"Tavarua will Change Your Life" - 1995

In the fall of 1994 I had quite a proposal on my hands. Jon Roseman, the co-owner of Tavarua Island Resort had asked me to come down to Fiji to be one of his boatman. This kind of offer doesn't come along very often, if ever. It was a dream I had ever since I started surfing. Seriously, how many people get to work on an island in the South Pacific thats holding two of the worlds best waves? The answer was me, all I had to do was get there.

Tavarua, Fiji

Jon had been coming into the surf shop I was working at for many years, he and the owner were good friends and I got to know him during his visits to the store. To this day I am not sure why Jon asked me to make the trip down, but it was an honor to say the least. Over the next few months I kicked around the idea but the reality was I didn't think I could make it. I had a job, a car payment, a girlfriend...I needed to be here because all that is was important wasn't it? Wasn't it??

Luckily Steve Baker, a veteran boatman, came into the shop one day and explained how I was blowing it if I didn't go and that this was a very special opportunity. The words he uttered were: "Tavarua will change your life."

Little did I know how real those words would eventually ring true. I called Jon soon after Baker talked sense into me and asked if the offer was still on the table and if so, I was down. I'm glad I did go because in the years that followed, I had quit that job, sold that car and that girlfriend? Well she became an ex-wife. Time reveals many things to a person but one thing you should always remember is that we only have one go around. Live life while you can and chase your dreams.

Tavarua Boatmen 1995- Ken Lewis, Steven Baker, Terry Stewart and Jon Roseman

 The planning was on and towards the end of the year I quit my job at the surf shop and began working at Rusty Surfboards. The trip was still scheduled for January 95' and the GM at Rustys was cool with me taking a few months off to go on my dream trip. Rusty was stoked I was going as well and when I asked for him to make me a few boards for the trip. I mean who better than one of the worlds great shapers who had surfed Tavarua for over a decade at that point. As the date of my trip got closer I had a beautiful quiver of brand new boards in my living room. The boards were a 6'4" diamond tail, 6'8" Rounded Pin, twin 6'10" step ups and mini guns of 7'0", 7'2" and 7'6".
I was ready.

The Boatman Bure circa 1995 with my broken 6'10" 

On a sad side note, one morning while having coffee before my departure a woman saw my Tavarua hat and asked if I had been there. I replied no, but that I was leaving very soon to go to the island and couldn't wait. She then asked If I knew her brother, David Anderson? Indeed I did, DA was a super cool guy from Windansea who I looked up to and respected. I would talk with him at the surf shop often and was really excited because he was a boatman as well, and I was was going to show me the ropes along with Baker. She then had a very serious look in her face and quietly told me that David didn't come home the night before after spearfishing. This caught me very off-guard to say the least. The guy was an incredible waterman. Apparently he went free-diving and that was the last time anyone had seen him. During the days that followed, we all received the horrible news that he had experienced what is called"shallow water blackout," and had drowned. They found his body on the ocean floor, spear gun still in hand and a 45 lb. white sea bass at the end of his spear.  Weeks later when I got to the Island, everyone was still crushed by the loss of D.A. and in the boatman bure, his boards were in the corner still waiting for his return. He is very much missed to this day.

The Late David Anderson

January arrived and I said goodbye to my friends as I loaded up my huge board bags stuffed to the gills. In the bags were my boards, pillows for the resort, and porn mags for the boatmen. Here I was in LAX on New Years Eve getting ready to jump on an Air Pacific flight that would change my life. The flight is a 13 hour mission on a once a week flight which, back then, could get quite crowded. But tonight was New Years Eve and the plane was more than half empty. Happiness is a whole row to yourself on a long flight. 

Eventually I arrived in Nadi, the main city on the island of Viti Levu. Stepping off the plane and hitting a wall of humidity took my breath away for a moment. I was met by the Island shuttle driver, Sayid, and was soon taken to the Island boat launch. the ride down the bumpy dirt road that ended at a rocky beach surround by mangroves was beautiful. We loaded the gear and a small group of guests onto a panga and began the slow 10 minute commute to the most beautiful island you could imagine. Straight up Gilligan's Island type stuff. 

As we were pulling up I saw my friend Roseman on the beach loading up a panga in a hurry. I yelled hello to him and he asked If I wanted to jump in and go for a surf. I hadn't been in the water in almost a month as I had been working my ass off to get things into storage and earn enough money to make my payments while I was gone. Hell yeah I wanted to go surf! 

Isei at the boat launch

I asked what board I should bring and he said 6'10" would be good. 6'10"? How big was it out there? I had been riding a 6'4" and that handled some decent waves back home. I grabbed the 6'10" and a 7'0" just in case. As we get into the deep channel between Cloudbreak and Tavarua we a boat full of guests heading back to the island after their morning surf.

Baker was the boatman on that one and he shot me a huge smile, stoked that I made it. Only one guest made the transfer to our boat, Henry Hunte from La Jolla. He was is an incredible surfer and was more than happy to head back out for more. As we made our way towards Cloudbreak, Henry mentioned that it was really fun, 4'-6' but that the wind is starting to come up a bit. His 4-6 was obviously different than mine when I caught my first glimpse of firing Cloudbreak.

Once in the channel my jaw dropped at the sight of the first set. The wave starts way up the point, looking like a very long closeout until it gets towards the end of the atoll where it hits a ledge area. the wave slows enough to let you get in before it continues down the point. Having surfed Hawaii a few times, I compare it to hoping into a really long wave at Log Cabins or Pipeline. Upon paddling out, my heart was beating through my chest. My first sight of someone riding a wave was Roseman dragging both arms and side-slipping into a double overhead barrel. That image is burned into my brain.

Jon Roseman might be the most tubed man ever.

My first wave at Cloudbreak was a revelation. I dropped in, soul arched at the bottom, mostly because I was off balance, and pulled into an overhead barrel, flying out at mach speed. I was from Pacific Beach, a very mediocre beach break, so that wasn't an everyday experience for me. After riding it a bit to long, I kicked out just in time to see Jon in a huge barrel... out farther and to the right of me.  What does that mean? It means I was caught inside at a reef aptly named "shish-kabobs." 

For my ignorance, I tried to push under a eight-foot ball of white water but it was only two feet deep over razor sharp reef and my board hit and I was still above water as I got smashed.

Welcome to Fiji asshole.

The beating was solid and I got washed further in, this is affectionately known as "Taking the tour." One thing I didn't expect from the waves in Fiji was the power they held. Somehow in my young, inexperienced mind, I thought it was going to be a "softer" wave. How wrong I was. I got some more fun waves that session and went back to the island a happy man. I was thinking about how my buddies were scrapping at three-foot Crystal pier and I had just surfed a wave I've dreamed about for years with only two friends. 

Me at small fun Cloudbreak 2008

Over the course of the next two months I got so see some amazing things and I will tell those stories at a later time. Also in the course of those two months, I got the flu three times from visiting guests and became very ill. During those times, the guys would take the boats out and I would have to stay in bed. Back then the island was very different. No AC, one community bathroom and rain water was collected for drinking and outdoor showers. It was very basic compared to the resort that is there today. If I was feeling better that day, I would clean up the bure as it was always messy. 

The old boatman bure was located back by the board graveyard where it was over gown and filled with rats. If they got into our bure, I would sweep up their poop and sometimes watched as the island cats, Bob and Ginger, chased them down and gobbled them whole. That was gnarly to see for sure. One afternoon as I was coming back in from an afternoon surf at Cloudbreak, I felt like my head was going to implode. I moored the boat in the channel and as soon as I got to the beach, the pain became worse.

Ding repair on the boats

I went to the restaurant and chugged a bunch of water and immediately vomited. I found Jon in his office and told him how I was feeling. He said that it might be heat stroke and that I should rest in the office as it was the only AC on the island. I layed down but the pain persisted as I took some aspirin and drank more water. The vomiting continued. Jon arranged for a boat to take me to the mainland for the night so I could rest at a local hotel. He thought that having some cool AC all night might help. 

As they dropped me off at the  boat launch I remember seeing heat trails...I was starting to hallucinate. At this point I blacked out. Later I heard that the Fijians thought I was drunk because I was making no sense and was throwing up. Soon after I got in the shuttle headed for the hotel, I guess I passed out. Upon arriving I tried to fight the driver and fell out of the cab and passed out once again...I was out of it. The staff, still thinking I was drunk,  put me into a room and left me alone. 

What nobody knew was that I was in the middle of a 105 degree unchecked fever induced by a viral infection that was threatening my life. If Jon hadn't called to check on me a little bit later that night, I would have died alone in that room.

Driving the Panga back from Cloudbreak

Roseman called my room but there was no answer. He soon called the island shuttle driver Sayid and asked him to check on me. After he knocked and received no answer, he had the staff open the room. Sayid called Jon and gave me the phone. They later said that I didn't know who Jon was or what he was talking about. 

Thats when Jon knew something was very wrong and called a doctor right away. He also sent his fiance', Cynthia, to come check on me. They arrived about an hour later as my fever was still peaking at almost 106 degrees. The Doctor gave me a shot in my ass and Cynthia placed cool towels on me and iced me down all night. They literally saved my life. 

The next day I awoke and had no idea where I was or what had happened. Jon called his father who was a doctor at Scripps in La Jolla and told him what the symptoms were. The consensus was possible dengue fever. His dad said I should return home ASAP. I returned to the Island thinking whatever I had the night before was over but hat night the headache returned and Jon made arrangements to send me home the next day.

The night before I had to fly home

Fijian hospitals were very primitive back then, and Jon's father knew they wouldn't be able to treat me properly. The next morning I was on a Quantas flight bound for LAX with specific directions to not let anyone know I was ill or they may not let me fly. It was the longest, shittiest 14 hours of my life. No pain killers would work and my brain felt like it was exploding. My mother met me at the airport and drove me straight to the hospital in La Jolla. After a spinal tap and a CAT scan I was placed on morphine and was posted up in bed where I remained for the next week. I was in and out of consciousness and was very light sensitive, so the room had to be completely dark. During those days, I experienced hallucinations of bums with shopping carts in my room that I would have conversations with. I remember hearing Hall n' Oats on their radio. It was so real and so awful.

Parasitic Meningitis takes it toll.

The Morphine and Demerol helped ease the pain but left me blacked out and which I would only emerge from when the pain returned. I went from surfing as good as I ever had, to being bed ridden in a drugged out haze. The Dr. explained that what I caught was parasitic-meningitis. Apparently what happens is these microscopic parasites got into my system when I was sweeping the rat shit out of the bure. The parasites were in the droppings and went airborne. I had breathed them in and since my immune system was weakened by me being sick for so long, it allowed the parasites to take hold. 

The pain in my head was caused by my brain being pressed into the topside of my skull. The parasites were in my spinal fluid and the white blood cells were flocking to fight the infection, this had the effect adding a rock into a glass of water. It makes the water rise. There is no cure for this but the parasites cannot live in people very long and I just had to wait until they died. There was talk that I may have gotten this from eating some power bars that were gnawed on by the rats but that was false. The Dr. said there was no way to get the meningitis in that way. 

Weeks later when I could get out of bed I had lost 25 pounds but was thankful to alive.  Looking back on this incident I realized that the trip to Tavarua was indeed life changing. My world opened up and I experienced a once in a lifetime opportunity. That was the good side...the bad side was after I returned, I went on disability and went through a very depressing period. I couldn't surf because of my back and I couldn't get a job because I was so fatigued. I felt like I needed to reassess many things in my life at this point and eventually settled for a job in a skate shop. Basically I started over.  

Back in Tavy in 2008 with Chief Druku.

I finally got to return to Tavarua in 2008, thirteen years after my first trip. It was one of the most healing and cleansing things I have ever experienced. Just coming back to a place that I didn't get to properly say goodbye to was very powerful. Once again I reassessed my life and found that I was unhappy with where I was at, and made changes when I returned home from my trip.  What is truly special, is seeing the wonderful friends who still work there. They are the most beautiful people I have ever met and they restore my faith in humanity. It was a true gift to go back. My life path changed after my first trip and in a weird way, it was all meant to be. Sometimes the things in life that seem the worst often reveal new paths that are for the best. 

Eddie, Siti, Isei and Wonga. My Fijian brothers.

Joel Tudor and The Flying Takayama - 1990

It was early Summer in 1990 when I called Joel Tudor from the surf shop. I was working in Pacific Beach and told him the pier was looking really fun and he should come down for a surf. He was only 15 and didn't have a ride and asked if I could pick him up from his house in University City. No worries. I got a shop grom to cover the store and I was out the door. I was on my way when I realized I only had one soft rack for my shitty 1979 Celica sedan. As I got to his house we organized or gear and I started to put his almost new Takayama nose rider onto the one old rack atop the car. I get it strapped in and I tell him to hop in. He looks at me and asks where the other rack is? I told him not to be a pussy and his board was going to be "safe and sound". As we were blasting down the I-52 west bound, his board began to move a bit. By "move a bit" I mean it was bouncing around and starting to levitate on occasion. Just then I hear a "Hey dude, I think we should slow down, it looks sketchy." I looked at him with disdain and pushed the pedal a bit harder.  Just I was saying how he should chill, I heard "THERE IT GOES!!"

Joel Tudor Photo:Tom Keck

I had a sweet rusted out sunroof on the shitty Celica and through a hole in the seal, I could see it go from dark to light. In the rear-view I see his prized hand shaped board heading skyward from the roof-rack. I automatically hit the breaks and began to skid going 65mph. We ended up doing a full 180 on the freeway and were now facing traffic! A few "Oh shits" were muttered and I hastily pulled the car onto the shoulder. We looked at each other and began to laugh hysterically. Not because it was funny but because we were happy to be alive. Once we calmed down we looked for his board, we saw that it was lying in the number two lane of the 52. I dashed out between passing cars and grabbed the board returning it to the safety of the freeway Ice plant. I assured Joel that the board looked fine! There was just a little rail shatter...oh, and maybe the fin looks a little cracked too. Is that a buckle? Oh shit...

With the rack busted and gone, I stuff the board into my car and we start heading for Crystal Pier once again. I didnt care that three feet of surfboard were sticking out my passenger side window,we were still going surfing. We get to the pier and surf for a few hours. I cant remember if it was fun, I can only remember his board flying in the air. We finish up, bullshit for a bit in the shop and then load up to take him home. I wanted to grab some racks from the shop but we were sold out and only had hard racks. Fuck. On the drive back to his house I was thinking of how pissed his dad was going to be. I was hoping his mom was going to be there. She was always the coolest but his dad big Joe was a bit intimidating to say the least. I was sure to catch a beat down.

Phil Edwards, Greg Noll, Takayama, Joel and Miki Dora

Just as I was contemplating my fate, I hear the sound of a siren. To make my day that much shittier, I'm  getting pulled over for having that extra three feet of board sticking out of my car. Apparently, if you don't have a red warning flag attached its quite frowned upon. I plead my case and explained how we almost died and I spun out and how I'm a good kid... the cop wasn't buying it. My failure was complete.

I sign the ticket and finish the drive of shame to Joels house. I almost contemplated dropping him off down the block so I could escape without injury.  Anyway, we get there and Joel got out and explained the situation to his mom and she spoke to a visibly upset Joe. I'm sure he would have killed me if not for Denise.  Since I almost killed Joel, ruined his board and was a terrible driver who received a moving violation, I figured I shouldn't pick up Joel anymore. Even if I wanted to, Im pretty sure Joe would have forbid Joel from riding in my whip ever again. After that day I would only see Joel when he came down with someone else or if I was road tripping up to Cardiff.

Joel now is a father of two, a world champion surfer and Jui jitsu world champ as well.

Natas Kaupas - 1986 and 2000

In the summer of 1986 my mother dropped me and my friend off to go watch the premiere of "Amazing Surf Stories"by Scott Dittrich at the La Jolla Museum of Contemporary Art. The line was long and filled with all the local hero's, burnouts, bastards and groms from the PB and La Jolla area. After buying the tickets we walked to the back of the line. I remember hearing insults, funny laughter, shit talk and there was an ever present cloud of smoke. I was 14 that summer night and had just started to immerse myself in the world of surfing and skateboarding the year prior. Tom Curren and Archie were the reasons we came out to see the movie. Their surfing was everything I loved at that time. Curren had perfect style and Archie surfed like he was pissed. We were ready to watch shit go down.

As the line began to move, someone offered us a joint and a beer. No thanks. I was happy with my huge soda and stash of candy that we got from the AM/PM by Windansea. Inside the theatre it was starting to get packed. It was hot and the thick, dank smell of dirt weed filled the theatre. As at any premiere, there were some clashes of cool guys and I remember some dudes in the back heckling some guys they didn't like, yelling "Go back to Clairemont Faggots"! I remained silent in the back, figuring it best to fly under the radar. I knew we were the prime demographic of abuse. Gangley groms who didn't surf that good and weren't quick enough to defend ourselves with our slow wit. Eyes forward, laugh along and follow the crowd. Check.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lights finally dimmed. 20-30 beers cracked simultaneously. The movie started and we all were treated to Archie surfing Costa Rica at 100 miles an hour and the Curren footage was solid but as a whole the video was sucking. There was some older footage and stuff in there that, we as kids, couldnt yet appreciate. We were ready to write it off until the sound of fire crackling and one word appeared on the screen. Natas.

We watched in amazement as this rad guy with a weird name ripped on his skateboard. He was doing shit I had never seen before and by the sounds of everyone going bananas, nobody had ever seen before.Watch his part starting at 2:20...this got us on our feet! His last trick was a boardslide on a dumpster and the whole crowd erupted. Beer cans flew at the screen and people were cheering. For me, it made me look at skateboarding in an entirely different way. After the movie let out, all I really remembered liking was Natas.

Natas Photo: J.Grant Brittain

Many years later I owned a Skateboard shop in San Diego called Hanger 18. My joy was to have pros come in for autograph signings. I loved to give the local kids a chance to meet their heros as I know it mattered to me when I was a kid. I feel like thats missing nowadays from the typical surf and skateboard shops. The big mall stores are more about image than substance, but thats a different story for another day. I was doing good business with element skateboards at the time and I told my rep Travis that I wanted to get Natas to my shop for a signing. Natas was recently back into skateboarding after a stint as an Art Director for an upscale porn magazine called "Rage". Travis hooked it up and we had a date set for Natas and Mike V to come for a signing. I was very pleased.

Natas and Mike V

Here I was almost 20 years later in my own skate shop. I basically look at it like I owe him for this part of my life. If i didn't see that part, I would have never fallen in love with skating. Its funny how some things you come across in life are so powerful it changes your direction. That video part was one of those things.

Natas, MikeV, Gonz Photo: J.Grant Brittain

So the day arrives and my friend Junior came down to cook his famous Carne Asada. I forgot the grill so he dumps the coals on the sidewalk and tips over a nearby shopping cart and cooks it up super ghetto style! We brought a little soul back right there! At the end I approach Natas and we talk for a few minutes about that old surf movie and his video part. He was real humble and said thanks and we had another taco. As a parting gift I gave him an old license plate that I bought off Ebay the week prior. It was a California issued plate with his name on it. He mentioned that he was bidding on it as well and was bummed he didn't win the auction... I won the auction with a bid of $9.50.  I never did tell Natas the full extent of his impact on me, but standing next to him for a photo I felt as though I had come full circle. I was standing with the reason I got into skateboarding... Mr. Natas Kaupas.

Me and Natas in my shop - 2000

Leroy Grannis and the Print - 2004

In the fall of 2004 I was working at Transworld Skateboarding Magazine in Oceanside. One slow afternoon I was looking up Leroy Grannis on Google, not for work but for purely personal reasons. I had always loved his rich photography and the way he captured a golden era in surfing. For years he was known for selling 8 1/2 x 11" black and white prints of his all time greatest photos and outtakes that he would sign and stamp on the back. Up until a few years ago you could find them on Ebay for about $25 bucks.

Eddie. Photo:Grannis

As I searched, I stumbled onto a very rudimentary website that had his famous logo. Upon looking a bit further i discovered that this site was actually Leroy's. He even had an email address listed at the bottom. Well I took a shot in the dark and started to draft an email that I was sure would never reach him but was fun to write none-the-less. I wrote of how I was a fan of his photography and that I surfed with Skip Frye on occasion and was hoping he had a print of Skip that I could possibly purchase. With a hope and a prayer I pressed "send."

Leroy and his logo

A couple of weeks passed and I had all but forgotten about the email. Life, work and kids tend to help erase the mind of trivial events. Not that this was trivial, but compared to everything I had going on, It just didn't rank on my "shit to do" list. So on a Monday, I get to work and in my inbox, there is an email from Leroy Grannis. As my heart raced a little faster I opened the email and it said, "Sorry I don't sell prints anymore. I have a book deal coming and legally cant sell them anymore, but..."

No Way! There was a "but"... I was tingling with hope.

"...but" he continued,  "I might be able to print you a copy of a photo of Skip. Just as long as you don't advertise it"

Leroy Grannis

"Don't advertise it", I love the way the old guard spoke. I was beside myself with stoke. We went back and forth on a couple of emails and he said to meet him Monday after work at his house in Carlsbad. YES! As the week went on I could hardly wait for the following Monday to come. I had once owned a rad Grannis print that I bought off of Ebay. Unfortunately during a rough period, I had to close my skate shop. Many things got lost in the process including a black and white shot of a smiling Skip in full trim at  San Miguel during a contest from the mid 60's.

SanO Photo:Grannis

Monday had now arrived and as the day progressed the build up of excitement grew. Five O'clock came around and I was out the door and flying down the freeway to get to his house before the Monday Night Football game started. He mentioned that the Chargers were playing and I should get there before the game started so I wouldn't interrupt. He said that once he and his wife sit down to watch they really don't get up. The gas pedal was on the floor as I drove.

I got to a quaint little mobile home park and was buzzed in. At a small unassuming house on the left a small old man was on his porch with a folder in hand. Even though he was old, he was very sharp and carried himself well. I parked, got out and shook his hand. I was going to go into some long form speech of how great of an honor it is to meet him and how his photography has been so inspiring to me. Instead of all that, Leroy greeted me with a "The game is about to start and I have to get my wife comfortable...here you go" With that, he handed me the folder and he shuffled back towards his doorway.  Our meeting was over before it began. We exchanged a quick goodbye and our 4 minute meeting was over. I didn't want to be rude and look in the folder while still standing there so I got back in the car and drove out to the main street.

I immediately pulled opened the folder to check out the stash. There was a printed out spread from his upcoming book and on it was Miki Dora dropping in at Waimea Bay. It was printed on regular printer paper but I was stoked he gave it to me as an added bonus. The next thing was the Skip photograph. As I turned it over my stoke fell flat. It too was printed off of a desk jet. On regular printing paper. And if anything, it looked fuzzy like the ink was running out. It definitely wasn't the sharp clear photo stock that his famous photos were once printed on. On the long drive back to my house I listened to the Charger game and thought of my one chance to get this photo from Leroy and how it wasn't all I had built it up to be. This was the definition of "letdown". Give it a look in the dictionary. You'll see me  standing there with paper print in hand. In fact, i was so bummed, the photo was kept in the folder and when I went home I tossed it in my backyard shed and there it sat for the next four years.

The printed Dora page

In 2008 I left my house and most of my belongings as I started my divorce. As I packed my car with my surfboards and my most valuable personal effects, I went into my shed one last time to look around. On the ground behind a lawnmower was a grease covered folder that I didn't recognize. Upon further inspection, I was stoked to look inside and see the Granny photo. The memory of that day came rushing back. The hope, the foolish feeling of disappointment but also the stoke of getting to meet with Leroy. The look in his eyes and the sound of his voice left an impression on me.

The Leroy Grannis Book from Taschen

Its funny how when one gets older we start to see things differently. Maybe its the life experience or maybe you just take things for what they are. Either way, looking back on it, here was a legend in the world of surfing who took the time to print me a photo. A photo that he legally wasn't allowed to give me due to a deal he made with his book publisher. Not to mention he didn't know me or owe me anything. He could have told me to buzz off or even worse, could have never emailed me back. Instead, he took a timeout from caring for his ill wife to dig up a photo of Skip, print it out and sign it like he had done for years for so many lucky people. I had a piece of history given to me from Leroy. In hindsight, its now one of my most prized possessions.

Heres the print...Skip Frye in Puerto Rico  Photo: Grannis

Leroy passed away in February of this year. I was very sad to hear this news but it wasn't totally unexpected. He had a slow decline the past few years from what I have read. I still have the picture he gave me tipped into a copy of his book that came out from Taschen Publishing. Oh the irony... this company bought Leroy's imagery and then forbid him from profiting or using it after that point. A man who, for years, loved to share his prints with people wasn't allowed to do so his last few years. While I'm happy there is a book that will live on and let us enjoy the wonderful pictures Granny took, I'm also saddened about the lack of Soul and lack of understanding of Taschen.

I was fortunate to meet Granny and even more fortunate to get that one last print, even if it wasn't what I thought it was going to be. In the end, its much better than anything I could have hoped for.

Remembering Chris Andersen - 2006

As I often do at work, I google things. Events, people...pretty much anything to pass some downtime. On this day I googled my old friend Chris Andersen. I had heard he had passed a few years ago and have thought of him often. I used to surf with him back in the mid 1980's when we were in high school. He was the first guy to take me out to Sub and Ab at the Cliffs and to Big Rock in La Jolla. He had this shitty little white Chevy he used to call his vet...it was a chevet. haha. He took me to Baja Malibu when their was still the empty dirt lot...so many days at Blacks. He really opened up my surfing world. He was riding these insane blue quad boards and was always blasting Rush and Iron Maiden on our surf missions. Some of the best and gnarliest experiences I had in my high School years were because of Chris. He was like a big brother to me. 

People used to talk crap since he was a kneeboarder, but he ripped so hard, dropped in so late and got so tubed, people would stop talking and watch him surf. He alone changed the way many viewed Kneeboarding at Big Rock. He had an agressiveness that no other kneeboarders possessed. He was raw to say the least. 

After years of hanging out with him and taking pics of him at the rock, we kind of went our seperate ways. I lost track of him but always remembered him well. A few years back I ran into him at a Pacific Beach Surf shop. He said he was out of the Army and stand-up surfing. The first thing he did was proudly show me pictures of his kids. He couldn't say enough wonderful things about them. I was surfing less at that time and again, lost track of him. I was so stoked to see he was in a good place. 

The last I heard he was living way up the West Coast so he could be near his kids, post divorce. I had heard he was depressed a bit before his end. It really broke my heart to find out such a free spirit was gone. Again, I dont really know his story the past ten years, but after reading many comments on a kneeboard website about Chris, it sounded like he had finally come home to his true love of Knee riding. 

One memory that stuck with me is a talk I had with Chris about mortality back in the late 80's. Select Surf Shop owner Phil Castagnola Sr. passed away from a suspected drug overdose and It left most of us reeling. I was staying the night at Chris' parents house so the next morning he could drive us to a YMCA contest. He looked over at me and wondered out loud about Big Phil. He asked if I thought he was in heaven...he was worried that a drug overdose would keep Phil out. Something about suicide being a sin. We talked about this for awhile and talked about life and death. I never forgot that talk because it was so deep and unlike our everyday conversation. I think now Chris has the answer and is trading waves with Big Phil in a better place. 

I never would have thought it would end up the way it did for Chris and as a father of two, I can only imagine the hurt the family has had to deal with. To his kids, I would like to tell you that your father was a really good guy and you should always be proud of the man he was. For better or worse, he mattered to a great many people.

Aloha my friend...till we meet on the other side.


Ken