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Wednesday, March 16, 2016

The Art of Wave Riding

Several years ago I procured the rarest of all surf related tomes, The Art of Wave Riding by Ron Drummond. I am proud to say that this most valued and beloved book has been framed and placed above our mantle. It is people like Mr. Drummond that sustain the faith.


Dental Ding Doc said...

I'd also suggest that it is you, leaving a message on the world's answering machine via maintaining this site, all the way here in the future, in 2016, that's keeping the faith. NSB. Never. Stop. Blogging. You never know who might be playing the messages, either down here, or up above. Keep em coming Chuck Vespucci.

Chuck Z. Vespucci said...

Huzzah, Doc, Huzzah.

Thomas Drummond said...

According to the Encyclopedia of Surfing, the following poem is said to have been penned by Ron Drummond in the 1940's. Interestingly, there is a discrepancy in verse as to Warshaw's version of the poem's opening vs a written version Ron Drummond handed me. It could be that Ron rewrote the opening. I could not say.  The version presented here is the version Uncle Ron handed me.                          Sincerely,                                                                                                                                       Thomas R Drummond
Death At San Anofre                                                                                                                                                                                                             -By Ron Drummond
Oh place me high on a green hillside
With a sweeping view of the ocean wide,
Or bury me deep in the clear blue sea
Where the crashing waves will spray o’er me;
Where my soul will rise with the rising sun,
And be surfing still when the day is done.
And those who live and see my grave
Will envy me, as wave on wave,
I crash and fall and ride them all
From Dana Point to Magandal.
Over the sea my soul will glide
To catch each surf on the rising tide.
It matters not where my grave may be,
As long as it lies by a surging sea;
As long as the wild gulls screech and cry
I’ll find my way to a surf that’s high.
I’ll spiral and flip and cut and glide,
In the sparkling foam I’ll ride and ride.
So pity me not as you stand and gaze
At my simple grave for beyond the haze
My soul has found a pounding tide,
And there with joy I’ll ride and ride
‘Til the sunrise fades and the earth grows chill—
But my soul won’t die ‘til the seas are still.

NOTE: Ron's Poem was cast into his grave stone