To grow up in Southern California in the 50s and 60s when beach communities were home only to a few, where one could walk for long stretches on the beach without any crowd, when ocean waters were clear, abalone and mussels could be for the picking, clams for the digging, corbina caught with a pole, grunion runs were plentiful, sunsets were amazing and the unridden waves were inviting – was phenomenal. Artist colonies were attracted to the beach areas up and down the coast in that time span. There was an expanse of beach called Tin Can Beach where free camping took place. One could find artists and hobos along with families, there for their summer vacations, that set up tents and creatively displayed artwork made of driftwood and Japanese glass fishing floats that was washed ashore.
Campfires on the beaches were common place, so many an evening was spent with friends under the stars doing their ‘thing’. This was an era of freedom – the world was beckoning anyone to come and experience it. And surfing was an extension of that freedom – to be one with the ocean – to ride its glassy waves – to have this meditative time communicating with nature and to share a surf session with your buddies - this was the best. There was camaraderie amongst your surf ‘bros’ that was steadfast and lasting.