs and competing for waves with locals and a slew of guys that could out paddle me definitely raised the stress levels and the fear factor. Though surfing those exotic places was an adventure, my most cherished days were sharing waves with Mike and Jeff and my friends in Baja California.
Surfing with these guys Was so much fun and we experienced such great camaraderie. The comforting thing for me was when we were surfing places like Waimesa, Frailes, Lobos, Pastora, and Presidente Rivermouth, on what I considered really big days, I always knew that if something went wrong and I was laying on the bottom of the ocean that Mike or Jeff would be nearby to rescue me. Surfing those big days with Garth Murphy, the Wilson Brothers, and Mike and Jeff are memories I'll never forget. The greatest part about it was the legendary Mike Doyle cheering me on as I’m dropping in on a triple overhead wave out at Waimesa on my 9'6" big red Steve Clark gun. I mean really... how many people in life get to experience that.
There is one story in particular that I’ll never forget. Mike and Jeff were living on gringo hill and Cliff Wilson and I had homes at Palmilla. This was one of those days when there was a huge hurricane swell. We were all at the Mirador above "The Rock" along with a few hundred other people staring down at the ocean In amazement at how big the waves were and how many of them were coming in. We knew there was not a chance in the world of paddling straight out from there, so we loaded up our guns and drove to the Palmilla boat launch and prepared to paddle out there and then down a mile to Acapulquito and The Rock.
So off we went on about a 20-minute paddle down to “Old Mans”. And I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said the waves were big... they were huge. The other part of it was they were breaking way, way out there! Never before had any of us ever been as far out as we were on that day. The takeoff had moved out someplace in the middle of the ocean. It took us a little bit to figure out where the best takeoff zone was and as you can imagine it was constantly moving around. But I think on that day it was Mike that caught the first giant wave and it seemed like he was dropping forever as we looked on. He rode that wave for a long time and we lost sight of him but could hear all the cars on the lookout honking their horns and people cheering. On that day all four of us road some huge, beautiful waves with that great feeling of camaraderie....it was like we were a team! Looking back, I feel so fortunate to have experienced that day with my good friends and with my legendary surfing hero and friend Mike Doyle.
And one of the coolest things that came out of this day was when we were on the beach having a cold beer, Mike came up with a new name for Old Mans~ "Young Mans"!
So many great memories. Mike- you're the MAN!!!!
Love and friendship
Curt
In the past ten or so years, I have had the privilege of meeting Mike Doyle through my longtime friend, Annie—now Mike’s wife. Annie is an incredible surfer and athlete in her own right. She is at home in the ocean, whether surfing, riding a standup, or kite surfing. Annie was and is the perfect match for Mike Doyle, both in and out of the water. I met Mike while he was surfing with Annie. This happened many times at Tourmaline Surfing Park, if the waves were small, or over at P.B. Point and Hermos, if the waves were larger. When I first saw Mike with Annie, I didn’t have any idea who he was. But what he was, happened to be an older surfer that graced and surfed the waves effortlessly—a wonderful complement to Annie’s style as well. I remember paddling over to them at Tourmaline and was immediately struck by the color of Mike Doyle’s eyes. If you haven’t met him, his eyes are literally a blue that resembles turquoise. They really stand out in a face that touched the sun many, many times. When I met Mike, he gave me a very warm and friendly smile. I remember that I even got a compliment from him, when I surfed a wave well. I wish I could have framed those, Mike Doyle words from that day…
Among the many favorite times that I had the opportunity to share with Mike and Annie occurred on Mike’s Birthday. Mike is an accomplished ukulele player, unbeknownst to many. He can play many different genres and is very skilled. With this in mind, I thought about purchasing a book of ukulele songs for him. What kind of book of ukulele songs do you give to a Mike Doyle? What would you give him? I decided to give him a book of favorite surfing songs by, "The Beach Boys!" I was stoked, as this had to be the answer. On the early evening of his birthday, a few of us met at a local beer house that was having a ukulele play along. All of us that could play, strummed our ukes as a group. We played long and well, even more so as the draft beer helped with our strummin’ and our singing. When there was a break in the music, with great anticipation, I handed Mike my birthday present for him. He opened it slowly, while I watched with great anticipation, knowing that this was going to be the Golden Fleece of birthday presents. Mike opened the package and held the book in his hands, staring at it in utter disbelief. For me, I knew that I had scored perfection—a perfect score of 10. Mike, somewhat apologetically, handed the book back to me saying, “I can’t take this!” I was stunned, perplexed, and was at a loss for words. Annie, the ever- observant and sensitive wife read my face. Obviously, she felt the need to elaborate, and did. She said, paraphrasing and depending on my own recollection, “What Mike is trying to say is that he has developed a dislike for the, "Beach Boys." You see, they are not surfers. Instead, they have capitalized and taken from our culture to fund their own greed. Mike does not play Beach Boy songs on the radio and will not on his ukulele, too!’
Later that night with a smile on my face, I thought about the words that Annie had said and decided that she was right. I’m sure that if Mike reads this today, it will put a smile on his face, as well. Mike was true to the culture and the sport that night! It changed my opinion, that night too. So Mike Doyle, if I am ever lucky enough to attend another of your birthday parties, you can count on me to not bring anything from the, "Beach Boys," haha!
--007 (aka Mike Norman)
]]>As I grew older I heard the word “waterman” a lot when people mentioned the names of my hero’s, George Downing, Wally Froiseth, and John Kelly. Of course, Buffalo was always called a Waterman and during my final years of high school and shortly thereafter, Buff would give me Master Classes while out visiting the Sunn Family at Makaha.
Being a Waterman was a badge of honor. One of my hero’s was Ricky Gregg. Although I didn’t know him, I knew he was a well-respected Waterman for his surfing and his diving exploits. During my high school years he was not only one of the best big wave riders in the world, he was selected as an Aquanaut for the early Sea Lab project and loved his 250 ft deep dives for black coral that made him a waterman of the highest level.
Severson took a photo of Ricky at Waimea with his arms in the air, sort of a before his time ‘Claim’ that I had on my bedroom wall when I was a little kid.
Fast forward a few years when I was living on the Southeast shore of Oahu, between Diamond Head and Koko Head, and my best pal is Randy Rarick who lives in front of Toes Reef. Toes is a good 15 min paddle out and just inside the reef. Many a night, just at dark Randy and I would paddle in and we’d have these races.
Randy was always a way faster paddler than I and he’d sort of drift behind until the last 50 yards and he’d start this narration… “It’s the last 50 yards of the Catalina to the Manhattan Beach Pier race and right now Ricky Gregg is in the lead with ‘The Great Mike Doyle’ hot on his heals. Gregg seems to be tiring and Doyle is closing quickly”…. RR would keep gaining and would get right next to me and start screaming…. “YES FOLKS, THE GREAT MIKE DOYLE IS JUST NOW OVERTAKING RICKY GREGG AND CROSSES THE LINE IN FIRRRRRRST…!!!!”
It happened every time, THE GREAT MIKE DOYLE would always win RR’s race because at the time Mike was winning everything in surfing and paddling. Because Mike was younger than Ricky deep down Mike was a hero to both of us, but Randy nabbed him first and so I played Ricky and always came in second.
I’ll never forget the day that I first saw TGMD in the flesh. Randy and I were out at the Makaha Contest and RR, who had been to Australia the year before, knew Midget and we were there talking to him when Mike walked up with a big smile and reached out to shake Midget’s hand. Here before me was a King Neptune, AQUAMAN, tanned, muscular, deep blue eyes and his trade mark nose. I too had a big nose and felt a brotherhood kinship immediately.
“Hey Midget, good to see you… How you going? Growing old gracefully?”
Wow that last line got me. Here I was at 18 and Mike who would have been 25, was asking Midget how he was going in old age. It just sort of confirmed what I was thinking at the time about a guy 25 years old… “how ya goin ol timer… still goin are ya.” But when you looked at these two perfect specimens, his age didn’t mean anything.
Midget and Mike laughed and I stood back in awe as two of the worlds best surfers at the time had a yak like the good friends they were. To Randy, who knew both of them, it was no big deal, but for me I admit it was a big deal to actually put my eyeballs on the REAL Doyle.
It was years later that I met Mike again thru my friend Garth Murphy. Garth had the old Encinitas Railway Hotel, the Derby House. Mike was making a rare visit up from his Baja home to visit his mom and Garth. It was hard not to take up a quick friendship with Mike. He as so cool, like Garth, and we both shared stories of our adventures and travels with mutual interest and stoke. One thing for sure, Mike was ALWAYS STOKED!
It was a few years later I was blessed living with Garth and Euva in LA while Mike Miller was building his dream cat. Two and a half years later once the boat was finished we were about to embark on the trip that would take us across the Pacific to travel as many islands as we could and I’d make a movie about our adventures for Quiksilver (I was an owner and employee of at the time).
The crew was going to be Miller and his girlfriend, myself, and a gal I’d met two weeks before in Perth. About a week out, Miller’s girlfriend decided not to go, which didn’t make him very happy.
Two days before leaving Garth and Doyle came down to the yacht club to check out the cat. After showing them around Doyle causally said, “I’ve always wanted to sail to Tahiti!” Miller immediately said, “why not come with us? My girlfriend just pulled out so we have plenty of room!” With 2 large double bed cabins in each hull there was plenty of deluxe accommodation for all.
Mike asked if he had time to go back to Cabo and get his boards and windsurfers (again plenty of room for toy’s in the hulls) and Miller said go for it.
The next day Doyle arrived back and after stashing all his gear we went off for an early dinner. We toasted our upcoming adventure and had an early night. We had already stocked the freezer, fridge, shelves with all the provisions for a month and there was little left to do the next am except to buy some extra ice for the coolers on deck.
We had a big breakfast at the San Diego Yacht Club restaurant knowing this was our last meal on land for who knew how long.
Soon we were casting off and making our way down the 12-mile San Diego Harbor to head out into the Pacific Ocean, turning left towards Tahiti.
The first day was spent going over everything about sailing the boat with Kelly and Doyle since Big Mike and I had a couple of months sailing up and down the California and Mexican coast. The boat was fitted out with everything possible to make sailing all 72 feet of this boat as easy as possible. It had an auto pilot, a self furling headsail, and all winches and main run on hydraulics. Push a button and up goes the main on the 90ft tall mast. Miller liked the autopilot a lot as it kept us on course and you didn’t have to feed it. He called it Otto.
The second day, half-way down the Baja Peninsula, the weather turned nasty. The further south we went, the wind got stronger and the seas got bigger. The ride was very rough over dinner.
Miller hadn’t taken the “Survival Suits” out of their packets since buying them, so he pulled them out after dinner so we could all see what they looked like and how to get in them.
They were not cheap and when Miller bought them there were only three of us going, Mike, his girlfriend, and me. Once out of their packaging you could see why they were so expensive. The blurb on the tags claimed a person could survive in the ocean for a week in one in just about any conditions. Bells, whistles, lights and totally dry once you were in one, they gave us all a little bit of confidence in the rough weather we were experiencing.
Then it hit us all at once. There were three suits and FOUR of us. Hummmmm. Since the weather was wild, we decided we’d leave the suits out in the main salon where if the boat was going down or Miller ordered us over the side it would have been a life and death game of ‘Musical Chairs’.
Miller set 2-hour watches and just after midnight he called out for “ALL hands on DECK”. Putting our foul weather gear on it was super windy, rough and wild on deck, and although Mike had the deck lit up with a couple of lights that were half way up the mast, it still felt very dark all around us with just a little bit of white water reflected in the wild sea that was going on close to the sides of the boat.
Miller needed us to climb up on top of the cabin and reef the main sail. To reef the sail means bringing the main sail down so it’s about half it’s size when fully extended up the 90ft mast.
First, we inched our way around the side of the cabin, with no safety harnesses, holding onto whatever we could, and climbed up and made our way to the boom. Although the boom was roped down, with the giant sail fully extended, it was hard to hang on because the boom was getting knocked around pretty good.
Doyle and I looked at each other and we both could tell what we were thinking the same time in true Laurel and Hardy fashion. “Well this is another fine mess you’ve gotton us into!”
Miller was yelling to us that he was letting the main sail down and we were to furl the sail onto the boom. Holding onto the boom with both hands in a life and death grip makes it pretty tough to reef and furl a GIANT main sail. One slip and you could be flung into the Pacific and never seen or heard from again, and we both knew it.
After a fair while we had done our chores for the Captain and were al huddled next to each other with Miller at the wheel surfing us thru the storm.
We’d go down these big swells and the breaking white water would chase us to the trough and at the bottom the waves wash would go over the back deck before we’d start up the swell to the top of what seemed like a tall mountain. And then we’d do the same thing all over again.
We all stood around for an hour or so before going below to get warm and dry. Before going below I popped off a shot of Kelly in her wet weather gear to remind us of the night from hell. We doubled up with two of us on watches that whole night and half the next day.
By the next afternoon the ocean settled down and we could relax a bit. Whew, what a wild 36 hours that I don’t think any of us will forget!
The rest of the trip was nothing but clean sailing. We were flying towards our destination. I remember a couple of nights on watch I’d take the auto pilot off, grab the wheel and feel like I was driving this giant chariot like a big board surfing the swells and flying like the wind.
There was a night when on watch and again taking the Otto pilot off I looked at the wind speed and it was 20 knots. I then looked at the boat speed and it was 23. We were traveling faster than the wind. That really impressed me.
Another great experience that stoked me out was one night doing about 15 knots I could see out to the right a blue streak with a long tail flying toward the boat. If I didn’t know better it almost looked like a blue torpedo trail heading straight for the boat. Soon there were a couple more trails…
Turns out that they were dolphins heading to the front of the Huma Huma to bow surf leaving a trail in the phosphorus field we were obviously going thru. I put the Otto pilot back on and ran to the front of the boat and watched the show for as long as it lasted, about 10 minutes and then watched as the 72ft cat left it’s own phosphorus trail in the sea behind us. Quite an experience.
The rest of the trip was fantastic as we ate up the miles with good winds. One day we had light winds so Miller got us to pull out the spinnaker. When we finally got it up, it was a MASSIVE piece of sail that got our speed back up again in a lighter wind.
Many days Doyle would throw a line off the back hoping to catch a fresh seafood dinner. Miller had spared no expense in setting the boat up with only the very best rods and reels for all conditions.
For his first fishing expedition, Doyle chose a giant heavy tackle reel with a very expensive lure and threw it over the back and we all waited. A short time later the reel would start singing and everyone would run to the back of the boat, but before Doyle could get many winds in, the line would snap.
This happened a couple of times before we figured out that the boat was going too fast and we needed to try and slow the boat down when we got a hit. We practiced the exercise necessary to get this fast cat’s speed down as quick as possible.
Doyle’s job was to go directly to the rod and reel. Miller was to go to the wheel, take off the Otto pilot and turn the boat into the wind to stop it. Kelly and I were to be standing by to take in any sail line necessary. We got pretty good at it after a couple of fire drills, however with all the strikes we got, we never were able to catch a fish.
I do remember one night at dinner; just before the sun hit the horizon we got a strike as we were inside having dinner. The salon settee had the seats facing to the stern of the boat where we were all sitting. As soon as the reel started screaming we all leaned over to look out the back door to see this giant Marlin, all lit up with the sun shining directly on it, doing a wild tail dance with this bright pink lure hanging out the side of his mouth.
I’ll never forget that sight. It was a HUGE fish and to see it out of the water dancing on his tail was a trip. It didn’t last long as we were all in awe of what we saw and no one moved for a few seconds watching the show before once again the line snapped and another $200 lure was lost to the deep.
We woke on the 14th day and could see the outline of the Island we’d been aiming for the whole journey. Nuku Hiva in the Marquees. Half a day later we were pulling into the harbor. We had traveled 3382 nautical miles in 13 and a half days. Flying.
While Miller stayed on the boat doing customs paperwork, Doyle, Kelly, and I hit the beach and headed into town as it was Kelly’s birthday. We had a bottle of Moet and after walking around the village for about ½ an hour we found Paul Gauguin’s grave. We sat there on it and drank to Kelly’s birthday, our wild trip, our new friendship and LIFE.
This trip was the trip of a lifetime. They say you can experience things and you can try and tell others who were not there about the journey like I’ve just tried to do with this story. However it’s Miller, Doyle, Kelly, and I who lived it in real time that have a magical connection to the experience.
Thanks Big Mike Miller for taking us….
And a very special thanks to you Mike Doyle, one of the worlds great watermen, for sharing with Kelly and I the start of our life together when we also conceived our son Cooper somewhere out there in the middle of the Pacific. It was such an honor to share the ride with you, your stoke, your humor and we are forever grateful for your aloha.
Kelly and Jack McCoy
Sydney Australia January 2019
I passed by Mike Doyle who was practicing on the beach with a new girl who wasn’t getting a lift right. I called out to her that she needed alter her position to make it right. Mike said to me, "why don’t you come here and show her". He picked me up and threw me in the air a few times, finding I was much lighter and we went right into the lift. Mike said to her, "why don’t you go out with the other guy you were practicing with. I’m taking Janine out in this heat". I felt bad for the girl but shamelessly took the opportunity. Before the heat, Barrie Algaw took me aside and showed me how to stuff sand into my wet suit so that I would make weight, as I was only 93 lbs.!
There we were in a matter of minutes, out with the best watermen in the world; Hobie Alter, Bob Moore, Hal Sachs, Pete Peterson who I had watched in competitions for the last 2 years. I will never forget how solid Mike was, with shoulders like a platform to stand on. I felt instantly safe with one of the best watermen around. The waves were bigger than I had ever been out in, but feeling like I was in the best of hands. I followed his Instruction of "don’t look back or to the side. Get up when I say get up, and do what I tell you, when I tell you". I can never forget the feeling of flying as he lifted me Into a "one arm back" as I was suspended over his head, in an upside down arabesque position, fully relaxed, watching the wave curl over the back of the tandem board from seven feet above. It was like being in a trance. We placed third in the finals!
From then on we surfed several contests, always placing, even though we never practiced. I agreed with him that the prettiest lifts, and the most fun, were the easiest, and neither of us wanted to do the less aesthetic lifts just to win points. I also remember the US Championship at Huntington as we were paddling for a wave he kidded me, saying, "don’t be nervous, don’t think about those 50,000 viewers on tv" which made me laugh and relax.
He shared with me that competition was getting boring for him after so many years. Also that being famous seemed to prevent him from meeting people that would normally like to get to know, since most of people would be pushing themselves forward to meet him, and not necessarily have anything In common or interesting to him. For a young high school girl I was happy to know this "older guy of 26" who has so much insight and knowledge. He was the first person whose influence opened my mind, to turn me onto "health food", and encouraged me to develop my Interests in designing, dance, art, sewing, as he did. He was the first guy I ever knew who owned a sewing machine and designed his own pants. “Thinking outside the box” was not a popular term in those days, but that is what he does.
Later in my life I went through some personal development classes, and one question that was presented to me was “Name the top 5 people in your life who impacted your life”. I must say that Mike is a person at the top of that list. Thank you Mike for being the Dynamic, Creative Innovator that you are.
- Janine McCusker
]]>In February I arrive at Mike’s winter home in Aspen. We're heading over to Buttermilk's Tiehack chair. The guys working the chair know Mike and let us slip in just before the chair officially opens. Mike has been in Aspen for close to two months and has carved or powder boarded every day, his legs and lungs are acclimated to the altitude. We’ll start out on a series of none stops down to the bottom of the Summit Express chair. The first run is nice and easy as we mark our territory on virgin corduroy. Mike’s turns are graceful and rhythmical, easy to follow until we approach elements of the terrain where I can see in his body language that he’s anticipating one of the hard carves he makes on powerful waves. His speed increases, his body compresses, and his weight shifts forward. He drives and accelerates into the turn as the spray of his rooster tail starts to generate a large snow arch mimicking the same effect left by water when performing a hard surf carve. He's generated some g-force through the arch of his turn and I lose the image of his body momentarily behind his snow tail. When he completes the turn he looks back at me and smiles like a child asking if I had seen that. There is a playfulness to his riding while he slices through his turns and transitions, always moving always flowing yet you can sense that he’s always anticipating the next big power turn. We’ll leave our marks on the front side runs at Tiehack, then consider going over to explore Aspen Highlands in the afternoon...
Mike and I snowboard carving in Aspen:
https://vimeo.com/19948823
#doylesurfboards #larrycastruita #bromadalife #buttermilks #livetosurf#orsnowboard #surftolive
Morning Glass was well received right from the start. The Orange County Register said, “Morning Glass is a thoughtful portrait of a man enthralled with the ocean.” And the Honolulu Star-Bulletin said, “Throughout all his adventures and misadventures, Doyle has eschewed the accumulation of material goods, instead directing his energy to developing a rich network of friends that has become his true wealth. Eccentric characters shuffle or strut in and out of Doyle’s tale and breathe life into this unusual history of surfing.”
In February of 1994, Mike and I were on a book-signing tour to publicize Morning Glass. We had just been hosted by Blackies surf club at Newport Beach, where the members had bought a couple hundred copies of the book. Our next appearance would be at the O’Neill’s Surf Shop in Santa Cruz, but that was still a week away, and, though our pockets were stuffed with cash, we hadn’t thought much about what to do in the meantime. So Mike suggested, “Why don’t we go snowboarding.”
“Okay,” I said, “but I’ve never snowboarded before. You’ll have to teach me.”
“I’ve never snowboarded either,” Mike admitted. “No big deal. We’ll teach each other.”
As incredible as it might seem, the man who had invented the single ski, which many people consider the precursor to the snowboard, didn’t know how to snowboard. The failure of his single ski had left a bitter taste, and he’d never made the transition from skiing. My own background doing backcountry snow surveys in the Sierra Nevada had steered me toward telemark skiing, and my mountain buddies sneered at snowboarders as nothing but “knuckle draggers.”
While we were driving to Big Bear, Mike and I weighed our ignorance and realized that all we really knew about snowboarding was that you must always turn on the uphill edge and never catch a downhill edge. “Just like skiing,” I said.
“Yeah, but they say that on a snowboard it’s a lot worse,” Mike added. “Catching an edge can slam you into the ice so hard it’ll knock you silly.”
After we’d rented our boards, we strapped them on in the parking lot and tried to visualize what it felt like to carve a turn: bending, unweighting, and coming down on the uphill edge. We were both nervous, but there was nothing left to do but get on the lift. I was wearing a hat that read “No Fear.” I took it off and said to Mike, “This should be spelled “Know Fear.”
The crowd at Big Bear was not only far younger than us, but they didn’t exactly look like they were from the beach culture we knew. They were tattooed and dreadlocked, with baggy pants and glazed eyes. At first Mike and I were just dead pylons for them to negotiate around, hooting and hollering as they blazed by the two newbies. Both of us caught a downhill edge several times and were slammed brutally into the snow. I think Mike hit his head hard once, and I ended up with a knot on my elbow the size of a golf ball. We were bruised and stiff, but by the end of the day we were carving smooth turns, and linking turns together, too.
Not long after that I returned to telemark skiing, which is far more functional in the backcountry conditions I preferred. But Mike went on to become an excellent snowboarder, pushing the limits of speed on the finely groomed slopes of Aspen. Rather than adopting the common but ugly style of thrusting your upper body around to torque your board into position, Mike developed a carver’s style of turning entirely by laying the board on edge and allowing the board’s contours to complete the turn. Like his style of surfing, and like his life, it is creative, masterful, and wonderful to watch.
(Steve Sorensen’s other books include: Heap of Bones: A Baja Surfer’s Chronicle, and his memoir, A Branch of the Sky: Fifty Years of Adventure, Tragedy, and Restoration in the Sierra Nevada.)
Morning Glass is nearing it's 4th Edition hardcover release. Printed books will be available on March 1st at: doylesurfboards.com/pages/morning-glass
#livetosurf #surftolive
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Mike Doyle: Top Surfer, Paddle Board Racer, Tandem Rider , and Big Wave Rider, and arguably the 1960’s best all around surfer in California.
We surfed against each other in contest in Hawaii , Peru , Australia , Puerto Rico, and was always the man to beat.
I arrived in California in 1956, and started surfing California surf contests. By the end of the 50’s Mike was dominating the surf line up , up and down the California coast. Mike at 18 years old was early to surf Bonzai Pipeline in 1959, and a stand out at Makaha.
I first watched Mike Surfing and winning Tandem in 1963, 1964, & 1965 at Makaha.
We surfed again at Manly Beach , Australia for the World Surfing Championships in 1964, where Mike took second place.
Moving to KAUAI in the mid sixties, i invited Mike Doyle , and Rusty Miller to surf Hanalei Bay with me.
In July 1969, mike and I swam Na Pali Coast, a 17 mile swim, to condition ourselves to surf Kauai’s winter swells in the days with no leashes.
Our conditioning paid off. 1969 was legendary for the biggest surf Hawaii has ever seen. We surfed 25 foot Hanalei that winter. Not to be forgotten.
After the 1969 DUKE contest , i invited Mike and Rusty to ASPEN, Co. To ski with me. While there I talked about skiing 3 Foot Deep powder in Alta, Utah, no ski lead change. I made a comment to Mike to make a single ski , boots side by side.
Mike went back to Encinitas and made a single fiberglass ski ,and tested it at Mammoth Mountain in California.
Bill Bain, with a European ski machine, made the first Monoski. We Mono-skied Sun Valley , Idaho, and Jackson Hole, Wyoming that winter.
In Jackson Hole, Mike made figure eights down a long back country run, that i will never forget witnessing.
Snowboard Carving with Annie and Mike. They made powerful 180 degree turns with no slide, in the past , for 3 winters at Buttermilk Mountain in Aspen Colorado. Never to be forgotten!
Mike i have looked up to you for decades for my direction. Our years together will stay with me for my Love and Respect for you.
“MIKE GOES DEEP!”
ALOHA , Joey Cabell
Buzzy was in a partial generation ahead of me. By the time I was thirty-three I had three vertebras on my spine fused because I never bothered to get in shape for surfing. My first surfboard weighed ninety pounds. The generation ahead of me ate horsemeat. To spend time surfing I lived in the back of a pickup with a plywood camper I built. Lots of peanut butter sandwiches.
I was a part of the very first generation of surfers who could make a full-time living in surfing or associated with surfing. When I started I doubt there were a dozen people who worked full-time in the surfboard or surfing industry.
My first surfboard job as a teenager was working for Tom Blake – the inventor of the fin for surfboards. My second job was working for Hobie when it was a three-person surfboard factory. Our maximum output was ten balsa boards per week – a goal we rarely met.
I guess my love of surfing and the dream that by being in the surf industry I could go surfing whenever there was good surf sucked me in. From my late teens until I was seventy-two just about my only civilian job was making surfboards. More or less by accident I ended up in probably the least glamorous part of the entire surfboard industry – making blanks. My interface with surfing got fairly remote - but I did follow a lot of what was going on through my customers and surfer friends.
Mike Doyle is one of the first generations of surfers who were “better fed”.
One could claim the great Duke Kahanamoku was the “first” – but his financial start came more from five Olympic Gold Medals than from surfing. In my opinion the great Phil Edwards was actually the first 100% surfer to begin to be better “fed” strictly due to his surfing ability. Phil gained his fame because he was a lot better surfer than anyone else and that, for the first time ever, had economic value.
I can’t remember exactly when Doyle came on my radar. He was really young, really good looking, and really, really a good surfer.
One of my first recollections of Mike was when we were surfing either Swami’s or Trestles. He kindly told me I should bend my knees more when riding a wave. It was probably great advice – but what Mike did not realize is that I did not give a shit how I looked. I, like the vast majority of surfers, was only interested in having a good time. Being “fed” was not a part of the program.
A lot of good surfers are more or less specialists. They surf and do nothing else. Doyle is yet another story. He had done an incredible number of things. His innovations and life experiences are too lengthy to mention.
One of the things I think is overlooked is Mike’s tremendous athletic ability. I will mention a few of my highlights:
When Mike started skiing he was instantly famous. He got really good overnight plus did the single ski innovation.
I got into dirt bike riding big time. Mike started dabbling in dirt bikes many years later. He really pissed me off. Overnight he was a lot better than I was!
In my judgment Mike’s ability surfing hit a high point when he and Tom Morey developed the Morey-Doyle soft board. The early ones were awful pieces of crap. They were very difficult to ride. What did Mike do? As a promotion he rode Pipeline with one. This is a wave that was more or less unrideable until the development of modern specialized shortboards. He not only pulled it off but also got some good photos stunning those of us in the conventional board industry. He essentially was doing the equivalent of making chicken salad out of chicken shit!
As a final example just a few years ago several great surfers mentioned how well the old fart Doyle was surfing in Baja.
Here is to a really cool guy who has basically fought the battle of life and won!
Gordon “Grubby” Clark
]]>Surfers want to be at the beach when the surf is good, that much is a given. The corollary is that all surfers would rather be at the beach any time regardless of the surf. Obviously there is something about the beach, the ocean, probably both that creates this often irresistible draw. I was drawn to it as a youngster, as were most of my friends or maybe it was that these were the kinds of friends I sought out.
The skilled, expert surfers were a sight to behold and they always made a surf day better. Not only how well they rode the waves but also, how easily they positioned and paddled into those rides. And how all the other surfers just naturally looked up to them. The surf world of then was small compared to today and the great surfers were very visible…when they were out.
I remember one day at Ala Moana, I noticed none of the better surfers were out. As I looked around, there were just us kids and a few of the old guys. When I thought about that, I realized that quite a few days were like this. I asked one of those older surfers, one who I knew begrudgingly tolerated us because we made a serious effort to stay out of his way…I asked him where the good surfers were? I thought perhaps I had offended him by my question’s implication that he was not included in that category as he stared at me like I was a troublesome bug. He exasperatedly replied, “Dey get job…dey all stay work…!” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
I didn’t know it then but a seed had been planted in my beady little mind that was germinating from that moment forward. When I look back, the path was by no means direct but it led me to become one of those who by hook or crook, managed to make being at the beach especially when the waves were good, a top priority. I’m sure I wanted to be an expert surfer…I mean, this is the natural evolution of the surfing experience when that surf bug bites. The first ride hooks you and then it’s all about recapturing whatever that thing was that made you feel so good the first time, no matter what. But the time in the water to accomplish any advancement required some delicate and crafty maneuvering so as one wasn’t stuck on the shore or as that old surfer told me, locked into a job or something else far from the beach. A Roger Miller song always came to mind when I tried to imagine what some of surfers who seemed to be at the beach most often, what they did to make that possible…”A man of means by no means…King of the Road!”
In the 1960s, the only industry of surfing was the companies that built surfboards. My big break came when a small history of mediocre ding repair coincided with a sudden change in surfboard design. I happened to be at the forefront that happened to be the lineup at Ala Moana where shorter surfboards proved to be better than the standard longboard shapes of the period. I stripped down my old 9-6 noserider and made myself a new surfboard 2’ shorter. Constructing a surfboard was really just a small step up from repairing one. It may not have looked pretty but the board rode like the wind…in my mind at least. When I paddled ashore, a guy in the parking lot walked up with cash money in hand, wanting that surfboard and, just like that, I was in the surfboard business.
Riding a long, heavy surfboard was best accomplished by a big, strong surfer. There were, of course, very skilled small stature surfers but a big board was more easily handled if one was bigger. The new shortboards changed all that and made surfing easier for guys like me. Now I had something going that helped with one of my primary goals. I had a job with a very flexible time schedule that allowed me to spend a lot of quality time at the beach. All my customers knew their boards would take a little longer if the surf was good.
I don’t believe I aspired to work in the Big Industry but that’s what happened. In 1968, I was shaping at Surfline Hawaii for Fred Swartz and he suggested we take a trip to SoCal. Dick Metz and Hobie built the Hobie Shop on Kapiolani Blvd. one weekend back in the early 1960s. Dick ran the shop and it was so successful that the other major surfboard manufacturers started seriously looking at Honolulu. Metz headed them off by starting, as a silent partner, Surfline Hawaii with Big Dave Rochlen and Jimmy Pleuger. Dave brought in Fred to run the shop. Surfline sold Hansen, Gordon and Smith, Yater, Dewey Weber, Bing, Jacobs, everything except Greg Noll who had his own shop up in Kaimuki. Fred said that Hansen Surfboards was interested in starting a relationship with me and that we would go see them together. So we rolled down to Encinitas to their big new showroom on the Coast Highway right across from the SRF complex and the Swami’s surf spot. The Hansen shop was huge and swanky. Don Hansen came out and greeted us then he and Fred went back to his office. I was browsing around, looking at the racks of boards when the front door opened and in walked Mike Doyle.
You have to understand that Mike Doyle was probably the best surfer in California, on par with Joey Cabell in Hawaii and Nat Young of Australia but way above either in star power. He was ‘The Mike Doyle’, the main surfer of Hansen Surfboards, a champion paddle racer, tandem surfer and he looked like a Greek God. I mean he could easily have been the model that posed for the statue of Adonis. Towering tall, blond, curly locks, piercing blue eyes, shoulders a yard wide, the whole package. Plus he could surf big waves and small with equal skill and style. I know because I had watched him on many occasions in Hawaii at Sunset, Waimea, Haleiwa and Makaha…he was The Guy! He didn’t know me from Adam but he walked in, saw me standing in the corner, came right over, stuck out his hand and said, “Hi Gerry, thanks for coming in…” What…? He knew my name. I might have stammered something foolish but he held on to my hand, saying, “Yeah, I told Don we should get you onboard the team here.” Huh…he knew who I was…how could that be, I was nobody and I know it didn’t even register until much later that he was the one who recommended me. I don’t think I even squeaked and I’m sure I had my mouth hanging open, eyes agape but Mike patted me on the shoulder reassuringly and said he would go find Don to tell him I was there.
That was just over 50 years ago and I guess the point I’m trying to make is that Mike was a Giant of a Man already, way back then. Long before Baja, windsurfing, Morey Doyle, Mono-ski, kitesurfing, SUP, famous artist, all that stuff. I always liked pirate history and Mike is like some Captain Kidd or Blackbeard or a Long John Silver with a treasure room full of chests of jewels, gold doubloons, ingots of silver but the treasure was his exploits, accomplishments, adventures, misadventures, feats, deeds, achievements, enterprises, jobs, stunts, escapades, his friends, family, acquaintances, dogs…all overflowing his trove of treasure chests. Yes, a rich life, one we can all be envious of but I feel the treasure for all of us is being able to be his friend and having him respond in kind. And this isn’t some kind of eulogy because Mike is still very much with us all and will be for a lot longer. This is just an outpouring, actually a torrent of Love for this great man! WE LOVE YOU, BROTHER!
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I met Mike and Jeff at the same time on the beach in Cabo as I pulled up in my Volkswagen van towing what Mike was soon to dub the “Coffin”. The coffin was full of my hard won treasure of new windsurf gear and I was there to learn. I had heard there was a crew braving the shore pound to get the spring and summer winds passing by the tip. As Mike and Jeff circled the rig I really felt as if sharks were slowly, calmly sizing me up and preparing to do god knows what. They did do something, they took me under their wings and subjected me to the same hazing that they lovingly reserve for each other, they did each tell me stories about the other where they were always the hero, and they did show me a fierceness that I had not known. I did get up the courage to make it out through the shore pound, and it was really a case of being inspired and following, but what was even more meaningful for me was to get to know Mike as an inventor, teacher and adventurer.
As we searched for wind and waves we covered long distances and on those drives there was lots of time to talk. Mike always takes apart surfing, sailing and boarding and explains the forces, positions and angles. He speaks the language of inquiry, of design and refinement. I came to appreciate that Mike had deep knowledge about what we were doing and that he is always working to understand more. Mike is above all curious.
Hence Mike the child. When Mike and I visited his Mom Mary at her home in Fallbrook it did not take long before Mary had out the photo albums of their life. Mary was the keeper of the keys and in that moment I saw the bond between Mike and Mary- how much she loved and cared for Mike and how proud he made her. Mary showed me the picture of Mike dwarfed by his first board and when I saw that photo I was startled by how much I felt like I knew him. It was then that I realized how much Mike carried into adulthood his curiosity, his desire to take on big and dangerous things, his vulnerability and his abiding belief in himself- his knowledge that he is strong and can prove himself.
Mike takes on the forces of nature and is always refining his stance. Mike showed me how to shape a board, and we built the first boards that did not snap if we flat landed after sailing off the backs of open ocean swells. Mike talks about foam and fiberglass like they are his medium. He understands the machines you use to shape and form them and Mike marries an artist’s sense to bringing those materials into pleasing forms.
Mike built a house on the back of the Fallbrook property, he actually designed it, framed it and finished it, so now I could talk construction with him! In that house Mike played me a video of him mono skiing the fall line on a killer powder day on a board he invented (wtf). Obviously in full bromance mode, I found myself asking, “What can’t this guy do?”.
Mike talked me into taking up carving. He gave me a bag of boards and a pair of boots and sent me off to Big Bear. He told me the forces that I would be experiencing and the proper stance and position, and most of all the feeling that I was looking for. I got a few turns in but did not know what it was all about until I visited him at the Milk. I got to see Mike the hardcore dawn patrol first in line carver, got to see the power and flow of his turns and got to see how he treated the run as a wave. Etched in my mind is following him across an uneventful slope as he made a couple of check turns only to then hit a full slashing off the lip. Mike yet again was talking about fractions of inches in stance and position, of angles and initiation and speaking the language of inquiry and refinement and telling his truth.
I was talking the other day to Mike about an electric motor I’m making for a float boat and immediately we were talking angles and materials and how to build. Not many people speak that language and amongst them in my life Mike is the poet laureate. I am thankful for Mike, his curiosity and insight and how freely he shares his ideas and his stoke.
I love you Michael,
Patrick
INTRODUCTION BY BRIAN LENTINI
PHOTOS COURTESY OF MIKE DOYLE
Mike Doyle is one of the first true innovators in the world of surfing. From his win at the 1969 Duke Invitational, to hundreds of other surf contests, he’s never forgotten what surfing is all about – fun. Mike has been involved with almost every surf innovation; from boogie boards to sailboards, surf trunks, wetsuits and surf wax. As I write this, there’s a nice chest to head high south swell. I just looked out the window and the wind is pretty much non-existent. I should be out there surfing but I’m here writing this intro. Doyle is a living legend in the surfing world and I’d just like to say that Mike wouldn’t be here writing like I am right now, deadline or not he would be out there charging it. On that note, I’m going to keep this short so I can catch a few waves before getting back to work. SURF TO LIVE, LIVE TO SURF.
Back in the ’60s guys like you, Kemp Aaberg, Ricky Grigg and uncountable other surfers did everything from surf contests, paddle board races, to shaping surfboards and innovating new surf/paddle board designs. Do you think surfers today even compare? In those days every little beach town had their annual Aquatic festival. They all included a surfing contest, a paddle race and the tandem event. Well, hell, if you’re going to be there anyway, why not do it all? That was mine and a lot of others’ philosophy. Remember that a lot of the guys who were real watermen would go to Hawaii every winter. This trip was usually financed by lifeguarding in the summer and saving enough bread to maintain the frugal winter on the North Shore. The lifeguards were very big on competition and you got paid for training. They had their annual competition amongst all of the California Lifeguard Services in Redondo Beach at night at the end of every summer. It was and still is called the Taplan Competition. They would have buoys about a quarter mile out with flood lights on them and the different teams would consist of four paddlers, four swimmers and four dory teams, run in relay system. In 1969, they had the first Iron Man solo event. It consisted of one person paddling around the buoy, then swimming around the buoy and finally rowing around the buoy. I won that event the first year it was held. What I’m getting at is that we were in kick ass shape by the time winter rolled around and we headed to Hawaii. My first trip to Hawaii was in ’59, the North Shore had very few surfers. I recall about three houses with six to eight guys living together and sharing a gutsy and pioneer spirit. We knew we were really doing something courageous and new. The excitement was partially because we were still uncertain what could be ridden, size wise and the equipment was so primitive compared to today. It didn’t matter though because we were having a ball riding big on no rocker boards. Speed was the trip. The flat boards didn’t maneuver worth a shit but they were screamers for speed. I would compare what we were doing then to what the wave runners boys are doing now. Pushing the envelope to a new level.
Cars seemed to be a huge part of a surfer’s lifestyle back in the ’60s and you were notorious for having so many cars that the government got suspicious. Explain this… I used to come to Santa Cruz a lot in the ’60s; my friends were Doug Haut and Rich Novak. I liked the laid back and natural beauty of the area. Also, there weren’t many surfers, no colleges yet and the town was all old people. It was a great backdrop for the crazy and wild surfers. No one could really relate, so we were free to let it all hang out. Jack O’Neill offered me a job to move up there and help him with the wet suit business which was at the base of the pier in a 15ft. by 20ft. building. I declined because I was heading to Hawaii. There were so many old people dying off that every gas station had a couple of perfect cars for sale; ’38 Buick coup, ’39 Buick with dual side tire mounts in front of the front fenders. Perfect cars that were maintained perfectly. I think $300 was the most I ever paid. I did about twelve of these Santa Cruz car runs and then I would sell them in L.A. for triple what I paid. I also went to Burligame and started to buy used hearses and ambulances at $300 a pop. Finally the government got wise and said I had to get a dealer’s license to sell any more cars. I didn’t buy any Woodies because the Santa Cruz weather wasn’t friendly to the wood.
“I USED TO COME TO SANTA CRUZ A LOT IN THE ’60S; MY FRIENDS WERE DOUG HAUT AND RICH NOVAK. I LIKED THE LAID BACK AND NATURAL BEAUTY OF THE AREA. ALSO, THERE WEREN’T MANY SURFERS, NO COLLEGES YET AND THE TOWN WAS ALL OLD PEOPLE. IT WAS A GREAT BACKDROP FOR THE CRAZY AND WILD SURFERS. NO ONE COULD REALLY RELATE, SO WE WERE FREE TO LET IT ALL HANG OUT.”
I was recently at the Woody Exhibit at The Peterson Museum in L.A. and I read that the reason Woodys are so sought after and valuable today is because most were ruined by surfers of the ’60s. There were stories of surfers ripping the wood paneling off for beach bonfires. And on the other hand they were nicknamed ‘daddy’s little nightmare’ because they were afraid their daughter would end up in the back with some unruly surfer. Do you have any Woody stories that would make a Woody enthusiast of today cringe or a father of a teenage daughter sweat profusely?? Woodys were a great buy then because the wood would rot and the car would look like someone with a big cavity in their front teeth. So, the resale was nil but the cars ran great and they were good for hauling longboards and they doubled for a place to sleep. That’s why they became the logo of the surfer. Cheap and practical. Boy, you should have seen the faces of the parents of the girls we took out when we pulled up to their house with a rotten wood-paneled Woody with a bed in the back!
What was your favorite car? I had one old beater. I paid $35 for it. John Severson helped me paint it and then christened it ‘The Trestle Special’. Rick Griffin did the whole dash with little furry monsters cooking some guy in a pot.
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