Old Pete’s Wild Ride: The Night The Son Invented Surfing

Arr, gather ‘round, ye scallywags, and hear the tale of Old Pete, the only sailor ever to defy the mighty pull of the deep without so much as a driftwood plank under his feet!

Aye, this be a tale o’ brave hearts, blustery waves, and one mind-bogglin’ walk that’d make even the great Kelly Slater give a salty salute!

Now, Old Pete was one o’ Skipper’s Son’s best mates, always eager to jump in first, feet a-paddlin’ even when he hadn’t a clue what he was doin’. So one night, after a long day o’ teachin’ and healin’, Skipper’s Son sent His crew off in a boat, sayin’, “I’ll catch up with ye later.”

Well, hours passed, and wouldn’t ya know it, the wind started howlin’, the waves were churnin’ like an angry sea serpent, and that boat tossed like a cork in a storm!

Then, in the dead o’ night, the lads spotted somethin’ out on the waves—a figure, just glidin’ along like he owned the ocean. “Blimey, it’s a ghost!” they cried, clutchin’ their oars like swords.

But then, they heard a voice ring out above the storm. “Take heart, me hearties! ‘Tis I, Skipper’s Son!” Aye, there He was, strollin’ across the sea, lookin’ as calm as a gull on the breeze!

Old Pete, bold as a barnacle, shouted, “If it be ye, Master, call me out there with ye!”

“Come on, then!” said the Son, givin’ Pete the go-ahead.

So Old Pete, bless his bones, threw his leg over the side and started walkin’ on the waves! Aye, he didn’t need no board, no sail—just his faith in Skipper’s Son. For a few glorious moments, Pete surfed on pure belief, his “moves” more dazzling than a Slater bottom turn, cutback, barrel escapin’, spit out!

But then… he took his eyes off Skipper’s Son, flashed ten fingers fer his ride, smiled at the camera as he shot past and …wallop! —the wave’s monster’s jaws snapped shut and took him down!

Bobbing up like a hodad with no business in the Pipeline lineup, Old Pete yelled, “Master, save me!”

Quick as a jetski waiting on the wave’s shoulder, the Son grabbed Pete’s arm, haulin’ him up.

“Where’s yer faith, Pete?” the Son chuckled, shoving Old Pete into the boat.

The crew just sat there, jaws dropped, wonderin’ aloud, “Was Pete ridin’ a twin-fin or thruster?”

“Naw, not Pete,” Nate of the Florance, answered. “He’s a rounded pin tail guy all the way.”

That night, they all agreed: no one rips like Skipper’s Son… especially not Old Pete. But all agreed their mate got high marks fer gettin’ off the beach and in the water.

If ye want to rip with the Son, ye got to drop in with faith, you may lay to that.