Stoke Seaker
Words and photos by G.P. Scheppler
This article was originally published in The Goodland Journal Volume 2
The air tastes of salt as we wiggle into neoprene second skins above the metronomic thumping of south swell. Blue rays of the new day illuminate groups of stoke seekers scattered about the parking lot like dandelion on seeds. Before locking my keys in a strong box and turning on my camera I always try to take a second to be grateful.
Today is a good day to be alive and in nature.
My surf buddy for the day is a soon to be retired Force Recon Marine, a man who by the looks of his service record should be wired tighter than a duck’s asshole. Yet, before me stands a smiling man as slack as the tide; more The Dude than Rambo.
We met through One More Wave, a 501(c)(3) non-profit based out of San Diego that provides custom adaptive surf equipment and community to disabled veterans, but we would have been friends no matter the circumstance. Cut from the same cloth, as the saying goes.
Between sessions we gab about work, relationships, family, and other things normal friends talk about. Only occasionally does the conversation drift to darker subjects or tales of our time in service. Such is the nature of life in a community afflicted by the plight of suicide.
One tends to focus on the present and future to keep from going mad when haunted by echoes of the past.
Had you told me a decade ago that I would spend my days working in the surf zone I would’ve assumed it would be in a water safety capacity. That I get paid for words and pictures is a fact that still makes me giggle with amusement whenever a paycheck clears.
If only my high school English teachers could see me now.
My career as a professional storyteller started in 2018 when I became a Rebele Journalism Scholar at Cabrillo College. I was assigned to a local paper, the Pajaronian, and told to introduce myself to the Sports Editor. Gone were my days in booty shorts leading Crossfit classes replaced with late night deadlines and hours on-end spent at amature sporting events. Though I would have been loathed to admit it at the time, the turn of events couldn’t have made me happier. I always wanted to be a sports writer.
I figured out quickly that I could get paid twice as much by taking pictures of the games I covered, so I invested in a Sony a6000 with a couple of kit lenses. After a short runway of watching Youtube videos I was selling shots to local publications of various sporting events and eventually parlayed my skill set into a staff position at Cabrillo College.
Life as a grown up was starting to take shape. My path stretched out in front of me clear as day.
After two hours of intermittent light and elusive swell we call it quits and leave to punch into our day jobs. Living as close as we do to the sea comes with a great deal of fiscal responsibility. So we hustle off to Zoom calls and clay diamonds, all the while texting each other updates and surf projections for our inevitable evening session. The morning has yielded some gold, but the two of us failed to link up for the perfect shot. The hunt must continue, we shall return.
When the pandemic hit, I found myself out of a job and looking for ways to make ends meet. Freelancing my services to whomever would return my calls, I cobbled together a couple months and spent all my free time studying the technical elements of photography in a way I never had before. I was leveling up my skills, something told me I was going to need it.
When dry lightning ignited the state of California in late August I found my way into the CZU Lightning Complex Fire evacuation zone and started getting stories out through words, pictures, and social media reporting. A few well placed jokes and knowing how to carry myself in unsafe scenarios enabled me to go beyond the conventional press junket out onto the fireline with federal wildland firefighters from the Bureau of Land Management.
The images and stories I gathered there changed the trajectory of my whole career. I sold my first cover photo and suddenly my phone started ringing with inquiries.
For the first time, I felt like a true professional storyteller.
My surf buddy is hardcore about surfing, much as I suspect he has been hardcore about everything in his life up until this point. He regularly logs double days, and has been known to surf three times between moons.
Then again, if surfing brings peace who could blame his borderline obsession with the sea.
Working together to get impactful images is truly a pleasure. The more experienced the rider the safer the shoot tends to be. Folks often ask why I don’t frequent beginner breaks. Short answer, I like having both eyes and only the idea of what it feels like to be run over by a surf fin.
As the sun begins to set we connect perfectly on three consecutive waves. The feeling of excitement at getting such epic shots is only elevated by the fact they feature a friend. There is no talk of Instagram, no thought of how to sell the shot, just a moment of stoke between two new, old friends.
The mission of One More Wave is to save veteran lives through surf and art therapies, and whenever we surf together the mission gets a bit stronger.