Imagine getting up at 4am for a long drive just to get your ass kicked. Like on purpose! That’s the life of Mason Ho sometimes. If there’s wave shelving over a dry reef anywhere on Oahu, this man is on it. Literally on the reef, we mean. Bouncing on it, rolling over it, ass over teakettle, nearly naked, roped to a board with lots of pointy bits.
And goodness, do we love it.
We don’t know where this left slabby thing is, nor do we want to. Unless you live there, or are Mason Ho and pal Sheldon Paishon, you ain’t surfing there anyway. If the reef doesn’t get you—but who are we kidding, it will—the locals will.
After Mason’s career turn toward the barely surfable, it almost seems he should be the soft top pied piper that JOB has become. You could almost talk yourself into trying to surf one of Mason’s slabby novelties on a foamie. But it’s probably actually safer with the level of control he has over his tiny thrusters than a wobbly, noodly piece of waterlogged foam. Either way, we’re hooked.
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