The M/V Milo doesn’t look like your average surf vessel. Built in 1960 as a North Pacific fishing seiner, she was meant to haul salmon, not surfers. But in 2010, Mike McCune, Scott Dickerson, and a small band of wave hunters piloted her north from San Francisco, reimagining her along the way. Today, she’s equal parts treehouse, bed-and-breakfast, and surf-mobile—an oddball creation that makes sense only when you see her anchored off an Alaskan beach, decks crowded with boards, wetsuits, and the kind of people who chase waves to the ends of the earth.
Above deck sits a rear cabin the crew calls The Piggy, cobbled together from the wheelhouses of a pair of barges. Below, the old fish hold is now the Board Room, a heated locker where frozen fingers fumble zippers and tug on neoprene. Igloo 1 and Igloo 2—two snug double berths—were designed by a surfer known only as Iceman. It’s all a bit patchwork, a bit eccentric, and entirely perfect for its purpose.
Mike and Wendy, who married on the Milo’s deck in 2011, run the show. He’s a Hawaiian-born fisherman who’s spent decades working Alaska’s waters; she’s his partner in both life and adventure. Together, they’ve turned the Milo into a roaming lodge for anyone willing to trade comfort for the rawness of the frontier.
Into the Aleutians
It was August when we left Homer, tracing a line toward Sand Point before pushing farther into the Aleutians. On board: Mike and Wendy, Scott and his partner Audrey, and surfer Dylan Graves.
The water was warmer than expected, though the surroundings told a different story—jagged cliffs, evergreen slopes, gravel beaches. Wildlife outnumbered people. Humpback whales breached on the horizon, sea lions porpoised through swell lines, sea otters floated on their backs like curious spectators. One morning, a pod of orcas rose alongside the boat, towering black dorsal fins cutting through the mist. We stopped speaking, stopped moving, and simply watched.
Waves, of course, were elusive. Surfing in Alaska is a game of patience and chance. From the wheelhouse, Mike scanned the coastline through binoculars, trying to separate the whitewater of breakers from the backdrop of rock and fog. Some days we came up empty. Other days, a lonely peak bent around a headland just enough to be rideable. And when the call came, Dylan Graves was already pulling on his FCS wetsuit.
The Waterman
Having Dylan on board changed the trip. Known for chasing weird waves, he brought the same curiosity and calm to Alaska. Beyond his ability—making both surfing and SUPing look straightforward—it was his attitude that stood out. Relaxed, approachable, and steady, he added an ease to the crew that fit perfectly with the rhythm of the voyage. Watching him approach a wild Alaskan lineup, you understood why he thrives in the margins: he commits, and he celebrates whatever comes of it.
Fishing & Feasting
When the surf went flat, we fished. The Alvey Captain Orca reel and Captain Pilot reel made it almost too easy: drop the line, jig it once or twice, and something was on. Halibut and silver salmon came up steady, most of them released, enough kept to feed us for the night. Come evening, Mike would grill the catch on the stern. Fresh and smoky—it was the kind of meal that makes you forget restaurants ever existed.
It was also part of the rhythm of the Milo: chase surf, fish when you can, eat what the sea provides. Each catch, each meal, felt like a reward for being there, for choosing to step outside the predictable.
SUP Adventures & Gear
The best day wasn’t about surf at all. We launched SUPs and paddled into sea caves, the walls towering above us, the cries of seabirds multiplying into a deafening chorus. It felt like entering the beginning of the world, raw and unshaped, where sound and stone existed long before us.
On those paddles, the FCS submersible bags proved their worth. We fell in the water more than once, but our essentials stayed bone dry. Knowing we were covered freed us to commit fully to the exploration—no hesitation, no holding back.
In the surf, the FCS prototype wetsuits made the impossible doable. They were more than insulation; they were confidence. The cold no longer dictated whether we could paddle out—it became just another element of the session. That’s the GO ethos in action: gear that allows you to step forward, commit, and see what happens.
We also tested new FCS fin templates, still unreleased, that delivered extra drive and snap on turns. They rewarded decisiveness—you leaned in, and the fins responded with speed and bite. And when it came to travel, the FCS Modulink luggage system kept life simple. Every piece clicked together into one streamlined unit, stripping away excuses and letting us focus on what mattered: being ready when the moment came to GO.
Life on Board
Days aboard the Milo blurred into a rhythm. Some mornings we lingered over coffee in the galley; other mornings the decks came alive with the thud of boards and the hiss of wetsuits. Afternoons were for scanning horizons, drying gear, or dropping a line over the side. Evenings meant stories, laughter, and the low sizzle of fish on the grill.
What struck me most was the silence. No phone reception, no Wi-Fi, no push notifications. Just the boat’s creak, the slap of swell against steel, the occasional cry of a gull overhead. Slowly, the noise of life fell away until we were folded into the ocean’s tempo. Each of us sank into our own habits, but together it felt like we’d found a shared pace—one defined not by schedules but by tides and weather.
Alaska’s Lesson
The Aleutians don’t offer surf the way Hawaii or Indonesia do. Here, waves are hidden, conditional, fleeting. But maybe that’s the point. This place reminds you that surfing isn’t only about performance—it’s about pursuit. It’s about showing up in unlikely places, standing at the edge of the world with a board under your arm, and knowing that even if the waves don’t appear, the adventure itself was enough.
That’s the essence of the FCS GO ethos: those decisive moments where you stop hesitating, pull the trigger, and celebrate whatever comes next. Out here, that meant chasing surf through fog and coastline, paddling into echoing caves, or dropping a line into deep water. Each act of commitment carried its own reward, even when it wasn’t what we expected.
On the Milo, between orcas, sea caves, fishing, and long evenings on deck, we learned that Alaska gives you just enough to keep looking.And when a wave finally breaks along an empty stretch of coast, it feels earned.
