Chapter one

Surfer manifesto Vignette 1

Howie had spent most of the afternoon watching the surf grow larger. A parade of beautiful and graceful young women walked the beach wearing the smallest possible bikinis, directly in front of him. He knew them all, yet, at seventeen, he felt like an awkward, late blooming boy among gorgeous all knowing women who somehow had him figured out; a poor country boy who became a surfer as soon as he could drive his clunky old car to the beach.

Late afternoon fog was returning. He heard the fog horn start and knew it would keep going until tomorrow’s midmorning sun burned off the fog for another sunny afternoon of girl watching and surf. It was a typical California summer day, soon the tanned and oiled surfer girls would leave the incoming chill of fog. Howie watched Pam walk in front of where he laid. She walked on hard sand at the water’s edge, occasional newly arriving larger waves washed white foam all the way to her feet. Pam’s grace was particularly mysterious for Howie, she moved like a dancer. He picked up his surfboard and trotted to meet the waves as soon as Pam had passed safely by.

There was something in the way she moved that sent him dreaming;

The day was already starting toward late afternoon and then evening chill. Howie gazed at beautiful Pam and wondered; What does the fossil record indicate for a high temperature world when the north coast of Canada is a temperate zone similar to, say, North Carolina? Will there be good waves? Probably. Even if it’s more like Florida.

Yes, Squirrels could be as large as small bears and chipmunks the size of a pig, but what does the fossil record indicate will happen in the ocean?

Were the oceans a barren desert during the high temp dinosaur era? He thought back to his childhood books on dinosaurs and found part of an answer; There were giant sea creatures, too. Howie realized humans would have a hard time raising food in a world where chipmunks were as big as pigs. There would eventually be no humans. With that thought he dashed into the great Pacific ocean. He had timed his way out so as to encounter the fewest waves intent on beating him back.

Pam turned to watch Howie paddle out. She knew he was a bit daffy but liked his honesty. She also knew nature had beat his honesty into him. He was strong from it. Pam liked Howie and watched him make it outside of surf that was growing respectably large. Pam turned and began walking before Howie noticed her watching him. She had no idea what was on his mind, she was a surfer girl and proud of it. Pam also was awed by vast Pacific power and beauty, she felt herself as part of it. She liked being a fox and wondered when Howie would notice.

At that point, the main thing on Howie’s mind was a perfectly formed blue-black wall of pacific surf meeting California’s shore. He paddled into the spot that surfer/wave interaction fit his practiced communal sense of good take-off and ride. Pam decided to go home and do her homework; her assignment was to listen to President Phil Abuster’s latest speech on human rights during time of war.

It was three hours later and dark on the Atlantic coast. The president’s speech was to be given at a fancy motel dining hall. Pam had just enough time to make it home and put on some clothes.

Howie was in the right place at the right time. He leaned toward shore and pulled his surfboard with him as the wave walled behind them. He laid on the surfboard and was almost instantly looking straight down as the fast moving wave passed under him. One strong paddle and Howie caught the wave. When he stood up he was almost horizontal and accelerating with gravity straight down the wave’s face. In half a second he gained sixteen feet per second plus the incoming speed of the wave. Enthralled, Howie had it figured. If he could stay going straight down another quarter second, he might be going fast enough to pump turn energy and make the wave shove him into high speed. He called it Life Speed, far faster than the speed of light.

Howie reached the bottom of the wave and time stood still. It does that for surfers and nobody else, not even ski jumpers or rocket pilots. Cosmic powered biology surfing big bang at life speed at the bottom turn on a good wave is a great place to briefly stop time, observe reality, plan a life course, and then go for it. What happens next is physics. The wave curled over Howie and churned him around before slapping him into the hard sand. Luckily it wasn’t rocks.

Howie congratulated himself on being one with all creation. He grinned when his head popped through the surface and into the air. Life speed

Surfer manifesto Vignette 2

President Phil Abuster strode into the fancy motel dining room with an air of self-gracious aplomb that was infectious, especially among struggling people who spend their off-hours being teeveed by Hollywood promoting snack, pill, and booze industries. He liked the slightly higher ceilings than were built into mass housing. The president had no idea that he was the subject of Pam’s homework studies, or that Howie was paddling out for more waves. He stepped to the podium, with no need for notes. Half a million dollars and all he had to do was show up for an hour. This is a great gig, he thought, smiling graciously from the podium.

Though only seventeen, Pam could see right through the president’s well-paid act. He appeared on stage as a mental midget king Oz wearing invisible clothes, to her. Pam wrote “pompous ass,” for the first line of her notes. The next started with “Arrogant fools.” She was intent on understanding a president expressing a policy wanting to contain China, she knew China operates a super modern advanced railroad system that sends at least fifteen thousand rail cars a year into Europe. What does to contain China mean? Pam was all ears wanting to find out.

Out to sea, Howie was oblivious to petty party politics, he knew it was spiced with the terrorism of weapons of mass destruction, A-bomb style. On top of that he was in perfect position for the biggest wave of the day. Not exactly huge, but the face was at least eight or nine feet. “Maybe three meters,” Howie thought. Cold, pressing grey fog made the ocean smooth as glass, and the wave was big. Howie had caught this wave early. It was strong enough to carry him at wave speed quite awhile before friction with the shore made it steep. He rode casually, watching the world in motion while listening to the rising tone of squirting water hiss from under his surfboard.

Fog filtered sunlight appeared as a vision from an old black and white tv. The wave began to turn dark as night near the bottom, the steepening wall of water turned to silver bright moon with intricate air friction ripples. Howie was ecstatic. He was beginning to lean forward into the wave’s impending fall and subconsciously preparing to stop time. This was his favorite moment in every ride.

Surfer manifesto Vignette 3

Howie is what is known among surfers as goofy foot, he is left-handed so he puts his right foot forward. Right handers usually put their left foot forward. Makes perfect sense if one is a surfer. Howie is so strong and coordinated he started a surfer movement of putting whatever foot a surfer felt like in front. Most people couldn’t deal with freedom and continued as one-sided surfers, many of whom are quite spectacular in their own single-minded way.

Howie was standing with his right foot forward and staring into an abyss exactly where the Pacific ocean was smacking into continental stone. The wave turned vertical and then curled over as Howie fell into a time warp guided only by the surfboard fin. The fin behaved as if attached to his feet, it cleared a path between feet and full mental clarity. That’s when time stands still for surfers. Howie leaned backwards as the board turned right and accelerated to life speed, like squeezing a cherry pit aimed between your fingers at a friend.

Wham! The wave began pounding hard on Howie’s chest. He was looking straight up into a water-cave roof and barely keeping up with the wave curling to the right and breaking on his chest. Howie is very strong. He resisted the wave’s power as few can while rotating his back left leg to the font he pressed the nose of the board flat. Now he crouched facing the wave. Howie was relieved the crashing wave only tickled over his back as the board accelerated to match the wave’s power. He relaxed as the deep ocean wave curled over him. His world became silent. Howie was one with the Pacific. He enjoyed a wild full-speed ride and only gradually began to see what was coming; He wasn’t going to make it. A silent blue-black wall closed over him. He dove away from the thrashing surfboard and surfaced on the backside of the wave just in time to see his surfboard leap twirling into the air before being swept away by churning white water. He let the next wave wash him shoreward and felt his strong arms and legs automatically float him safely above rocks. He was traveling toward shore faster than he could swim.

When Howie reached water only knee deep, he felt like a salamander flowing with a river and pushing off rocks with its arms. He giggled at the thought of behaving like his ancestor salamander relative and then saw his board laying with its fin upward on the hard sand. It was exactly where Pam had walked when white foam had covered her feet. He thought of her; she was attending summer school so she could enter the university early, a semester before he would graduate from high school. He liked Pam and felt a pang of sadness realizing she would only be in school with him for half the next year. She was ambitious and studying to become a marine biologist. Howie grinned as he salamander wiggled almost to shore with the next wavelet and stood up in ankle deep water.

Foggy air chill surrounded Howie’s wet skin as he stooped to pick up his surfboard and turned to watch more good waves rolling in. Some had surfer friends riding them. He watched their moves for both appreciation and learning new ways to ride. The waves were good yet he was cold and semi doubting the idea of going back out for more waves when a new warm and dry surfer arrival ran by him and into the water. His handsome strong adonis friend was splash-running full speed. He turned to Howie and shouted as he passed, “Hey, Howie; Did you register?” then he jumped onto his board and paddled out leaving Howie’s mind in a blank foggy place.

Register?

A deeper chill hit Howie when he remembered what his grandfather had told him about the southeast asian war during his youth. Now the country was back in another asian war; The government had picked a fight with first Russia and then China and then reinstituted the military draft. Howie was supposed to register himself to go fight people he had no problems with. “Killing commies for Christ,” his grandfather had called it.

Howie knew Pam was warm and dry and listening to president Phil Abuster explain civil liberties and patriotism in times of war. The thrill and fun of the day turned to a deeper chill than fog. His country had been in eternal unending war since his grandfather had been drafted; now it was his turn to go kill and destroy people’s homes far away across the mighty Pacific. With energy drained, Howie turned and walked slowly to his old surf wagon. His dog, Happy, was sleeping under the old wooden station wagon. Soon they would be high and dry on a hot mountain overlooking a sea of glistening white fog. Happy enjoyed sitting next to his human while gazing at the view.

Surfer manifesto Vignette 4

Howie sat looking over the ocean with Happy for several days. His divorced mother was a former tennis playing surfer girl who worked teaching at the university, near the ocean. She had parked her children safely in a mountainside house thrown together by New England hippies; They had returned to their home out east and sold the place to her. Mom had noticed the good surf and asked Howie why he had been sitting around with Happy for the past two days.

When Howie told his mom about how he realized for sure that he had to register for the draft, his mother sympathized; “Oh, Howie, I understand, if you don’t want to go alone, I’ll take you.”

“But, mom, I don’t want to do it.” Howie responded.

“Well, I understand that, too.” Howie’s mother answered. “Try not to worry, we have no choice, it’s the law; I’ll be happy to take you and my job owes me some time off.” Then she hurried off to work. She was a single mom supporting two children. She put in extra long hours of work due to having a semi-deadbeat ex-husband who drove fancy cars and spent money in bars. How to pay the bills was her primary thought — all day every day. She was a good mom too concerned with necessities of life to see through or even think about political mumbo jumbo purposefully causing profitable wars.

Howie knew what was going on as best a seventeen year-old destined to become cannon fodder could. He glimpsed a different kind of surfer’s ride and did not complain. That was the exact moment he began to expand a young surfer’s philosophy of life into an advanced biological wave theory of life that began mere moments after the big bang. He stopped time and looked both ahead and behind. Howie saw the latest war was a corporate profit scheme already becoming as bad as Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan; he knew his conclusion was backed up by observable fact.

Good surfers don’t take off on impossible waves. He decided to get off his butt, work a few hours at his gardening job, and then go to the beach. Maybe Pam would help figure out something more fun to do than ponder idiotic wars. She could at least tell him about President Phil Abuster’s speech. That was two days ago. Time seemed to be accelerating.

Surfer manifesto Vignette 5

Fuel for his old surf wagon was a never ending drain on Howie’s garden work earnings. He decided to jog to work and leave the fuel he had in the car; Howie figured he could make it to the surf, then home, and then on to a future fuel facility fix. He laughed at his new found adult philosophizing and started running to work, three kilometers there and three kilometers back. He enjoyed running barefoot on the homeland dirt road he had grown up with.

It is the repetitiveness of human jogging that first attracted Howie to travel a tad faster than walking. He had found after many silent walks to and fro, in moon light or day light, it didn’t matter. Jogging along at a pace like a dog-trot could be stretched out indefinitely. The jog is a faster paced mind metronome Howie decided. He thought of his mother giving him Siddhartha to read; “You were supposed to read it, not become it,” She had admonished, with a semi-suppressed grin behind unspoken thoughts. Howie smiled with the memory and jogged on chanting, “Aum Mani Padme Um.”

What seemed only seconds of chanting led to Howie’s first job, he opened the greenhouse door and started watering thirsty plants. He felt himself as a god peering down from rainclouds and could tell the plants were happy he had arrived. Plain as day. No mistaking or missing it; greens became greener. The plants glistened clean green with diamond water drops.

Howie was an apprentice to an english gardener who landscaped a wealthy patron’s estate. These social details were not part of Howie’s chanting. He knew chanting as he jogged somehow melted timespace. He also knew Siddhartha had admonished him not to go too far into details. Just see what is. Enjoy it plain and simple. Luckily, the ancient old english gardener had also read Siddhartha, he said he was about Howie’s age when he read it. The old gardener still remembered the book and thanked Howie for bringing it up.

All was peaceful and dreamy as Howie closed the lath house half of a small green house. He was walking to change a sprinkler hose position when a giant vicious snarling dog intending to kill leaped out of the brush surrounding the estate lawns and gardens.

Although Howie didn’t know it at the time, dogs were the reason he had a job. Nobody else was about to work around a giant senile dog. Luckily it was a little bit feeble for an agile teen-age human. Even so, making matters worse; there was a second giant dog who was a little younger and sometimes woke up to join in for the kill. It was scary unless one was a seventeen year-old wanna be mountain man. Even then it was scary. Howie realized that quick wits were his only advantage. He never made the same move twice. Those dogs were one reason Howie already subconsciously knew he surfed cosmic waves even before he braved the wild Pacific Ocean. The beach is where distant and sometimes close storms meet the shore, each source had its own character, and that was effected by the weather of the day. Giant waves were no more scary than giant dogs for Howie. The dogs had trained him to face whatever came along.

Both dogs were extra aggressive on this particular day, at one point the dogs had him cornered on top of stacked firewood, one of them was clawing down firewood logs and scrabbling up the side of the stack. Howie glanced upward to tree branches. They were out of reach. He turned back to the dogs in time to see they had followed his gaze upward. His predators knew he couldn’t make the jump and he knew they knew it.

An animal roar came out of Howie as he watched his groping hands turn to grasping claws. Spread wide left and right, claw-like hands came from his sides and into his vision. He wasn’t sure exactly what to do and didn’t need to figure it out. The leading younger giant looked at Howie’s claws and heard him roar. It stopped climbing toward him. Both dogs ran away, the old one trying to keep up with the younger one. Howie looked at his claw hands and was as surprised by them as he was by his animal roar. He decided he’d had enough work for the day and chant-jogged his way home.

Howie’s earlier conversation with his mother about facing the military draft floated around the edges of a much more peaceful life he had shared with her since the day he was born. He realized how civilized she was compared to war mongers trying to stir thing up and turn a fast buck. Howie was growing up fast.

He had watched white water along the shore four kilometers away and three hundred meters below. Bad dogs and war slipped from his mind as he jogged along the winding mountain drive.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 6

“We need the lesser of two evils to act better.” A friend at work volunteered for an answer.

Howie’s mother was beginning to seriously question why they should be killing people who refuse to submit to white capitalist rule. She began talking about it with a friend at work as soon as she arrived. Howie had been sulking about the draft for two days and mom’s intuition knew he was most likely on his way to find out from Pam what the president said about civil rights during times of war. Moms just know things like that.

Mom is Maureen; She is already worried sick about her son being ground up in world war three before he’d even signed up for the draft. Thinking about the Eurasian war during her short bus ride from the car parking area to work and then talking with one friend had turned her world completely inside out. She was almost afraid to talk with another friend.

Maureen is an unknown percentage of African, French and Indigenous US mix heritage. The weirdest part for her is her great grandmother had soft, beautiful, chocolate brown skin and claimed to be Irish. She backed it up for doubters with a hidden yet undoubtedly genuine Irish accent. She said she was the daughter of an Irish Traveler and an escaped African slave who lived in the forests of North Carolina. It remains unclear to this day who the male and female aspects of her great grandparents were. All that was known about them was they had escaped privatizing capitalist genocide way back at the end of sailboat olden days.

Maureen is a surfer girl who married young. Though Howie sees his mom as old, she is still youthfully beautiful in her mid thirties, he wonders why some of his favorite surfer-legend elders occasionally take her out for dinner. Howie doesn’t realize his mother loves her children yet would be living even more of a social star’s life without them. Maureen grew up no different than most surfer girls who dive with dolphins; She is as smart as she is lithe and beautiful.

Howie’s mom would enjoy spending her elder’s years working with Ed Snowden and whoever is in charge of the suggestions being sent to President Xi by the Chinese people, after her children were grown. Winter in the south of China would be a lot of work yet a magical treat; She actually sighed at the thought. Then she shrugged, “Guess I’ll just have to do that in my new story.”

Maureen was on break between classes she teaches at the university. It was a good job as far as it went; her only problem is standard university practice is to hire younger professors for part-time work. This avoids health insurance obligations for the university but requires younger teachers to have a second job. This cruel academic policy used up much of Maureen’s free time that could have been devoted to better preparing for her students.

It was election day. Maureen had to squeeze in a moment to vote in the midst of a rightwing bipartisan war frenzy. Now that Howie must register for the draft Maureen thinks about this every day, too;

What is the most creative thing a person living in a totalitarian industro capitalist military empire can do on election day?

Really, Maureen sighed, I’ve begun to think about this every day and can never get close to an answer. One person cannot do it alone.

Maureen was hoping she was correct that Howie was on his way to go surfing and find Pam when she noticed a friend beckon for her to sit and talk. Her friend is an expert on totalitarian military empires and she wondered what he might think about her son being sent to the Eurasian war front. Maureen had decided she didn’t believe any of the candidates and was going to write-in her friend’s names when she voted. She was interested to find out what her full-time professor friend thought about that, too.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 7

Maureen’s intuition was totally correct, her son was on his way to check the surf and casually cross paths with Pam. Howie was driving an old wooden station wagon he had bought walking home from school, the car had had a half tank of gas— That cinched the deal, the gas was worth almost as much as he paid for the car and he made it to work an hour early. His new station wagon was clear profit on its first day. Howie’s surfboard was in the back and his dog was riding in the passenger seat keeping a sharp eye on the road ahead. Howie looked at his canine friend and the nose prints inside the windshield, he knew each nose print marked some event that had required closer dog attention and laughed. The dog glanced from the road to Howie and smiled with its tongue lolling out. They both watched a police car drive by going the opposite direction.

Howie didn’t swerve or change speed, a slight waver by the police car alerted him to glance in the rearview mirror, he saw the police car swing into a gas station and turn around toward his direction. He drove left around the corner next to the high school and then accelerated to the next right turn where he took the side street and then quick-parked invisibly between two cars. When the police car zoomed by, Howie stayed in hiding. It was when Howie saw the police car zoom by on the next street one block ahead that he knew he was a hunted man and needed to act fast. He quickly made a U turn from his parking spot and then a quick right, toward the the beach.

Next thing Howie knew he was stuck in traffic trying to evade a traffic ticket. He’s just seventeen and was thinking about Pam with his foot a bit heavy on the gas. Now he’s not thinking about much except escape. He forgot to renew his car license, too. This is serious stuff for Howie. He knew most adults have no problems with it but the Eurasian war against Russia, China and Iran seems like another complete and totally distracting parallel world when you are seventeen; He knew that, too.

Howie could not drive faster than clinging, spider web traffic. He felt a stir of impatient irritation in his guts and realized Pam was focused on something wise and good. Although he could still clearly see and react to traffic, his mind vividly pictured Pam’s beautiful sun-tan-oiled body swaying as a dancer in a bikini. She was moving her arms with graceful gesticulation while at the same time explaining capitalist nuclear madness. He had just decided he would liberate his dreams and try to kiss her before asking about president Phil Abuster’s speech on civil liberties in times of war when he saw a policeman ahead waving his arms while directing traffic.

The policeman looked Howie straight in the eye and directed him to pull over and park. It became obvious the police had set a trap for him when the traffic jam broke up and flowed away. His daydream of beautiful Pam in a bikini was replaced by the serious scowl of a policeman in reality. Even worse, he knew the cop, it was Joel Clayton’s dad. Howie liked him but everyone else said he was strict.

There was no glimmer of recognition in the policeman’s cold, professional eyes. He made Howie get out of the car, put his hands behind him and hop in a straight line on one foot and then the other. Howie knew he did okay when the policeman noted he was not driving in an alcoholic stupor.

“What’s wrong with you, son?” Joel’s dad asked, still not showing personal recognition. “Why are you behaving like an early morning drunk trying to evade the police?”

Howie didn’t know what to say so he just blurted his feelings the best he could; “I was thinking about Pam and being sent to fight in the Eurasian war.”

“Pam is being sent to fight in the Eurasian war? Which Pam? What is the Eurasian war?” The policeman had turned into being a dad, he also had been a surfer in his younger years, his mind had briefly flashed to youthful sun-tanned surfer girls before he pulled himself back into the present.

“So you were speeding because you were thinking about girls and being drafted?” The policeman was obviously curious and wanted to know more.

Howie didn’t know what to say. He stammered and blushed but did not actually answer.

“Nobody has been drafted since the Vietnam war and that was my father’s generation,” Joel’s dad said, his voice turning to confident reassurance even though still spiced with a touch of bewilderment. “What’s this Eurasian war you mention so ominously?”

Howie told him about the grouping of old colonial powers ganging up for war against countries who wouldn’t do as they were told.

“Sounds like some kind of crackpot conspiracy theory to me. Are you talking about the war in Europe? Our country is not involved in that, we just send help to those being attacked by dirty rotten commies who feed their soldiers viagra.”

Howie was just seventeen, but he know’s what he means; he tried so hard, he tried, even though he had just sipped a slog of water, he tried to hold back a snort of laughter, yet, even so, he ended up spit-blurting on Joel’s dad’s shirt.

This caused an icy silence. The dad turned back into a cop.

There was only one thing that saved Howie and that was completely unknown to him; Joel’s dad had been his mom’s steady date in high school.

The cop slowly reached out, He grabbed Howie’s arm and wiped off his shirt with it. “Okay,” he said, “I’m letting you go with a warning to get your vehicle license renewed. If any of us catch you driving with an expired license, you will get the maximum penalty.”

“Yes, sir.” Howie said as he got back in his car and started it up. “I’ll do it by tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”

Joel’s dad nodded yes and Howie thought he might have seen a hint of a smile as he resumed his journey to a beach full of young surfers who were forming into a totally unplanned modern war resistor’s league.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 8

By the time Howie finally made it to the beach he was still a tad stressed about spitting on a policeman’s shirt. He knew the spitting was involuntary and was super-glad it had been a friend’s dad. Even so, instead of thinking how beautiful Pam is, he had obsessed all the way to the beach about what might have happened if he had spit a mouth full of water on a rightwing stranger. He’d probably be dead. His inner self shuddered at the thought of making cops mad. Yet, quick as a wink, that vision disappeared when he parked and looked out his windshield front window at large, perfect surf.

Reality shift!

Howie instantly forgot the Eurasian war against Russia, Iran, and China. In Howie’s mind the surfer manifesto rang clear; “Fun in nature is what life is about.” He was already wearing his bathing suit, all he had to do was pull his board out of the back of his old station wagon to be ready. Directly in front of him was a retaining wall row of boulders between the parking lot and the lower level of warm, dry sand. Perko, the life guard, was watching swimmers and surfers from his lifeguard station above and between the sea wall and the parking lot. He nodded to Howie in greeting and told him the surf was good and coming up fast. Then he pointed out to sea, climbed out of the lifeguard tower and stood next to Howie.

They were both so surprised by action unfolding in the seaward view that neither moved; A small speed boat pulling a water skier was safely further out than surfers. The interesting part was an orca swimming effortlessly not far behind the water skier. Everybody on the beach stood up and started pointing. The water skier was an obvious show-off and started doing tricks when he noticed the entire beach watching him. The killer whale copied every trick the skier made as if they had rehearsed a performance together.

Howie briefly thought about paddling out to warn the skier but even a small speedboat is too fast. Instead, he leaned his surfboard against the lifeguard stand and made a spectacular leap from the sea wall down to the sand. He staggered and his knees sagged a bit but he recovered and ran to the water’s edge waving his arms. Ranger Mack reached the water at about the same time as Howie and pulled out his gun, a small 38 caliber pistol.

“You can’t hurt a killer whale with that from here,” Howie said to the ranger with a sideways look and a grin.

The ranger gave Howie a withering look and began firing his pistol into the air, over the speedboat and water skier. The ocean is as big as the sky and the waves were beginning to roar. The pistol made tiny little popping noises as Ranger Mac fired every last bullet until his gun clicked on empty.

Howie and the ranger stood there together and watched the speedboat and water skier followed by an obviously fun-loving killer whale as they traveled together into the distance. The whale was lazily swinging back and forth behind the boat just like the skier. The ranger shrugged and walked back toward his beach house near the entrance to the parking lot. Howie trotted back to get his surfboard from the lifeguard’s stand and met Pam on the way.

There she was, directly in front of him. Pam, a beautiful brown-skinned surfer girl sitting on her beach towel. “The fin was as tall as the water skier,” she said. “I’m glad the ranger didn’t shoot at it,” she continued, smiling to Howie. “It looked like a whale of a lot of fun. Where have you been the last few days?” Pam chuckled at her own joke— Howie’s heart began skipping beats. He told her about the draft, his military draft registration worries for the Eurasian war and then asked her to tell him what president Phil Abuster’s speech had been about.

“It was on civil liberties during times of war,” Pam replied. She smiled up at Howie, and patted her towel for him to sit down and listen. “So I don’t get a stiff neck looking up and into the sun at you.”

Howie sat down next to Pam and mentioned how his mom had offered to go with him to register for the draft whenever he decided to do so. They quietly sat side by side watching people and ocean, it was mesmerizing, a little like sitting in front of a campfire and watching flickering flames and smoke.

“I think that whale could have caught the water skier any time it wanted,” Pam said.

“Really.” Howie agreed. “The whale was like a trained athlete cutting back and forth cool and easy, with no stress. It was not even hurrying a little bit.” Then he told Pam about being pulled over by the police for hurrying to the beach to find out what the president said.

Pam was thrilled that Howie was hurrying to find her but didn’t speak to that. Instead, she pulled her summer school notes out of her beach bag. She fluttered a few pages in the note book and found the place. “Here it is,” she said. “The speech was awful. My first sentence is, ‘Pompous ass.’ They are as I wrote next, ‘Arrogant fools who want to contain China.’ What does that even mean?”

Howie shrugged his shoulders and watched a friend get a spectacular ride. Pam followed his gaze. She watched the wave rider and wave. “It’s Dory,” she said, “I like Dory’s style.”

Howie nodded, “Yep. She’s a good surfer. What did the president say about civil liberties in times of war?”

Well,” Pam began, “He rambled on for a almost a half hour and here’s the summary as I wrote it that day. Keep in mind he’s trying to drum up support for his completely unprovoked war on Russia and China;”

“Big Bombers in Australia...” the president began

“Them dang Chinese enemies of the shining beacon of American freedom had better get the message to stay away from Russia and get it quick.

“The American people are sick and tired of their jobs being sent to China and are willing to bomb hundreds of millions of totally innocent moms, dads and their children to make their point absolutely clear. Do not forget, above all else, these united states are a brilliant light of democracy.

“Back off all of you pinko commies. The torch of American freedom can incinerate nonbelievers in white hot nuclear explosions before you know it. American democracy is clear on that. Pentagonian civilian morale handlers are grateful for all EuroAmerican people backing defensive war against China, Iran and Russia.

“Adversaries must quit what they are doing and do what they’re told or we will see their ashes on our teevees during dinner dispatches. Do the rules-based order two-step or else. We know what’s best,

“Join up, sign here, and send appreciation to your leaders....”

“President Phil Abuster concluded his speech to resounding cheers and business executive’s applause.” Pam reported all this with a sadly serious face Howie had never seen before.

Howie was stunned. “The president said all that?” he asked. “The US has an unhinged president. He’s creepy, This is way worse than I thought, totally disgusting.”

“Everybody at school says world war three has already started,” Pam responded. “I’m a little scared... World war three is a really dumb idea. What should we do?” She leaned on Howie, just a touch and he felt it.

“Organize a young people’s war resistor’s league.” Howie said it much more confidently than he felt. “It’s too much to think about when the surf is this good. I’m going to go ride a few waves to wash my brain out.” He laughed as he leaned against Pam leaning against him and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s talk about a war resistors revolution concert and survival dance or something like that when I come back in after surfing.” Howie trotted off to get his surfboard. Pam saw that he might be blushing. She smiled even though world war three and climate collapse are scary. Surfer Manifesto

Chapter Two — Vignette 9

Howie’s mother, Maureen, had a short day at the University and was riding the bus to her second job as a tutor for students who did not speak english fluently enough to avoid problems in their studies. Maureen spoke many languages, she had discovered a language learning game on the internet when in her teens and knew more languages than she could readily list without stoping to think about it. She was one of very few multi-language teachers who tutored first and second year college students in every course the city college offered.

Maureen’s university professor friend had listened to her story during lunch; about Howie not wanting any part of the Eurasian war and how she had come to appreciate Howie’s thinking. The professor’s name is Noah. He’s an easy going guy that reads quite a bit; more than some, less than others. Maureen had shared lunches with Noah for several years. He knew exactly what Howie was facing, he explained the war her son was about to be tossed into; “It is a diversionary propaganda ploy dreamed up by a collapsing capitalist system unable to explain why it is attacking China, Iran and Russia, even to itself,” he said. Then he had expanded Howie’s problem to include Pam. That’s what finally shocked Maureen into a resolve to do something to help bring peace.

Maureen’s third job was editing Noah’s papers in varied languages. Noah and Maureen were a versatile, sought after world-wide team, she wished the university payed a little more while watching the familiar bus route view without really looking. There was much for her to think about, way more than than after other university cafeteria working lunches with Noah.

As a result of editing Noah’s papers and being widely curious in her own reading, Maureen already knew most of what he described. She realized she had been too busy supporting her children to put it all together the way Noah did for her during lunch—

“Seventy percent of young, fighting-age US citizens are too obese to be of any use in military plans for war against Russia, Iran and China.” Noah said. He sighed and then continued; “If this keeps up, women will eventually be required to register for the draft unless the US and its already subdued vassal countries change course and decide in favor of peace.”

Maureen’s mind was a churning blurred daydream as she got off the bus and waited for the pedestrian crossing light to change. The road was quite wide, it had four travel lanes plus right and left turn lanes in each direction. When the light changed, she absent mindedly stepped off the curb only to feel strong hands yank her back onto the sidewalk; a car had run the red light and was traveling fast enough she would have been killed. The mindless driver didn’t see her and didn’t slow down. She had been saved by a very strong city college football player. Maureen was so frightened and grateful she burst into tears when she turned to thank him. Though the big, burly football lineman was only a few years older than her son, he hugged her and patted her on the back like a good dad would. They walked across the street together and Maureen thanked him all the way.

She thanked him one more time after they entered the college grounds and parted to go their separate ways; Football practice for him and a multilingual, multi-subject teaching job for Maureen. She started each day with a short lecture about the english language. Today was different; everyone wanted to talk about the military recruiters that were in the cafeteria during the scheduled lunch hour. There was tension in the room, all of them could feel it. Twenty-nine students had been talking to each other using about eight languages at once when Maureen arrived. She wished there had been a recording to play back and study later, after she was home, her children were fed and dishes were being washed. Howie has a younger sister named Dawn, named for the hour she was born.

Many of the students were morally shocked by the military presence on college grounds. A few said it had happened in their countries and the next step is banned books followed by spies quietly listening for banned conversations in the halls of learning. What had set everyone off today was one of the students had seen a soldier who had been part of drug wars that had also focused on environmental leaders in villages that were in the wrong place or opposing extraction of resources by global corporations.

When Maureen innocently asked the students which one of them had seen the US military personnel recruiter in their country she encountered silence. One student mentioned that many of them had left home, families and friends behind because they were afraid of what the US had turned their countries into; ruthless dictatorships empowered by the wealthy, their corrupt police, and gangs. Others were there simply to learn the American way and were shocked by the US military behavior others had experienced.

Maureen sensed a spontaneous world-wide Gen Z war resistor’s league her son Howie was beginning to see. The difference being she was old enough to included Gens X and Y in her view. She had begun to see the US population as a fourth front in the war against Russia, Iran and China. “Okay. That’s enough politics for today,” Maureen said. “I’m here to help you understand parts of your lesson texts that are difficult for you to translate. Tomorrow is coming and you have student hurdles enough here on campus. Ready for work?”

The students were all seated four abreast on stools at lab benches. They spread their work out to help each other while Maureen walked back and forth between each row of benches listening for problems the students were not able to help each other with. Sometimes it was a word problem in math and sciences and other times it was slang used by Shakespeare and Mark Twain, or humor by John Steinbeck. Maureen enjoyed her second job at the city college and the students liked her.

Teaching every subject meant there were quite a few times when Maureen could not figure something out. For these cases she photocopied from the text and communicated with the primary teacher later in the evening, when her children were involved with cleaning up after dinner. She rode the bus to and from a parking area where she parked her very small three wheeled car. It was a two kilometer commute between home and public transportation, a distance she walked when she had little to carry. Maureen walked as much as she could for her health and to remain beautifully thin while she was still young and in good physical shape for occasional surfing, skin diving or tennis. She planned to remain generally athletic and nimble during her older years.

Maureen was thinking about what her students had told her about the military trainer who had been observed in a different country in possibly more than one unsavory situation, she wasn’t clear on that point. Even so, now, several years later, the same person was seen in the city college student union as a military recruiter. She pushed the crosswalk button and stepped out a bit to see beyond a car pulled halfway out from the line, she heard tires screech and felt a distant thud; only a small sliver remained dimly conscious.

A male outline slowly came into focus. He was wearing a uniform and kneeling bent over her. The sun was bright behind him, he was purposefully shading her face and checking her pulse. His identity cleared itself as her mind returned from its uncoscious blank and jumped to surprise.

“Dave,” she said, “Dave Clayton.” What happened? Did you just run into me?”

“Actually,” He responded, “You ran into me.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Luckily, I had already recognized you and was slowing down before you walked into me. I barely hit you.”

“Really? I feel walloped hard.”

“It is a big car and you are a little person. What were you thinking?” Dave said this while checking her pulse and looking for profuse bleeding; there was none and he was glad.

“I was thinking about Pam being drafted and the Eurasian war. Plus the students in my city college class.”

Dave was surprised. “Your son told me the same story earlier. Which Pam? No! Wait! Don’t talk so much now, think, just for a minute. Can you move? Try it gently. Start with your fingers.”

Maureen is a trained scientist. She wiggled her fingers, then raised her wrist. She stopped with her forearms raised and wiggled her fingers again.

“Can you wiggle your toes”? He asked, obviously still concerned.

She nodded her head Yes, carefully.

“Did any of that hurt?” Dave asked, checking her pulse again.

She moved head back and forth as a No, more vigorously than the Yes.

“You don’t appear to be experiencing traumatic shock,” he concluded.

Maureen could clearly see Dave deciding to call an ambulance crew for further tests and handling. She knew what he was going to do and rolled to her side and then up onto one elbow. “My back is not broken,” she said, smiling gratefully.

Dave looked where she had been laying, “No blood,” he reported, also smiling gratefully. “I’m glad.”

“Do you have to call an ambulance?” She asked, feeling remembered closeness with an old high school friend and not wanting to cause him troubles while also not wanting the expense of a capitalist calculated ambulance bill.

At that point, Maureen, mother of mountain-man Howie, jumped to her feet. “I don’t have time for an ambulance or the the money for augmented medicare advantage fees. I need to get to the store and then home to see to my children.”

Dave wasn’t sure how to respond. “May I take you to the store?” He asked. “To, er keep you under observation before calling in an ambulance?” He continued. “I saw your son Howie’s car at the beach and by chance I also saw your daughter at the girls club soccer game where my daughter is playing. They both seemed fine as can be.”

Maureen took a step toward the police car, “Ouch, I’m stiff,” She said bending and bracing her hands on her legs.

Dave stepped to her side and helped her toward his car.

Maureen then found her ability to smile. “You better hope no one sees this and tells your wife they saw you hugging your old high school girl friend like this,” she said with a slightly pain grimaced grin.

“No problem,” Dave said, “My wife ran off with a big name state street banker.” Then he also grinned, “I’m just this minute getting over it.”

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 10

The day was still early even though much had happened. Howie and his group of friends changed from day to day depending on who was around, he was lucky to live where he could see the surf and be in charge of his own working hours. He felt the estate owners he worked for as knowingly providing helpful guidance and knew he was correct.

There was more than one carload of surfers at their local beach watching swells coming toward them. The closer in waves were silhouetted in front of major swells further our to sea traveling across the horizon. Advanced wave theory in the cells of all surfers provided communal knowledge of the sea from understanding it. Fisherman, competitive sailboat crews and large ship seaman had told them a lot and they had felt it themselves.. The question was before them was, “Where?” They all knew wherever they went would be big surf. The only question was where.

Something like a premonition from each one blended onto a decision. They took turns stopping time during their conversation, like bees describing flowers and honey, they told each other whatever wave they liked and then headed for their personal towel, dry clothes and food. They knew a general group decision could change any time as they drove an hour north looking for the best waves. The point now was to start. Though more girl surfers would definitely have been welcomed, this surfing safari thinned itself to just two carloads of guys and one young woman who knew exactly what was ahead. They all knew it was going to be big. When they saw big waves while traveling along the coast, they howled themselves to readiness. Every one there was stoked to maximum and ready for whatever the pacific ocean had prepared for them. A wave theory of life can at times be egocentric. Excitement ran high. Young humans, male and female, hooted and howled.

Two carloads of young surfers stopped at the last store before entering wild-surf wilderness ranch. They pooled their money to fuel each car. The idea was to make both cars equal before the god of energy. When the cars were ready for the trip, the surfers spent the rest of their money on nuts, bananas and sugar snacks. They would be famished when returning home and their mothers knew it.

Sometimes one mother would put up enough cash to send them all out for dinner and let a biologically unrelated mother waitress decide what they needed to eat. Howie wasn’t fond of liver and onions yet ate heartily when the restaurant gave them all a good deal. Today, on safari, they had no money left, their pockets were empty and the surf was big.

There were six in each car. Three in front and three in back sitting on the surfboards, with towels for cushions. Six wet towels were flap’n and fly’n in back of each car. Each tied to a surfboard fin with a special knot that had been taught to them by fishermen. They left the main highway and crossed the creek that they and few others knew was full of trout. The idea of restocking it with salmon was ritually discussed at the crossing.

There were similar canyons to cross after they entered wild-surf ranch. Each creek seemed equally ready for salmon. “But who would fish there?” Hogie asked, pointing to a team of wild boar, who perked up seeing a possible meal of teenaged humans. Everyone shuddered without showing it to wild pigs or their fellow humans. “They are about as bad as going to fight in the Eurasian war!” Someone in Howie’s group exclaimed.

The US has picked a fight with Russia as a way to attack China’s back door using NATO. Now that the US sees Russia is not such an easy pushover, Pentagonian masters realize they do not really want to threaten their cushy leach jobs; They are desperate to find a way out. Will China and Russia provide a face saving tail between the legs exit for military brass and spies who believed their own stupid Hollywood propaganda?

Pam wondered about stuff like this as Howie put the surfboards in the back of her mom’s car. Male dominance had all but disappeared by the time Pam joined the surfing world. Even so, it didn’t hurt if one of Earth’s strongest surfers had become her life partner— The rest of the car were howling banshees getting ready for big surf. She liked Howie driving and was glad being in the middle. Pam snuggled closer to Howie each time they all glimpsed gigantic surf they were driving to meet and the men began howling.

The surf safari was the reason Joel’s dad saw Howie’s car in the parking lot; it had been left behind in favor of Pam and her mom’s car. She turned to Howie and softly said, “What about the young people’s war resistors league?”

Of course everyone in the car heard her. She was more than smart, Howie’s new partner was Surfer Girl to the max... Pam was the spokeswoman for all female surfers headed into big waves, she the lone woman but just as happy as the strong young men around her. Pam knew in her bones that at this moment on Planet Earth there was nobody in existence like her. That thought gave her confidence to not turn away and watch a large wave break when it came into view around the next bend.

Her male companions began hooting and hollering all over again. Pam gained strength from Howie’s close warmth and saw herself easily riding a very steep monster wave with confidence. That was the moment she learned she could stop time long enough to see what was coming next. It dawned on her then that she did not need to be actually on a wave to do it and squeezed Howie’s arm.

“Can you stop time?” She asked, quietly, even though she knew they were all in this together and everyone could hear her question.

“If the wave is strong enough,” Howie answered. “It seems that way, anyway.”

There was a general murmur of agreement as they drove to a place they could park, overlooking the beach. The waves were big but not too big. A tad scary but otherwise just right. Pam realized she was more scared by polluted climate collapse and world war three than the real waves in front of her. She felt equal with the guys staring out to sea. Eleven young men and one young woman watched their Mother Earth perform an awesome wave dance just for them. They were held motionless in peaceful group thrall; Each felt their own vision weld into a shared wave theory of life living well in balance with Earth.

“Let’s go.” Pam said.

They ran together carrying their surfboards down the steep dirt road to warm, dry sand. The tide was falling. Late afternoon was warm. The ocean was pure glassy smooth. Waves were perfect and there was an easy deep channel to paddle out. Each felt their bodies kick into life speed as they rounded the water wave’s shoulder, where it turned back into an ocean swell as it left the rock ledge point and entered the deep water cove. They paddled toward a developing consensus for today’s best take-off point. The waves were artistically beautiful and cracked like thunder when they curled over into hollow tubes and the leading lip crashed where the mighty Pacific collided with flat water and the stone shelf below.

Pam lived in a working class tract of houses not far from the beach. She had actually been surfing longer than most of the guys she was grouped together with waiting for her turn to ride world-class waves. Her mom knew from her younger years that young women have a tough time fitting in with raucous surfer guys. That’s why she had bought a classic surfer station wagon for her daughter to use at times like this. The surfer wagon had actually been in a movie and Pam’s mom bought it very cheaply at an auction to help her daughter attract strong young male surfers to go surfing with. The surf wagon had been in the garage for over ten years and Pam had not thought about it much until now. She mentally thanked her mother as she watched another of her friends take-off and then disappear into the biggest wave she had ever been this close to.

All the guys kept trying to be polite and offer Pam the next wave. She watched one after another leave a hand paddle splashed foam trail behind their board as each stood and then disappeared behind the folded over swell. Sometimes their track of passage was traced on the back of the wave. Sometimes they appeared briefly at the top of the wave before disappearing once again with an athletic flourish and intense concentration.

When it was down to two guys plus Howie and her, Pam asked, “How do you do it?”

“Stand in the middle of your board and go as fast as you can,” Jerry responded with a grin as he turned and paddled to catch a steepening wall building outside of them. They saw him stand and then he was gone. The falling wave left a white cloud of spray behind that surfers call smoke. The wave is moving so fast it leaves a white spray at its crest.

The waves were growing larger and the now three of them paddled slowly outward to be in position for the next wave. Bob told Pam to do as Jerry said and took off. Same story; a white surfboard track with hand paddle prints on each side disappeared into the roiling back of the wave.

Time was beginning to feel slippery, “You take the next one,” Pam told Howie, “I saw there is another one out there.”

“Okay.” Howie responded. “You’re plenty good enough for this and already know what to do. “I’ll be waiting after the hook, that’s the best part, where the wave wall goes total barrel roll steep as it wraps into the cove. These are perfect waves, you can do it.” Pam watched Howie disappear and then paddled a little further out to catch an even larger wave.

Pam watched the approaching blue wall darken and grow steep. There was no time for thinking now. She turned her board shoreward and felt as if the wave was going to break on top of her. It was going so fast the wind of passage held it straight up. She paddled once, then twice and felt the wave accelerate her as it passed under her. One quick paddle to be sure and she stood. Pam was standing at the top of a fast moving vertical wall that began to hurl her forward into space. She had no choice and avoided going over the falls to the stone reef below by aiming her board straight down. She fell faster than gravity with accelerating wave speed. Air began to gather in front of the wave and held the wave’s top until the wave became a tube. Time stood still while Pam’s entire being figured out what to do next.

There was a straight wall of water in front of her. She stalled her decision by drifting left, deeper into the approaching curl. When her ride snapped into focus, Pam turned right at the bottom of the wave and aligned herself with the direction of a perfectly formed breaking wall that demanded nothing less than full life speed. She pumped the energy of the turn and made the acceleration and direction change look easy to those watching as they paddled back out for the next ride. They saw Pam as Athena, goddess of the sea, she rocketed from her bottom turn and rose right back up almost to the top, where she had to duck because the wave’s top meter or so was hurling itself shoreward over her head.

Pam didn’t need a bikini to appear as Athena commanding the wave to her bidding. She wore men’s string-tied canvas boxer shorts tailored for a woman and an athlete’s top that would not tear off no matter how bad she wiped out. All the young men stopped paddling and watched her moves in awe. She actually stalled a bit and was swallowed deeper into the tubular giant before accelerating even more as she raced crashing water back to the wave bottom. And then, impossibly, she did it again. All who were watching cheered out loud. Pam was more than a legendary goddess, they all watched a real woman athlete friend beyond compare riding her first big wave.

Then, as if to test her as a mere human, the wave became an even more serious ride. Pam could see the hook at the end of the ride beginning to form where the swell wrapped into deeper water. Her problem was the wall between her and safety was threatening to close over her all at once before she got there. “This is serious,” she thought, and surprised herself that she had time to think. Blasting along at what she considered full life speed, Pam stopped time twice in one wave; she remembered Howie describing this part of the ride to a friend and let herself drift toward the top of the wave until she had to duck under it a third time.

The hook in front of her was already curling over when she turned slightly shoreward down the wave’s face. Matching the direction of the hook she squeezed herself under it’s tube and out into deeper water. She was aimed directly at Howie and he wisely paddled out of her way. Pam leaned into a waterskier type spray-turn to stop and then sat down on her board, a few meters past Howie. Her chest was noticeably pumping great gulps of air into her lungs and her eyes were wide.

“Did you do all that without breathing?” Howie asked her with a grin.

Pam recovered her breath, splashed him and pointed toward shore. Four more surfers had arrived, two were female. “It’s Dory, Brenda, Brad, and one I don’t recognize,” she said.

“It’s Tucker,” Howie responded, He’s just moved back to town from somewhere in Baja California.” They both turned and started paddling out about the time newly arriving friends reached the water. Their group had turned into a line paddling out and watching friends ride wild wilderness surf to the deep channel shoulder and then join the line paddling back out for another wave.

A hurricane had survived crossing Mexico not far north of central America. The hurricane was rebuilding into a typhoon and had been renamed as it traveled across the Pacific toward Asia. It might send them surf for several more days. The rotation between waiting, riding and paddling back out gradually grew a contingent resting and warming on the beach beneath a warm south facing cliff.

A lobster boat anchored in the bay long enough for two older fishermen to get a few rides and pass them a five gallon tin of lobster and crab. Their diet had improved greatly, they wouldn’t go home the least bit hungry after dining on popped seaweed, bananas, nuts, junk food sweets and fresh sea food from the fishermen. One of the fishermen was a surfer’s dad, he had graciously donated two old dry loaves of french bread that young teeth chowed down with crunchy crummy smiles.

Howie and Pam asked surfers and the older fisherman what they thought about a modern war resistor’s league. They couldn’t call it a young people’s war resistor’s league if older fishermen are involved. That idea met raucous objections; Every one thought the fishermen weren’t too old to be young but it was too hard to concentrate on an idiotic war against Russia, Iran and China while eating delicious food and surfing the best surf they’d seen in weeks.

They happy band of surfers and fishermen were unanimous war resistors already, they agreed to think about what to do and then make it happen. The decision was to let ideas percolate into action the same way they figured out where their surfing safari found good surf. “It’s a type of magic, like a water witch,” Dory concluded when she came in to rest and eat. “We are in a magic wild wilderness place; ideas will form in our heads just like these beautiful waves coming to us from the great wide ocean.”

Howie wondered if Dory might have read Siddhartha but went back to the surf without asking her. Pam went with him and he showed her how he chant paddled, just like chant jogging. She already knew about it but didn’t interrupt. She chanted with Howie, they were outside in a flash and both clearly heard waves welcoming them back.

“We are the power of youth!” Pam declared with a hoot. She felt herself unweighted and raised both arms to the sky as she and Howie paddled over the biggest wave they had seen yet. “May I go first this time so I can watch you ride a wave this big? Earth is honing our power together.”

Howie grinned and nodded agreement. Pam pulled her surfboard around shoreward and took off on a wave quite a bit bigger than her last ride. Howie knew Pam would ride the wave all the way to the cove and see his ride like he did hers. He skipped the next wave to give her time and paddled further out for one that was bigger yet. A wall coming in from the sea.

The day had turned into evening calm by the time Pam took off on her wave. A small crowd watched her from the beach, where the sand was warm and the south facing cliff radiated the day’s accumulated warmth. The lowering sun was coloring everything including the sea toward reddish hues.

Large, long-lined swells approached shore with the sun behind them, their faces dark. On the beach were fourteen surfers, most lying on warm pillows of sand their arms pulled under them as they watched surfers ride. Conversation peaked between waves. Surfers do a lot of watching surfers ride waves. They all felt it when Pam drifted slightly left of straight down on a wave somewhere near three times her height That exact figure would be discussed for a long time. Together, they felt Pam stop time and assess the wave. She was relaxed and leaned into the turn to go right with the wave. Pam looked up and saw a great wall held up by air friction. She zipped across it like shot from a cannon, a great billowing cloud of white wave smoke blew out of the tube behind her and she was accelerated again with a powerful push. She stood in the middle of her board and went as fast as it could go in a straight line at top life speed. The perfect wave was lit from behind as it crowned over her head. The spray of water torn from the wave’s face and into the air made a rainbow. Everyone on the beach watched Pam back lit by sun and rainbow as she approach the hook at the end of her ride; where the huge wave wrapped into the bay, snapped its energy like a whip and disappeared into deeper calm water, leaving no trace.

Pam’s body stood frozen at maximum speed. She felt it as an observer, briefly disconnected, as if she was among her friends on the beach. Time was happening fast but there wasn’t much to do. This freed up her senses. She could see the already approaching hook. Yes, it was the same wave but it was coming almost at her, already curled over and only held up by air and the now colliding part of the wave she was riding. She had planned for this by setting a course riding slightly upward in the wave until she tucked in tight under the wave’s bright sunlit top. No one on the beach said a word. They shared her time space and could feel her timing as perfect. Pam turned with the hook and went straight down far faster than water can fall. She turned again at the bottom and squeezed herself under the falling wave with another graceful turn safely outward into calm, deeper water. Pam sat down on her board and turned to watch Howie. Though she was exhilarated beyond delight, her arms automatically worked the water to keep herself steady while sitting on her surfboard.

Howie took off on a very large wave, it was similar in size to Hawaiian winter surf but not quite as strong. He and every one watching knew they were on the weaker back side of a storm that must be as huge as the surf it was making. Dory Chen briefly thought about China and the Philippines but turned back to be with Howie when he approached the bottom of his wave and his version of time stopped. Every one on the beach loved that moment together.

Human strength matters naught when waves reach a certain size. Howie couldn’t overpower his wave any more than Pam could have overpowered her’s. Nature made humans equal. Howie pretty much followed Pam’s path, he was aggressive yet careful, possibly even more so than Pam. Even so, his wave was a little larger, it broke further out and passed over slightly different rock ledges. No ride is the same. There was a place where Howie was ever so slightly delayed, he dodged around a section that broke out of smooth peeling right order. Pam saw it happen, she was watching him through the tube of the hook. Yes! He came down the face of a wave with a tube that seemed as tall as a telephone pole. Howie gracefully turned under it exactly as Pam had done. The difference was he was a split second behind and didn’t make it. Fifty tons of falling water landed on him like a fly swatter and smacked him into the sandy smooth cove bottom. Howie rolled wth the water and pushed off the bottom for the top. He had made it past the stone reef. Howie grinned when he surfaced. He saw Pam smiling at him. Life speed flashed in both their eyes.

Friends on the beach were all standing. Five or six surfers passed by going out as Pam and Howie paddled in. Dory and Brenda were among those headed out to ride one last perfect wave that had become quite huge. Surfers name this time as “late evening glass off;” there is no solar power to move coastal air and cause even one breath inland or seaward. Light becomes reddish gray. The ocean is almost the same, slightly darker. The horizon becomes indistinct. Large waves seem like building-sized black walls, paddling over one reveals many more waves lined up seaward, all the way to a horizon that looming darkness brought closer with each passing minute.

They reached the best place to take off and did so one after the other; Dory, Brenda, Bob, Gary, Brad and Alan. What a show! Though none were famous surf contest champions, wherever they went they surfed as equals with the best. Both the surf and show were beyond compare.

The wave period is the time space between crests or troughs. Ten people gathered around a driftwood fire watching two waves at a time, there was that much space between the waves. Each ride was equally charged. Everyone on the beach felt the surfer’s time stop to check things out, they examined the ride ahead from each surf rider’s actual perspective. Only surfers can do this, so far. Then they watched each friend ride the wave their own special way. Six different waves. Six different surfers. Each ride was a very different and intently watched ride featuring their own private surfer stars. White water was becoming night-time phosphorescent by the time the last wave was ridden and Alan joined the warming circle around the fire.

Alan was given part of the last lobster tail, the last of the crab, a piece of stale bread and a small pile of now soggy corporate sugar snacks; all served on a sand-free driftwood plate. Alan flipped the soggy corporate sugar snack into the fire. It splattered and exploded on impact with jagged wood and coals as he said, “Yuckola.” It was colorful candy mini fire works. The other five newly arrived then flicked their limp soggy corporate sugar snack bombs into the fire and dutifully repeated, “Yuckola.” That became the laughing battle cry of their local chapter of the war resistors league, solidarity from celebrating with sugar bombs around the fire. After a totally wowing series of colorful explosions, one in the group was able to stop laughing long enough to suggest, “BDS Yuckola.” That stuck too.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 11

Sixteen warm and dry surfers loaded surfboards and towels in the cars after enjoying surfing together. Every one was tired and relaxed when they reached the main highway and three carloads of surfers joined in with the flow of state and inter-state freeway traffic.

Dory Chen had her mom’s car, it was a research model that drove itself. Her mom traveled back and forth between Chinese and California university labs and had brought this test model home with her after its debutant party, concluding her last research trip to China. The party had featured a brightly lit stage object under glowing fabric and a strangely weird singer singing the US national anthem in Chinese. Dory’s mom, Claire Chen, drove the car straight from its Chinese debutante party to a cargo plane that delivered her and the car to California. After her university research lab analyzed it, Claire brought the artificial intelligence car home as a graduation present. Mom let Dory use the car for occasional surfing safaris even before she graduated from high school.

Although Dory’s cool self-driving chinese car was a popularity booster for awhile, many younger people thought automobile based culture had a limited future, that did not stop their appreciation of her car, it was interesting. Dory said the idea was it would someday plug into traffic flows smoothly, like a train, and drop out at one’s chosen intersection or off ramp. She called it socialism with Chinese characteristics and pointed out that China had developed huge traffic jams even with smart cars.

The regular car drivers followed Dory’s AI car this evening during the trip home because they imagined it might be easier. They all left the freeway on the preprogrammed road to the beach, where several of their cars were parked near the ranger’s house, just outside the main parking lot gate. They were still laughing about colorful corporate junk food bombs in the fire and laughingly characterized their trip home as socialism with surfer characteristics. Socialism and even communism were not scary words for young surfers self-trained to ride big waves. In their minds, Capitalism pushing environmental collapse and world war three with Russia, Iran and China was far more scary than big waves. They all headed home their separate ways to eat more and sleep as many hours as possible before tomorrow’s surf safari.

Howie walked into his house wondering about the strange car in the driveway. It was Joel’s dad and his sister, Early, they were just finishing their dinners. The two younger girls were giggling about the similarity of their names. Dawn was named for the time she was born and it was the same for Early; she was born in the early morning hours just before light was visible on the eastern horizon.

Maureen saw the surprise in her son’s eyes, she glanced at Joel’s dad, Dave, who had already told her about stopping Howie earlier. She began to explain her day but first asked Dave to give Howie his present; Maureen and Joel’s dad had paid for Howie’s new car license, Dave handed it to him, smiling. Howie was greatly relieved since he wanted to go surfing first thing in the morning and the department of motor vehicles opened too late for that. Before he could thank them, Howie’s mom began to tell him her story. Dawn and Early thought it was romantic and giggled again before leaving the table to clean up the kitchen.

Dawn brought her brother a heaping plate of food that had been kept warm for him. Howie sat down to listen and eat. He was so animal about it every one stopped to watch. He looked up and said, “What?”

Maureen began by telling him she had become so worried about the draft that she wasn’t thinking clearly and walked smack into Dave’s police car. “Luckily, he had recognized me and was already stopping,” she began, smiling to Dave.

Early briefly interrupted by bringing Howie a glass of water. She told him her mother, Martha, and the bank president had pretended to be working late and tied up the bank guard when the bank closed, they robbed the bank and disappeared in a big corporate jet. “It was a big airliner jet— Nobody has any idea where they went,” she concluded. Howie listened to Early’s story, he noticed Joel’s dad didn’t look sad and that his mother was smiling as she began her story. He went back to eating slightly less ravenously while listening closely to his mom.

Maureen started by telling how she had talked with her friends at the University about the Eurasian war. They had told her about the overthrow of Ukraine’s democracy in 2014, with US assistance to extreme right paramilitary forces. “This has been going on for a long time,” she continued. “We are very close to war with Russia, Iran, China and northern Korea, all at once. Noah, my professor/boss/friend, told me that attacks on these countries is totally unprovoked and our troops are in wars we don’t even know about. Noah know his stuff, he is a world renowned scholar studying international relations between differing nations.”

Howie nodded his understanding, went to the stove and loaded up a second helping. “So what does that have to do with my predicament with being drafted?” He asked sitting back down.

Howie’s mom grinned; “Swallow your food and put down your glass of water before I tell you,” she said, grinning more broadly.

Howie glanced at Dave, who nodded and then said; “Yep. I told your mom you spit a mouthful of water on my shirt when I mentioned the enemy was feeding soldiers viagra.” Dave chuckled. He glanced toward the younger girls and saw they were suddenly quiet and listening. He chuckled again and the younger girls somehow almost instantly figured out his subject was them— They started laughing and splashing to distract their elders.

Howie sat his glass down and swallowed. “Okay,” he said, “I’m ready. What’s is it you want to tell me?”

“Seventy percent of draft age men are too obese to be of use to the military for fighting Russia, Iran and China all at once, and that’s assuming north and south Koreans don’t patch thing up and the south send some of their advanced anti missile missiles to help protect the north’s big intercontinental missiles.”

“So what does that mean in my case?” Howie asked. “That sounds like I’ll be dragged into the fight sooner because there’ less to choose from.”

Howie’s mom almost laughed at this point, when she said; “Most of the remaining thirty percent are like you; They learned to resist get-fat corporate propaganda and transferred the skill to war enlistment and news propaganda. Just like you.”

“Like me? What do you mean?”

“You who aren’t fat mostly don’t want to go fight people you don’t have problems with. Hate propaganda slides off you like water off of a duck. Just like you don’t listen to propaganda telling you to eat and get fat, either.” Howie’s mother grinned and then frowned. “No water. No food?” She asked and continued when Howie shook his head No.

Howie’s mom, Maureen, bit her lip and then answered, “The army will need to draft thin and athletic younger women and leave the fat ones behind. Pam will most likely be drafted to go fight, too.”

“Noah told you that?” Howie asked. His mother nodded affirmation. He was stunned. “I better inform the war resistors league,” he said and took his dishes to the sink to wash.

Early took his plate and both girls said in unison questioningly, “War resistors league?”

“It’s for young people who resist calling other people, “Enemy.” Howie answered.

“What about us?” Dave asked, turning to Maureen, who nodded yes and smiled.

The room had turned electric. Energy was high when Howie answered. “The fishermen who brought us Lobster, crab and bread asked the same thing. We decided they weren’t too old and they are your age.”

“Thank you.” The not so old elders said in unison and smiled to each other.

“You better organize your own war resistors league,” Howie said to parents and younger sisters. He was beginning to be a sleepy athlete. “Maybe Noah will help.” Howie liked Noah. “I better call Pam,” Howie said as he turned and began walking from the room. “Pam registering for the draft to fight world war three is terrible news, it’s as bad as climate collapse, maybe worse.” He said over his shoulder.

Howie then phoned Pam. She answered immediately and already knew eighteen year-old females would soon be required to register for the draft. Pam told Howie everybody knows, she said she was going to call and tell him but felt too shy.

“You felt shy?” Howie asked. “Why?”

“I’ve never called you before,” She answered.

“Pam, you just rode mongo surf coming off a giant typhoon and then found out you might be drafted into world war three— And you’re shy about calling me?” He laughed and Pam laughed with him.

“What can we do?” She asked.

“Well, it’s for sure we won’t be able to figure this out alone.” Howie mused. “Are you still going surfing tomorrow?”

“Yep. I’ll meet you at the beach and we can drive up together. My mom said I could use the surf safari wagon again.” Howie heard Pam’s beautiful smile in her voice as she answered.

“My mother told me she bought the old surf wagon knowing that there’d be times like this; When the surfing is wild. She said she knew there’d be times like this. That’s what my mother said.”

“Very cool mom.” Howie responded. “Let’s sleep and see what our brains come up with tomorrow when we switch cars.”

“Good night.” Pam said. And Howie said “Good night.” He mechanically brushed his teeth and fell into bed exhausted.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 12

Golden morning sun lit land and sea. The ocean itself remained deep blue. An early morning down canyon draft made the wave tops smoke white spray. The morning was just like yesterday, maybe a little bigger. The lines were clean and the ocean cracked like thunder to begin each wave’s white water roar. A circle of surfer bees gradually formed, they were deciding where to go. Very complex standing waves of matter that defined each individual surfer then discussed where their inner wave felt would be the best ocean wave to ride.

The ocean is big. An atmospheric wind eddy could be bad for waves, it could either hover over ten or twenty kilometers or dissipate. Then there is the tide. The tide was better than yesterday; high tide falling most of the day to low mark, hesitating, then rising tide for evening. There was no appreciable wind. A great day for surfing, except for the cloud that hung over a still gathering circle of surfers; seven women and eleven guys. All eighteen surfers were physically strong, very healthy athletes. The kind of people the military thought they wanted.

The main problem with surfers for military recruiters is surfers can stop time and see ahead and behind while they plan their moves. Most all surfers do this when lining up to turn and ride a fairly strong wave. The surfer turns to go with the wave and stops time long enough to figure out where to go. The difference with this merry band of eighteen surfers is they can see what each other sees when they stop time. They knew each other knew and were beginning to be able to stop look and listen as a group even when they weren’t riding ocean waves.

They could see war waves, for example, and from that, they automatically united as war resistors on a surfing safari developing a plan. Eighteen brains, each with one thousand trillion brain synapse circuit switches. Eighteen young brains practicing something new.

They loaded up surfboards and supplies piled high. Parents knew the surf was big, they helped pack plentiful good foods and extra towels. Surfboards were on roof racks. There was plenty of room. Pam was again in the middle front seat next to Howie, who was driving. Mid-morning sunlight warmed the air as the safari drove toward the group-selected surfing spot. View openings to the sea revealed waves a little bit bigger than yesterday. Young voices howled in unison.

Pam howled, too. Then she snuggled up to Howie and asked; “Thinking as a scientist from advanced high school physics, I don’t believe we stop time when we reach the bottom of our turn on the wave.”

“I don’t accept stopping time either,” Brenda said from behind Pam. “Time only stops if there’s nothing.”

“That’s my thought, too,” Howie responded. “Instead of time stopping, I think we speed up to life speed surfing Big Bang.”

“Life speed is involved with time.”

“Spacetime.”

“Light speed is the speed of light in timespace, which is expanding at an unknown speed. And that speed was once faster than the speed of light, an idea not so tough to imagine if there is no light, yet.”

“Aha!” Pam exclaimed. “Cosmos expanding at life speed slows down by a cargo load of brand new sunlight waves limited to light speed traveling through itself in more and more directions.”

“Makes perfect sense.” Howie said, while watching the road ahead.

“We speed up to life speed, far faster than the speed of light. The wave is barely moving in our life speed time.”

“Yep,” Joel agreed, he was at the window on Pam’s right side. “There’s no side effects. It would be cool to help others learn to do it. We learned because we are waves focusing on waves and felt ourselves doing wave sync. It’s pure physics totally by chance.”

“It’s because we are so smart.” Pam said, grinning. “We have accidentally discovered what bees have been doing for a million years. Now we also have to figure out how to live well in nature so it becomes richer because we were born.”

Four carloads of surfers on safari were involved in similar conversations. There were breaks for group howling at the sight of large glassy waves, even so, quite a bit of thought went into where to ride and what else they could do. Phones allowed inter-car contemplation. What can we do?

“Dory Chen here,” their vehicle speaker announced. “Let’s keep in mind that several big ships from around the world pass by here every day. Maybe we can make a sign or something. Surfer diplomacy in action.”

“Stop the war, I want to get off.” That idea made them all laugh.

“Seriously,” Dory responded to everyone in all four cars, “The war against Russia, China and Iran is supposed to be our war. This is world war three and us women will go fight along with you men since seventy percent of men are too fat to fight— Same story for fat women. That means, just because we are athletes, one hundred percent of us in this surf safari will be drafted to go fight with completely innocent families all over the world.”

Everyone in the cars thought about Dory’s message.

“Without planning, we surfers have manifested the domestic component of an international warmonger’s headache, we are the fourth front,” Howie said, firmly, as he steered the car to park and stopped above the cliff overlooking the beach.

“Whoa!” Pam exclaimed. “The surf is bigger than yesterday.”

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 13

A newly arriving car joined the surf safari and parked. Now they numbered twenty-two, all standing on a coastal cliff of eroded stone. Though it was not a high cliff, they stood back a little from the edge and ritualistically watched Mother Earth perform in mid-morning’s early light. The surf was just as big or bigger than yesterday’s late evening show.

“It’s okay to be a little scared,” Howie said to Pam as they reached beach sand and walked to yesterday’s fire pit. Pam looked at Howie and nodded, she knew she was wide-eyed looking at the surf. Everyone gathered around the fire pit as if there was still a fire.

“That surf is too big for me, today,” Denny said. Nobody laughed at him.

Brenda agreed and walked two steps to shake Denny’s hand. “What should we do instead?” She asked.

He mentioned communicating with ocean freighters and shrugged. “Let’s talk about it after everyone has gone surfing.” Brenda responded.

Some of the surfers decided to walk around the cove to where the waves broke left, toward the cove. The cliff was higher in that direction and Denny suggested going with them to check out that area. Brenda agreed, and then they started walking.

Another four who felt the surf was too big joined in the short five minute walk with Brenda and Denny and four or five surfers. The wave break they were headed for was a stronger, shorter ride. It was pointed directly at the in-coming swells. Howie, being goofy foot decided to go along with those headed to the left directed ride. Pam stayed with the wall she was beginning to be familiar with.

Left and right are defined for surfers by when one is looking shoreward and setting up to ride. In serious waves like today, a goofy foot left footer going left would have their left foot closest to the fin. The wall on the other side of the cove allowed those with their right foot over the fin to ride in what right handers felt was a closer fin-brainwave link with large waves.

Pam had chant paddled to a good place to take-off and ride. Feeling confident from yesterday, she took off first and once again transformed herself into Athena. She had listened to her friends and liked the goddess part, she grinned as she swooped straight down the wave at life speed. Now she intellectually knew life speed was far faster than the speed of light and more calmly studied the frozen wave for the best path forward.

Surprise! There was nowhere to go. Pam saw a wall about to close over her. She dove into the wave and turned out to sea as quick as any seal. Her board pulled her shoreward by its stretching ankle strap. Now she and her board were quite a distance inside big waves and awash in their pounding white water. She decided to let the waves push her in over the reef and start over. She did the human salamander walk floating over sometimes sharp ledges of stone. Sometimes her surfboard trailed along held by it’s leash. Other times she floated on her board held crossways with the fins aimed upward and bounced along quite rapidly toward shore. When the water was little more than ankle deep and she was on smooth sand, Pam stood up, picked up her board, and started walking toward the fire-pit area.

Howie and several other goofy footers had gravitated toward the left ride into the cove. There were also a few left foot forward surfers who liked the left breaking waves, which were big and the rides were amazing. Those who had remained on shore on a warm summer’s day had become too busy to notice the surfers.

Brenda was the one who had come up with the idea. A peace sign carved into the cliff. Some said it was too much work and claimed the would be sculptors had visions of grandeur. This almost started and argument but for inside they all knew they would not rival the pyramids, it was a small cliff.

Denny said he would go get ropes he saw in one of the cars. Louise went with him to help carry stuff. They came back with two climbing ropes and harnesses and tire irons to use for carving the sandstone. They also brought a rock climbing pin and a rope that could be used to draw circles with.

Brenda organized a scaffolding sculpture on either side of the peace sign. Those on the beach began gathering driftwood. They did not build the scaffolding first, where to put the sculpture was looking straight out to sea and the rock face was fairly flat and strong enough to be carved without breaking. Selection of the proper place and size was like picking the right place to surf.

Eventually the discussion subsided and Brenda pointed toward the center that most everyone had agreed seemed best. Denny sunk a spike in the hill above and let himself down to the center point.

“Here?” He asked. They measured from top to bottom and picked a more exact place that left a meter at the top and almost two meters at the bottom. The peace sign itself was just a little over five meters in diameter.

Denny and Louise hung down with ropes and harnesses that belonged to Loren, who was out surfing. Loren was the driver of the last car to arrive, Denny had seen the mountain climbing ropes in the back seat when he welcomed Loren. Denny and Louise marked out the peace sign before their arms gave out. Though the bluff was softish sandstone, it was still stone that had to be hacked and gouged with the sharper end of a tire iron.

Joel had grown tired of being battered by merciless huge waves had stood drying in the sun and watching the carvers. He walked thirty or forty meters to a small erosion gulley and opened an old antique railroad work-tool box that had been found several years ago right where Joel opened it. He brought two hammers and two railroad spikes for chisels. Brenda took a break from the driftwood scaffold for a turn with the chisel and hammer when Louise wanted to rest.

A circle of watching surfers and carving surfers developed between those carving and those resting between stone carving turns. They eventually created a very perfect flat bottomed circular groove about five meters in diameter and one half meter wide. The cliff was irregular which made some parts of the circle deeper than others. The three radii, also one half meter wide were carved well enough to be seen when the industrious crew had a response! A huge container ship blasted its horn, sent a sky rocket their direction, and blinked bright morse code communication lights. Did sailors want peace, too? Or were they upset. Some of the crew could be seen on deck waving shoreward, both groups used the newest phone camera magnification to see each other.

Contact! Yet it was fleeting. Though they leave plumes of mostly invisible pollution everywhere they travel, the surfers were pleased with their plans. They knew without saying that BDS-Yuckola would cut down on ship pollution if and when the surfer manifesto prevails and quality of life goes up. Contact with the giant ship was energizing though fleeting; the ship was fast, it faded into distance as it parted the seas and rapidly moved out of sight. Even big ships are small on the ocean; and after it was gone, the surfers could not decide if their reception had been positive or negative.

The surf kept getting bigger until the left break was unridable and even Howie gave up and came in to warm up and watch the carving. He also watched the surfers on the other side of the cove, who were still riding perfect big waves. He watched Pam drop into a wave he reckoned was bigger than any wave he’d ridden anywhere.

He knew she was good before and now saw the big surf had changed her. Of course Pam wanted to stay alive, even so he watched her stop time and once again become Athena. She had told him she liked being a goddess on waves and they had laughed. Now he watched her being so powerful as a surfer that goddess was an unnecessary adjective. Pam was riding a big wave and headed directly at him across the deep cove. This cove is big enough ancient ocean going sail freighters could drop anchor and use it to shelter from all but the biggest storms.

Most surfers stopped carving to watch Pam riding a giant wave that almost reached halfway into the cove. She seemed a small toy figure on a gigantic monster. They would discuss this moment for a long time, when Pam stopped time they saw what she saw as she prepared to drop into the hook at the end of the wave.

The difference now was they saw her see through them and looked to see herself entering the hook with her own eyes. Stereo vision. Then time reverted to ordinary cosmic powered biology surfing big waves. Nobody said a word as Pam came gliding down a wave so large she seemed to be dropping from the sky. They all saw her aim adjust to come flying out of the hook going straight toward them. Athena was taking on whatever might call in Poseidon, god of the sea. This kind of thing is millennium rare and she was doing it one on one, at ninety kilometers per hour.

Pam stood in the middle of her board and let it coast as far and fast as it could. She reached the middle of the cove still going fast enough to ride the swell even though it was not curling into a wave. She held up her arms in triumph as she reached the peace sign side of the cove. Then she flopped herself down an her board and started paddling as fast as she could to complete her journey to the peace symbol side of the cove. Dolphins playfully escorted her in.

Pam was beginning to enjoy her new found status. Athena laughed along with the dolphins and the humans on shore. She knew she had done nothing differently than anyone else would have done but still liked living a dream in search of the wave that led to freedom. Free-dom is-fun, she chant paddled.

Two guys swam out to help retrieve her board and let her navigate the crushing shore break unburdened. It was Bob and Jerry, both are strong in the water. Howie waded out as far as he could to throw Pam a rope or grab her hand if she got close enough, which she did. Howie grabbed her wrist as she swam hard for shore but was not gaining the last meter she needed. The two of them resisted the pull of the sea together and then broke free and ran for dry sand. They embraced and kissed each other and their friends cheered for romance in the midst of war.

Vern pulled out his accordion and smiled warmly, beatnik anti-war hippy style. The next wave spit Bob out of the water and onto the beach gasping for air. Jerry came in next with Pam’s surfboard, it was broken in half. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said, laughing and holding half of a surfboard in each hand.

A twin line of surfers made a path to the driftwood scaffold that had become a sculptural alter extending to both sides of the peace sign. Pam, Howie, Bob and Jerry walked solemnly to the alter and deposited a broken surfboard on the alter of peace. Then they turned and bowed to the raging sea; everybody was safe on shore.

Marlin had a small painting of Poseidon above the fin on his board, he had it put there when the surfboard was made. His grandfather, a retired fisherman, gave Marlin the little painting of Poseidon and asked him to put it on his new surfboard. Grandpa very well knew Greek gods today pretend they are statues or paintings as a good way to participate unobtrusively. And he was correct. Now knowing their valor, Poseidon, god of the sea, recognized Athena and from that day forward kept an eye on the war resistors surfer manifesto sculpted in stone.

A prevailing onshore wind made surfing oversize waves impossible. Surfers joyously turned to sculptors. They chiseled with energy of surfers and the rock face became flat around the peace sign, itself an almost perfect trench with a flat bottom. The depth of irregularity to the flat surface surrounding the symbol for peace was then sculpted to blend outward to natural cliff face. Surfers stood back and saw their work as beautiful. It looked like the sun. Helios, the sun, is a mostly quiet and personally tragic father of life, framed by a driftwood throne of peace all good fathers deserve.

Surfers heard a ship’s horn blast and the turned to see another huge ocean going cargo ship plowing through giant swells, headed to unload at the next port of call. The ship used its communication bright light blinker but once again they did not understand the code. Marlin and Brenda decided to learn it, pronto. The ship sent a colorful sky rocket their way and quite soon became a dot that disappeared into the distance.

Brenda was ecstatic. Pam was pleased, along with everyone else, including the quiet observers; Poseidon was now joined by Helios, who also recognized young Athena. He knew she had chosen to be born and did not yet recognize herself. “There are twenty two of them,” the two observers agreed. They knew there would soon be many more and were pleased to be in the right place at the right time.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 14

Poseidon’s wife, Amphitrite, goddess of the sea, was not jealous when young testosterone pumped human males referred to Athena as ruler of her realm. She was among the few who knew that Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Aphrodite, goddess of love, had been infected by a girlish giggle fit and decided to be born and raise children of close age so they would be able to cooperate creating a balance for peace as mortals from heaven.

Amphitrite did not know the details of Athena and Aphrodite’s plan but suspected a magnanimously sensual effort to ensure human survival. Both of them were hopeless romantics. Anyway, an absence of eighteen or twenty years meant very little to immortals and few had noticed anyone missing. Amphitrite had also heard that several male gods had been out carousing among humans; Dionysus and Mars were mentioned in this group.

Even though most everyone knew the god of war was infertile, so far. Mars gave Amphitrite the creeps and a cold shudder whenever they crossed paths. She was looking for Poseidon and that’s when she saw Brenda Romanoff, standing with her hands on her hips and supervising a peace alter as an artistic and meaningful communicator. Several of the surfers turned sculptors were skeptical that communication via a sculpture would help yet still worked as enthusiastically as the rest.

Brenda Romanoff is a surfer girl athlete activist for peace and the environment extraordinaire, when people looked in her eyes they saw a profound energy and were glad to be her friend. Her parents were immigrants from somewhere deep in the Eurasian mid-continent. The war was upsetting for her because she had relatives near the war zone. She had served as an antenna binding them in group effort. Her skill was supreme yet completely relaxed surfer girl in a bikini that made Amphitrite blush; That’s when Amphitrite reckoned and realized her recognition of Brenda Romanoff; she rushed back to heaven to share the news.

Brenda was one among twenty-two in their young war resistors league. Each of the twenty-two had something in their complex brain that was like a compass needle pointing at life as healthy and fun. They were rare humans concerned with the river of life through experience with waves. Their lives had become a search for large perfect waves.

Many modern surfers subconsciously knew themselves as a harmonic standing wave resisting entropy as cosmic powered biology surfing Big Bang. They were among very few who looked and then knew big was still banging and the ride is as wild as it ever was. The lure of surf came to these twenty-two via a surfer’s wave-sync sense that each individual surfer developed alone before learning they could share it.

“How had Joel put it earlier?” Pam thought and Howie said, pointing to Joel.

“Wave theory leading to a surfer manifesto is pure physics discovered by extended living it in synchronous pure chance— Wave surfer beings in sync with ocean waves learned to communicate repeatable scientific tests by trillions of brain cells. Like I said earlier; It’s pure physics completely by chance. There are no negative side effects. I believe we can teach others who will eventually teach every one to do it.” Joel concluded with a confident flourish as if he was on stage.

Twenty-one applauded and Joel bowed, he loved to sometimes be a warm and hospitable limelight for his friends. Hogie was into physics, too. He wanted more discussion. This was all happening too fast. He wasn’t sure.

“How do we know that ship was friendly to our message?” He asked. “Maybe it aimed a rocket at us because they hate our ideas. After all, we have no idea what the ship’s blinking communication light was saying.”

A conversation ensued that might have extended for days except for two chances of time;

Another giant freighter let loose with a blast from its ocean crossing horn. The super bright inter ship morse code blinker was really going strong. The ship sent three sky rockets there way. There was a huge sign on the side of the ship that said; “Watch out!”

That’s when the war resistor’s league saw a navy homeland defense cruiser in the cove. Hogie worked after school at a research lab and guessed the cruiser was probably linked to US space force. The gray patrol boat stopped behind gigantic ocean swells breaking just enough to make foam at the outer cove reef. The waves had grown even larger while the peace sculpture message for the Pacific Ocean was being carved. The gray navy ship was quite a way out and saw the sky rockets launched toward shore by the freighter. There was a lurking gray ship vibe that said the Space Force didn’t like what they were doing, the war resistors could feel it though they could not understand it.

Twenty-two young human war resistors watched in disbelief as a launch was sent from the ship toward shore. They could see two lines of soldiers with guns.

“They are crazy,” Denny said as the navy launch approached giant foaming waves that did not actually break over the deep reef. The launch was a real double ended government issue wave cruiser, a larger version of a whaler’s launch from sailboat days. One person was braced alone with the rudder that was high in the stern as the launch rode with a very large wave that hopefully wouldn’t curl over it and break.

Twenty-two surfers watched the person braced with the rudder stop time and decide what to do in an effort to secure a more and more doubtful safe passage for all the lives on the boat. The rudder person glanced at them lined up on the distant beach. With that one brief glance, those on the beach knew the boat driver knew they knew in real time what was just now being experienced at the rudder.

The launch made it safely through the outer reef swells and kept coming straight for the beach. Those on the launch could not see the savage shore break that had driven some of the world’s strongest surfers onto the beach to spend hours sculpting their way into a new and entirely unanticipated life path. Another super freighter was sending sky rockets. Vern played Star Spangles Mr. Bojangles on his accordion. The surfers all ran toward the beach waving their arms in warning for the boat to stop.

The boat didn’t stop. It was under orders to land and take control. And when the boat finally decided to disobey orders it was too late. What the boat could not see from the back was, on the land side, a ragged thick raging wall of water slamming high speed against shore. The wave landed in the center of the boat and broke it in half before grinding it to slivers in one long continuing concussion. It was a particularly large and thick swell hitting land.

Surfers quickly made two locked arm chains and dragged soldiers from the raging deep. One chain remained searching for survivors and the second chain began nursing the injured. Several did not survive.

A pall of tragedy for young soldiers drowned was transferred to hopeful attention as one last sailor was being helped ashore. He was still clutching the rudder. Every surfer who was not attending to injuries led the sailor with the broken rudder to the peace alter with a broken surfboard. The sailor knew what to do and laid the broken rudder on the alter of peace with the broken surfboard.

The fourth front had met its first on-duty military surfer. There were no loyalty problems. The surf was epic. Songs would be written to tell of this day for eternity.

Dory Chen and Marlin took two volunteering soldiers who knew morse code up to the cars so they could blink a morse code report to the patrol boat using automobile headlights. Howie helped find wood to make stretchers for pallbearers to carry three drowned soldiers and one with a broken leg to the parking area above the cliff. Soldiers and war resisting surfers worked together to carry the drowned and help the injured to a place where ambulances or helicopters would be able to rescue service members.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 15

Howie and Pam were the last surfers to leave the beach. They walked up a trail that followed the gully with the old railroad tool chest. Hammers and chisels had been put away in the chest. A piece of plywood held in place with a heavy stone covered the chest as a roof to ward of fog and rain. Brenda, Marlin and the helmsman were walking up the trail just ahead of Howie and Pam, the conversation had become animated as the sailor grew more at ease with surfers.

“I didn’t want to land on the beach and told them over the radio that this would happen,” the sailor said. “I’m a surfer, too, and I’ve seen big waves that don’t look so big from the back; this turned out even worse than I thought... Way worse.”

“Where are you from?” Marlin asked the sailor. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jimmy, some call me Jim.” The sailor responded. “I’m from San Clemente. We get surf like this sometimes, that’s why I was put at the helm of the launch.”

“It looked like everybody jumped out of the boat but the three who drowned,” Marlin said.

“They volunteered even though they couldn’t swim.” Jimmy explained, sadly. “They must have been too frightened to jump away from tumbling wreckage. I knew they couldn’t swim because I asked everyone on the launch before we headed toward shore. Those three said they couldn’t swim but didn’t want higher ups to know or they might be sent overseas. I told them they were being stupid and gave them one last chance to get off the launch but they stuck with our mission. My last effort was to keep them aimed for shore but I was washed away with the wreckage that wave blew out from under my feet. My clothes were torn off and I don’t have a cut on me,” Jimmy concluded. “Luckily you made a line of linked hands and dragged me in. Thank you.”

“Why were you ordered to come ashore?” Pam wanted to know.

“National security,” Jimmy answered. “We didn’t know who you were.”

“You couldn’t see we are local surfers?” Howie asked.

“I could,” Jimmy answered. “Higher ups said to go find out for sure.”

“Higher ups?” Brenda asked. “You’ve mentioned them twice, now.”

“Space Force headquarters wanted answers,” Jimmy responded with a snap of his fingers. “We’ve got a war going on with Russia, Iran and China. We are the Pacific Coast Space Force. I help guard the coast.”

“We put up a peace sign to stop the war.” Pam interjected.

“That’s what we figured,” Jimmy responded. “Headquarters thinks you all may be guilty of attempting to control world civilian morale in an effort to aid the enemy.”

Howie laughed, “We just got the idea to do this today!”

“That may be,” Jimmy said. “Even so, I’m guessing headquarters will want to know what you were up to yesterday and possibly a day or two before that. I’m under drinking age and got drunk for the first time in town a few months ago with some older guys. When I was caught, I thought the questioning would never stop. This is way worse. There’s three dead soldiers.” Jimmy looked sad. “I didn’t know them but had seen them around, now they’ve drowned. It happened fast.”

They reached the area where the cars were parked a minute or two before a medical helicopter landed. Medics rushed out of the helicopter, gathered up five wounded soldiers and three more in walking shape, re-boarded the helicopter and took off. The second helicopter landed and gathered up the three casualties, two more injured, and the rest of the soldiers who could walk. That helicopter took off and left Jimmy with the surfers, he looked like a surfer and the helicopter crew didn’t know who they were after except dead and wounded. Jimmy in tie string surfer pants didn’t fit the profile and they didn’t take him.

The coast guard cruiser turned and left when the helicopters took off. No one aboard the cruiser saw them blinking car lights to explain Jimmy had been left behind; a missing crew member likely washed away was instead alive and safe with them. The boat didn’t stop.

The day was slightly cold turning to late afternoon with a northwest wind following the northern hemisphere jet stream while the hurricane traveled the opposite direction, not far above the equator, arcing toward the Philippines and China.

“You can travel to the highway with us and call your headquarters on the way,” Brenda offered; “We can drop you off at the store, or take you on into town.”

Jimmy’s phone and communication gear had been swept away in the crash, he had washed ashore stripped nude and re-born via foam by the tumbling sea. Alan was dry from stone carving and had given Jimmy his spare dry pants.

Jimmy borrowed a phone when everyone was seated for travel and they had begun their trip home from their favorite wild wilderness surf ranch. Jimmy had no ID and phoned information to get the number for his coast guard team, Aloha-1. It was an unlisted national security number. Next he asked for the front desk at space command headquarters. A robot told him to enter his current eleven digit mission code and password. It hung up when he said, “Operator.” Jimmy was in Dory Chen’s car, she found him and his story interesting. She had an advanced Chinese auto design with a communication system that allowed her to include Jimmy in all four cars. All twenty-two war resistors listened on their automobile sound systems to number twenty-three, Jimmy, trying to get back to the other side; Back to where he once belonged. He tried mightily and had twenty-two war resistors as witnesses.

Jimmy called everyone he could think of. He even phoned his mom to find out if she had any of his military paperwork; No luck on paperwork but mom was glad to know Jimmy was in good hands and okay. She asked him to keep her posted and laughed merrily as she hang up. “I love you, son.” She said. He said he loved her, too.

Jimmy began to feel a little desperate when they reached the outskirts of town. He had thought the navy would be waiting to take him to home base. His last try was a full-on 911 emergency call; “Hello,” he began when the operator answered, “I am the missing seaman from the Spaceport.”

“Okay.” The operator responded. “Do you want me to take you to my leader?” Laughter was followed by a distinct click to off followed by a dial tone and a message that said, “For emergencies only.”

All four cars with twenty-three surfers were silent after Jimmy’s last try. An extra brain from inside the war beast they resisted was for a day or so anyway, solidly in their league. He wasn’t a war resistor and had never even heard of the idea. Jimmy possessed nothing and had nowhere to go. He was still wearing Alan’s extra pants.

“Don’t worry,” Dory said to Jimmy when they pulled into the parking area to rearrange carloads, “I’ll take you home if no one else has space and time.” She smiled so he would feel welcome.

“What about dinner?” Jimmy asked. “I’m starved.”

This caused an immediate stir. Twenty-three surfers milled around like bees explaining pollen, the difference was this was a human dinner and all the moms heard about Jimmy and what his mom said.

“Where would you like to go for dinner?” Dory Chen’s mom asked. The group decided on Chinese food with one big table and all the various dishes in the middle for everyone to sample. Dory’s mom, Kim, phoned the restaurant so it was able to prepare a banquet table for them. The war resistors league was glad their parents worked this out for them. How would war resistors accommodate a soldier who couldn’t get back inside his base? That question could wait. Jerry had given him a shirt so he could go in the restaurant and steaming dishes of food began arriving as soon as they were seated. Parents had requested what they knew their children would enjoy. Jimmy was impressed. He told all his new friends he felt as if he was at home.

A great discussion ensued; Everyone at the table had a gut feeling Jimmy might be in trouble for enjoying a night out to dinner. Discussing the Surfer Manifesto with war resistor league surfers was good for them all, including Jimmy, they all knew it spelled an interesting time for tomorrow, too. The conversational buzz produced tomorrow’s surfing safari to the space base where giant rockets loaded with atom bombs were aimed at hundreds of millions of people. Every one agreed to meet up at the beach in the morning. Jimmy went home with Howie.

“Maybe Noah and my mom can help with this,” Howie thought after they left the restaurant and were headed home.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 16

Howie drove home and then parked. He and Jimmy were full of food and tired, but like yesterday there was another car parked in the driveway.

“Two extra cars.” Howie told Jimmy as they walked into the house. Noah was there and so was Dave, Joel’s dad, and Joel’s sister, Early. Then Joel walked in via the kitchen door; he waved to Howie and Jimmy and stood next to his sister, Early. Brenda walked in next, followed by Pam and Dory, plus Dory’s mom, Kim; it was she who linked them to China’s university labs and also knew Noah via the coastal university.

The two youngest girls announced they had formed a war resistors league. They then swelled themselves and called the meeting to order by putting the surfers in charge of communicating what had happened today and how they felt about it after eating chinese food and talking about it for awhile. The girls didn’t make up the question by themselves; Dory’s mom, Kim, had coached them until all three agreed.

For a brief moment they all became conscious of themselves observing themselves as an experiment, there was also a recognizable foreknowledge echo that the observer affects the outcome.

“That’s it!” Joel exclaimed. “Practice it. You just stopped time! You flickered into life speed! Radical! You did it without a wave!”

“What is he talking about?” Noah asked, turning to Joel’s dad, Dave, who shrugged his shoulders as a question mark in response.

What are you talking about, Son.” Dave asked.

Joel realized his mistake and apologized for changing the subject from Jimmy. “Sorry Dad, I drifted off into surfer manifesto style wave physics by chance. Excuse me, it’s recently discovered and semi-complicated surfer talk supported by at least two respected physicists who don’t laugh at us. But, for now, science can wait, it’s Jimmy who is the one we need to concentrate on and help figure out what to do here and now.” Joel said this and then turned to Howie, waving him on to further explanation.

“There was a launch disaster in giant surf.” Howie began; “Three guys Jimmy occasionally encountered at the space force base died, they were soldiers. Helicopter rescue left him behind. The only time Jimmy has not been attempting to contact base was between dinner and now.”

Howie turned to Joel’s dad. “Dave, you are a policeman; I am at this moment reporting the missing space force seaman is not lost at sea and is here with us before you right this minute.” Howie turned to Jimmy and said, “Tell the good policeman your full name and then your story before an unknown on-duty policeman asks you.”

Jimmy did not want to answer at first. He tried a few excuses but none of them held up so he went ahead when his new friends urged him on;

“Okay. My name is Jimmy, in English, in Spanish it’s Jaime— Jaime Jardinero... Jimmy Gardener in English. I’m in the space force coastal guard and my unit is Aloha-1. I was ordered to take an armed platoon ashore in my launch to investigate the surfers and their peace sign.”

Howie signaled his mom who was standing by a window to pull her window shade down, which she did. He pointed his phone at it and projected a picture onto the improvised screen. It was a photo of their five Meter diameter peace sign and all the surfers posing. Howie made sure everyone noticed the broken surfboard on the peace alter. “It was just after I took this picture that we saw the coast guard cruiser.” Howie said and then asked Jimmy to continue.

First, before Jimmy continued, Howie backed up the camera one frame and there was Pam gliding down the face of her giant wave. She looked like she was flying down from the sky in the photo; It was just as Howie remembered it. The wave was perfectly shaped, Pam stood relaxed yet concentrating, her body leaned into and mirrored the arc of the wave. Everyone in the room clapped for her. Howie had taken a picture of Pam riding a wave bigger than any of them had ever ridden. The war resistors were a team on a quest to ride the biggest perfect wave and save humanity from extinction: Gen Z multi-taskers cheered Pam’s skill and bravery.

Jimmy continued his story with Pam’s wave riding as the background picture. “That is the size of the swells the launch got caught in,” he said. “It was shore break for the launch. Those who sent us ashore to investigate could not see the size of the inside break, the backs of even big waves are not very impressive looking from outside. Even I, looking from up close, realized too late to try and go back outside the waves. I tried to reach shore in between waves. We came close but the launch wasn’t strong enough, we were pulled back out, right into and under the breaker zone. Everyone jumped but the three who couldn’t swim. We all had life preservers but they don’t help much in giant shore break, mine was torn off. The launch was smashed to pieces and the three who drowned were trapped in tumbling debris. It was different for everybody, I had my clothes torn off and didn’t get one scratch. I think that’s why the rescue crew left me behind; No uniform and no injuries.”

Noah turned from Jimmy/Jaime to Paul, “Did you get all that, Officer?” He asked with a grin.

Howie noticed his mom was cuddled up to Joel and Early’s dad like Pam cuddled up to him when they were on safari. He looked across the room at Pam. She had seen him notice his mom with Joel’s dad, she smiled and walked across the room and stood close to Howie. The room itself glowed with life speed warmth. Howie and Pam hugged each other’s waist.

“We have all decided to take Jimmy back to his space base in the morning,” Howie said, turning to Pam. “Am I still correct?” He asked her. “Has anything changed?”

“Nothing’s changed, Howie. A few disagreed but said they would participate anyway, we have full solidarity with a tiny glitch,” Pam said. “Everyone of us will be there.”

“This means Early and I will need to start. Dawn interjected, “Please excuse us, the youth wing needs to organize a few things.”

“Organize?” Brenda asked.

“We rented a war resistor bus when you all went out to have Chinese food,” Early answered. She and Dawn giggled and left the room.

“Brenda Romanov,” reporting for duty,” Brenda said to the younger girls with a wide grin. “Show me what to do,” she concluded, following Early and Dawn from the room.

“So what’s your plan?” Howie’s mother, Maureen, asked.

Dory stepped forward slightly, “Here’s the way I see it,” she began; “We arrive at the gate in at least four cars. Surfboards on top in case of good waves on the way home. Jimmy says the gate is a simple chainlink fence section that rolls out of the way like a sliding door. Jimmy gets out and walks to the gate carrying a white flag.” Dory turned to her mom, Kim, and the other parents; “What do you think of our plan?” she asked.

“It might work.” Noah volunteered, he didn’t want to be a wet blanket and say what else could happen. Dave saw the look on Noah’s face;

“I’ll take him to the gate in my patrol car.”

“That works if we come from the south,” Jimmy said. The surf cars pull off to the riht, just before the gate. I step out of the surfer car left side and into into a police car on the right side. May I ride in the front seat?”

Yes, Dave nodded.

I feel like I should be there as well,” Kim interjected. “Me, too.” Maureen agreed.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my mom wanted to go with you in your car,” Pam said.

Jimmy had been trying to get back to his unit and reckoned he would simply walk up to the gate and explain that he had been rescued by surfers who linked hands and dragged him to shore. He had been stripped naked by the force of the surf, and without a scratch. The helicopters missed him. He was a bit late. They were already taking off. Jimmy figured somebody would, issue him some clothes, print up a new ID, and he’d go back to work guarding the coast. The future is not ours to see even when we get there. Surfers know that, they are a sum of waves that go for life without guarantees. Jimmy was a surfer long before he was a coast guarder. He was tired and dozed sitting up with everyone there still planning. He went to bed that night on the extra bed in Howie’s room. Jimmy fell asleep standing on a dream cloud watching himself riding a creation wave at the space force gate.

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 17

Howie and Jimmy woke when they heard a distant church bell ringing. Though the day was still early, both dressed quickly and went straight to the kitchen.

Jimmy figured out how to make coffee in a new kitchen and Howie put together omelet style corn, eggs, beans and salsa.

Maureen came into the kitchen and poured herself hot water for tea, Howie had put the hot water on to heat earlier. Dawn came in not far behind her mother and also made tea.

Howie and Jimmy sat at a half wide dining table with a window into a sheltered herb garden. Maureen had learned ancient herbal science from her mother and grandmother, that’s partly why she’s good in modern scientific thought and works with Noah at the university. They are leading under-funded experts in the field of international conflict resolution. “Herbs and teas can help people relax and make treaties,” Howie told Jimmy his mother said that.

Maureen heard Howie and smiled. “Noah is bringing a carload of university professors to the space port gate and I’m riding with Kim Chen and Pam’s mom plus one other I haven’t met.”

Howie glanced at Jimmy and saw a hint of stage fright. Howie laughed; “Don’t be afraid.” He said. “You were made to go out and get rides. You can do it! Ride the wave, you are a wave— Ride, Brother, Ride !”

Jimmy gulped down his food and smiled. Howie did the same. They waved to Howie’s mom and sister and headed for Howie’s surf wagon.

Howie’s mom, Maureen, phoned Kim as-well-as Dave and his police network the moment Jimmy and Howie were outside. Dawn alerted Early and the younger war resistors, who were rapidly growing into a large group. Dawn then called Brenda Romanoff and let her know they were on the move. Brenda was pleased at how well the self-organizing alert system she had helped set up for the younger girls was working in praxis.

The fishermen were mostly of Dave, Maureen and Kim’s parental age group, a few were older and some were younger. The fishing fleet had volunteered to monitor the space force from offshore fishing areas. Fishing boat crews also alerted more war resistors on ships at sea. Many brainy people had become focused on seeing Jimmy Gardener / Jaime Jardinero relinked with his group; they all knew he was trying to get back to where he once belonged— The Aloha-1 coast guard unit.

Several cars were already parked and a group was arranging surfboards when Howie and Jimmy reached the beach parking lot. They parked next to the Ranger’s house and carried Howie’s stuff to Pam’s car, which was parked with the other cars being loaded. Jimmy still had nothing but a borrowed shirt, pants, clothesline rope belt and sandals.

Ranger Mack was standing among the surfers loading up for their safari. He had gained a fairly good grasp of what was going on by listening to all the young voices while drinking his morning coffee. He’d known many of them since they were toddlers yet had no idea exactly who was who. They all agreed he looked like a royal Canadian Mounty partially dressed in his ranger uniform top, pajama bottoms, and flip-flop sandals. Jimmy and Howie both laughed, quietly; neither of them wanted to be caught by the ranger while they were laughing at the ranger. They blended into a milling group of surfers and quite a few otherwise occupied war resistor league friends, plus the ranger, who notified on-duty Dave as soon as Howie and Jimmy had arrived and weren’t looking so wide-eyed at him. He was still wondering why the kids all looked at him so funny today as he called in; “They are loading up nine carloads,” Ranger Mack reported to Dave, who thanked the ranger, hung up, and then immediately notified the police chief of the county next door, which also bordered the spaceport.

Marlin’s grandfather had heard from his parents about the group of surfers and the peace temple carving. He had called Marlin to remind him to place Aegir, looking outward.

“I thought it was Poseidon,” Marlin responded.

“Yes, You are right, I meant Poseidon.” The old fisherman agreed.

Marlin had done as asked but finally had to put his board on the rack and blocked the view; He laughed at his grandfather and apologized to Poseidon. Howie put his board on top of Marlin’s and tied them all down. The day was warm and the ocean had returned to glassy smooth. Howie and Marlin both figured they would find good surf after they dropped Jimmy off at the spaceport front gate. Even nine cars would easily fit off the road at the front gate bus stop area. Jimmy would walk in with hand shakes and back slaps. The safari would then head back toward home and stop on the way to surf and work on the war resistor league peace sign representing the surfer manifesto.

The safari caravanned behind Dory Chen’s advanced gen 7 intelligent car from China as they headed for the spaceport front gate, which is at most, maybe, half again as far as the wilderness surf ranch area they have been familiar with for a long time. Dory’s advanced Chinese communication system played a clippity clop running horse soundtrack and they all sang the chorus; “Surf riders in the sky.”

The safari chant sang itself into the space port bus stop area in record time, safely. There had been moments for howling at nice waves but this trip to the spaceport front gate was very focused; Fifty-four war resistors now included one active military member who had nothing against the military and was glad to be back at the spaceport base.

As planned; when they arrived, Jimmy opened the rear left door of Dory’s car and stepped into the already opened police car door driven by Joel’s dad, Dave. He was surprised to see Howie’s mom and Noah in the back seat as corroborating university witnesses. He pulled the car door shut and waited to find out what would happen next. On duty Dave opened communication with the front gate just as the neighboring county police force showed up, they had decided to proudly present themselves in military gifted surplus war equipment; They totally outgunned the base gate defenses, who took one look and made a one button alarm call for reinforcements.

The first thing that happened was a robot dog with a machine gun on its back trotted out and sat down behind the gate. It scratched itself and then watched them all using infra red, ultra violet and normal light plus super hearing and smell. All recorded on homeland security servers in Utah and awaiting orders from pentagoners gulping coffee thousands of miles away.

“This looks serious,” Jimmy said. “I wonder if they found out I’m really only Jaime Jardinero.”

“What do you mean?” All three adults asked at once.

“I’m actually from Baja.” Jaime said, “I stowed away on a fishing boat and made it to San Clemente when I was twelve. I registered for junior high school and signed my parent’s names. A recruiter told me if I lied about my age and signed up, he would get me through recruitment and into US space force coast guard service. He said I would become a citizen of both Mexico and the US that way. Everything was fine, for a few years anyway.”

“If that robot dog doesn’t open fire this will probably work out for you, Jaime;” Noah said, after talking with Maureen. “Maureen and I will explain ourselves as university professors who called for official advice when our children rescued you and the other survivors.”

“The only records they have are your school enrollment papers. If they ask; Tell them you will apply for a duplicate birth certificate immediately.” Maureen interjected. “You have weeks of paperwork ahead, if things become too complicated call us. We will help and we have the university and city college to help us help you.”

At that point, a desert sand colored Toyota pickup truck arrived, it had a machine gun mounted in back that shot over the top of the driver’s cab. The gun was controlled like a video game by a soldier with a computer in the passenger’s seat. The robot dog trotted back to the gate building headquarters, fifty meters or so further back into the base than the gate itself.

Nobody moved. The people in the truck weren’t very friendly yet the robot dog with a gun on its back was upsetting in a way nobody there had ever experienced. Dave suggested his compatriot neighbor police department move their heavy-duty military attack vehicles back from the gate and out of sight around a turn in the road two hundred Meters away, which they did.

Tension at the gate dropped dramatically after the police department’s surplus war equipment moved and was almost simultaneously replaced by a school busload of junior high school students, who exited their bus and grouped on a patch of lawn under a row of trees, across the street from the spaceport gate. The pickup truck with a mounted machine gun pulled back from the gate when it was was replaced by a half dozen or so less threatening young soldiers lined up with rifles.

On-duty Dave was in radio contact with the front gate and had explained their plan to return Jimmy to the base. The gate opened and the soldiers parted to let both police cars enter and proceed to the office located a short distance back from the gate. Dave and Jimmy got out of their police car. They were followed by Noah and Maureen and then the neighboring county’s police chief.

A small group of base security personnel and a medic came out of the entrance building. The medic went straight to Jimmy. Dave asked why there was such heavy security at the gate when all they were doing was bringing a rescued sailor to his home base.

“There’s war going on,” said the base security officer. “We operating are at full war-time alert.”

“The Eurasian war?” Maureen asked.

“Correct, ma’am,” the security spokesperson responded. “We are at war with Russia, China and Iran.”

Noah noted the spaceport security answer on his clipboard pad.

“Why are you taking notes?” The base representative asked. “And who are all those kids that came in the school bus?”

Maureen stepped forward and answered while Noah kept taking notes. “Jimmy here was rescued by my son and his friends. He has not been able to contact his unit, Aloha-1, and my son brought him home to sleep at our house last night.”

“What about the school bus and those carloads of surfers?” Was the next question base security asked, after the medic asked Jimmy if he was okay and Jimmy had said, “Yes.”

Maureen answered again; “The school bus is the junior high school war resistors league and the cars are from the league’s high school and city college war resistors leagues, mostly from the high school. It is completely chance that Jimmy was rescued by the war resistors league.”

The medic turned to Jimmy and asked if he had become a war resistor.

“Not exactly,” Jimmy responded. “I had never heard of or thought about war resistors until now.”

“So, what do you think now?” The medic asked. Did they brainwash you or anything like that?”

Jimmy laughed, “No, they pulled me from the surf, gave me these clothes, fed me, and gave me a place to sleep. You can see the rest; they brought me home to where I belong, to my base and unit.”

“Why would they do all that if they are war resistors?” The base security rep asked.

“War resistors don’t have grudges against individual soldiers,” Maureen answered.

“Okay. Then why the police accompaniment?” Base security wanted to know.

“Simple.” Dave answered. “I happened to be there when Jimmy was brought home and figured he should have an official witness because he could not get through to his unit on the telephone. We all know what can happen to a lone individual lost in a huge bureaucracy. Maureen and Noah are professionals who also happened to be there and volunteered their time when they learned Jimmy’s predicament.”

“Are you a war resistors league supporter?” The base security asked Dave.

“Not really,” Dave responded, “Nobody likes war. Look at it this way; I’m a busy cop and only moments ago heard straight from your mouth that we are officially at war with Russia, Iran and China in what you and the surfers call “the Eurasian war.” I know Russia has been a tough nut to crack and the war to break it up has been going on in the news for a long time. Even so, this world war three Eurasian war idea is all new to me. Are we attempting to go through Russia so as to get at China and Iran from a new area of land bases?”

Surfer Manifesto Vignette 18

The surfers were close enough to clearly see Jimmy stop time for a look behind and forward. Even though there was nothing for them to see with his eyes, they saw Jimmy nod to the medic that he wanted to cut the gab and get back to work. Then they watched the medic catch the security manager’s eye and clearly heard the medic say; “Jimmy is needed to catch up with his debriefing and get back to work.”

That stopped time and re-started it on a path Jimmy was in charge of. Space base personnel re-entered the base with Jimmy in the lead. Surfers were stoked to go ride waves and they brought the rest of the war resistor’s league to the beach with them. Plus the police. Maureen and Noah had said something big was happening and science required an official witness at the peace alter.

“Are you expecting a flying saucer?” On-duty Dave had asked, jokingly. He kept on chuckling to himself; “It won’t be long and you’ll need your own full-time cop.”

“That might prove helpful,” Maureen and Noah said in unison, and then smiled to each other. They knew a good international relations friction job when they saw one. “The university might even give me a raise,” Maureen said in a whisper, as Dave in the surf safari rear followed up a narrow cliff-side road.

They crossed a small creek and Dave told how he surfed here when he was the surf safari kid’s age. “There was salmon in these creeks years ago,” he said. “We used to dream of restocking salmon;” he laughed. “Some reckoned that would attract grizzly bears.”

“Yep,” Noah said, “One idea about this is knowing there’s no vacancy for bears. They mostly keep out of sight, even so, every canyon is full. I’ve seen bears do bear stuff, like run up trees and shatter shovel handles. They’re out there now, mostly enjoying themselves. No vacancy.”

“The waves look good,” Dave interjected as they reached the parking area. Surfers and war resistor carvers were dispersing to three surfing spots within walking distance of each other. The surf was still large yet had settled down enough to open another good surf spot and creating room for more surfers. Most were headed toward the peace alter.

Maureen stopped and looked straight out to sea. “It’s Earth Wilderness,” she said.

Dave twisted her a bit to the right and said, “Now you are looking at the center of China.” Then he laughed and aimed her back the way she was originally looking. “You might have already been looking toward the center of China.”

They both laughed with life before the Pacific, then followed Noah and the largest group down a sandy path to the tool box gully and onto the beach.

Brenda, Pam, Louise and Denny reached the peace temple twenty or thirty steps ahead of the rest. Brenda, the organizer, recorded the scene with a high resolution photo before any fresh foot prints arrived. High tide had made the beach smooth. There were no footprints at all. Even so, the peace sign was gone. It had been replaced by a five meter deep cave. There was no doubting their eyes, something powerful had blown a big hole in solid stone. Most of the pulverized sandstone had washed away. A small sand bar created an approach to a rather interesting looking mini New Mexico cave building site.

Marlin and Dory took battery powered pruning saws into a rank eucalyptus sapling forest further up the gulley and came back with four nice straight poles. This resource was unanticipated so a general planning session erupted. Dave trotted back to his police car, it had a hand pruning saw in the tool box. He also picked up a hammer and a few nails. He left plenty of nails and other supplies yet picked up a roll of tie wire. Dave headed back to the peace temple wondering what else he might do to help the younger generation. He knew older people thought of him as young and worked now to build depth to whatever team he was on. Dave felt himself living in an unfolding legend, he knew he was happy in the here and now yet let himself wonder how far the legend side of things might go.

Dave was daydreaming a bit when Brenda spotted the wire he was carrying. She whisked it to Howie, Bob, Jerry and others who were building internal rafters to brace the cave roof. They had gouged a groove upward at the back of the cave so three rafters fit fairly tight against the ceiling and came from the slightly narrower rear spreading outward like rays from a star source. Spacer shims wired in to support cave roof high spots above the rafters held up by wired together posts and beams. Those who had blasted the peace sign temple from a ship with cannons had helped turn a temple into the beginning of a cathedral.

The waves in front of the Cathedral rebuilding project were perfect lefts. There were not enough work stations and everyone knew what they were doing so Brenda went to surf the rights on the other side of the cove. Not far from there were easier breaking waves for war resistors were not too interested in surfing yet did surf some. There were quite a few riding the spot that went both left of right and made each rider decide for each wave. It was a perfect place and big enough to begin to notice and experience surfer time stop. Quite a few got it because Joel had dedicated himself to explaining when to see time stop at the bottom of the wave; “It happens when you are deciding which way to go. Look at what is around you and decide then. You can do it at the top of the wave, too.”

Marlin hoped Poseidon could help less frequent surfers feel life speed so fast it seemed seemed like time stopping. Joel, Marlin and Poseidon let each surfer find the groove for themselves. It was exhausting and people were rotating for rests until there were people learning to stop time even though they had never surfed before. At times it seemed to Joel and Marlin as if a god had intervened when a novice made a seemingly impossible move.

When everyone at all three surf locations had heard how Marlin and Joel were teaching people to stop time. Kim, Maureen and Dave hurried to get in a class on stopping time, the idea made them laugh. Marlin’s mother was the extra adult riding with Kim, she rushed along with the others when she heard that her son was explaining the surfer manifesto to war resistors and stopping time. She was very proud of her son.