After a day’s fun of shooting tubes and the occasional wipeout he’d often take a stroll along the boardwalk behind Malibu Beach, frequently stopping to chat to any old dudes he could find about what the scene was like in the 60’s and 70’s when people used to flock there to enjoy the new craze.
One old fella called Salty Steve had many tales to tell, like the time he rode a 100ft high breaker right up the beach, over the sand and directly into Jerry’s Beachside Bar without even getting off his board. Or when he got chased by a great white shark while paddling out and only escaped after bopping it on the nose with a snorkel. Or the time when he joined the zero-feet high club in a particularly dangerous liaison at the base of a big wave, twos-up on his board with Barbara (commonly known as Santa Barbara as she was particularly giving, especially at Christmas after a few bourbons).
Brad would normally buy Salty a drink after hearing about another one of his exploits, as they were so amusing and detailed. Until one day when he was pulled aside by another old-timer called Wavy Davy, who told Brad that Salty Steve was an utter fraud, scamming drinks off strangers and that not only did he not own a board, he had never actually set foot in the sea due to a severe case of hygrophobia following a traumatic wellington boot / puddle incident as a child.
“But… but.. the stories – they seem so real!” said Brad.
“Yeah" said Davy, "he might claim to be just like the rest of us, but he’s all about long rambling stories rather than actual action out on the breakers. He’s what we call round here, an …"
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Answer > anecdotal surfer <
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