It doesn't take much. To keep the stoke alive becomes a battle like none other. When you've been there. When you've walked away unscathed, clean and humbled in the best way possible. Riding liquid mountains like you have never seen before. Our day will come as it all ways does. To deal with the waiting between sets, between storm fronts, sunrises, sunsets, moon phases, years, decades, a hundred years, as much of a part of surfing as waiting for snow is for the white wave. Travel ponders and hopes of arcaine barrels of pure sunlit glory plague the mind. The most pure circuit charging the soul in the most indescribeable way. Still we remain Hungry. Like an animal of its own kind; Of it's own breed. A seperate extension of the mainstream. We are the water walkers, the storm riders.
My only vice has been music. It has consumed me. Music and arbory. Day in day out. I have a climb and I make music. Waves come in all shapes and sizes. I like the ones made of salt water the best. It's all I crave. 6ft @ 16 seconds. For 2 weeks straight. Light variable winds 3-5kts. Just enough swell and wind variation so I can take 2 weeks from work to explore every nook and cranny that the oh so promising New England coastline has to offer. Swell and a long sought after boat trip. I'm ready Nature. Are you? I'll be waiting.....
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