Not only did I just get out of the water after three straight days of bombin' hurricane surf courtesy of Bertha, but I also finished a great book about one of surfing's most outrageous individuals.

Miki Dora was a surf maniac. He bled and breathed the lifestyle and pulled hijinks and hoodwinks along the way from SoCal to South Africa to France to New Zealand to Chile and beyond. No job and no responsibility from day one to his death bed and with surfing at the top of his to-do list, Miki Dora lived life close to the bone and left burnt bridges and a trail of fake checks and passports in his wake. The title All for a Few Perfect Waves highlights the problematic nature of the surfing lifestyle just as Dora's life epitomizes a blend of the surfing dream and the surfing tragedy. What do surfers have to give up to ride waves? I don't mean just hitting the waves once a month on a Sunday afternoon. I mean really committing to the salt, sand, and sun to be there whenever it's on. It takes sacrifice and end up affecting others in your life. Your wife, your boss, your kids, maybe even your pets. It's Shakespearean almost...almost.

The problem with waves is that they are here and then they disappear...whoosh! Gone like ghosts and unique like snowflakes. Your surf experience is only as rich as your last session. Everything else is just a vapor. My goal: Get to sleep and grab the last few drops of that Bertha swell in the morning. Get every wave you can before you die. I think those memories will be more valuable than money when it's all over.