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They had a light in their eyes. They
were on a mission. Lance and Kyle are hardcore surfers. Lance is
tall, lanky, blond, and perpetually sunburned. He is a poet, comedian,
artist, and above all a soul-surfer who looks every bit the classic
Californian beach bum. But behind the Spicoli image burns a mad
genius devoted to the ocean and its shores— in a personal relationship
more passionate than any human affair. Kyle is clean cut, reserved,
and somewhat less charismatic, but always good to go. Kyle’s
cool, collected manner complemented Lance’s constantly animated
and enthusiastic antics. They were a good team and often inseparable.
Lance was usually the instigator of
their notorious adventures in the quest for surf. He was legendary
for finding the most remote, challenging waves. When he couldn’t
convince someone to join him on a long paddle to an isolated, sharky
spot with no recourse in the event of an injury, he calmly set off
alone. The story began a few years prior. Lance was walking along
an isolated stretch of coast, whose waters crashed against 200-foot
sheer rock walls. He hiked down to aged, windswept pine on a promontory
overlooking a small cove. There was a strong southerly groundswell
cresting over the outermost protrusion of rock reef and forming
long hollow lefts as the distant swells’ energy was forced
over the inside of the shallow cove. It was a treasure trove in
a land best known for its variety of rights. But the nearest beach
to the north was over a mile of open water away, in waters that
were home to two recent shark attacks. The only beach access to
the south was over three miles away, ending well short of the point.
Lance had found a world-class break,
perhaps previously unknown, or unridden. He kept going back whenever
there was a big south, noting the swell direction, tides, and winds
capable of reproducing the epic conditions he witnessed that day.
But it was a fickle spot. The night before, as he lay dozing to
the dulcet tones of the weather radio, he heard the call of burgeoning
New Zealander heading up the coast. He could not sleep and convinced
Kyle to leave immediately. This was it. It was time to try and surf
this mysto point. He knew it would be firing and we had no reason
to doubt him.
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