Bouldering for Surfing

Aloha Tribe,

There's a famous boulderer who truly inspires my surfing. He's a guy who led the field in bouldering when it was more or less in its infancy. When he was starting out, in his teens, he'd often carry just the minium of primitive equipment,  a simple pair of red canvas basketball shoes, a 50 foot section of manilla rope, and perhaps an ice axe and for the days rations, maybe just a single sandwich. I loved the sandwich idea, even his meals were simple.

I read that this adventurous soul would  simply coil his rope, tie on his tennis shoes, leaving his home in the middle of the night, hitchhiking to  the wilds. Simple times, those. Like surfing was in the 60's, before competitions, surfing pros, and sponsors. Like surfing is today, for some.

I see a return to those times, in the new pioneers of both sports. Both, bouldering and surfing, are about the experience. The moment. The, feeling. And that is the path that we all, in one way or another yearn for, if only in our subconscious for some of us.

Surfing is different than bouldering in that we belong to the Tribe. That universal group of souls yearning for the wisdom of the sea. And often, as such, we surf with others. In established breaks. Where we know everyone. Our joy, often is equally for our fellow surfers, as for ourselves.

Yet, with movies like Endless Summer, a huge part of our culture was born, that being, the nomadic surfer of the wilds. Not unlike the pioneer boulderer, actually.

In the one case, an adventurer and a coiled rope, perhaps with just simple canvas basketball shoes for equipment instead of all the fancy modern sticky shoes and carabiners and such. And, on the other hand, a seeker of the sea, of the ride, with a single longboard strapped perhaps to  an orange  vw bug, touring the wilds, searching for the lone ride on the perfect wave.

For some of us, we always are part of the group. We're always in the lineup, a familiar face to all, Yet, others walk a different path. Perhaps because of pesonality. Perhaps environment. Take, where I live, for example. The wilds of Washington. You go to the beach here and your as likely to find beasts of the wilds as opposed to fellow surfers.

It creates, for some, a lonely style of surfing. Yet, to others, they see adventure in it. For the joy when one is by themselves is simply about the feeling itself. There is, after all, nobody to see, nobody to talk to,  nobody to share with.

Yet, paradoxically, it leads to interesting encounters at times. In a bar, grabbing a hot steamy bowl of clam chowder after a day of seemingly near arctic surfing of 46 degree water, you recognize a fellow surfer by their body, their eyes, their spirit. Their, stoke. And you'll glance over at them, and they at you, and you slightly smile, getting pehaps a return smile in kind. You both know, in the single moment, you see it, the lone surfer, in, each other. Alone, yet, shared experience. And with a knowing smile on your lips, you return  your soft gaze to your bowl of seafood, stirring the steamy mixture for tales of wisdom from the sea.

Bodaciosly Stoked,

Lily of the Valley