He's the guy I first surfed with, the guy I shared the first few steps of the journey with. He gets me.
He surfs good, because he enjoys it, its visceral, its written on his face, he'll do whatever madcap scheme i had conjured up, we surfed at midnight, tangled in the fisherman's lines, we surfed waves we shouldn't.
When i surf i sometimes think of him ~ and try to tell myself to be a little more like him than me.
Moments like now, when i think about my place in the world ~ i miss him most.
I miss sitting on the roof of the car, post surf, in the dewy evening sharing stories, usually tall ones, exaggerating rides, overstating ourselves, knowing that we were(are) both rubbish! - smiling, knowing, and laughing.
We climbed big cliffs together ~ we did stupid big swings off railway bridges, in the middle of night, on old rope, climbed into water-towers to abseil ~ we should be dead ~ we drove too fast ~ we trust one another ~ he belayed my first lead - on this route:
im lucky to have him as a friend, even if he is on the other side of the world...
and i'll surf with him in 9 weeks.
nice. good words.
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