A former model builder and set designer, and lifelong surfer, details his travels to harvest the wood for his custom-made surfboards.
By Paul Kraus/Special to The Malibu Times
Soft sunlight filtered down through the jungle canopy above us, turning the treetops into a kaleidoscope of green. A brilliant blue butterfly the size of my hand floated by on the thick, sweet air, then disappeared into the dense foliage. A chameleon clung motionless to a branch, only its eyes moving to follow us, as we moved through the tropical forest.
Cutting our way through trackless undergrowth with a machete and an ax, we emerged onto a small ledge above a stream. Mario, our guide, pointed to the trees around us, and I realized we were standing among a stand of balsa wood trees, towering over our heads.
My fascination with balsa wood started when I was a child, building model airplanes. The beautiful pale color and soft, lightweight quality of the wood were intriguing. It was easy to work with and had a natural appeal. My dad later took me to Dale Velzey’s surf shop, where I saw balsa boards being shaped. The piles of balsa shavings were ankle deep, and covering the floor. The smell was pungent and pleasant.
I bought my first surfboard when I was 14; it cost $25 and was a “balsa.” That was 1960, and the sport of surfing was just starting to “boom.” Cruising the coast, looking for waves, beach parties and dancing at the Rendezvous Ballroom in Newport Beach was what was happening.
In the late ’60s, I had the opportunity to work for Bob “OLE” Olson. OLE became my shaping mentor and his stories of shaping balsa boards in the early days always intrigued me. Over the years, I gained more experience working with balsa, but it wasn’t until 1992, when a friend in Central America invited my family and I for a visit, that my interest in balsa became a shaping adventure.
Our friends met us at the airport in their 4-wheel drive Land Rover, and away we went, through beautiful, lush countryside and farmlands, up into the central highlands where small towns dot the hillsides. Here, life runs at a slower pace than in “El Norte.” From an idyllic hilltop, we looked out over miles of rainforest. A cloud-covered volcano and the distant blue of the Caribbean completed the scene. Our friends grow coffee and have a furniture building business, building fine works of art from the local woods. The climate here, at 3,000 feet, is perfect for growing the finest coffee.
The thought occurred to me that balsa trees might grow in these tropical forests, so I asked my friend if he might know of any. He introduced me to a local forester, Mario, who worked in the jungle every day. Thus began an unexpected odyssey in the beautiful mountain rain forests of Central America.
The government here has strict controls on the harvesting of trees in the forest, so it was necessary to obtain the proper permits before we could cut any wood.
Early in the morning, Mario arrived with his machete, and we set off in the Land Rover for an area of forest nearby. We parked by a small stream and Mario headed off without hesitation into the tangle of green leaves. As we climbed the steep hillside above the stream, cutting, slipping, pulling ourselves upward, primal thoughts filled my mind. The ancient Indians practiced logging in the same way we were, centuries ago. They respected the jungle and knew every plant, insect, bird and animal. They took only what they needed and knew that the forest would provide for generations after them. The Ancients used the unique qualities of balsa for making rafts: the Spanish word balsa means, “raft.”
In 1947, six Norwegian explorers set off from Peru in the Kon-Tiki, a raft made of large balsa logs, to try and show that Indians from South and Central America could have settled the islands of Polynesia. The Kon-Tiki drifted for three months along the Humboldt Current, which runs from east to west below the equator, and finally made it to an island near Tahiti.
The Kon-Tiki was built, based on early Spanish accounts, of native balsa logs like the Indian rafts. In order to find their logs, they traveled upriver into the dense jungles of Ecuador. They had more trouble getting their balsa than we did; some of the Indian tribes in Ecuador then still practiced the art of shrinking human heads.
As we climbed, we began to see old balsa trees that had fallen or had blown down in the wind. These quickly decay and form new soil on the jungle floor. When we came into a clearing upon a small ledge, Mario pointed out three medium-size balsa trees. I chose the straightest one and Mario proceeded to chop at the base with his ax. Each blow reverberated up the tall trunk until finally the tree was felled.
We parted the trunk into 10-foot lengths with ax and machete. The green wood cut easily and we soon had ropes around the logs and pulled them over to the edge of the bank. With a good tug on the ropes, and energetic pushing on the ends, the logs went shooting downhill through the underbrush. Down we came after them, climbing and sliding along the same muddy trail.
We finally reached the road where the Land Rover waited, and with the help of some passing locals, we lifted the logs into the Rover. This method of hand logging is respectful of the delicate balance of the forest and doesn’t damage the surrounding trees. Balsa, unlike the more rare hardwood varieties, grows rapidly and is abundant. It matures in six to 10 years, and will sometimes reach 2 to 3 feet in diameter. Wood from the older trees is too dense and heavy for use in shaping surfboards.
Back at the farm, we cut the logs into planks of useable wood with a chain saw mill. Now began the long process of getting the heavy, green wood home and drying it. This takes up to six months in a dry place, being careful to protect the wood from mold and insects. Once dry, the boards are resawn and planed, then laminated together, and shaped into a classic balsa longboard.
Over the next eight years, I repeated this process, sometimes importing as much as 13,000 board feet of balsa to build my own boards and sell wood to other shapers in California and Hawaii. I found the balsa business interesting, but very difficult. There are many problems getting the wood in the wild, and then shipping it up to the north. I’ve had wood stolen off the docks, had to bribe government officials, had to deal with dishonest customs people who left the wood lying out in the sun to twist and spoil.
However, when I look out the window of my surf shop, on a cold winter day, I think about the hot, steamy jungle, the beautiful flowers and animals, and know I’ll go back again to repeat my balsa adventure.