 series was published by Thomas Nelson and Sons, in New York, during the early- and mid-'60s. Alphabetically, the book titles range from 

; other featured sports include all the obvious ones—baseball, soccer, tennis, etc— but also a few obscure choices, like fly tying and pocket billiards. All of the books are short (just under 100 pages) and illustrated with black and white photos, most of which are instructional. 1965's 

Ross Olney, the handsome pencil-mustached author of 

, is introduced on the flap cover as an "expert surfer" who has "long recognized the need for an authoritative guide for the beginner"—but Olney's interests were wide-ranging, and he wrote books on hockey, movies, car racing, photography, space travel, and bike repair among other topics.

 chapters are comically bad. The sport was invented and developed, Olney writes, on boards made of grass mat. Wake-surfing was the sport's breakthrough moment. Hawaiian waves are "twenty feet on an average day." Page after page, Olney just makes shit up.

The instructional chapters have similar loony moments, here and there, but are for the most part sound.

 is the how-to photos, taken by Chan Bush and shot on a grey-sky beach just north of Santa Monica. The same two people are featured in each shot: an adult surfer (boardmaker Con Colburn) giving instructions to a tousle-haired boy who looks about 12.

The photos are well framed and composed. But something else caught and held my attention and it took a moment to zero in on what it was—the 

 both people are bringing to the task. No smiles. No false encouragement. What Colburn and his student are doing is a different thing altogether than the fun-fun-fun version of surfing the Beach Boys sing about.

No doubt this has a lot to do with the fact that sport at this point in time was trying mightily to shake off the beach-hooligan rep it had earned over the previous ten years. But on top of that, by luck or design, the photos also get to an overlooked truth about surfing, which is that the fun part is mostly found on the perimeter. Driving with friends to go surf is fun. Hanging out on the beach afterward is fun. Almost everything having to do with actually riding waves—especially at the beginning—is difficult. Really, endlessly hard. But the good kind of hard, the addictive kind, with achievements small and large that scroll out for years or decades, and peak flow-state moments that you will be smiling over on your deathbed.

But, kid, each of those moments will cost you hundreds of hours of time and attention. Have fun on the way, sure. But Uncle Con here, with that stern look on his puss, is doing you a favor. Pay attention. Take it seriously.

"Don't treat it like a toy"—the Beach Boys got that part right.

SURF LESSON, FROM "THE YOUNG SPORTSMAN'S GUIDE TO SURFING" (1965)

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