Gangs of black seabirds flapped by, emitting siren-like chirps at the surfers as they flew toward their home on Camel Rock. Pelicans silently skimmed the curling waves ignoring the bulky humans and our pathetic attempts at grace. The sun turned the ocean brilliant gold. The sea supplied quick shoulder-high, waves to ride and endless whitewater to push through. At the place where water and sand met, an 11-year-old boy, tall for his age, but thin, all gangly legs and arms, rode a skimboard over and over across the waves’ last reaches, throwing, running, leaping, gliding, spinning, quietly, gracefully, all awkwardness shed, perfectly connected to the rhythm of his world.
All the surfers I have known tell me that there is more to the experience. Reading your thoughts, I can see that there is more going on than the act of surfing. It can have a spiritual element. Very nice.