In my 20s, I traveled to surf, hoping to discover perfect waves in distant regions of the world. The advent of the Internet changed all that for me, and I no longer seek the mystery of what can be found with a press of a button. Surf exploration has been replaced by surf vacations. Nothing wrong with that, really. I mean, who wouldn’t want 10 fabulous days and nights in Tava Rua? But the shine is off for me, and I have no desire to be subjected to a 24-hour flight, a six-hour boat trip, two camels and a donkey to stay on a boat and surf all day long, with a group consisting mostly of strangers.

Most surf magazines see things differently than I do. I recently read a list in a surf magazine of the 10 things I needed to do. While none of the items on that list had anything to do with my surf experience, I still consider my surf experience valid. Most of my friends side with the magazines, and I can appreciate that. One friend recently returned from a week of perfect waves and warm water. He’s a hot surfer and great guy, so jealousy quickly subsided. The next day, I counted the cost, picked up my dinged up egg and headed to my local break.

There in the murky water, I caught a 2-foot, mushy wave, linked up two turns and kicked out. When I paddled back out, I was quickly joined by two other surfers, both of them campers, there for the first time. We shared the little peak, and one of them asked me what it was called.

“Enczoonitas,” I replied. They laughed and I laughed and we continued sharing waves together until dark. In the twilight, on my way back up the cliff I spotted two girls playing a “Slip ‘n Slide.” They were laughing hysterically, and asked me if I wanted to try it out. I declined, thinking that my old bones couldn’t take the pounding. Further up the beach, a man and his son fished the shallows, the kid screaming as he landing what I assume was his first of many perch.

At the top of the stairs I was greeted by a longtime friend who mentioned that a good south swell was coming. He asked me if I wanted to chase waves into Baja with him. Again, I declined. As I walked home in the warm evening, I thought of what a good friend he is and it hit me as it often does that life is good. I ride waves that are just right for my advancing years and live in a place that continues to provide good neighbors and peace of mind.

As I continued home, past some homeless friends in the park who greeted me by name, I began my own top 10 list. At the very top of the list was spending nearly half a century in the same area, riding waves of all shapes and sizes, getting to know the place intimately and not being swayed by the unfulfilled promise of something better. Kind of like marriage, I said out loud to myself as I hurried my pace, with thoughts of a good meal, my cats, my wife and my snug house that would all be there for me when I arrived.