It was most obvious when we were driving in the car. The drive was long from the ferry to our remote and tucked away tree house. Unending wilderness buzzed by and Nelly Furtado blared. Jamie-O sat shotgun armed with an iPod and USB access in the rental. Dane was in the backseat, unfazed and smirking at the bumping pop music selections and Jamie’s enthusiasm for it. Two of surfing’s most talented and rising stars juxtaposed perfectly. It was the first time I realized being a surfer could mean such different things, even to people who I assumed were such similar people.

Dane and Jamie got along great on the trip. Both did massive airs. Both were funny and easy going. We fished, made fires, did tow-ats, drank warm beer, dodged bears and waited out a serious flat spell. Our surf forecaster was a whiskey-throated logger from another island and he always had bad swell news.

So we sat. A lot. Talking shit. About space. And nothing. And everything. Dane drank his beer and read a Sylvia Plath novel while Jamie watched Fast and The Furious in our tree house with no electricity. It was really odd, but not at all an issue. Two polar opposites fused by a surf trip, hanging out.

I was there covering the trip for Surfing Magazine. It was my first real surf article and feature assignment (which is probably why we got skunked). I booked the flights, rallied Dane and Jamie, linked us up with Canada’s finest locals Raph and Sepp Bruihwiler and local photographer Jeremy Koreski. It was also the first time I met photographer Nate Lawrence as well. And it was a funny meeting, because Nate actually got turned around at the border because the Canadian officials saw that he had a “Minor in possession of alcohol” on his record from his early Santa Cruz party boy days. And so he was turned around. Yes, they turned him around for that. And only that. But he didn’t give up there. A few hours later, Nate flew back to Seattle, rented a car on his own and drove into Canada. Apparently the border crossing when you drive is a little less strict on incidents that occurred a decade earlier. Go figure. So then he commandeered his own plane ride from a tiny plane company called Atleo Air in Tofino and he glided in and landed directly in front of us, on the water, in a tiny sea plane only a few hours after we had arrived. He just jumped out, held his camera gear above the frigid water so it didn’t get wet, and walked right into a warm Lucky beer. Right then I knew Nate had it all figured out and we would be fast friends.

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The reason I bring this trip up is because it’s interesting to look back at the path both these guys took. And how happy it makes me now thinking back on how blatantly themselves they’ve both been over the past 9 years. Neither let the influence of the surf industry sway them from that path either. Dane quit the tour. Jamie never even tried. Jamie lives in the pit at Pipe and can still do massive airs and made his very own niche, because the one he was meant to take didn’t appeal to him. Dane is Dane. Jamie is Jamie. And that is rad. —Travis