The seeds of a revolution are sown innocently enough. For me, it was on a summer day in Cocoa Beach in 1963. A borrowed board from a sister more interested in beach blanket bingo than the gentle ground swell marching towards the Atlantic shore was the instrument of change.

As the warm July water washed over me during an awkward paddle out, and despite the all too brief attempt at riding my first wave, I began to hear the rhythmic drumbeat of the freedom riders that had come before me. It was in that moment, through senses heightened by the offshore breeze grooming perfect lines, that the promise of liberation from an ordinary life was born. I was now determined to join their ranks.

It was easy to identify the leaders of this movement. The smooth, graceful lines they drew on the waves with complete and utter nonchalance were a dead giveaway. They seemed to have an almost mystical command over the wave at any particular moment. Who were these Surfinistas?

Over the course of that summer, in the early stages of my eighth year on this planet, I started marching in lockstep with these relaxed revolutionaries. As water and wave time increased, so did skills hastened by the exuberance of youth. Even fringe acceptance does not come easy in this band of brothers. A hoot here, a playful headlock there, or the surrendering of wax, money or dry towels was part of the basic training. (Having a cute sister didn’t seem to hurt either.)

Having passed some of these important tests, I began to wear the uniform of this nomadic brigade. It was with great pride that t-shirts, baggies, jeans, and Pendelton shirts were proudly worn with a casual elegance. In combination with sun-streaked hair and a deep summer tan, a sense of entitlement to the good life was bestowed upon even the lowliest member of the troop.

Throughout these early years, clandestine meetings took place with fellow comrades in secret coastal locales. It was here we shared our waves and ideologies. The salt water adrenaline coursing through our veins was the panacea for the ever-present growing pains and societal conformity that confronted us on a daily basis. We excitedly made plans for future aquatic battles. Equipment was gathered and stored. Blueprints were laid out with unstoppable enthusiasm for these future encounters. Little did we know that our hearts and souls were being silently tempered for the most unlikely of crusades.

Seasons came and went. Countless waves were ridden on many coasts. The spoils of life were tallied in swells of consequence with new compadres in places not yet conquered. The tow-headed boy of eight had charged into adulthood, armed with nothing more than the wind and the tide. Ambition and security replaced with an unrepentant homage to the siren of the sea. It was the soul of the revolution that fanned the flames of hope when others were giving up the pursuit as unattainable.

Stopping from time to time to navigate the undulations and complexities of a modern world, the whisper of retreat would gently echo through my mind. At these moments, when the movement seemed to be fading, and hard choices loomed, the Surfinistas would reappear and call out bull**** on all the scheming and posturing. Order would be restored, and we again marched day and night to the ocean.

Now, with glass raised, and having fought the good fight, I stand before you, a humble 53-year old revolutionary of an honorable movement. For no more noble pursuit has presented itself than a rising swell with a dropping tide. Taking the drop, setting your edge, and letting the rail run. These truths learned throughout the years are as sacred and relevant today as they were four decades ago.

More than just waves, this quixotic quest has revealed an artist’s eye and temperament; friendships steeled in the belief of a common pursuit, the love of a beautiful wife, and the hope and promise of a precious son. For these gifts I am forever grateful.

So, remember, the movement is true, waves are meant to be ridden, lives are meant to be touched, and never forget:

The Surfinistas are coming…

“Let freedom reign. The sun never set on so glorious a human achievement.”
– Nelson Mandela

By: Bruce Reynolds