We stood gazing at the ice-cold Baltic Sea dreaming about classical wooden surf. But with the biting wind in our faces and lead grey waves rolling in over the craggy, stone beach we realized that this would call for more than being ankle deep in Californian surf culture. So we shifted our gaze inwards, to the main land. Let our eyes wander, past fields and fertile soil, past thick pine forests and hard men, past elk and lingonberry, past bare mountains, lakes and bogs and deep into the Nordic heart. There, in the deepest, primeval woods, among trolls and faeries, black forest lakes and pale rays of sun over moss clad rocks we found what we were looking for.