ABOUT CAT ON ACID SURFBOARDS
All boards are hand tuned by Seth Matson
Born somewhere between saltwater, sunburn, and mild delinquency, Cat on Acid starts in Huntington Beach—back when the air smelled like resin and bad decisions.
Mid-to-late ’70s. A kid with sandy feet, face covered in dirt, and zero plan gets handed his first real weapon—a 5’6” David Nuuhiwa twin from Chuck Dent Surf Shop on Main St. They had the best selection. 30+ new boards all lined up and ready to shred the dayglo 80’s away. There was also a shiny new 4’11” Ken Bradshaw thruster sitting there like the future… but Fig, in his infinite wisdom (or liability concerns), convinced my dad to go bigger. “He’ll grow into it.”
So my brother and I walked our new twinnies home from Main to 12th like Flash had just stolen our Schwinns cruisers from Westside Liquor on Christmas Day.
By 14, me and my buddy Ziggy were changing in parking lots, but somehow got “sponsored” by Infinity Surfboards, running wild with one of the best teams in HB. During the OP Pro, Occy would wander into the back where we changed, light a joint before his final, and talk story with us groms like we mattered.
We didn’t. But it felt like we did.
Then Infinity shut down. Just like that. Doors closed, dream paused. So we drifted… straight back into Fig’s orbit, walking past Hayward’s shop where the jock surfers used to pick on us. But not Fig—he took us in like stray dogs with no home. No questions. No contracts. Just waves and guidance. He ran heats every Saturday with his little team that grew week by week. Fig ruled, watching him every morning call into KROQ for the surf report, paddling out and sharing waves with him and his rule was if you’re gonna hang out at the shop all day you have to design 5 airsprays for the new boards coming in constantly.
By 18, I was working next to him, learning a lot how to sell boards, and getting the customer what they should be on talent wise. He was the best surfboard salesman on the block, besides George Lambert.
Fig. Nak. All father figures in their own chaotic, surf-soaked way. Suckin’ Wham. RIP Fig.
Somewhere in the late ’80s, I got handed the title “team manager,” by Nak, which mostly meant organizing chaos and pretending I knew what I was doing. I flirted with going pro—surfing better than some guys that were sponsored—but without backing, a bit of self delusion, you’re just another guy in the lineup with a dream and a sunburn.
So I stayed close to the source.
Nak would always make me watch my boards get shaped. Over and over. Like some kind of dusty, sacred ritual. I watched guys like Balestar, Redman, and Wagner etc. mow foam like surgeons with power tools. Then my buddy Barry Deffenbaugh started shaping. I got his second board ever. Took it to college, let an art class paint it. It looked like hell… but it worked.
I rode his boards for 20+ years and watched almost every one of mine come to life in the shaping stalls—there were a lot of them. Then one day, I said screw it—teach me dbaugh.
So he did.
Planer in hand. Foam dust everywhere. No machine. No shortcuts. Just raw, ugly, beautiful trial and error. I shaped a few “pigs” for myself when I was packing a few extra pounds—thick, fast, unapologetic. Sound familiar? I still have the first one. It looks horrible… but I hit the lip on it more times than I can count.
Then the machines came. Shapers got bitter, wouldn’t make what we asked for. Time to move on and shape my own boards again.
And let’s be honest—everyone uses machines now. Lost, Channel Islands, SharpEye, JS… all chasing consistency, repeatability, perfection. ALL OF THEM!!!
Great. But perfection is boring, though I try.
After shutting down a nonprofit (Drains to Ocean) I poured 15 years into, I got restless. I needed something real again—no kids, mid 50’s… why not something with foam, dust, resin, and a little danger.
So I came back to the shaping stall.
Not to “shape”—because apparently that word offends the purists—but to “hand tune”. Yeah, I’m stealing that from T. Patterson.
I don’t mass-produce magic.
I mess with it.
I tweak it.
I argue with it until it feels right.
Cat on Acid isn’t about clean lines and perfect symmetry… but I try.
It’s about boards with personality. Boards that paddle early, fly through garbage, and bite back when pushed and having fun.
Boards that feel like they’ve lived a few lives already and know what to do on a wave, boards I ride on the daily.
So here we are.
A little older.
A lot weirder.
Still chasing that same feeling from the walk home on 12th Street.
Nine lives deep… and just getting started.
Now quit overthinking it.
Let’s go scrub a blank, kook.
P.S. The first boards I made were called Pidgin Brah. Then I launched Tiger Surfboards… and about three months later realized Jon Pyzel was already naming everything Tiger this, Tiger that. So I scrapped it. Rebranded. Cat on Acid. The name’s been rattling around in my head since the ’90s—something Occy said while describing how Andy Irons surfed: “he surfed like a cat on acid.” Fuck yeah, Occy. That one stuck. Seth
P.S.S. All board are glassed at Mystery Glassing (AKA: Chuck Dent, by the master himself NAK!)
