hiya wa howa aswat

Despite having a beautiful young family and a highly coveted, well-paying job, Carlos Velarde had a disturbing turn-of-the-century revelation: He wasn’t happy. Having spent the last seven years clawing his way up the corporate ladder, Carlos woke up one day and realized that he had sacrificed too much in order to get there—he had strayed too far from the precious ocean lifestyle he held so dear. He suddenly saw himself as just another hamster on the wheel, another rat chasing the proverbial cheese. So the young Peruvian gathered the family, collected his life savings, and, like the legendary explorer Thor Heyerdahl, left Peru and struck out for broader horizons.
While sacrificing family security may be an ill-advised plan for others, it was a fitting decision for someone with Carlos Velarde’s past. Growing up under the auspices of Club Waikiki, the shadow of Pico Alto, and the rich Punta Hermosa surfing culture, this goofy-footer knew how good life could be. As a younger man he had taken a chance and moved to Hawaii, and discovered a path to inner peace through surfing there. He had channeled anger from a family divorce, made a calculated assault on heavy Pipeline barrels, and by testing the limits of his courage, he was able to let go of some deep-seated angst and find a cathartic path to happiness.
During his stint on Oahu, Carlos was one of those surfers who would show up in a surf magazine with the label “unidentified”, and although he would have loved to have had his name attached to the images, he was perfectly content to exist under the radar. Carlos was just happy to be there—to be immersed in the Polynesian lifestyle. And while immersed, Carlos couldn’t help but notice some of the uncanny similarities between Hawaiian and Peruvian culture, especially in terms of cuisine. From the construction and techniques used with the underground Imu oven, to specific and complex uses of the sweet potato, Carlos noticed so many parallels that he grew to believe in Thor Heyerdahl’s trans-cultural diffusion model—that there had to be some sort of ancient Polynesian/Peruvian connection. It also rekindled a long-held culinary interest in Carlos.
When he left Hawaii, Carlos went back to Peru to get serious about his education. He eventually earned an MBA from San Ignacio de Loyola, and began his corporate ascent. But, ultimately, it was Carlos’ time in Hawaii that made him realize that he had sold his soul for the comforts of a paycheck, and so instead of grinding his career out until retirement, he got radical, used his surfing instincts, and changed course. He began by searching the Pacific, eventually deciding to take a trip to Costa Rica. Like many other travelers, Carlos and his wife, Andrea Raffo, became enamored by the Northern Costa Rica Guanacaste vibe, and looked at it as a cosmic sign when their car got stuck in the mud right in front of Playa Negra.
They had found their new home.
Slowly and steadily over the next few years, Carlos and his family took root in Playa Negra and now have a great little hotel and café in town, Café Playa Negra. They also have two beautiful, intelligent, and vibrant teenage daughters, Cloe and Maia, who have grown up living the Pura Vida.
The Café Playa Negra is a highly-rated, open-air establishment that offers excellent Peruvian fusion dishes and a relaxed atmosphere. It sits in the center of town, and is a gathering place for surfers the world over. On any given night it is not uncommon for wave riders from Europe, South America, North America, Polynesia, and the Caribbean to all be enjoying the café cuisine at the same time, with nothing but laughter and good times filling the air.

So the next time you go to Costa Rica, stop by Café Playa Negra for a meal and say hello to Carlos Velarde, the man who branched out and brought a trans-cultural diffusion model of his own to a surfing paradise.

Surf culture has always prided itself on its DIY ethos. Fixing a board yourself is better than sending it to the ding repair shop. Checking the waves in person is better than looking at the cams. Exploring the coastline is better than sticking to well-trodden surf spots. This self-reliance is heavily engrained in our culture, and the ability to make your own boards from start to finish is the logical zenith of that ethos. But there have historically been many barriers to entry for would-be shapers, such as renting a workspace, buying tools, and, most importantly, finding a decent shaper willing to hold their hand through the first few shitty boards.
In the last few years, however, these barriers have been dissolving as the concept of all-inclusive shaping bays began emerging in coastal cities throughout California. Shaper Studios in San Diego is one such workspace. Started less than two years ago by Bay Area transplant Chris Clark, the idea was that Shaper Studios would provide the shaping bays, the templates, and the tools in exchange for a membership fee—like a gym for foam and fiberglass buffs.
Shaper Studios represents an opportunity for young surfers to do something tangible: to deepen their connection to surfing by building a board with their own two hands.
Clark expected most patrons to be experienced backyard shapers looking for a convenient place to practice their hobby and hang out with like-minded individuals, but the bulk of his business came from an unexpected source: average surfers with little or no shaping experience whatsoever. Clark was surprised that this group made up the majority of his clientele, but maybe he shouldn’t have been. Most young middle-class surfers today aren’t nearly as familiar with the teeth of a handsaw as they are with the apps of a smartphone. They’ve been raised on the young American diet of high tech products and social media, where the things that they create exist only in the cloud. Shaper Studios represents an opportunity for them to do something tangible: to deepen their connection to surfing by building a board with their own two hands.
I’m part of the same club. I walked into Shaper Studios a few weeks ago ready to put some callouses on my keyboard-softened hands. For roughly $100 per foot, you can use one of the shaping bays to shape whatever you can dream up. The tools, materials, and instruction are all provided. Being my first board, I wanted to keep the design simple: a relatively straight plan line, low rocker, high width and thickness, and no concave. I figured if I made the board short enough, it should be easy to turn regardless of concave, so I cut it down to 5’4’’. For the tail, I simply chopped the tail to avoid any complications that may arise from attempting a swallow or diamond. “Keep it simple,” I told myself. “You’ll probably fuck this up.”

I grabbed a full-nosed template, got the outline on the blank, and got down to business. My cuts strayed from the lines, my passes with the planer wavered, and my sanding was uneven—it looked like drunken carpentry. Anyone who has seen a master shaper at work knows that everything is smooth, uninterrupted motion like a dusty waltz. I was perpetually stumbling. But Shaper Studios expects this from first timers, which is why they paired me up with Kory Nutter, an in-house shaper and production manager for the facility. He pointed out asymmetries, showed me his planing technique, and kept me from sanding off the down rail in the tail, which I nearly did several times. By the time I was done, sweat had caused the white dust to cling to my every pore. I was a walking powdered sugar donut. But the board was done, it looked beautiful, and I was proud to say that I had made something with my own two hands that would one day be under my feet, high lining through speedy sections and carving the open face.

Two weeks later, I met Kory at the top of the road at Black’s, where he handed me my glassed board: 5 feet and 4 inches of wave destroying potential. As soon as I had it in my hands, I realized just how ugly my creation actually was. I didn’t compensate for the cloth and resin, so the board was substantially bulkier than I had intended, and the rails weren’t uniform, changing shape every few inches from nose to tail. It was a hideous creation, something that most parents would have smothered on sight. But I was determined to love it in spite of its horrible appearance.
I wish I could tell you that I stood up on the first wave and my concerns melted away—that I dropped into a set and linked polished maneuvers through to the inside, coming full circle in my journey from surfer to craftsman to surfer again. But I can’t. I got hung up at the lip, lost my balance on the bottom turn, and bogged on the cutback.
After a few more waves, I started to feel out the board’s limitations and adapted accordingly, and I had an awesome time riding it. In fact, I’ve ridden it everyday since. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s too short with too much nose rocker to be very good at catching waves, and the lack of concave makes it very resistant to turns. Not to mention the problems that I’m just not design savvy enough to pinpoint.
I still love the board, because as its creator I feel warmly obliged to do so, but the odds are I would want nothing to do with it had it been made by someone else. After the session, I was left with one question: If you are paying a similar price to a custom board, and odds are it will ride somewhat worse than a custom board, is it really worth it?
I still love the board, because as its creator I feel warmly obliged to do so, but the odds are I would want nothing to do with it had it been made by someone else.
There’s a reason we turn to master craftsmen to build our surfboards. Taking an unshaped blank and turning it into something that can effectively ride waves is an art form that you can dedicate your life to and still never come close to perfecting. Did I really believe that I could shape myself a magic board on the first try? Was it hubris of Homeric proportions? If I kept shaping my own boards, would my surfing suffer because of it?

The truth is that it if you decide to shape your first board at a place like Shaper Studios, it really doesn’t matter how it turns out. Standing on the other side of the planer has numerous benefits, and there is no scenario in which a surfer shapes his or her own board that doesn’t lead to the betterment of that surfer. The worst-case scenario is that you make a shitty board, learn something about the nuances of concave, rocker, and plan line, and go back to your usual shaper with a much deeper appreciation for what they do. The best-case scenario is that you make a functional board that you enjoy riding, sparking a fire that will lead to you making even better boards in the future. Who knows, you might even become your own favorite shaper—but don’t get your hopes up.