Leash free day

So it's '96. I'm an Aussie in Dume, fresh off the boat. I paddle out to the Outer. There's this guy. Big, loud, must be the enforcer. "Leash free day, no leash if you wanna surf out here." He at once barks but then laughs. Loudly. Then sits amongst his people - the eclectic crew that makes up any Dume session. "Hey Dusty..." He's the man this guy Dusty. A guy paddles out with a leash. Dusty's eyes light up, looks as if he's peering over glasses as he spreads the word. "No leash if you wanna surf out here." The guy argues. Brave I think. "It's crowded, if you can't surf without a leash you shouldn't be out here." The guy still argues. Dusty's still giving him that look. Then one by one everyone turns and looks at this guy - a wall of stink eye. He turns and paddles in. Dusty calls a kid into a bomb. Wow. People take turns out here. I like this place. We all trade waves. There's a camaraderie, a bonding of the tribe, with Dusty as the chief. I get a set wave and, still trying to work this place out, I push to make it past the rock. My fins release, I fall back and watch my leash free board peel away, a tasty meal for the Dume rubble. The foam swallows me. Then as my head bobs up I see my board still dead on for the rocks teeth, when this big, big hand grabs the rail and hauls it above the water. The dome headed guy hangs on as another wave hits him, his board and mine. Saved by the hand of Dusty. I'll never forget the big toothy grin, the eyes widening as Dusty pushed my board back toward me.