The Shortboard Revolution at Rincon
excerpted from the Surfer's Journal, written by Bob McTavish
 
Bob McTavish on his Dream Machine
The following tale is an excerpt from "So How Come No One Asked Sooner?" by Bob McTavish, The Surfer's Journal, v.4 n.3, Copyright (c) 1995.

The article is one of three about the shortboard revolution, and the excerpts below deal solely with Bob's comments on his experiences in Santa Barbara during the winter of 1967. Bruce Gabrielson has his own online perspective of the short board's evolution that is worth a read.

Late December, 1967

George Greenough and his mum had invited me to stay in their 40-room mansion in Montecito, near Santa Barbara. George was surrounded by toys of his own invention:

And his cars! One had been used in a Batman movie. Another was an old black-and-white cop car, with mounted lights. We had fun in that monster, scaring hitchhikers after rock concerts. See them gulping down 10 hits of acid to avoid the bust!

So there I was in California with all this new-found shortboard knowledge and no board. George lent me the one and only stand-up surfboard he'd ever made, a thing called "Baby." It was about 8'6", with characteristic George straight tail rocker, reasonable nose rocker and wide, cut-off tail. I took to it with an electric planer and pointed the nose some more and took a few inches off so now it was 7'10". Oh yes, it was balsa and I hadn't ridden a balsa since 1960.

George took me surfing at the Channel Islands quite a bit for a couple of weeks. We would jet across the shipping lanes in his whaler, returning at night with dolphins playing in the luminescence beneath the hull. Insanely good waves!
Then George put me in touch with Carl Pope, who, along with Tom Morey, had a factory in Ventura, just 15 minutes away. So I walked into Morey-Pope's and made myself a new board. I still don't know exactly what happened.
It had something to do with being in a fresh environment, and breaking away from six months of Plastic Machines and deep-vees -- In fact, I had developed a distaste for the mongrels by this time. It had something to do, too, with that narrow-nosed balsa I'd recently shaped.
But whatever the reasons, I shaped that board at Morey-Pope's with more freedom and feel than anything previous. And, people, I have to tell you, this was the one. This was it. This was the vision, realized:
8' x 20 1/2", with a 14" nose, 13" tail, 2 3/4" thick, with a 5" square tail.
The nose was gently pointed, and a soft rocker ran nose to tail. The fin was 10". The rails were low and rounded, turning edgier in the tail. The bottom was flat all the way through. People still say, "McTavish? Yeah, the vee-bottom guy." But, by January, 1968, before shortboards had even really hit California, I'd finished with the deep vee.

So! This red-hot board! And what happens to the surf? Rincon pumps for six weeks straight! Imagine:

George on his 4'8", hi-tech spoon kneeboard, and me on my new 8' lightweight Dream Machine. We were the only two guys in California on shortboards. We threw ourselves joyously into the Rincon testing grounds. After parking at a friend's house on the point, we'd walk out front, wait for a lull, then streak out and around to Indicators.

There never seemed to be any shortage of six- to eight-foot sets, and we were able to select carefully only the waves with the widest, biggest walls, allowing a shot at getting all the way through.

There was some wonderful barrel action on the upper section, but the real thing didn't begin until the wave began to wrap into the main point. I can picture it still: the bowl standing up a hundred feet ahead, with 30 or 40 guys scratching into position on the far side. Pump, carve, pump, carve, with our shortboards delivering enough speed, that nine times out of ten, we'd power through that sometimes impossible section that separates the outside and inside, overtaking the drop-ins and leaving them behind in a frothing mass as we hit the mellow wall of the inside cove. Then jam a huge roundhouse, rebound, a big reentry over the white water, maybe a tube section, then one last roller coaster near the highway.

Again and again, for six weeks. One swell would taper off, only to be replaced by another. I had an absolutely superb board, a great guy to take me surfing each day, and a palace to live in. What an amazing time!

In the car park everyday, guys would be all over my board. Good guys. John Bradbury was there, and I believe Al Merrick showed up one day. Rolf Aurness and his dad came over. Mike Perry checked it out. Steve Bigler arrived riding one of the boards he got off me in Australia a few months earlier.

I was on to something big, and I knew it. I was a bit full of my self. For example, I did an interview with Duke Boyd from Surfing. Poor guy! He gave me the transcript and I read it on the beach at Rincon. I hated it. I threw it in the fire and said, "This is garbage. Out there is where it's at," pointing to the surf. I picked up my board and jogged up to Indicators.

Santa Barbara Surfing -- Last updated 1/13/1999.