Commemorating the Stoke
by David Hunter
Memories of our summers chasing shore barrels coerce bitter sweet stings of nostalgia every time they creep up and rub the fog from my minds window, showing me brief moments of what once was…
These moments in timeless wandering were the reason we lingered as long as we did in this time warped part of the world,
Because on a sunny day in the middle of whatever, at a time of who cares, we stood at the wet rolling forefront of everything and nothing..
There we felt the oceans ice cold spray, the salty sting on a fresh wound, a twinge in our detoxifying muscles and the burn of the sun on our slightly pruned faces as we ran toward the stoke.
We ran fiercely in pursuit of the purity, as fast and hard as we could, as if at any moment it could be lost.
Here upon our shoulders the Shred was born and the Sea Lions gathered to pay homage as mascots to our pastime..
That day we enslaved our first wave changed our life forever. No one we ever confess that intimate experience to, who has not already weathered that moment, will ever fathom what we encountered.
Cliche or not, that was the first day of the rest of our lives…
There we graduated into a life less known. Welcomed warmly into a small fraternity of people on this earth.
There we stood unified as an army of shirtless soldiers, wielding carbon fiber swords to wreak mayhem on the next set, raging against the swell in all its fury.
We faced the fear with adrenaline in our veins and undaunted tenacity in our eyes. Brothers in arms marching to the sounds of waves pounding the shore and sea gulls singing our anthem.
The feeling and thoughts we will always get now standing on a beach, looking out at the ocean is one that cannot be put into words..
So raise a glass, here’s a toast to all that was and may never be again, as we commemorate the stoke we shared, at the Wedge..