EDITOR’S NOTE
It was 1994. The year was a day old. I had made a resolution to surf everyday. It made perfect sense. Stay fit, improve my technique, possibly attract a new sponsor. Instead, after three consecutive days of surfing The Berg in onshore wind speeds that could strip paint off buildings, all I had to show for my resolve was blue bottle welts, swollen glands, one broken board and a world of regret. This wasn’t a resolution. This was war at sea. There had been no improvement to my surfing nor any lucrative sponsorship offers, there was only the irrefutable fact that I had, once again, made a resolution I would not keep. To hell with you 1994, I thought. I’m going back to what works best. Crowded waves on the…