Soul Surfing

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be a surfer. I don't want to surf, I want to be a surfer, to understand the waves and the ocean and the magnificent hydraulics involved. My best friend in junior high started buying Surfer magazine in 6th or 7th grade and we taped pictures of our favorite surfers in our lockers (Tom Carroll, Martin Potter, Mark Richards) . In Steamboat Springs, Colorado I guess this was our way of getting outside of the skiing/powder worship that surrounded us. Ever since I have been drawn to pictures and video of surfing, the way the rider is dwarfed by a huge wave, poised in a barrel of pure energy.

My fascination with surfing has never taken me to actually try surfing. I don't think I have even held a surfboard. In fact, I am pretty terrified of being way out in the ocean, contending with all that salty water, reefs, rocks and of course sharks. Yes, I probably watched Jaws at just the right age to be permanently damaged (you know what I mean, I'm sure). Now I feel too old and out of shape to ever pursue my surfing dream, too far away and too afraid.

But when I see a rider paddle up and stand, descend the face of a huge wave, bottom out and settle into a perfect tube, then get shot out in a blast of spray, it means something to me. Maybe I was a big wave Hawaiian surfer in a past life, maybe I just yearn to be at the mercy of nature like that. To ride a wave seems to be a beautiful act of freedom. Poised perfectly at ease in the void as the world swirls around, timeless and without fear.