“IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS…the CH11 store is getting
torn down…”
The former world number four surfer, daddy to seven,
neighbour to jack-in-the-box drummer boy Travis Barker and reality
star Kourtney Kardashian, Dane Reynolds, has shocked
lovers of authentic surf culture with news, today, that his iconic
Ventura surf shop is set to be bulldozed.
The green shack at 365 East Santa Clara Street in Ventura,
called CH11, a place where its famous owner will greet customers
and offer screen-printed t-shirts, still warm from the freshly
applied inks, opened a couple of years back and quickly became the
hub around which that surf community revolved.
Still, progress is progress, as they say, and to hell with the
human cost.
(Read the Development Approval
here.)
“IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS the Ch11 store is getting torn down,
but not without a final blowout sale,” writes Dane Reynolds. “Today
through Sunday everything in store is 40-70% off.”
Two years back, Jen See wrote movingly of
CH11 and its place in surfing culture.
Let’s go inside.
A round glass table readily at home in your grandparents’
living room stands in the center of the room. It’s an obvious
thrift shop find. Piles of stickers sit on the table’s two shelves.
As a grom at heart, I took the free stickers, yes.
Surf films run on the video screens, which should not
surprise you at all.
A poster hangs on the wall from the premier of “Glad You
Scored” at the nearby Majestic Ventura Theater, a battered
single-screen movie house. There’s a framed photograph of Reynolds
surfing, and a framed movie flyer from Australia. Nothing
fancy.
Clothing from Former runs along one wall. The line has
subdued colors, which is to say, there’s a lot of black. Reynolds
pulls design elements from eclectic sources, and the current
collection brings a punk-mod vibe.
Reynolds is also producing clothing under his Chapter 11 TV
label, and it occupies the store’s opposite wall. Bright, playful,
and mostly hand-drawn, it feels entirely different from Former. The
groms seem to like it — smaller sizes were scarce.
In an Instagram story, Reynolds explains one of the designs.
While sending a text to filmer Hunter Martinez during the Haleiwa
comp, Reynolds told him to “Capture the moment.” At the same time,
Reynolds was drawing a shooting star for one of his daughters. It’s
now a cute as fuck t-shirt and hoody. I regret not buying
one.
One corner holds hats and t-shirts from Trashboy, a creation
from
Courtney Jaedtke, Reynolds’s wife.
It derives from son Sammy’s early obsession with the garbage
truck, if I remember correctly. Between them, Jaedtke and
Reynolds produce an almost dizzying array of clothing and art. It’s
hard to keep up.
Boards and suits remain on the sparser side. A few boards
hang from the ceiling with space for more. A stack of cards at the
front desk stands ready for custom orders to Channel Islands. The
extremely analogue approach fits. A rack holds a dozen or so
wetsuits.
An opening in the back wall shows a small workspace with a
four-color t-shirt printing press. It’s Saturday afternoon, and
Reynolds is back there screening shirts. He looks relaxed and
happy, like there are few places he would rather be. He waves a
cheerful hello.
Surf today?
Nah, it was flat all the way down the coast. Looked like a
swimming pool.
Did you check the harbor? He sounds like he’s trying to help
us, like he really wants us to find surf today.
I admit that we did not check the harbor. It was so flat,
you could have seen a whale fart.
We rehearse the call and response. Maybe tomorrow, maybe
next week. It’s the slowest winter anyone has seen in
years.
We buy a t-shirt and Reynolds thanks us for stopping by and
for supporting the project. It feels genuine. He wants to succeed
at this thing.
Former professional surfers own beer brands and real estate
ventures. They fix and they flip. If Reynolds has a real estate
empire, he’s kept it a secret. Instead, he’s selling t-shirts and
making videos. And standing there in his shop, he looks damn happy
doing it.
There’s a quality of giving back about Reynolds’ current
chapter that’s hard to resist.
He created Chapter 11 TV to serve as a video platform for the
local rippers. He’s one of the many partial owners of
Channel Islands surfboards. (The brand passed the hat among team
riders, employees, and local friends to come up with Burton’s
asking price.)
At a recent film night at CI, one of his daughters held her
hands over ears. She felt the music was too loud. Ten minutes
later, all three kids were asleep in their parents’ laps.
Outside 365 E. Santa Clara, traffic rushes by, and around
the small building, time shifts the city. Walk two blocks, and find
a bargain-rate Motel 6 and a liquor store.
It’s easy to feel like surfing’s soul has drowned in a sea
of soft tops and Sprinter vans. The latest private equity firm to
come along buys and sells the empty shell that’s left. Pull the
shrinkwrap off another one.
Did it ever exist at all? Did surfing ever have a soul?
Seduced by magic images and exuberant story-telling, did we imagine
the whole thing?
I’m pretty sure our battered soul still exists, stuck to us
like the last chunk of wax at the bottom of the box.
It might be the guy screening t-shirts in the back of his
shop and making cheerful small talk about the waves and the
forecast. It might be the next generation of groms falling asleep
on movie night. It might be the women hanging out in the parking
lot, talking about board designs.
Vale CH11 etc.
And, in some good news, a new joint is planned for the Fall.
