'I'm Proud to be a Surfer'
Cody Leutgens | Staff Writer
Issue date: 10/21/09 Section: Op/Ed
Decades before my time, when surfing was first born, the sport was labeled with stereotypes that still haunt the large number of wave hungry surfers around the globe. Contrary to the derogatory "beach bum" or "pothead" label branded by conventional society, there are some surfers out there who do give a damn.
This past August, I was chosen to be a part of a life-altering voyage aboard an 80-foot wooden vessel. My two weeks squandering the Mentawais Islands, roughly 100 miles off West Sumatra, were accompanied by 10 students from around the country, two of surfing's most decorated journalists, two beautiful, devout Islamic ambassadors and a crew of diligent, black haired Indonesians. In between sessions in the bluest, warmest ocean in the world, we were taught Surf Journalism 101 with Matt and Sam George from Surfer Magazine. These two legends in surf journalism taught us the mechanics and creativity behind writing successful articles, all while rolling up and down from the swells and provided with a backdrop of indescribable sunsets and countless 100-foot palm trees. I had fundraised, worked multiple jobs, and took every means of raising money to be sitting in the best classroom on the planet; however, at the heart of my trip, the realization that was to come and define me not only as a surfer, but as a human, was right around the corner.
There were three main aspects of my trip; surfing, writing and aid work. The first two activities started on the first day, but the latter would not begin until we reached the last few islands of the archipelago.
Before the sun had risen, mounting the top step in our cabin and ringing a triangle, Matt woke us from our slumber and told us, "Aid waits for no man." We all joined at the top deck and began filling our packs with school supplies and vitamins. Everyone loaded in the dingy and headed to land for the first time in a week.
At first sight of the village, I thought for sure my eyes were playing tricks on me. How did Matt even know these people were here? There was no map, no clear trail through the jungle, no sign that said "fully self-sufficient community this way," nothing at all.
This past August, I was chosen to be a part of a life-altering voyage aboard an 80-foot wooden vessel. My two weeks squandering the Mentawais Islands, roughly 100 miles off West Sumatra, were accompanied by 10 students from around the country, two of surfing's most decorated journalists, two beautiful, devout Islamic ambassadors and a crew of diligent, black haired Indonesians. In between sessions in the bluest, warmest ocean in the world, we were taught Surf Journalism 101 with Matt and Sam George from Surfer Magazine. These two legends in surf journalism taught us the mechanics and creativity behind writing successful articles, all while rolling up and down from the swells and provided with a backdrop of indescribable sunsets and countless 100-foot palm trees. I had fundraised, worked multiple jobs, and took every means of raising money to be sitting in the best classroom on the planet; however, at the heart of my trip, the realization that was to come and define me not only as a surfer, but as a human, was right around the corner.
There were three main aspects of my trip; surfing, writing and aid work. The first two activities started on the first day, but the latter would not begin until we reached the last few islands of the archipelago.
Before the sun had risen, mounting the top step in our cabin and ringing a triangle, Matt woke us from our slumber and told us, "Aid waits for no man." We all joined at the top deck and began filling our packs with school supplies and vitamins. Everyone loaded in the dingy and headed to land for the first time in a week.
At first sight of the village, I thought for sure my eyes were playing tricks on me. How did Matt even know these people were here? There was no map, no clear trail through the jungle, no sign that said "fully self-sufficient community this way," nothing at all.
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