This is a tribute to the old men of our surfing subculture, our surfing family.
The men who still get a glint in their eye when they daydream about the sultry days of their surfing youth. Whose leathery, creased faces are a map of the lines they have surfed.
Whose sons sometime forget the significance of the gift their dads gave them, the threads that tie us together with a common bond, the interwoven joy and peace that surfing bring us.
The men who could tell just as much from a gust of wind and flutter on the horizon as we do from all the technology available to us.
The men who sit wide and wait for uncrowded waves that never really come anymore.
The men who sometimes struggle to flow as they did, but every now and then time it just right and feel the life pulsate through their salty veins.
The men who have bellies of beer but hearts of gold.
The men who pioneered the places we know so well.
The men who may lack wealth but not memories.
The men who never know which wave will be their last.
Thank you for your life and all that you have given us.
Editor”s note: This article applies to the old women of surfing too.
Photo: Bob McTavish, Australian surfing legend, copyright Angela Raab. We will review it shortly.