THE UNKNOWABLE TOM BLAKE

Occasionally I will pass my soft lavender-scented hands across the near and far tracts of surf history, eyes closed, senses open, from Pele to the Swell of ’39 to T-Street, checking the sport’s auras and chakras and whatnot. All part of the job. And without fail, while performing this survey, things go dark as I pause and hover over Tom Blake. I marvel at Blake’s genius. I crane…