"Hey shoulder hopper, my wave, my wave!" Poor San Onofre can't do
anything right. Pin this, Pat Curren, Greg Noll, Peter Cole, Butch van Artsdalen,
screaming across a monstrous 25 footer, at Wiamea, Ricky Grigg drops in,
five guys a quarter mile out to sea, the original five make it to shore pull
their boards, screaming, "Shoulder hopper, shoulder hopper,"at Ricky.
If it's too hot in the kitchen, get the hell out, play bocci balls, or go home. If
you think this isn't fair ask Paul Strauch what you should do. Extra care
and patience should be taken by the experienced rider, forgiveness should
be bestowed on the novice rider, who is probably thinking you must crawl
before you can walk, and walk before you can run. San Onofre was never known
for their surfers. Or were they noted for their photograpers. Now then, you must
remember Old 'Nofre is a family beach and the Club wants to keep it that way.
Once again, picture yourself on an overcast 8' day with Lance, Mike, Tom,
Miki, Mogoose, Little Johnny, Dewey, Kemp, Linda Benson, Kivlin, Marge
Calhoun, and hotographers Grannis, Steve Sakamoto, Bud Browne, Warren Miller,
Pete Peterson, Bobby Patterson. Gee Whiz, we never knew what shoulder hopping
was except part of the game. Didn't the Surf Punks record "My Wave" and
it became San Onofre's Cry of the Warrior.

Written by Hal Dairywimple
BRUCE SAVAGE SAND ASSOCIATES