One shaper. Twelve blanks a week. Wax poured for the water you're actually in.Surf hardware made before the light, for people who paddle out before it too. No pop-outs, no team, no film. Foam, resin, wax, and the tide table on the wall.
Order waxblanks a week. Twelve. When they're gone, the next twelve are next week.
wax temperatures. Cold, cool, warm. Poured for the water, not the shelf.
shaper. The same hands on the template, the planer, and the glass.
pop-outs. Nothing moulded, nothing imported, nothing with a team rider.
The best hour is the one before anyone else's alarm. Cold wax goes on cold hands, in the car park, by feel. That's the hour the shed opens for, and the reason it closes at two.
Wax, blanks, fins. Not much else. If you need a wetsuit, the shop in town is better at it than we'd be.
Beeswax, pine resin, a little coconut. No paraffin, no perfume. Smells like the shed.
The one on the wall. Other dims by conversation. Four weeks from the pencil line to your roof.
Cut from the same panel, foiled to the board they're going on. Boxes if you must. Glass-on if you'll let us.
The shed keeps the sea's hours. Here's a Tuesday.
Tell us your water temperature, or where you surf and we'll tell you. Six bars posted in paper. Blanks are by conversation: write, and we'll ask you what you're paddling out into.
Order wax