Meet Longboard Team

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I BROKE MY NOSE IN 12 PIECES.

I was tow-surfing at our beachbreak in Brazil. My tow board hit my face, and I was covered in blood … then I blacked out. Two hours later I was in the hospital.

THE PUBLIC HOSPITAL IN BRAZIL IS GNARLY.

People dying in every corner, nobody has a pillow, nobody has a blanket. That’s the rule in Brazil: If you get rescued by public services, you go to the public hospital. I sat in my wetsuit for six hours, shaking.

I HAVE NO LIMITS, IT’S TERRIBLE.

In Tahoe this year, my first time snowboarding, I kept falling. My arm kept dislocating, I could feel I was messing up my body, but I mess up my body all the time, so I thought it was okay. It wasn’t okay. Then I fell and broke my radius bone. I was out for a good month and a half.

I DON’T THINK ABOUT HAVING KIDS.

I don’t want to stop surfing for eight months, and then after, I won’t want to be risking my life. I won’t be able to.

MY DAD’S RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR OF RIO.

He’s a congressman in Brazil. We’re second on the polls. The number one is the current governor.

I NEVER REALLY COMPARE MYSELF TO GUYS.

I’m not really competing with them. I’m doing my own thing with my own limits, and just learning from them. Slowly I think I got respect from the boys.

I’VE HAD PEOPLE SAY THAT I CAN’T EVEN SURF, THAT I SHOULDN’T BE TOW-SURFING.

Just this season, a guy said to me, “Even my grandmother could surf the waves you surf, because you can barely surf.” I was so affected by that.

  • I HAD THIS RANDOM GUY COME TO ME UP TO ME AND SAY, “Are you Maya, the girl who surfs big waves?” I said, “Well, I’m Maya, but I only surf big waves sometimes.”

I TRY NOT TO MAKE A WHOLE LOT OF ATTACHMENTS.

I have friends, but it’s pretty hard to be attached to people when you travel so much.

HARD WORK. AND PRACTICE.

It’s really simple. It’s not like some secret formula. It’s just about who’s going to go out and do it.

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WHEN YOU’RE A KID, YOU FEEL INVINCIBLE.

It’s part of being 20. I don’t wish to be 20 again.

  • THE BEST THING I’VE LEARNED IS TO LET GO, and not grip so hard, and be more open. You learn faster that way. You learn at a better rate.
  • INSPIRATION COMES FROM THE HEART and motivation comes from the head. Motivation’s always temporary because it’s coming from the brain. Inspiration is everlasting.
  • I’VE MADE SOME PREDICTIONS IN THE PAST in my career and it was always harder when I tried to predict the future.

THINGS ARE GOING TO CHANGE.

The only guarantee that I’ve found in this whole universe is change.

  • A LOT OF PEOPLE THINK THAT YOU NEED TO SLOW DOWN WHEN YOU GET OLDER, but I think it’s just the opposite. I’m still learning and getting better.
  • BACK THEN, SURFING WAS OKAY IN PARENTS’ EYES, but it wasn’t great. Now that there’s a lot more money involved, people see dollar signs.

NONE OF US WERE GETTING ANYTHING AT 16.

We’d freak out if we got a plane ticket. When you’re looking at dollar signs as a reason to do something, you may or may not make it, but the chances of not having longevity are a lot greater.

  • THE ONE THING I FEEL LIKE OUR GENERATION HAD is that all those guys worked hard, and they appreciated what they got.
  • THE 12-YEAR-OLD KID at my beachbreak can do an air reverse.

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DANE AND JORDY ARE THE YOUNG UP-AND-COMING GUYS ON TOUR.

A lot of kids look up to those guys, I just hope they see that those guys can do it all–they can do the airs, but they can also put it on a rail and turn.

YOU HAVE TO DO A BIG TURN.

It’s the base of our sport, our art, our culture. Go back to Greg Noll, Miki Dora, Dane Kealoha, Occy, and Tom Carroll. If you get away from your roots, it becomes something different.

I COULD’VE SURFED THE REST OF MY LIFE AND NOT LEARNED PATIENCE.

It wasn’t surfing that brought me patience, it was the learning of self that brought me patience, and if I never looked at myself I’d still be wanting to go out and grab things and force it to happen. And that’s just not how it goes down.

SURFING IS ALL ABOUT A FEELING.

A place in the sun: Dusty Payne emerges from the shadows of injury

You don’t learn thoroughly if you think it through instead of just feeling it.

Dorian Paskowitz is the patriarch of the Paskowitz family, and the author of Surfing and Health.

Starstruck

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“Hell, maybe I was starstruck,” he offers. Dusty recalls surfing against Kelly at Bells in only his second event on Tour, and getting a major league hazing from the champ. “It was typical Kelly. I was in the third round and all confident and I’m like, ‘OK, I’m doing good, I can beat this guy!’ Anyway, Kelly comes over before the heat and goes to me, ‘You know, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to surf.

STERLING KNIGHTI tried to do this air and I might have broken a bone in my ankle.‘ I’m standing there thinking, ‘Wow, really?’ Then Dave Riddle [Volcom’s Hawaiian coach] comes over and goes, ‘Fuck off, Kelly!’ I’m standing there, this poor little rookie, thinking, is his foot broken or not? We surf and it was really inconsistent the whole day, small Winkipop, and suddenly here’s this perfect wave, the biggest wave of the heat and I’ve got priority and I’m paddling for it and Kelly looks at me and goes, ‘I’ll give you 20 bucks for this wave.’ I’m thinking, ‘What’s this guy on? I better make this guy pay!’ I caught it and paddled back out and sat right next to him they read out the score, which was a 9 and he goes, ‘Maybe I should have offered you a thousand bucks, huh?’ Then he goes and gets two 7s and beats me. I lose needing a 4.5. Welcome to the Tour.”

His assessment of his first year on Tour is blunt

StarStruck_OST“To be honest, I hated it. I just guess it’s where I felt I had to be, but when I got there it seemed weird. The whole thing was weird. It was all foreign to me.” Dusty’s surfing–rambunctious and free the other 350 days a year–slowly calcified under the pressure of clock, scoreboard, and opponent, along with the pressure he placed on himself. “At the end of the day I blew it. I put so much pressure on myself to perform and I cared too much about what everyone thought.” Doubt metastasized through his surfing and led to him second-guessing his natural game, chasing 7s instead of 9s, surfing white-bread heats. Dusty became demoralized, confused. He shakes his head. “Even though you can block it out and say it’s just a jersey I’m putting on, it’s not. It’s hard. It changes you.”

The head noise, the competitive neurosis and the bad results followed him into 2011

But then, while hopelessly mired in Tour life, he stomped the closing section of Lost Atlas, the biggest film release of last year. His surfing in the movie, if he could summon it during a heat, would win him any contest, anywhere, anytime. But his reaction to the part says a lot about how Dusty sees his own surfing with best longboard get a free gift here

  • “It was okay, I suppose. Could have been better.”
  • “Better? Dude, they gave you the closer.”
  • “I didn’t think it was that good. I kooked it.”
  • “Kooked it?
  • “I guess so,” he replies. “But nothing is ever going to be good enough for me, even when it is. That’s just me.”

The run of injuries that have hobbled him and left him couch surfing began in Tahiti last year

“That would have been the wave of my life, instead I went straight into the reef. I popped up and saw all this white stuff coming out of my right knee and ligaments moving around like the fricken Terminator and thought, ‘This isn’t good.'” The swell life.

He missed a bunch of events and had just started surfing again when he tweaked his left ankle

The one in the moonboot–doing a “shitty little lien air” in Santa Cruz. Seemingly more niggle than season-ender, Dusty kept surfing. The gods of fate meanwhile continued sending signs he wasn’t meant to be on Tour. “Oh man, that shark in San Francisco, that coulda only happened to me. That was the biggest, scariest thing I’ve ever seen, and here I am in my heat and the thing was coming straight at me.

I’d seen dolphins earlier that day, and I paddled over the wave and saw this find.

And I’m like, ‘That’s not a dolphin. A 20-foot man-eating great white dolphin maybe.'” Dusty was gray and trembling when he got to the beach, but incredibly no one believed the boy who cried “shark” and the next heat was sent straight out. You’re left wondering if it had been Kelly who’d seen the shark whether it would have been dismissed so easily.

I ask Dusty if he still feels

51AD6HNP5PLAfter two years, like he belongs on Tour, or whether he feels more like its redheaded stepchild. “I’m asking myself if the world wants me here. I just felt I’ve been wasting my time ’cause I’m not surfing well and it’s not helping me. Not helping who I am. I’m just stale and it kind of sucks. Nothing good was coming out of it for me. I just wasn’t growing.” I ask him what positives he can take out of the past two years. “Well, I’m still here I guess.” He hints at it all turning around once he gets back in the water, a new beginning once he gets his leg out of this dumb plastic boot, but as I leave the apartment and it’s clark and cloudy interior, Dusty scratching his nuts on the couch while flicking through TV channels, I’m not sure even Dusty believes it himself.

A place in the sun: Dusty Payne emerges from the shadows of injury

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FEBRUARY 2012.

The natural order of Coolangatta is in full swing. The sun is noon-high, the sand blinding, and the local cognoscenti are already in residence beneath the Tree of Knowledge swigging from king brown bottles. Skateboarding kids slalom around leathery retirees while in the shallows honey-skinned teenage girls splash and prance and corrupt the thoughts of liver-spotted men on longboard brand. Flawless little waves gather human flotsam and carry it down toward Kirra. Rainbow Bay is a time lapse in real time, a hive of carefree life, everyone hustling to some place they don’t need to be.

bratstyle6Dusty Payne, meanwhile, is 13 floors above in his rented condo, poking his snowy, boyish head through drawn curtains like a creepy neighbor, watching the ant life scuttle about below. The room is dark, and not even the cloying pastel decor can brighten his mood. Dusty sits down and starts picking at an unloved toe protruding from the moonboot on his injured left foot. He’s telling me how he just had a horse syringe of his own blood drawn, spun and injected back into his troublesome ankle, a procedure apparently outlawed in the U.S. but legal over here in the colonies. He tells me he doesn’t know when–or even if–he’ll surf again. He tells me he’s made a bet with Dean Morrison that he won’t touch beer for a month. The wager? A cock and balls tattooed on his neck. He’s just finished watching his third movie for the day, is bored out of his mind, and is slowly being digested by the sofa. The Hawaiian sighs. “Living the fucking dream, brah.”

The dream home Garage Barrage.

Just across the road at Snapper Rocks, pro surfing’s “Dream Tour” has started the season without him. Dusty hasn’t surfed in two months, won’t surf again for another six, and his season is effectively over before it’s even begun. He admits that it’s only his masochistic streak that has him sitting here torturing himself, watching it all go down instead of being back home on Maul. But when he asks rhetorically, “What am I doing here? Why?” he’s not just talking about Coolangatta. He’s talking about the whole goddamn Tour.

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1. “I can deal with not surfing. It’s not doing anything that’s torturing me. No golf, no nothing, just watching movies.”

Among the movies he’s been watching, in an act of pure self-flagellation, are YouTube clips from his first year on Tour. “Loser porn” he calls it. “Oh man, it was … shit, to even watch it was embarrassing, you know. It actually made me want to quit surfing altogether. Maybe I might still quit surfing. I was kooking it. Now I know why I didn’t make heats. Growing up as a kid I’ve watched so many heats online. I watched contests religiously, always pointing out everyone else’s dumb shit. But I watched myself and–Jesus–now I know. I can only imagine what people were thinking watching it. I’m sorry to whoever wasted hours of their life watching me.” Fair to say Dusty’s not exactly shadow boxing with the swagger of All right now. After “two lame years” on Tour and back-to-back injuries he’s reached a nadir. He breaks the gloom with a disarming laugh at his own expense.

2. When Dusty qualified for the World Tour in 2010, the game was being turned on its head.

Dane Reynolds was tearing the arms off wooden pro tour journeymen and clubbing them about with the sloppy ends, and it appeared the freesurfing and competitive worlds were finally converging into one big, beautiful year-long all-star game. While Reynolds was the headline freak, Dusty was the prototype surfer for this new tour. Dusty was destined to star. His surfing, a muscular, hard-railed blend of Hawaiian lines and modern pop had scored him mag covers and movie parts and even a $50,000 check for a single forehand spinner. He could easily have just kept freesurfing for a crust, but Dusty’s pedigree was surfing heats–had been since he was a kid, way back when Matty Schweitzer was kicking his ass in menehune heats on Maul and Dusty was studying videos of Andy and Kelly to find a way to kick his ass right back.

3. Dusty was the first–and so far the only–surfer from Maui to qualify for the Tour.

“When I qualified we had a party on Maul and the whole island showed up ’cause they felt they’d made it with me, which was really cool.” It might only be a couple of stones away from Oahu and the bullring of the North Shore, but Maul feels like another world; more free-spirited, eclectic, more country than country. When I ask him the difference between surfers on Maul and those on Oahu he laughs. “Everybody is such a weirdo on Maul. We all just do our own thing and don’t care what anybody else thinks. Everyone is a character. We’ve got every type of human on that island. We got Clay who’s, you know … Clay. We got Walshy, just a maniac. We got Granger and we got Matt Meola and Albee Layer and Kai Barger who were all my best friends growing up.”

4.From surfing styles to personalities to career paths.

Dusty’s generation on Maul can be characterized by being impossible to characterize, but it’s fair to say that right now Maul is producing surfers like nowhere on earth. The buzz around the island and its surfers is compounding Dusty’s woes on Tour, because sitting here injured on the lounge in Coolangatta he’s feeling a long way from it. “I just wish one of them would hurry up and make the Tour. I’m getting best longboard brandsĀ here.”

5. To say Dusty’s first two years on Tour haven’t gone exactly as planned would be understating it somewhat.

For every heat he’s won he’s lost another two–often depressingly so-scraping in at 32nd and 24th respectively in the end-of-year ratings. Dusty can’t put a finger on where it all went wrong. A weight of expectation–both his own and everybody else’s? A laidback island disposition? The loss of boyhood idol and traveling partner Andy Irons? A pathological fear of flying? (The irony here of course being Dusty’s father, Wendell, was a pilot for Aloha Air).

Curious gabe: have you ever invented your own surf slang?

  • SCOTTY PAYTON, 43
  • COMPUTER TECH CONSULTANT

“YES. ‘JAMES BOND.’ IT REFERS TO THE SURFER WHO HAS ALL THE LATEST LITTLE SURFING GADGETS. IN MY CASE. I HAVE SHORT ARMS. SO I USE AN EXTENDED BOARD-CARRYING HANDLE GADGET TO HELP ME GET MY LONGBOARD IN THE WATER.”

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  • CRAIG DE PFYFFER, 46
  • LANDSCAPE ARCHITECT

“YES. ‘SLING GROVED.’ IT’S WHEN YOU’RE IN THE BARREL AND THE BOTTOM EMPTIES OUT ONTO DRY REEF AND YOU ‘RE JUST GROVELING-YOU’VE BEEN SLING GROVED.”

HOLLY DE PFYFFER, 18

STUDENT

“YES. ‘FACE SHLAP.’ IT’S WHEN YOU’RE SKIMBOARDING AND YOU EAT IT FACE FIRST INTO AN ONCOMING WAVE.”

  • CAMERON DE PFYFFER, 13

“YES. ‘KELPED.’ IT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN KELP SNAGS YOUR FIN AND YOUR BOARD STOPS BUT YOU KEEP ON GOING.”

  • CHRIS WATKINS, 26
  • DO-IT-YOURSELFER

“NO, BUT I’VE INTEGRATED SOME SURF SLANG INTO CAR TALK WITH MY BUDDIES. WE CALL OUR CUSTOM RAT ROD CARS ‘SLOT STICKS.’ ‘Cause DRIVIN’ ‘EM IS AS FUN AS HAULIN’ ASS ON YOUR BOARD.”

Senior ASP world tour

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So I was trying to get some shuteye the other day and turned on some golf when the idea popped into my head, “Why not a senior tour in surfing?” Think about it–Richards, Lopez, Tomson, Cairns, etc. all in the same place! Start it at Pipeline (I imagine Lopez would be able to lock in that one). Longboards not allowed! The senior tour in golf starts at 50 years old, so that gives me three years before I qualify for the Senior Surfing Tour (or SST as I’ve named it)–maybe I’ll just watch. Discuss … I lived Cris Christenson: San Diego, CA

Cris Christenson: San Diego, CA

We loved the ASP’s Clash of the Icons at J-Bay in 2009 and Bells in 2010 that pitted the 40-something versions of Curren and Occy against one another. Let’s start a campaign to get it reinstated! Send us the classic match-ups you’d like to see. MR vs. Shaun Tomson? Richie Collins vs. Gerry Lopez? Think outside the box, and send your wish list to [email protected]

  • STEVEN STARR
  • Signal Hill, CA
  • Starr, Steven

King

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Allan Levine

Once upon a time, Canadians objected to the notion that William Lyon Mackenzie King, our longest-serving prime minister, was the embodiment of the nation-“the Canadian as he was first formed in the mind of God,” to adapt a phrase from poet Frank Scott-in his po-faced blandness and fearful caution. (A man who “did nothing by halves that he could do by quarters,” as Scott actually did write of King.) Since then, of course, it has emerged, the real reason for Canadians to recoil from the idea was that in his interior life King was flat-out crazy, a mother-obsessed bachelor who scrutinized his shaving cream for omens and communed with the dead, including Sir Wilfrid Laurier, via mediums.

But until now no one has ever done as magisterial a job as Levine in fusing King’s many parts into a complex but comprehensible whole, and thereby demonstrating–however much we might cringe from the thought–that King may well be us personified after all. He did have his share of good fortune, in his enemies–one unappealing or hare-brained Tory leader after another–and in a quiescent press culture. He wasn’t that secretive about his spiritualism: at a 1945 Christmas party King told the startled governor general about a conversation he recently had with FDR, dead the past seven months. Many people were aware of the PM’s beliefs, but none outed him during his lifetime.

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But he was also a politician of genius, as Levine convincingly argues. He was unafraid to appoint strong ministers and broker between them. He was instinctively attuned to Canadian fears, hopes and ambitions. King was as obsessed with national unity as he was with communicating with his dead dogs. He understood Canada’s simmering regional tensions better than any other prime minister–his only possible rivals in that regard, Laurier and Sir John A. Macdonald, had less complex Canadas to govern. And if his own deep-rooted insecurities helped keep him to the maddening maybe-yes, maybe-no approachthat saw the country safely through the Second World War’s conscription crisis, well then, he was the right crazy prime minister at the right time. They come South America: Central Ecuador to Northern Peru.

Bethune, Brian

Singlefin: Yellow

(DOCU)

A Singlefin Prods. presentation in association with Build Worldwide. Produced, directed by Jason Baffa. Camera color, 16mm), Baffa; editor, Carl Cramer; music supervisors, John Katovsich, Daryl Berg. Reviewed on DVD, San Francisco, Nov. 21,2003. Running time: 69 MIN.

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With: Tyler Hatzikian, David Kinoshita, Beau Young, Devon Howard, Daize Shayne, Bonga Perkins.

They hope meet Dear Mr. Hopeful

Jason Baffa’s 16mm-lensed surfing docu “Singlefin: Yellow” reps–like the titular item–a handcrafted throwback to earlier eras. Disarming feature follows an old-school longboard as it traverses the globe, presented from one surfer to another as a sort of 12-foot chain letter. More than high-gloss recent theatrical releases “Step Into Liquid” and “Billabong Odyssey,” pic’s intimate charm captures surfing’s pure pleasure, making it a delightful armchair-travel movie rather than an extreme-sports dazzler. It’s likely to have long shelf life in home formats. “Singlefin” has been playing one-off hardtop gigs along the West Coast.

Fascinated by the peak mid-’60s era of longboard surfing (boards grew shorter/lighter afterward), Northern Californian Tyler Hatzikian began making his own at age 12. He now does it professionally, crafting one to send to friends. Shipped via jumbo plastic case, banana-colored board goes first to second-gen surfer Beau Young on Australia’s North Coast; then David Kinoshita in Japan (where sport was intro’d by Yankee GIs). Malibu, San Diego and Oahu follow. Each temp owner narrates seg. Imaginatively shot/edited package has an especially good soundtrack of cuts by little-known bands. List of those thanked in final credits includes “beer.”

Harvey, Dennis

Cris Christenson: San Diego, CA

THERE IS NOTHING FOR SALE ON THE HOMEPAGE OF CHRIS CHRISTENSON’S WEBSITE.

Nor is there a pro surfer riding one of his shapes, or a flashy marketing campaign. Instead, there’s an image of a smiling African-American man making a peace sign with one hand and holding a Christenson twin fin in the other. The man’s shirt reads, “Girls love my swag.”

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Born in Encinitas, California, Chris began making boards at 19 and shortly after shaped under the tutelage of Dick Brewer, so it’s no surprise that Chris’s big-wave boards have gained him the most notoriety. Today, he shapes all of Greg Long’s boards, including the red 10’6″ he caught the wave of his life on during that session at Jaws last October–a legitimate 25-foot tube.

But Chris is just as versed in building high-performance shortboards as he is guns and twin fins. In San Diego there’s not a lineup without one of his shapes, no matter the conditions, a testament to Chris’ “equal respect for every design I put my planer on.” He’s currently building quivers for everyone from Greg Long to Scotty Stopnik to Sterling Spencer, often all in the same day, and it’s that diversity in equipment that allows him to keep his shaping sharp.

He does, however, have his limits. “Say a guy asks me to make him a 9’0″ high-performance longboard because he wants to do cutbacks on it and hit the lip. I’m gonna tell him straight up–I don’t make that kind of board. Ride a shortboard [laughs]. Now, if you want to keep it sweet and casual, I’ll be happy to make you a 9’6″ cruiser.” The guy play game “Meet Longboard Team“.

But there’s no need to walk into his shop in fear; he’s not the Board Nazi (No 9 “o” for you!). And as the order forms pile up, quality still remains his first priority. “Even though my business has grown a lot in the last few years, there isn’t a board my hands don’t touch. I never want my brand based around numbers. At the end of the day, I won’t let anything leave my factory if I don’t wholeheartedly believe in it.”

  • And who needs an online boutique and swanky marketing with an ethos like that?

Girl in just a shirt

  • O’NEILL Ambit $49.50
  • PHOTO: MIKE SMOLOWE
  • MODEL: LAUREN YOUNG
  • HAIR/MAKEUP: JEANNIE JEFFRIES

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“… AND WE TALKED, LIKE, THE ENTIRE NIGHT, AND BEFORE SHE LEFT SHE WENT INTO HER PURSE, PULLED OUT SOME LIPSTICK AND WROTE HER NUMBER ON MY ARM.”

  • “That’s amazing. I have a good number story, too.”
  • “Always gotta one-up me …”
  • “You remember that flat spell we had last summer?”
  • “Yeah”

“Well, after two weeks of that I was dying. It was a gorgeous day–super hot and glassy–and I ended up just taking a fish down to The Shore to get wet. It was low tide and breaking kinda far out, but it was fun. So, I’m getting a few runners and having a good time when this girl paddles out on a longboard. Early 20s. Smoking hot. Super fit. And she’s wearing one of those wetsuits.”

“The ones that hug the butt?”

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“Yes! God, whoever invented those should get some sort of prize. Anyway, so I say to her, ‘Looks like we’re missing the game, huh?’ And she’s like, ‘What game?’ And I was like, ‘I don’t know. Someone always seems to be playing a game these days.'”

“The f–k does that mean?”

“I don’t know but I was in a weird mood and she laughed. And we chatted a little bit more. I caught waves. She caught waves. Yada yada yada, she gets a wave and loses her board. I’m about ready to go in at this point and I catch a good one, pump down the line, try an air and fall. My board goes to the beach.”

“And she gets it for you.”

“So I bodysurf toward her with my head down and when the wave fizzles out she’s paddling right by with this cheeky smile. My board’s still on the inside. I was like, ‘Are you kidding?’ But then I get my board and I see that she’d carved her number into the wax of my board with her fingernails.”

 

 

 

  • “No way.”
  • “Yeah.”
  • “So did you call her?”
  • “I wish come dream come true Starstruck.”

“Well, get this. On my way home I stop to get some groceries and I left my board in the car. When I get home and unload the board I see that the wax–and her number–had melted.”

“How long can I hold my breath? Until I pass out. It’s hard to do; try it.”–Kohl Christensen.