in search of captain zero

i'm not an aficionado of surfer culcha per se (altho i _did_ watch and enjoy in god's hand at my middle dtr's behest), but steve steward pulled my coat to allan c. weisbecker's in search of captain zero, which he sez is one of his favorite books, so of course i _had_ to read it (devoured it in an afternoon, in fact).

it's an autobiographical tale about surfer/journo/ex-drug smuggler and native lawn guylander weisbecker's journey through mexico and central america in search of a missing bud (stopping to surf the beaches along the way, of course) -- a spiritual journey in the manner of heart of darkness or zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. i can see how this cat influenced steve's prose style (in the same way as i still occasionally find myself emulating nik cohn), and he hooked me in with this sentence in his prologue:

To a nine-year-old boy with an active imagination and whose adventuring had been limited to the writings of Jack London and Robert Louis Stevenson, Montauk's towering, saw-toothed crags, desolate rock-strewn shores and densely impenetrable woods seemed preternaturally wild and remote, an untamed territory where fearsome beasts surely lurked.

good writing is where you find it. if he can surf as well as he can write, he must be one graceful bastard on the water.

thanks, steve!