Valyou...

Lis fish, Select Surf Shop, Roots!

I received these images and a request for a determination of value. I responded by asking what was meant by "value". I could see myself valuing this beauty through a high line or two. Smirk. Grin.

Lines Converge...

A personally inspiring interview I held with Manuel C. Caro has just reached the interwebs. Please enjoy it on Drift Surfing Magazine.

The Pendulum Swings...

LCrow, putting some resin on a surfboard by CChristenson for MHealy. Pic via MMiller.
 

Remember Edgar Allen Poe? The Pit and the...?
A meticulous metaphor crafted to incite horror. And it did. And it does.

I was chatting at the beach with Sin Diego fixture and single fin maestro LCrow. "It's been a good winter, eh?" "Yep, but I've just been dragging a bit. You know, just have to get motivated to get out there." I shrug and skip to the sand's edge, grinning a Cheshire's large. LCrow becomes a spectator. Days pass, as they do, and I see LCrow at The Drive Through for an early morning dip. Meager lines bob and warble along the sandbar. I eye my boards, beauties each, and kind of mumble to myself about cold and stiff and stinky wetsuit and time's a-tickin'. LCrow looks over at me, "Let's get out there." In minutes we are in the lineup. The cold seeps through my stinky wetsuit as time clicks along. But I am smiling. Not mumbling, smiling. The pendulum swings.

Each day a pass of the pendulum, razor sharp, comes closer. Each day we swing like the pendulum. We breathe life into the tiniest moments, then fritter away the grandest. We enfold our thoughts in minutia, then are able to draw intelligent visions upon the future. We dictate and then contradict. We are in constant danger of the pendulum's death blow. We are the pendulum.

The surfing life gives a weight to the pendulum's swing. We have a central gravity that draws us center. Regardless of the wild gyrations surrounding our unsalty-selves we always come to a rest at center. Thank God for the center.

I/We...

Solitude sent me searching at my out of the way spots. High tide and decent swell mixed with a rambling shuffle of the feet. Two days, many waves, tired, satiated but not satisfied. The only surfer I surfed with was an invitee. Crowds are a manifestation of expectations too high or explorations too limited.

Above, Larmo etches petroglyphic echoes. Since the inception he'e nalu has been filtered by a collective and singular duality of thought. I am me on a wave at this moment. I am a member of us who are on waves at many moments. Sometimes I need to get lost in the former in order to put the latter in perspective.

Suggested reading as an alternative to surf media described in video above : Footsteps as Flotsam; Granuped, Janus