Turn On It, Tune Out, Drop In

~photo by toneman
SE WIND 20 TO 25 KT.
WIND WAVES 6 FT.
W SWELL 14 FT AT 15 SECONDS.

Carrying on from yesterday's post about what gets me going about surfing...what it means, what it is, what it can be. The language of surf in my youth was somewhat ludicrous...dude, shred, rad...and that only scratches the surface. It was an aggressive, in your face attitude that held little appeal for me once I realized what it was all about.

I think that even while I was participating in the outward expression of what I now view as backward, there was a whole group of surfers that understood what surfing was really about...even though I hadn't figured it out yet. While I surfed with crowds of shredders at local peaks, battling for position; others trekked far north or even deeper south to escape it all, seeking uncrowded surf in which to discover what surfing actually meant.

What did surfing really mean? What was it? What could it be? These weren't questions that didn't concern me until later in life in all honesty. It was only through a lifetime of surfing that these questions even came into being. Surfing, in essence, is an intangible activity...it's a simple act, yet far more than the sum of its parts. Surfing contains certain primal emotions...elation, fear, joy, even love...yet also embodies aspects of esthetic experience as well...poetry, art, and music. Surfing is, for me, pure experience...it is food for the soul. Drawn out, expanded time compressed into a singularity...each drop of water visible and distinct...echoing perfection and offering redemption. Truly it is the closest thing to rebirth for the unbeliever or believer alike. God's cupped hands.

Surfers, one and all...new and old...can all recount that one wave. Whether it's the first, the last or the best...it doesn't matter. They may have been alone, or their friend's hoots indelibly imprinted it upon their memory. It may have been a frosty ice crunching winter morning or a glowing green, sunset in the lip afternoon...but there's always a wave that stands out...and another...and another...like corduroy on the horizon they keep coming. And the stories pour out, never disappointing the true believers.