By 2012 Craig Anderson had been anointed surfing’s new style master. A darling of Kai Neville films, Craig was calm on land and relaxed on waves. Deceptively relaxed, in fact. Because anytime he was presented with a section to punt or a slab to pack, he became explosive (while never betraying his knock-knee grace).

I was the editor of SURFING Magazine around this time, which meant when editorial trips arose — as they did monthly in this era — I got to decide which writer went along to document them. So when adventures with guys like Dane Reynolds and Craig Anderson came across my desk, I chose me.

The first trip was to Nova Scotia with Craig and Dane. We went for a hurricane swell that never quite materialized, but the company was great. I’d been nervous to meet Craig, because he just seemed so...cool. (Me? Less so.) But he turned out to be gracious and kind and easy to laugh. I remember sitting on the floor of our rental as we passed around a piece of paper, writing down potential movie names for the biopic that Dane was making on Craig. Eventually, they landed on Slow Dance. Perhaps you’ve seen it?

The second was to Mexico, also with Craig and Dane. We were in the land of long right point breaks but, like any good goofyfoot, Craig was able to sniff out a beachbreak with a hollow left. After an hours-long barrel fest beneath the Mexican sun, we emerged from the water famished, and huddled around a bag of white bread, peanut butter and jelly. When it was my turn, I dipped the knife deep in the peanut butter jar and emerged with a more-than healthy glob. Craig giggled at my gluttony. I know that’s a weird thing to remember, but to this day I’ve got Craig’s voice in my head, nudging me toward moderation when I make myself a PB&J.

Anyway, Craig just joined the Db family and it’s really, really exciting. I hope I get to do a trip with him again soon. I’ll bring the Skippy.