An excerpt from my final paper for my Youth Culture class, the full length (20 or so pages – double spaced) exogesis of the surfing subculture can be found here.
The Rhythm
It was 7:00 in the morning; the sun was accelerating above the horizon. Yellow and orange rays of light began to shoot into the blue dawn sky, illuminating the hills and sending a shimmer across the water’s surface. The slow steady swell was lifting and lowering my board like a seesaw. The water was frigid on my feet, hands and face, as my neoprene wetsuit covered the rest of my body, warming the water between my skin and the suit, giving me a warm layer of insulation. The salt dried my mouth, but I was not parched. It shriveled my lips and pruned my hands. Fifteen feet away, an otter floated on a bed of kelp, breaking a shell open with an old coke bottle. As I looked around, everything was in rhythm; the suns rays in the sky, the gentle swell beneath me, the otter having breakfast, and my heart beating to the rhythm of the ocean. There was peace, there was joy, there was harmony between man and nature and on the horizon there was a set on the way. “Beautiful Morning!” I declared to the older man paddling by on my right hand side. “Yep, it makes you glad your alive…” He responded. “Yep…it sure does.” I confirmed with a smile too big for my face.
