There’s no question I’ve spent more time looking for waves than riding them. Apparently, that’s part of the fun. I’m not so sure, but it is pretty special stumbling onto a good one after driving half the day. Wolfgang Bloch also knows that moment, when you crest another dusty ridge and first glimpse distant, windswept perfection. His palette of rocky browns and stormy greys bookend perfect pointbreaks, reeling off unridden in some faraway place. It’s the sort of art that encourages you to get off the couch and hit the road. And that’s very cool.