How Robert Duvall, the Vietnam War, and a Yater Spoon Changed Surfing

Oh, Colonel Kilgore, off you go without your Renny Yater Spoon. Your magical, trusty, beloved steed of a “very good board,” as you so plainly put it. And to have it pilfered by none other than a brother in fiberglass, foam, and fins? A professional, no less? What a crying shame. Yes, sir, we all know how hard it is to find a board you like, don’t we?

Here’s to Lieutenant Colonel William “Bill” Kilgore, United States Army Air Cavalry commander and bona fide surf nut. A wave seeker so devout and itinerant that he’d go to the ends of the earth—and his humanity—to land a helicopter, engage in heated combat, and ultimately napalm a village in order (at least in part) to sample its surf. Politics aside, how can you not admire that kind of conviction in a fellow surfer? And still with six hours of incoming tide to kill, at that. A true surfer wastes no time with getting priorities in line, and that you were, LTC.

From that very first exchange with professional noserider extraordinaire and (drafted) Gunner’s Mate 3rd Class Lance Johnson, we knew, instinctually, that not only were you one of ours, but you had soul.

You had the kind of intrepid spirit that deems no peak too hairy for a little waterborne R&R.

The level of stoke twinkling in your eyes—however demonic—as you set foot on that beach amidst plumes of pink and yellow smoke, tilting your becapped head ever so slightly and as cool as you like as a mortar round nearly blew you to kingdom come, averting no attention whatsoever from your surf-point man and his sussing of the spot? That told us all we needed to know that regardless of hell, high water, or proximity to enemy lines, the prospect of a vacant, A-frame beachbreak with a solid six-foot swell rolling in and the tide setting up just right turned you into a kid in a candy shop.

Yes, you sure had your dark side and your short-fused temper, but don’t we all? No need to get into that here, Big Duke 6—helluva call sign in homage to the late, great father of modern surfing, we might add.

You, Coppola, Milius, and the whole crew really did your research. And word on the street is that for good measure, or perhaps just as a good sport, you even did your part and took surf lessons from a member of the crew in between takes. Good on you!

Now, you got a couple of things wrong, but we will forgive you those trespasses as they were very much conceptions of your particular time and place—for one thing, New Jersey has great surf. For another, “Charlie” most certainly do surf now, thanks in no uncertain terms to you all, for you left a few errant boards (Yater Spoons or otherwise) in your wake there in the Philippines, and Southeast Asian surfing sprouted and blossomed there after, and continues to do so in a big way.

Verily, here’s a heartfelt Aloha to you and yours, Mr. Robert Duvall, and to immaculate, empty A-frame peaks strewn along safe, pearl-white beaches from here on out to eternity, with no dearth of Yater Spoons at your ready disposal. The surfing world salutes you.