It's one of the wonders and joys of surfing for me that as I progress in skill and experience I actually ingest surfing photographs in a progressively new way. As I settle into the subtle nuances of riding a wave, as I rack up the hours at different spots and on different sorts of equipment, I gain a perspective, a kind of indexed muscle memory I can call upon to understand what was happening the moment a picture was snapped. The subtle weight distributions, the flutter of the wave, the contact of rail and water, all these things more visceral in the mind's eye, becoming only more informed with each session. It's all that school of life stuff, writ enthusiastic. It's the sort of understanding and enjoyment simply not available to my younger self. Flipping through an old TSJ over lunch, this image brought all the blather to the fore.
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