Up late last night, I wrote a quick email responding to a small craiglist ad that read: “old surfboards, used shape”. Got a call back in the morning, and by 11 I was at a small house in one of the more quiet neighborhoods in town.

I spent almost an hour with Robert, an English gentleman who spent his life as a stonemason. We talked about surfing, about waves and storms and how cold water is somehow more honest. He told me about driving to Pacifica State Beach, about wrecking his car because he’d always be watching the waves. About teaching his only son to surf. About growing up and growing old but never really slowing down.

I bought his board, promised to send him photos when I get the needed repairs done and have it back in the water. Told him I’d take him surfing, if he wanted. I think he liked that part best.

This 9’0” board is more than 40 years old, was handmade in San Diego and bears the scars of a life well lived. I don’t think I’ll ever sell it.