SAV Skate Session

I took Friday off from work so I could hang out with my buddy Jeff who was in town for a couple days. He and his girlfriend, Kate, started college here in Savannah but are both finishing school up at SCAD Atlanta. A few of their photos went up a gallery last weekend, so they crashed at my house while they were in town for the show.

On Friday, we went skating downtown with our buddy Aaron Lynton. Jeff brought his camera equipment and took a few photos. Here are the two pictures he posted on his photo stream at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jmoustache/

Aaron Lynton pulling a nosegrind on a box in one of Savannah's allies.

Me doing a footplant up on the roof of a parking garage.

4/19

Every once-in-a-while, it’s important to give yourself a break from work and let yourself have fun. I’m a firm believer in working hard and playing hard. At SCAD it’s tempting for students to take advantage of a few mental health days because of the 4-absence policy.

For me, I can’t just skip class and sit on my ass for 2 ½ hours. If I do, I’ll just sit there thinking about what I’m going to miss that day. I don’t do it that often, but when I do skip, it’s because I’ve got something better to do. Well, maybe not better, but justifiable on my own scale.

The day after 04/19/09, I made the decision to skip class and go surfing. I haven’t been getting much exercise recently because of work, school, and other stuff so it seemed like the right thing to do. I thought to myself, “It’ll be good to get away from homework for a few hours to clear my head.” I almost didn’t go, because of my class at 5 p.m.

I was sitting at my computer editing and my phone started ringing. I didn’t answer because it was my buddy Grinch, calling and I had a feeling that he was trying pulling me away from my work to go surfing instead. After the phone stopped ringing I sat there looking at the computer screen for a moment, then decided to call him back.

After two rings he answered, “Hello.”

“What’s up, Grinch?”

“Yo, you want to go surfing? The buoy report said it’s already 4 ½ ft.”

I sat silent for a few seconds, “I don’t know. I have a bunch of work I should do.”

“It should be pretty good,” he says back. “I’m about to go to the gas station. Howe bout I call you after I fill up?”

“Yeah. Just call me back in a few minutes.”

By the time he called back my mind was made up.

After telling Grinch, he said: “Alright! I’ll be there to pick you up in like 5 minutes.”

I hurried around my apartment stuffing my wetsuit, a towel, and some homework that’s due tomorrow into my bag. Then, went through a moment of starring at my boards figuring out which one I was going to bring. I went with the bigger board, thinking I could catch it earlier and get longer rides.

We got out to Tybee Island around 3:30 p.m. then paddled out. Right away, I knew I made the right decision. We drifted from the jetty to the pier 6 times. On days like this at Tybee, you loose the concept of time in the water.

After an hour or so, a storm came over us. It looked like that scene in Independence Day when the aliens first come to earth, but their space ships are hidden behind the giant incoming clouds. Apparently, the rain was worse in Savannah than on Tybee. It actually smoothed out the water and helped clean up some waves. But, the rain only lasted a little over 30 minute, then the sun came out again.

When finally got out of the water and back to car, I realized there was a new voicemail. It was my professor, Adam Davies, who had called at 4:21 p.m. and left me a message. I was halfway out of my wetsuit and class started over an hour ago. It turns out, he was canceling class because he needed to take his girlfriend to the emergency room. The reason he called me, was so I could write a note on the board to let everyone else know that our class had been cancelled.

My bad.

I called him back but didn’t get answer. In the message I left him, I told Adam that I was sorry to hear about his girlfriend then vaguely explained my personal dilemma when it came to writing the note up for him on the board to inform the rest of class. I guess, people ended up waiting a while before giving up on it and leaving.

I felt guilty when hearing about it the next day. I might not have made the most responsible decision that day. But, because it was a holiday that only comes once a year, I’m hoping everyone is understanding of the situation.

Drift

When a storm hits the coast most local surfers will watch from the beach, or even their car if it’s really heavy, while a handful of people are still willing to paddle out. A lot of injuries happen on those rough days on familiar breaks. Sometimes you underestimate the paddle and lose all your strength before making it through the sets.

When my buddy, Dillon, and I were at work one day we heard that a storm brought 10ft. waves to Tybee Island. In Georgia, it’s rare to see a wave bigger than 7ft. After work, we grabbed our boards and wetsuits then drove straight to the beach.

The drive itself was a challenge, to say the least. We had to weave from one side to the other to avoid the water creeping up from the marsh on both sides of the road. On top of that, squalls kept sporadically covering the windshield with heavy rain, making everything gray. It was impossible to see the lines on the road.

We stopped at the gas station about 2 miles before the beach to grab some drinks. After we parked, Dillon and I got out of the car and realized how cold it was as two of us tried squeezing into our wetsuits as quickly as possible. The plastic bag made it a little easier but, we were already out breathe.

We saw our old neighbor, Hutch, getting out of the water right as we ran out onto the beach.

“The current just picked up. It’s crazy out there right now!”

“You done?”

“Yeah, it’s getting really rough out there. The wind has been picking up so much since I got here. I’ll stay and watch you guys catch one, though,” Hutch said to us.

“You sure?” I asked him.

“Be careful not to drift around the point. The current is pulling north fast.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye on the shore and hop out.”

“We’ll make sure not to drift out to sea. Later, Hutch!” Dillon yelled as we started to run south down the beach anticipating the direction the water was going to pull us.

About 75 yards down the beach Dillon and I strapped our leashes around the ankle and started to paddle out. The water was higher than I’ve ever seen it. Right away, the water was up to your shoulders.

Hutch was right. It was rough out there. It felt like being in a giant washing machine. You’d duck-dive under one wave and come up only to get sideswiped by a different wave. It was coming in at all different directions.

I grabbed my rails forcing the board to cut through the wave breaking over me. The water pulled hair out of my face as I came up and I saw Dillon taking his last few strokes up the face of a wave past the breaking point. There was no way to make over the wave where I was on my board. I could only try going through it. It didn’t work.

The wave pulled me into its curl while I tried digging my nose though it, I was denied. Now, the board was on top of me with a thick wall of water behind it. My back hit the water first. The water threw me around for a while then, when I could finally come up for air another wave came crashing down on me. I was stuck in the break zone.

I had to grab my leash and try dragging it while I backstroked through the waves. Each incoming set pushed my board back toward the shore. Eventually the water graced me with an opportunity to get back on my board and start paddling again. My arms were dead and the rest of my body had finally forgotten how cold it was. Finally, I made it past the break and could breath for a minute.

“Shit, dude! We have to go back in. Look how far we drifted,” Dillon said pointing south.

So much for catching my breath.

There wasn’t time for that. We were already being pulled out to sea. By the time Dillon and I made it back to shore we had reached the end of the beach. The two of us sat in the sand watching the water till we regained our composer.

“That was intense,” Dillon said still trying to catch his breath.

We started to walk back to the car. Once Dillon and I reached the road we found ourselves in front of the gas station once again. The current pulled us all the way back to that gas station we’d already stopped at earlier, on the drive out to the beach.

The Bridge

I was organizing my email account to free up space recently
and came across this email I sent my mother during freshman year.
I always found this strange joy from stressing her out,
making her even more crazy.

Last night I got home from a full day at the beach, showered, shaved, got dressed then, went on a quest to find Dairy Queen. No such luck. I still haven’t figured out how to get around Savannah. So, I went back to the dorm and hung out with my boys killing time watching movies while chitchatting with the ladies who lived down the hall. Pretty typical night really. You probably won’t believe me (and I don’t blame you) when I tell you, we didn’t even drink at all. With that said, I bring you to my next adventure of the night.

Out of boredom Jeff, Nick, Dillon and I decided to grab our skateboards and go on a midnight skate run, which turned into a long walk to the top of the bridge connecting Savannah to South Carolina. You know, that huge one? It’s actually called the Tallmadge Bridge. I don’t even remember whose idea it was. The walk with the boys up the public highway was funny enough. With our skateboards in hand, each step we took on the hike up this ginormous bridge, made us more and more breathless. And we’re all in decent shape, if that gives you an idea how steep it was.

We scouted it out to see if anyone was coming then, took off. Nick and I went first. The ride started smooth then we gradually started picking up mass amounts of speed. The were grooves we had to hop over every 100 feet or so were challenging enough, but the speed and amount of space we covered in such a short time was the total rush. For your information: I have coasted over 55mph down this bridge in my car. When it was over, only two out of the four us made it down that ¾ mile. Nick and I stood at the bottom screaming as loud as we could after we finished. We were so happy to be alive. There was a time there, when I thought I couldn’t make it down without killing myself. (At least I waited to tell you.)

There are those perfect moments that call for a cigarette and this was undoubtedly one of them. It could have been a commercial. I mean, we just went ¾ of a mile in 42 seconds! Less than a fucking minute. I ask you, how often does that happen on a skateboard?

So just as I was lighting my cigarette about to walk back up for another run, this cop came up from behind me on the bridge and turned his siren on. We were so scared we did the only thing we knew to do without thinking about it, my boys and I took off on our skateboards down the off-ramp to hide in the forest.

Well of course, they followed in hot pursuit, just like the movies. We climbed over a barbwire fence but these hefty cops stopped chasing, because they knew it was a swamp we got ourselves into on the other side of the fence.

“I swear, I’m gonna kick your asses if you make me come in there after you.”

What other choice did we have? We came out.

Now, picture this: four blond surf rats in torn clothes covered in swamp mud, walking out of the woods carrying skateboards.

Jeff had torn up his new blue jeans. Nick, Dillon and I looked like we had just bathed in mud. One of the skateboards got lost, who knows where. But I have to tell you, trying to keep a straight face for the cops after seeing how ridiculous we each looked wasn’t easy. The cops gave us a big lecture about how stupid and dangerous it is to do what we just did, and told us we’d get kicked out of the SCAD if they ever caught us skating the bridge again.

"Skateboarding on government property is against the law," blah, blah, blah.

Isn't that profiling for them to pick on young college kids like that. They let us off on the condition that we walk the whole way back to the dorms, without skating.

“If I see any of you get on a skateboard I swear to God, I’m taking you in,” he barked.

We all agreed to it then, politely thanked the officers and started our trek back.

As we were walking away from this close encounter with the law–thanking our lucky stars we weren’t being carted off to jail and wondering what we would tell our parents–Nick accidentally stepped on the bottom of Jeff’s torn jeans and ripped them in half. No joke. We could walk because we were geeking out at Jeff's shredded pants from him getting hooked on the barbwire, along with his puncture wounds.

"What? I'm the only one that got hit. What's the deal?" he said to us.

Jeff struggled walking in front holding his pants together the whole way back.

They dropped to the ground. There he was, not ten feet from the police car, still standing in the reflection of their headlights in nothing but his underwear. It doesn’t get much better than that. You should have seen it.

It was a great ride and I’m still alive!

Your favorite son,

-Whit

Summer '07

Photographer and student Jeff Beard grew up in Texas, with his older brother and parents who live in Fort Worth. Since a very young age, Jeff’s family encouraged him to be an active child. He participated in numerous sports throughout his development. Later, Jeff found independent sports like skating and snowboarding, which he now says, are his outlets that help clear his mind. He claims to have appreciated art since he can remember and Jeff’s initial enjoyment in visual art led him to follow his passion, photography.

Jeff started experimenting with video at age six. By 2001, Beard began pursuing still photography. He says that he fell in love with the idea of documenting life, whether focusing on people, landscapes, objects, or anything else for that matter. He’ll capture anything that catches the eye. Jeff states in my interview, that he prefers film to digital photography due to the craftsmanship required in film’s developing process. Recently, Beard is exploring panoramas.

“I think they look more like people’s peripheral vision,” he says.

Preferring film to digital, Jeff has created an extensive portfolio, which includes a variety of photos. Many of his landscape pictures were captured on his family’s ranch back in Texas. He said, the ranch photos tend to have interesting effects due to the open outdoors, but also the historical feel. His panoramic photos have slowly grown in number. With these, Jeff usually uses his homemade camera, which he created in a class while studying at the Savannah College of Art and Design. His homemade camera contains numerous lenses, which capture a 180-degree view. Lately, Beard’s focus is on people, while incorporating a scene or story with his work.

This particular series started out of personal interest with a goal of documenting his summer, specifically photographing two of his greatest passions, skating and surfing. Jeff’s been an active skater for many years now. He competed in his younger years, but recently just skates for fun. A few years ago, Beard decided to pick up surfing. He claims to have instantly fallen in love with paddling out in the water with his friends. Despite the fact, this wasn’t originally a project directed toward an audience, it’s a series intended to keep the photographed subjects general.

“The pictures are about feeling the action captured rather that who the picture is actually of."

Unexpectedly, a gallery in Savannah, Georgia, gave Jeff the opportunity to put these photographs up in a show. Extremely satisfied with the way everything came out, he accepted the offer. His camera caught over one hundred photos of adventures skating different parks, and surfing a number of breaks along the southern east coast with close friend. On January 4, 2008, Dimensions Gallery displayed these photos from summer 2007. Out of respect for the anonymous theme in Jeff’s series, all the subjects in these photos will remain nameless.



The following day, Jeff and his friend woke up to–at best–some mediocre waves. With nothing else to do, the two of them paddled out to see what they could catch. Nothing seemed very spectacular. In the midst of a perverted statement he took this picture, while of his buddy was laughing while waxing his surfboard.


He took this picture on Jacksonville Beach. The surfer photographed here is a close friend who grew up in a house only two blocks opposite the water. It’s a small wave, two and a half feet at most. With Jeff’s education and experience however, he positioned himself in a place, which illustrates and intensifies what it was like at that moment.


Above, we see another one of Jeff’s friends skating in a pool-style bowl at Kona Skate Park. Passionate for many years now, this skater stands loyal to old school riding, incorporating a surfer’s style into his skating. In this picture he is busting out a backside air out of the bowl.


This is another photo from Jacksonville Beach, Florida. In this one, we see the view this surfer sees everyday when approaching the beach from his families home nearby. Jeff succeeds here in capturing that moment when the dunes open up, presenting the open ocean into vision. The composition stands solid creating significant depth with the green values in the dunes.


Kona Skate Park is one of the most important stops while traveling throughout the summer, and in this picture Beard caught one skater in the middle of a power-slide on a ramp in the park. Jeff keeps the photo general embracing the blurry qualities. The wheels provide an intense effect of action, intensifying the motion made while the picture was taken.


Here is another photograph from Kona. This picture captures another skater hitting up “snake run.” The photo above, successfully illustrates the traditional slalom skate terrain offered at Kona Skate Park. Also, it emphasizes the fast speed one reaches while shooting down the run. It shows us not who occupies the picture, but once again, motions the skater made while it was snapped.


This last picture captures that moment in which one pops up as they’re catching a wave. It provides yet another example of Jeff’s fearless approach when taking a photograph. His camera not only submerged under water when this wave came over him, but Beard’s entire body got covered in water all the way up to his wrists while capturing this image. Fortunately, everything came out all right considering the camera isn’t waterproof. Immediately after, Jeff ran out of the water to check if his camera was O.K. In fact, this photo was the first picture to sell during the exhibition at Dimensions gallery.

Beard claims, Harold Edgerton is the first photographer who really inspired him, because of his high-speed photos. Specifically it was Edgerton’s pictures focusing on bullets, and drops of milk as subjects. Additionally, Jeff mentioned Craig Stevens in the interview, as another inspirational figure regarding his own work. He claims, Professor Stevens–a teacher of Jeff’s while attending Savannah College of Art and Design–and his encouragement to pursue panoramic work proved beneficial.

When asked the question, “What do you look for when preparing to take a picture?” Jeff replies: ”Composition is key, I’ll usually go out of my way and risk hurting myself and/or damaging equipment to get the right shot, but when I’m editing it is all about finding a fluent aesthetic.”

His skating and surfing experience certainly helped inspire and better this series. And Jeff’s time living in a house with two other skaters with no cable provided a large amount of surf and skate magazines to research. His education certainly benefited his ability composing such balanced photographs. But, it’s the theme in this series, which makes it impressive artwork. While he’ll always have the option of looking back at these photos later and reminiscing over the great summer he once had, he is more importantly providing the rest of us with stunning artwork. These pictures are a form of art that the rest of us can universally appreciate and enjoy. And, most of that’s due to the impersonal approach Jeff Beard took while photographing his friends doing what they love most.

120 oz.

I was finished with 75% of my third 40oz Budweiser and our phones were blowing up. The same people kept calling Travis to ask if he was coming to the party, then they’d call me to ask the same question.

“Yeah, we are about to leave now,” we both would answer.

We could hear all of our friend’s voices in the background of each phone conversation. It was clear a bunch of our friends were having fun at this house party on Duffy and Waters. If it weren’t for the fun we heard through the phone, Travis and I would have taken more time before hurrying out the door of his apartment.

I grabbed two skateboards from the trunk of my Jeep and handed one to Travis. I had to place my last 40oz on the roof of the car so I could grab the second board. At first, it took me a moment to reunite with my center of gravity, because of the buzz. Once I was comfortable, I started going faster. Whenever we’d pass a driveway that had an incline I’d make a sharp carve up it, then roll back down into the street. Then, I started to weave in and out of the streets and sidewalks, when I saw a transition leading from one to the other. My buzz, not only intensified the motions on my board, but also bumped my confidence up, and helped forget about the beer bottle clenched in my left hand.

I can’t remember the exact street we were on when it happened, but I know it was near El Cheapo because that’s where Travis went inside to grab towels. When I saw this slope on a driveway next to a huge tree covered with Spanish moss, I decided to roll with it.

The driveway was connected to an intersecting sidewalk so I directed my board toward that, leaning hard on my toes. I went up the driveway and onto the sidewalk. Then, I pumped once to pick up more speed to go faster past the huge tree on the left. The moss cast a shadow over me and the sidewalk where I started passing. Right before the driveway–I was originally planning to ride down back into the street–I saw it. A tile had been raised in the sidewalk from a root belonging to the huge tree on the left. My front wheels stopped less than a second after I realized the uneven slab of concrete that stopped my board, and threw me to the ground.

My reflexes were just two seconds off. I flew forward from my board and the fact that I had a huge glass bottle in hand temporarily slipped my mind. But, I remembered it as soon as the bottle shattered on the ground with my hand on top of it.

“Are you O.K.?” Travis asked when he skated up to me.

I came to my feet, then held out my hand so we could see it in the light. A fat piece of glass was wedged in between the palm and webbing of two of my fingers. I pulled it out. Blood started running everywhere.

“Man, we need to grab some towels or something for your hand. That's a lot of blood.”

“No,” Pause. “Yeah.”

“El Cheapo is a few blocks this way. Come on.”

We skated slowly on the way. Once there, Travis went inside to grab towels so I didn’t bleed all over the store. While he was inside four cops pulled up and started to raid the house across the street. I stood on the corner watching them kick down the front door and run inside with guns drawn, then looked down and noticed my puddle of blood surrounding my shoes.

“Damn. What’s going on over there?” Travis said to me handing me a stack of brown paper towels he grabbed from the gas station’s bathroom.

Travis asked if I was still good, skating to the party. I told him that I was, so we kept going. When we got there I got bombarded with questions from friends and acquaintances.

“What happened?”

“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

“Did you wash that off yet?”

A friend handed me a beer, and I went to the bathroom to wash my hand. After I ran water over it I became mesmerized. starring into the gash in my hand. The water would clear the blood away, and then I could see inside the sliced webbing. I’d look away to sip my beer then run water over it, so I could look at it again.

Half way through the beer I attempted going outside to socialize with my friends and tell them I was fine. As I walked out the bathroom door it hit me. I wasn’t fine. I turned around and noticed how pail my skin looked in the mirror. Then, decided to pull my phone out and call Jeff, because I knew he was still at the dorm.

“What’s up, Whit?”

“Jeff, I need you to come pick me up. I cut my hand and lost some blood.”

Ten minutes later Jeff was at the house. He drove me back to the dorm and helped me get past the security guard upstairs to my room. Once we got to the third floor my head was light, and vision blurry. We opened my door and I looked to Jeff and said: “I think I might get sick.”

The next thing I remember, is waking up with my head hanging over the toilet. When I raised it I saw Jeff standing over me, and my roommate behind him wearing a panicked look.

“Jeff, what happened?”

“You fainted right as we walked through your door.”

Then my roommate, Adam, asked: “How are you going to bandage that up?”

“Adam, do you have any super glue?” I asked him.

“Yeah, but, is that sanitary?”

“Sure! My lacrosse coach took a stick to the face during practice one time and he was bleeding from above his eye really bad. So, he sent me to a gas station to grab him super glue,” I explained.

“Didn’t the army do that in war, too?” Jeff said back to me

“I think so. I know it worked for my coach though. I was the one that had to do it for him.”

Jeff helped apply and bandage it. The next day it looked like a white scab in between my two middle fingers. After a week or two, it heeled. All I had to do was chip out the superglue, disinfect it, then reapply more glue to seal the wound. I’ll always have the scar from falling with glass, but I’ll can't say I'll skate with a bottle that big again.

Falling

The summer after graduating high school I went up to Michigan to visit my friend, Eric Christiansen. He always spent his summers at his family’s lake house in a small town called Sister Lakes. Eric competed in wakeboarding, and when I came up that summer he was going through intense training, with plans of going pro. Him and his two friends Ryan and Nick–who were also training to go pro–all worked in a small wakeboard shop together, and they’ve been hanging out every summer since they were kids.

When I went into work with Eric one day, I got to watch them mess around on a rail they built behind the shop. The rail started on shore and ended in the lake. They built a canal made of wood, then lined it with a tarp so it could hold water that they filled up with a hose. Whoever was hitting the rail would start in the canal and get dragged by their boss driving a boat. The rider would then grind up the a-frame, then on top of it, and down the other side of the frame ideally making it safely into the water. They secured pipes about two feet into the ground that were its foundation and kept the rail sturdy providing a direct line to follow into the lake behind the shop. Eric, Ryan, and Nick all had a blast playing around on it while their boss laughed from behind the wheel of his boat whenever one of them ate it.

One of the perks of working in the shop was that they got everything at half price. Eric told me I could get the same deal if I wanted to buy anything, and I couldn’t pass up that chance to get a brand new Sector 9 longboard. That night we went down to Bent Harbor and bomb hills.

Before leaving for Bent Harbor, we stopped by Nick’s house so we could pick up his deck. While we were there his goofy neighbor was standing with his cousin–who also shared a similar goofy and disproportionate resemblance–noticed the boards.

“Where are you guys planning to go skate?” one of them asked us.

“Bent Harbor,” Nick answered.

“Do you mind if we come with?”

“Well, we don’t really have anymore room in the car for both of you,” Ryan said, from behind the wheel.

“It’s cool, I can follow you guys in my truck.”

They rode behind us all the way to Bent Harbor and the whole time we were
skating. The four of us had to stop and wait for them a few times on the drive, but even more when skating. It was surprising though, that neither of them fell considering the steep hills we were flying down.

Bent Harbor was beautiful. The best roads we skated were the freshly paved catwalks that ran next to the water. Sometimes the trees would open up and you could see the lake while you were coasting downhill. Ryan led our train, followed by Nick and I with Eric riding right behind us, and the tag-a-longs trailed a few yards behind him. After finishing one run, we’d have to pump uphill till reaching the top, take a quick breather, and then go downhill again.

“This is the best hill we’re going to hit once we get up to the top!” Ryan yelled from the front, confidently leading the rest of our crew.

“Just be careful toward the end and make sure you don’t pump to fast in the begining. You’re going to slowly pick up speed the whole way down,” Nick warned everyone.

They weren’t over-exaggerating either. To this day, that particular hill was the best long-distance ride I’ve ever had on a longboard. The trees would sporadically open up bringing the lake into vision as you soared downhill. Even though, we each started slow, you inevitably picked up speed on the way down, like Nick had promised. Eric and I started messing with one another, getting our boards as close as we could forcing the other person as far to the side of the road when making turns. But, that game quickly came to a halt once we really started moving.

“We’re about to get going really fast!” Ryan yelled back from the front.

When he yelled that, I couldn’t see him because he was a few yards in front of the bend the road, which we all started to lean with. Before long, Ryan came back into vision. But a slow wide turn came, and Nick I lost sight of him again. We started really moving and it almost reached that point where you aren't necessarily skating as much as trying to stay on. But, it didn’t bother us that we'd temporarily lost sight of Ryan, because he had to still be riding only a few yards ahead. What did scare everyone though, was when we started leaning hard to the left anticipating road’s last big curve,then heard Ryan yell: “Oh shit, you guys!”

When Nick and I came around the turn and straightened stance on our boards we realized what Ryan yelled about. A storm from the night before had blown a bunch of sand into the road. It collected right at the intersection where the catwalk we were riding on bottomed out, just before going uphill again. First, we saw his board that was stopped by the pile of sand scattered across the pavement. Then, we could see Ryan sticking face first in a bush with his feet out, on the far side of the sand. It looked like a huge puddle of death from our perspective, laying there in the middle of the intersecting catwalks. Immediately Nick led his board off the road and into the surrounding trees, then rolled in the grass until coming to a complete stop. There is no way you could run it out when moving that fast.

“Bail!” I yelled back to everyone still following, while jumping off my board and landing in the sand.

When I hit the ground my feet kicked sand up on impact. The sand hit this couple approaching from an intersecting trail. The guy’s first reaction was understandably pissed and he probably wanted to kick my ass. But, his facial expression pulled a 180 once he watched three other skaters eat shit. Eric heard the warnings and bailed into the first nice soft patch of grass he could find. But the awkward neighbor and cousin weren’t so lucky. One of them tried slowing down by dragging his back foot on the pavement, but it backfired. He had so much speed that his toes dug in and threw his body face-forward into a sloppy roll across the pavement once his foot touched the ground. Then his cousin’s board collided with him from behind, but luckily the collision was anticipated and he jumped off sending only the board and not his body.

When all the chaos finally passed you could still hear the guy who took sand in the face still laughing. Meanwhile, his girlfriend was in a panic saying: “Oh my God! Are you all O.K.?”

Other than the road burn on that kid who, for some reason–tried slowing himself down dragging his foot on the pavement–as if it we the break on the back of a roller blade–everyone walked away with minimal injuries. But he did reiterate something good thing to know.

Never drag your foot and try to stop when exceeding 25 MPH, you need to either try riding it out or tuck-and-roll.

Escaping Winter Break

It’s going on three weeks now since this much needed break from school started. For me, this means I have to work so I can afford the rest of my senior year living in a one-bedroom apartment without any help from roommates, telling myself the whole time, “I’m going to take advantage of this time off from school, put my portfolio together and get ahead of the game,” meanwhile never really doing it. This new vet tells me that my cat, Mozart, has developed a heart murmur and that’s why he started neurotically licking himself raw. Now I get to buy Mo antipsychotic medication, which just sounds like kitty-Prozac from the way Dr. Alex explains it. I almost try one when I realize the landlord at the old apartment has yet to give my security deposit back, but I stay strong. It’s been way to long now since I went surfing or skating and the clarity these activities bring is way too far away. I’ve come the point where the only joy or satisfaction that can take me closer to that peace is through reminiscing over my old roommate’s photographs that he took on our last few surf and skate trips. The list of responsibilities is never-ending and just grows more day after day. My head is on overload and I can’t stop doubting my abilities to find professional success or even the potential to function productively in this world of ours. During the day I’m always exhausted. The night just brings anxiety into my mind, anticipating what’s in store for tomorrow. My phone goes off in the right pocket of my ripped blue jeans, playing that stupid ring tone which resembles music you’d probably hear in a cheep 1970s porno.

“What up Jeff,” I answer.

“What you doing man?”

“Working up at Mellow. What are you up to?”

“I just packed up my car and am leaving Atlanta,” he tells me.

“Alright, I thought you weren’t coming down to Savannah until tomorrow.”

“Yeah I wasn’t going to but I just decided to leave tonight. I’ll be getting into town in about three and a half hours or so. Cool?”

“Alright, yeah. I should be getting cut from work in the next hour so I’ll be around once you get here,” I tell him.

“Right on. I’ll see you in a few hours then. Later.”

Jeff Beard and I met during the start of our freshman year at college. He came to school to study photography while I eventually made my way into writing. Our dorm rooms were next door to each other on the third floor of O-House, which coincidently housed a dozen other skaters, surfers, snowboarders and a variety of freshmen students who were also new to art school. I imagine that the common interests originally provoked this friendship, but by the time we started nearing the end of our freshman year of too many late nights followed by early morning classes, we decided to move out of the dorms. Jeff and I moved into a three-bedroom house with our buddy who is a fellow surfer studying graphic design, named Dillon. Jeff took the back room of the house because he goes to bed so early, then Dillon tells us he wants the front room for some reason, so I happily move into the middle. While we’re all in different majors, each of us share similarities in career aspirations that relate toward board sports in one way or another. In different ways each of the three of us each hopes to work professionally in the surf, skate, or even snowboard industries.

It’s safe to say that the three of us fit the profile of stereotypical surf rats based our scraggly blond heads of hair, sunburned noses and countless board sport posters, not to mention the number of boards lining the inside of our house. Dillon pays his one-third of rent money every month, goes home for winter and summer breaks, leaving Jeff and I in a house that doesn’t feel so crowded with two people. It’s here that Jeff and I start taking skate and surf trips on long weekends if given the chance. Living, and in this case traveling with someone, has a way of developing trust between people if both sides make the effort to pay their part.

Once junior year comes Jeff, Dillon, and I agree that we’ve outgrown the house at 527 E. Park Avenue. Each of us decides to find new housing with different roommates as soon as our lease is up, without anyone having any hard feelings. While Jeff and Dillon start to grow apart, I find myself still living in between them. Once the summer comes, Dillon goes home to Virginia and once again Jeff and I stick around for a relaxing summer quarter. We chase hurricanes up and down the coast whenever there’s a storm, and hit up skate parks along the way if possible, then go to class when necessary. Jeff even gets such quality photos from these trips he receives a spot in a local art gallery. When the show goes up he gets the pleasant surprise of an offer on a photograph he snapped of me dropping in on a wave in St. Augustine. Ironically it’s the shot he took just before a wave submerged his camera, almost retiring it permanently. Meanwhile, scaring Jeff into a world of panic, but fortunately the camera is fine and it’s this photo that sells first in the show. By the end of summer before the start of our senior year, Jeff makes the decision to move up to Atlanta’s campus because the city offers so much more professional opportunity for him with photography. Even in different cities we do a good job keeping in touch on a regular basis.

Now, jumping back to that third week of this much-needed winter break in the midst of our senior year of college, which has yet to offer any peace of mind–but only overwhelming responsibilities. I’m at work and the new girl working the phones keeps messing up the addresses on the tickets. Jeff coming down here couldn’t have come at a better time. All I have to do is make it through the rest of this Saturday night at Mellow Mushroom, and I’m done with work till the end of next week. I’ve crossed off Monday-Friday on the schedule for next week so Jeff and I take a trip down to Jacksonville for some necessary time away from winter break. Work still puts me on the schedule for Thursday night next week anyway.

Due to our hangover, I don’t make it in to check the schedule at Mellow on Sunday until it’s late afternoon. Jeff and I finally escape Savannah by sunset and head south for Jacksonville, Florida.

“What’s on your mind?” Jeff asks about an hour into the drive.

“Nothing really.”

“You look like you’re thinking pretty hard about something. You all right?” he asks.

“I guess I’m just glad to get out of Savannah for a change. I keep dreading that we have to come back in two days. You remember how it gets when you haven’t left the SAV in a while.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely glad to get out of Atlanta for a minute,” Jeff says to me.

“I’m really not looking forward to going back home to Texas for the holidays next week. I have to stay for two weeks this year. I don’t know if I can handle that much time with my mom. She always tries to get me to take pictures for her when I’m on vacation.”

“Hopefully we’ll get some decent surf this week, it’s supposed to grow by tomorrow morning,” I tell him. “You need a good surf session too. When’s the last time you got wet, last summer?”

“Yep. I’ve been skating a lot more in Atlanta though,” he quickly says back me with only a slight hint of disappointment in his voice from living so far from the ocean now. “I’m really looking forward to skating Kona again though. The last time I was looking at the pictures from the trip last summer I got a few new ideas for shooting.”

Before pulling into Jacksonville, Jeff and I decide to find a place with wings for dinner because of the unsatisfied craving we still have from Wild Wings being closed earlier at lunch. They were closed for who knows what holiday. We decide to eat at Dick’s Wings, which is only about three blocks from the Jacksonville Pier. Two pitchers, a huge appetizer, and too many wings later, Jeff and I start the hunt for a cheap hotel. Somehow we land a beachside room that has two queen-size beds for $72.99. We can even see the beach to keep an eye on the waves from our room if you hang your head out the window. In an effort for a good night’s rest before our early morning of surfing, followed by an afternoon of skating, we hit the sack around 2:00 am.

Monday morning we’re woken up by the sound of the housekeeping service knocking on the door. Half awake, Jeff barely hesitates before hopping out of his bed (rocking only his birthday suit) to answer the door. While the female room service worker is surprised by the sight of a naked guy with a haircut that looks like the lead singer’s hair from the band Flock of Seagulls with a Captain Hook mustache on top of that, I am unfazed. Imagine a naked guy the fits the previous description. He’s trying to squeeze into a wetsuit in the middle of the beach parking lot on Tybee Island next to his friends that are at least attempting to cover up under towels. This might explain how I’m not nearly as shocked as the poor women standing at our door with innocent anticipation to clean the room only to stumble into this sight when the door of our hotel room is opened.

After poking our heads out the window to scope out the waves, we suit up, take the boards off the roof of Jeff’s brand new silver Volkswagen GT, and head to the pier to surf. We see a handful of other surfers in the water posted up on the north side of the pier where it’s breaking the biggest, so Jeff and I head in that direction. Attempting the paddle out on the north side we immediately realize it isn’t the best idea once a set of seven-nine foot waves comes in, forcefully counteracting each stoke we take, pushing us back in the direction we’re paddling from. I’m only a few feet in front of Jeff when I start duck diving under what we’re hoping is the last wave separating us from the deepest breaking point. My body aches, and the water is reminding me how long it’s been since the last paddle out. As my board and I emerge out of the wave breaking over-head, the water grants a brief second and a half to anticipate what actually is the last wave of this incoming set. Jeff and I are swept back once again, but at least our real problems and responsibilities are waiting for us far behind on the shore.

Finally we make it past the break. Breathing heavily, without saying a word we silently tell one another how surprisingly hard that paddle was. Taking everything in, we look around and realize that we’ve drifted well over a hundred yards from where we started. The waves are still a good size where we drifted though, and it’s refreshing out in the water taking a moment to regain some strength. Neither of us is stressing how far we are now from the hotel. Jeff catches the first wave out of the two of us and predictably takes it left. We get separated because of the current, and both surf alone for another hour or so. I’m disappointed while backtracking south toward the pier since I only caught a few drops. Each of them left me closed out with nowhere to go on the wave but straight toward the shore. I get back and see Jeff already out of his wetsuit, changed, and holding his camera standing on top of the pier.

“When did you hop out?” I ask him.

“I caught two pretty good rides and then had to come in. It sucked man, my leash snapped after I jumped off my board at the end of my first wave and it got taken all the way back into the shore,” he yells down to me.

“Weak!” I say back. “You get any good shots though?”

“Yeah. You ready to go get changed and hit up the skate shop before meeting up with Colby?”

Colby was born and raised in Jacksonville and he is as local as they come. Because he grew up here, he knows every skate park in Florida and can tell you how to get to each of them. We met Colby three years ago through a mutual friend at school and have been skating with him whenever possible since then. He’s the most passionate skater that either of us has ever met and his enthusiasm shines whenever he skates or even talks about it.

The shop we go to is called Skate Bomb. I need to purchase a new deck and Jeff’s in serious need for a new pair of shoes. The soul of his bright purple shoe on the foot has almost torn up past the toes. We get everything we need and more from Skate Bomb, then head to the new skate park off Monument Street. It’s sad that Jeff and I don’t know our way around better considering how many times we’ve escaped to come down to Jacksonville. It only takes three separate conversations over the phone with Colby before we can find this–only weeks old skate park, that’s absolutely free to skate.

Colby greets us in the parking lot with a smile on his face and it’s a little bit sad to see his mustache is no more, but it’s good to see him regardless. Once the hellos, handshakes, and how-you-doings are over and done with, the three of us make our way up the grass hill to the park that is infested with middle to high-school aged kids who are glaring at Jeff’s and my unfamiliar faces. Before Jeff can put his new black shoes on, Colby makes his way to the front of this teenage line of local skaters waiting for their turn to skate. He drops in, makes a line around the park, and shows Jeff, me, and the rest of the park what he’s got mastered on his deck. He hasn’t even finished his run and it’s clear Colby has made progress in his skating since we last saw him.

Jeff’s new shoes are too stiff for him and my stance is way off balance my new deck. As if it’s not intimidating enough walking through a crowd of local teenagers fresh just from a long day of school looking at you, these kids are not only youthfully limber, but already warmed up, and familiar with the skate terrain to top it all off. While we’re feeling out what the park has to offer, trying out brand new equipment, and sloppily skating around this condensed skate park, Jeff and I can’t help but laugh at what we must look like to these local kids. When you’re at a skate park small enough that only a person or two can skate at a time, you feel like a waste of everyone’s time if you don’t perform at your full potential. It’s not the best skate session, but it’s always cool watching Colby shred. And this park succeeds in warming both Jeff and I up in preparation for our next stop, Kona Skate Park.

“I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow afternoon and we’ll skate Kona once I finish my last class,” Colby tells after directing us toward the park.

We call Colby once we’re on the way so he can remind us where we need to turn, which is pretty good for Jeff and I considering the detour we end up having to take around some road construction. The drive through the neighborhood of trailers and old houses is thought provoking. The community surrounding Kona isn’t necessarily an ideal place for a kid to grow up, but it’s refreshing to think about the positive influences that the skate park provide to all the neighborhood children. Not only is the skate park a safe hang out for them, it offers productive after school activity, promotes an active lifestyle in a safe way requiring all skaters to wear helmets, and also redirects impressionable kids from the streets onto a skateboard, bicycle, or even fruit boots (a.k.a. rollerblades).

It’s insane that this year is Kona Skate Park’s 31st year since first opened. Even more, it’s inspiring when you think of how long they’ve kept running it and how much this park dedicates to the youth of Jacksonville’s community. They even offer free skate time to kids as a reward for good grades in school. They’ve added onto the park throughout the years but the original pavement is still here, collecting chips, cracks, and dings alike providing a timeless piece of skate history with even more character. Anything a skater could ask for, they can find here. From old-school transitions, to an enormous vert-ramp, half-pipes, pools, bowls, even slalom runs, ramps, roll-ins, or just mainstream street skating, it’s all offered at Kona. This place still keeps up with the times for over thirty years now, and they’ve got the My Space page to prove how up-to-date they really are. The park has yet to get old to skaters.

The website promoting Kona says it has provided thousands of otherwise outcast kids with a place to go to express their individuality with skateboarding. And while the Ramos family has earned a great deal of respect and appreciation from the skate community in the eyes of beginners and pros alike, owner Martin Ramos isn’t recognized nearly enough for his kindness and everything else that he’s given to so many of us. Marty made Jeff and I feel right at home while escaping to Kona and if it wasn’t for him, we couldn’t have documented this experience like we did.

As we park the car, the doors are open before even coming to a complete stop. After grabbing our boards and helmets, Jeff and I practically skip through the front doors of Kona. Without having to wait in line behind anyone, the guy working the front desk introduces himself as Brock, then pulls up our accounts on their weathered computer screen covered in stickers. We each pay the $8.00 fee to skate, Brock gives us neon green wristbands, and then Jeff asks him, “Is it cool if I take some photographs while we skate this afternoon?”

“Um, I can’t really say. I’d have to ask the owner. Marty is meeting with somebody upstairs right now, but I’ll ask him when he comes down. I’m sure he’ll be all right with it though.”

“Thanks Brock. I brought some of my cards too if you guys want to leave them out anywhere in the store,” Jeff says handing a stack to him.
“Great. I’ll tell Marty to come out and find you guys once I see him. Have a good skate, dudes.”

Walking out the door and into the park Jeff and I see something unfamiliar forcing us to pause for a moment. The place is almost completely empty. We turn toward one another, uncontrollably grinning in anticipation of the skate session that is about to occur. It’s like looking at two little kids in a candy shop anticipating a taste of everything sweet there is in the store, or finding yourself in an empty amusement park with no lines and any ride at your disposal. We take in this overwhelmingly beautiful sight of an unpopulated skate park for a second, then skate off in opposite directions to taste every flavor Kona has to offer.

After a few minutes of skating, the owner, Martin Ramos comes out to introduce himself. We all shake hands and without hesitating he tells Jeff to photograph whatever he wants. By the time Jeff goes out to the car to grab his equipment, a few guys with rollerblades show up and start skating. When Jeff is walking back through the door that leads out to the skate area his eyes light up upon the sight of one of the kids rollerblading as he pulls off a front flip with a 180 landing it. When it comes to publishing skate photos, the rule is that unless the skater lands the trick in front of you at least once, you aren’t aloud to publish the photo.


Upon witnessing this trick, Jeff immediately approaches the kid in skates and asks him, “You think it’d be cool if I got a few shots of you doing that again?”

“Sure,” he says back.

So Jeff takes out his camera, hands me a flash positioning me so I can catch the best light, then lays down on the ground so the kid can flip directly over his body. Luckily we saw him land that first jump because it turns out that this skater is little camera shy. He didn’t land a single flip after that first one, but because we witnessed him landing it, there won’t be any trouble releasing the picture. Putting his body and equipment at risk for a good shot has become a familiar pattern when it comes to Jeff’s photography. Just before magic hour hits, I start skating down the infamous J-Bowl. This section of the park was there when they originally opened. It takes you up a wall, around a bend, and shoots you straight at a big bowl that’s at the end of the run. Jeff scopes out the line I’m been taking down J-Bowl for a minute and once again, he lies down across the pavement so he can get the shot he wants.

“You’re going to lay right there?” I ask him.

“Yeah.”

“If I have to bail when I’m up on that wall I’m going to land right on top of you.”

“You got it man,” he says back to me.


Just before sundown the sky warps into contrasting colors of turquoise and pinkish orange, and it finally hits Jeff and I. We’re exhausted, cramping up from all the physical activity from today. Tired, sweaty, and stiff we pack up our gear then head back toward the hotel. As we’re getting ready to walk out the front door Martin comes to see us out. He asks how our day went.

“It was good,” I say. “We’re planning to come back and skate tomorrow again before we hit the road.”

“I’ll be here. Yeah, I was watching you guys shoot a little bit when you were out there,” he says. “I can ask a few of the kids on the Kona Skate Team to come up here tomorrow and skate if you want to get some more photos.”

It’s the crack of noon when we finally wake up. Once again, I poke my head out the window and see what the waves look like. Jeff looks at me and says that he doesn’t really feel like surfing today and I admit it too, my body isn’t up for it either. We go over to Colby’s house and make plans to meet up later in the day at Kona.


Today the photos get better. Colby and I even take a few pictures of Jeff skating. It takes him a few tries, but he finally sticks this ballsy kick turn on a ramp they built the on top of a quarter pipe.


Once again, Colby shows us something new and unexpected. You can tell he grew up skating this place when you watch how effortlessly he makes transitions from one part of the park to another, without ever needing to slow down or think about his next move. He can even tell you how most of the cracks have formed in the pavement over all these years.

We watch him bust an air out of the pool then land it. For Jeff and I it’s the first time we’ve seen him pull this off and the picture proves the talent that Colby has on his board.


Jeff and I are sticky, and smell ranker than you can put into words when we start driving north toward Savannah. Luckily we’re not too scabbed up or bloody for the ride. We only have a few shallow cuts, some spots of road rash, and a few bruises each, which is nothing to complain about considering it’s after two long days of skating hard. Once back in Savannah, the two of us grab a beer from the case we brought back from Florida, then take turns rinsing off in a hot showers. After we’re both clean and in clothes that aren’t smelly or drenched in sweat, Jeff and I grab another beer, then sit on the couch and start looking through all the photos on Jeff’s laptop. Before he gets through all the pictures or I can even finish my drink, I fall asleep on the couch before the stroke of midnight for the first time in years. The anxiety is temporarily gone. Life starts up again tomorrow, but it should be better now that we made a whole new photo album of skating and surfing to self medicate on once the stress comes back.