There are few things more serene than riding a longboard on a glassy wave, the sun warm on your back, and the saltwater air filling your lungs. It’s in those moments of peaceful exhilaration that time melts away. But if you happen to be sharing that lineup with Stultz, you’ll quickly realize that silence isn’t part of the experience. He’s surfing’s most unlikely conversationalist—an ocean-going monologist who doesn’t just ride waves; he talks through them, around them, and over them, hanging ten with a running commentary that never ends.
In a world where many surfers seek quiet communion with the sea, Stultz is the outlier—a man who fills the ocean’s rhythmic hush with stories, jokes, and surf philosophy delivered with the cadence of a stand-up comic and the depth of a zen master.
Surfing and Speech: A Simultaneous Art
From the moment he paddles out past the break, Stultz starts talking. Not nervously or aimlessly, but with intention—a mix of storytelling, casual observation, and impromptu life coaching.
“Did you see that gull back there?” he shouts, gesturing toward the horizon. “I swear it gave me a look, like I was stealing its spot. Birds got attitude these days. Might be the seaweed—too much iodine. Throws off their balance.”
A few surfers chuckle nearby, but Stultz isn’t just trying to entertain. He’s processing the world out loud. And for him, the lineup isn’t just a place to wait for waves—it’s a classroom, a confessional, and sometimes, a comedy club.
Riding a peeling right-hand break, he seamlessly transitions into a story about a broken leash that led to a three-mile swim with a dolphin escort. Mid-ride, he adjusts his stance and continues, “…and I’m out there, thinking this dolphin’s either guiding me or judging me. Honestly, it looked disappointed—like, ‘You call that a duck dive?’”
It’s this running narrative, equal parts self-deprecating and cosmic, that’s made Stultz something of a local legend.
Who Is Stultz?
No one is quite sure if Stultz is his first name, last name, or nickname. He simply introduces himself with a grin, one hand extended in a shake, the other balancing a board that’s seen more dings than a taco truck during lunchtime.
Locals on California’s central coast swear he’s been around forever. “I remember him talking my ear off when I was 12,” says Maria Tanaka, a lifeguard and longtime surfer. “I’m 32 now. Still hasn’t paused to breathe, far as I can tell.”
There’s a timelessness to him—salt-and-pepper hair bleached to a dull blond, a perpetually sunburnt nose, and eyes that seem to wink even when they’re serious. He’s the kind of guy who quotes Bob Dylan and Confucius in the same breath, then shrugs and paddles back out without waiting for a reaction.
“He’s like a wave sage,” says pro surfer and friend Javier Ruiz. “He’ll tell you how to improve your pop-up, your love life, and your chili recipe all in the same set.”
The Endless Lineup Conversation
To surf with Stultz is to join an unfiltered podcast happening in real-time. Topics range from the mystical to the mundane. One moment he’s talking about stringer flex and foam density, the next he’s waxing poetic about a lost love in Costa Rica who made better ceviche than anyone north of the Equator.
“People think surfing is about escape,” Stultz muses while waxing his board. “But it’s really about returning—to who you were before the emails, the bills, the traffic. Out here, it’s all primal. You, the board, the water, and your thoughts. Some folks just prefer their thoughts in silence. Me? I like to hear mine aloud. Keeps ‘em honest.”
For all his talk, Stultz listens too. If you bring up a breakup, a job search, or the philosophical paradox of wave observation—he’ll lean in, eyes softening, attention undivided. He’ll offer a quote, a story, or just a simple “I get that, man.”
It’s this balance—of levity and empathy—that makes his constant conversation feel more like a current pulling you gently, rather than a storm that overwhelms.
The Hang Ten Philosopher
What sets Stultz apart isn’t just his verbosity; it’s his ability to talk and surf simultaneously. Watching him on a wave is like watching a poet perform a monologue while tightrope-walking. He’ll drop into a wave, trim the nose of his board, and call out to no one in particular:
“This one’s like life—starts off smooth, gets bumpy, but ride it long enough and you find the sweet spot. Just gotta stay loose!”
Sometimes he talks to the wave itself. “All right, let’s dance,” he’ll say before setting his toes to the nose, arms outstretched like a conductor summoning a swell.
Fellow surfers have taken to calling him “The Hang Ten Philosopher.” Others simply call him “The Monologue.” But no one doubts his love for the ocean, or his skill on a board. He’s as likely to throw a soul arch as he is to quote Sartre.
Surf Culture’s Changing Tide
Stultz’s endless chatter might have seemed out of place in the soul-surfing days of the ‘60s or the hyper-competitive pro circuits of the 2000s. But now, as surf culture becomes more inclusive, mindful, and community-driven, his unique presence fits in like a well-worn fin in a single-fin setup.
“There’s so much more to surfing now than shredding,” says Samira Ochoa, co-founder of a surf therapy nonprofit. “People like Stultz remind us that surfing is about connection—with the ocean, with others, and sometimes, with that voice in your head you’ve been ignoring.”
Indeed, surfers drawn to Stultz often describe something akin to therapy. He’s helped teens navigate college decisions, retirees rekindle lost hobbies, and even a former pro confront a fear of big waves after a brutal wipeout.
“He’s a floating campfire,” says Tanaka. “You go out for the ride, but you stay for the stories.”
Myth or Mentor?
For all his impact, some still question whether Stultz is a local fixture or something more mythic—a folk hero conjured by surf towns up and down the coast.
There are whispers that he’s surfed everywhere from Fiji to France, that he once saved a man from a rip current while quoting Thoreau, and that he built his first board from driftwood and recycled wetsuits.
Others say he’s just a guy who fell in love with the ocean—and never stopped talking about it.
But ask Stultz, and he’ll just laugh. “Me? I’m nobody. Just a guy who forgot how to shut up and remembered how to stand up—on a board and in life.”
The Power of Presence
The secret to Stultz’s appeal isn’t just his voice—it’s his presence. In an era of digital disconnection, he offers something rare: the gift of undivided attention. When he talks to you, it feels like you’re the only person in the water. When he shares a wave, he does so with the grace of someone who knows that joy multiplies when shared.
He’s not interested in going viral or going pro. He’s interested in going deeper—into the wave, the moment, and the conversation.
“I used to think I surfed for the thrill,” he says, sitting cross-legged on the beach, fingers tracing patterns in the sand. “But now I know—I surf for the stories. Every wave is a beginning, a middle, and an end. Just like life. And what do we do at the end of a good story? We tell it. We pass it on.”
One Last Wave, One More Word
As the sun dips behind the cliffs and the crowd thins, Stultz is still out there—trading waves and words with the last few souls in the lineup.
The water glows orange, and as he glides into a final wave, he calls out over his shoulder:
“Here’s the thing about surfing—it teaches you to say yes. Yes to the drop. Yes to the wipeout. Yes to the ride. Same with talking. You speak to connect. And sometimes, that connection? It’s better than the wave itself.”
He floats into shore, grinning, already launching into a story about a pelican who tried to steal his granola bar last week.
No silence. No sign of stopping. Just Stultz, hanging ten, talking endlessly, and reminding everyone that sometimes, the best way to hear yourself think—is to say it all out loud.
