Ted Spencer discovered Eastern philosophy and eventually became the most blissed-out A-grade surfer in the world. Before that, though, I wonder if Ted hadn't been just a little put out at the strange hand fortune had dealt him. The guy was so smooth, powerful, and graceful in the water, with a pair of Bells trophies on his mantle, and handsome as a young, happy, pre-car-accident Montgomery Clift. Liked by all. Loved by many. Teenybopper fans would hold up a giant hand-painted "TED SPENCER" banner and follow behind as he blushingly walked down the beach before heats.

And yet Spencer was always playing second fiddle. Or third fiddle, even. It certainly wasn't filmmaker Paul Witzig's intention, but he captured the Spencer dilemma perfectly. Did Ted rip in 1968's 

God yes. Did anybody remember a single wave of his after watching Young and McTavish blow the sport apart on their vee-bottoms at Honolua Bay? Nope. Spencer bounced back and surfed even better in 

, only to have his performance vaporized by top-billed Wayne Lynch. Not sure if I've got the timing right exactly, but seems like Ted went Krishna right after 

What happened next is amazing. Two years pass, Witzig's 

 comes out—and Spencer steals it away from Young 

 Lynch. Maybe you know the bit. Ted riding flawless jade-green pointbreak tubes at Angourie on a tiny snub-nosed hull. It's not so much that he's surfing better than the other two 

 headliners. It's just one of those incredibly rare moments in the sport where every variable, every element, is precisely ordered and lined up. Wind and sun, swell and tide, rider and board; even the wetsuit looks just right. A perfect slice of nirvana.

I like to think of Ted climbing a mountain in search of the Meaning of it All, and staggering to the top only to find 

TED SPENCER FOLLOWS HIS BLISS AT ANGOURIE

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