APPENDIX F

Essays by Wardy: “The Lure of the Sea” and “Surfing Is”

Frederick Wardy, “The Lure of the Sea,” Surfer,
July 1964, vol. 5, no. 3, pp. 38–41.

The mystery of the eternal sea has lured man since time began. Beautiful in all of its changing faces, it is an ever awesome sight. But its greatest fascination lies in the huge, pounding waves which constantly hurl themselves from its glistening surface. Crashing violently, the angry surf spills its wrath upon the land, as the two merge in chaotic splendor. The haunting wind wails as it sweeps across the surging waves. As if suddenly aroused from a deep slumber, the sea rears in untamed fury—driven by the relentless wind and hounded forever by its raging breath. The roaring surf cries aloud, as the water below moans—and the vast ocean floor quakes and trembles.

As man surveys the turbulence, the resounding rumble of the wars echoes through his body. His senses are alive to the pulse of the sea as it beats a melancholy rhythm on the sands—ebbing and flowing in endless motion.  Looking out toward the horizon, he sees a procession of long, even lines advancing slowly shoreward. The ocean’s powerful bosom heaves with low and regular swells. Rolling in steadily from the open sea, they rise into mountainous walls of water and explode in a thunderous roar. Their tumbling crests plunge forward, cracking and hissing, as the spray blows wildly in the wind. The earth groans as it trembles from the shuddering impact—and the mist rushes forth to hide in the solemn shore.

As wave after wave attacks the battered sands, man looks deep into the dark waters—contemplating the mysteries of life. His searching mind seeks the answers to the universal questions of mankind. But the impulsive brooding sea remains silent. The only sound is that of the endless waves.

Within the breaking of a wave, man sees more than its physical strength and beauty—he sees the frames of his entire life passing before him in succession. Immersed in the plunging crest lie his hopes and dreams of the past, his triumphs and defeats of the future. Stirred by the restless sea, his thoughts are of the undiscouraged struggling, the glories, and the suffering of men through the ages.

Men live, and men die—and thus the patterns of human life are woven and rewoven into the fabric of the universe, generation upon generation. But the ageless sea lives on and on—enduring the ravages of time and scorning man’s efforts to conquer it.

Reflected in its shadowy depths are the past, the present, and the destiny of all mankind. In its transit moods of serenity and rage, peacefulness and violence, it reminds man that his time on this earth is not long enough to be filled with war and hate, anger and malice. Standing before the vast expanse of ocean, his cares are forgotten and his restless spirit quieted. His soul is cleansed by the perpetual movement of the sea—the waves.

Fred Wardy, “Surfing Is,” Surfer, vol. 6, no. 1, March 1965, pp. 36–37, introduced on page 35 by a color photograph of a sunset over the ocean by Leroy Grannis.

Surfing is many things to many individuals, but, purely and simply, a healthy, vigorous, beautiful sport. Surfing is a release from exploding tensions of twentieth century living, escape from the hustling, bustling city world of steel and concrete, a return to nature's reality. For sheer spontaneous action, surfing is unbeatable. It quenches one's thirst for challenging natural elements. Spiritually and physically, it makes the surfer part of the sea, while the sea, in turn, becomes part of them. Surfing is excitement and physical diversion, yet more. Like all great sports, surfing is a succession of experiences, sensations and impressions . . . a remembrance of lazy days at a favorite beach; laughter, friendship, golden sunsets and fires at dusk.

Surfing is climbing from a warm bed in pre-dawn's coolness, a sleepy drive, coffee and doughnuts at a roadside diner and the clatter of surfboards as they're unstacked from a car rack. Surfing is the joy of watching a sun rise slowly into the sky. It's crisp, clean waves, crests blown high by an offshore wind. It's grey mist, dampness and cold sand under bare feet, the lonely cry of a gull sweeping across silent, brooding seas. On a big day, surfing is a strong swell and waves that have lost their playfulness. Then it's stomach knots, high exultation, a trace of fear.

Surfing is sharing a wordless silence, broken only by the sound of a bar of wax moving back and forth across a board. It's mounting tension before the first takeoff, enthusiasm for the next wave when the ride is over.

Surfing is a good ride, brief seconds, yet a culmination of endless hours on a board. These fleeting moments of exhilaration and release are days, months, years of time and experience.

Surfing is the endless search for a windless day, an uncrowded beach, the perfect wave.

Surfing is a special kind of madness, a feeling for the sea, a combination of love, knowledge, respect, fear; instinctive perception gained through repeated contact. Surfing is a moment of achievement, of glory, of unsung triumph. For the adult, surfing is a freedom and youth rediscovered and, for the young, a means of expression vital to their being. For both, it's fun.

Surfing is great.