As I pulled into the near deserted car park I just new that the conditions would be terrible. I stopped, turned the ignition off and turned down the blaring live rendition of “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam. I caught myself expressing my frustration with a single all encompassing and frequently used surfing term "SHIT..."

I couldn't believe it. I'd been working what felt like non-stop for the past two weeks. My eyes were burning from staring at the stupid computer screen. My head hurt and I could feel the knot of tension in the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades.

I'd been dreaming about a surf. I needed to get in the water. I wasn't asking for much - a four foot fairly clean swell without hundreds of people out. Fairly reasonable expectations I thought, I mean I wasn't asking for six foot offshore barrels all to myself!

What I definitely didn't ask for was what I had before me: one to two foot cross onshore slop... I languidly climbed out of my car, leaving the music playing and leaned against the door with arms crossed. I felt cheated. "Shit!".

"You should have seen it yesterday" I heard voice say not much louder than a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry?" I replied with more than just a hint of irritation in my voice. Up to that point I'd been totally unaware of the crouched figure sitting on the bench beside my car.

"I said: You should have seen it yesterday. It was four to six, clean and running right through the second section. Not many people out either." I was about to retort with some wise-ass quip about people that always tell you how good it was the day before, but decided I was just being ratty due to the conditions.

I looked at the old guy more closely and realised that beneath his scraggly beard his face was lined yet strangely youthful, as though he had been weathered by the seasons rather than aged. He stared directly at me with his pale blue eyes.

For a split second I felt totally exposed, humbled and very young. Then he said the strangest thing: "These days are as important as the best conditions you have ever surfed. These days make good days truly epic".

Before I could stop myself I asked him what he meant. Instead of an explanation he answered with a series of questions. "Can you imagine surfing perfect conditions everyday of your life? Would each barrel still hold that glorious challenge or would you become surfed out?" He wasn't looking for a verbal answer and I didn't offer one. I merely smiled, nodded sat down beside him and stared out to sea.

The evening sky was changing the colours of the water. Neither one of us spoke. "Do you still surf?" I eventually enquired, genuinely intrigued by him. "Every day without fail. All year round". "Where? Here?" I asked. "Here, J-bay, Rocky Point, Indo wherever I feel like. The mind is a powerful thing my boy". He smiled.

It was only then that I noticed the neatly folded and pinned left sleeve of his faded "Hang Ten" sweatshirt. He caught me staring and again his eyes took hold of something deep inside me.

"I used to be like you," he said, "always rushing to get to the beach, hoping it would be good and bitching if it wasn't. What I didn't appreciate was how fleeting this gift is that we are given. You're are amongst the most privileged of individuals. You've been given the art of surfing and the gift of the worlds oceans. Enjoy it while you can, you never know when it might be taken away."

I absorbed the truth of his words and felt ashamed of my arrogant manor and inward selfishness. As evening crept up on us, the street lights in the car park flickered, hummed and then glowed, mimicking my inner sense of enlightenment. We spoke.

We spoke about how surfing used to be and were it was going, of great waves and great surfers. We spoke of great boards, friends, warm evening sessions, dawn patrols and those elusive solo sessions. We spoke of surf music and all that was good about the lifestyle we both so passionately loved and lived.

I learned a lot that day, but the most important of all I learned to never take anything for granted, especially something you hold dear. Good waves to you all.

By Lloyd "Jack" Johnston | Edited by Mister M | Used with permission.

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