The ecstasy of the night became a surfboard as vibrations of energy flowed wave after ethereal wave against the changing red tide of the Pacific.

For our generation, this was it— our epoch, our Echo Canyon surf song, our Haight-Ashbury moment, our chance to carve a counterculture from the nonexistent backbone of a panda’s echo chamber. Well-oiled, collectively decentralized and fragmented; disconnected, dancing.