There was a bunch of us out there on that trip. One afternoon, I had hiked way up the hill to get a good view of the place. I’d just sat down to catch my breath when I noticed the wind had done that turn-around-and-blow-out- of-the-canyon thing and was now grooming the swell to perfection. I scrambled and slid down that hill as quick as I could. When I reached the camp, I was all jazzed to get in the water but something was wrong. At my feet lay that old blue single fin, well at least the nose of it anyway. The mid section was a few feet away, and the tail was propped up down at the end of the log. My friend James had taken the board out. The story I was told is that his first wave was really good as he pulled into two solid cover ups on a screaming overhead wall. Feeling good about the board, he faded pretty deep on his next one and as he came around the corner the lip just clipped the tail. One big explosion and a long rocky swim followed. I remember figuring that it was an appropriate end to such a magical board, under the feet of such a talented surfer on such an amazing wave.