The Story of My First Surfboard

The Hicks board—an 8’2” Mini Mal with a beautiful azul blue that ombré’d to a lighter tone. It had an old-school FCS thruster setup, a rounded nose, a tapered-in squared tail, plenty of rocker, and knife-ier rails than I understood at the time. Darryl, the board’s previous owner—whom I never met in person—told me over a long-distance phone call that he was trying to make some space in his garage and hadn’t surfed this board very much.

In 2007, the Toronto Craigslist was devoid of any surfboard listings. With the power of the internet, I expanded my search to Craigslist in the Bay Area and Santa Cruz, California. Kuya Raffy, my older brother, lived in San Francisco at the time, and he was the key to a much wider inventory of used boards than existed in all of Canada.

I easily found a huge range of listings, from shortboards to big-wave guns. Unsure of what board would be best for my local waters, I posted the question on the then-popular, pre-social media Great Lakes online surf scene message board: Origin Surf.

Among the genuinely helpful responses, my post received the typical online hate for being a surf noob. To my surprise, I received a direct message from Magilla Schauss, a name I had seen in the book Surfing the Great Lakes. Magilla—who I also never met in person—told me to ignore the haters. He broke down the differences between board shapes and explained what kind of board would work best for a beginner on freshwater. Over time, his messages gave me insight into his Great Lakes surfing experience, which dated back as far as the 1960s. It was from Magilla that I learned a 9-foot big-wave gun was different from a 9-foot longboard.

My call with Darryl in Santa Cruz ended with a verbal handshake and an accepted offer of $450. As a bonus, he threw in a leash, a day bag, and a half-used bottle of wax remover. My brother graciously rented a car, picked up the board for me, and stored it in his office’s closet. A few months later, in March 2008, I flew to San Francisco to visit my brother and pick up my very first surfboard.

My eyes widened at the first sight of it—the board was far more stunning in person. During a post-thank-you call with Darryl, he explained that the board’s cool “snake skin” pattern on the bottom was achieved by the shaper airbrushing over an old volleyball net. I could instantly picture the process, adding a visual layer to my new board's history. From that moment on, I became infatuated with board design.

Darryl also suggested I hit up Cowell’s Beach for my first surf while I was in town. Although we never got the chance to surf together, he was absolutely stoked that his board was headed for a new life on the Great Lakes. He had never considered that a place like Toronto could have waves. He was fascinated by it—and excited for me.

The Hicks board began its freshwater adventures a few weeks after my return to Toronto, riding waves at Jack Darling Park in Mississauga. The funny thing about that particularly auspicious session was that I forgot to bring a towel and had to use a greasy rag of a T-shirt stuffed in my trunk to dry myself off and get out of my wetsuit.

The board rode waves at the Palmwood, Pleasant Beach, and Long Point on Lake Erie. It traveled to Abay, Lighthouse, Marie Curtis, Len Ford, Bond Head, and The Bridge on Lake Ontario. It hit The Pinery and Grand Bend on Lake Huron. I took that board wherever I could, whenever I could, always striving to get better at the thing I sucked so badly at but wanted so desperately to do.

I was out there, figuring it out as I went along. And the beautiful thing was that this surfboard was not only a vessel on the water but also a gateway into a new and exciting lifestyle—one that has brought me a lifetime of happiness, friendships, environmental awareness, community, and deep respect for all of it.

After a few years, I eventually sold the 8’2” Hicks Mini Mal to a young family in the Beaches, eager to take their growing kids out at Abay. At the time, my quiver was expanding, and I foolishly believed it was time to size down my boards. Looking back, I realize I made the common mistake of eager surfers—rushing the transition to a shortboard. But knowing this doesn’t erase the regret of selling my first surfboard.

One day, out of the blue—long after I had sold the Hicks Mini Mal and was now fully immersed in the world of surfing—I got a call from Darryl in Santa Cruz wanting to share a story. He had just sold another one of his boards on Craigslist, this time to a couple from Sweden. They had shown up in a camper van, eager to take the board on an adventure down to Mexico before eventually bringing it home with them to Sweden. Darryl thought it was incredible—another one of his boards embarking on a journey across the world. First the Great Lakes, now Mexico and beyond.

Hearing this story filled me with a deep sense of joy. It was a reminder that surfboards are meant to travel, to be in the water, and to take part in adventures that create connection and stoke. They carry more than just their riders—they collect stories in their fiberglass and foam, absorbing every wave, every journey, and every moment of joy along the way.