He never forced anything. Never took more than the wave offered. If the face opened, he dipped and climbed. When the wave dwindled, he cut back to the source and banked off the foam. The other surfers had their own ideas about how a wave should be ridden, and sometimes their styles were beautiful to behold. But they could also appear awkward, unpleasing to the eye, jerking movements, hunched posture, stinkbug stance— unbalance. Because, somewhere in the beginning of their surfing lives, they’d formed the notion that waves were to be appropriated the same way trees are felled to make houses and oil is slurped to drive cars. Waves were out there to be stamped, conquered, tamed. Not so the old dude. His spirit animal was the dolphin, an organism in its rightful place, gliding within the given milieu. He balanced and moved from areas of high pressure to low, and, in doing so, was always one with the wave and wave with him.
McElroy, Jeff (2012-11-28). Californios: a surf noir collection (Kindle Locations 113-120). van Haitsma Literary. Kindle Edition.