After about a year surfing with Boris and Frank, we realized that we had only ventured to two different spots as a group. The south side of the Hermosa Pier and Redondo’s playful Sapphire.
It was a hell of a traffic filled morning winding North up Lincoln to PCH, but when I got there, the shores of Malibu were glittering with small, perfect peelers and talented wave-dancers. Frank and Boris pulled up with our new friend Elisha, and Boris, having never been to the Bu before, was excitedly taking in the green, hilly backdrop leading down to the picturesque sandy beaches. There was no waiting around; wetsuits came on with swiftness and boards were untied from wax-ridden roof racks. It was time.
As Boris and I sat at first point, the mellow inside break of Bu, I spotted locals Ben Thompson and Jason Foster along with a few other familiar faces. “If you’re ever going to learn anything from anyone, watch Ben,” I said. Thompson doesn’t ride a wave, he caresses it. Anytime he started paddling for a bump, I stopped what I was doing and honed in on him, mesmerized by his fluidity and perfectly placed steps and turns.
While Boris started getting into a rhythm, Frank was helping Elisha paddle into a few herself, maybe the longest rides she’s had, only having surfed for about a month now. In between getting a few small waves, I found myself always looking for Ben. He embodies the soul of wave-riding, has a calm and sweet demeanor, and is hands-down the realest surfer I’ve ever seen. As I progress, I’ll think of Ben and his special relationship with the sea, and I hope to one day surf like him.
