Entering the throng of regulars on the Venice Boardwalk, we find ourselves in a chaotic scene—two parts circus, one part Woodstock. The horde is an expression of every kind of creativity imagination can muster. We stroll past an Afterburner gathering, separated from the mass of wandering souls by a monetized chain-link barrier.

Just a few steps further, adrenaline seekers from around the world stand in rapt attention at the metal railing along the snake run, watching boarders pop out of the bowl and catch air—palm trees, thick with graffiti, and the ocean surf with a string of bikinis littered in the foreground. An unmistakable backdrop. I find myself flanked at the rail by Frenchies speaking their mother tongue.

Skaters here are an experienced bunch. An equal-opportunity field of men and women, tourists and locals, young-ish and older, some monied, most not. Everyone, if not experienced enough to catch air themselves, at least experienced enough to know how to keep the fuck out of the way of those who can. Which sounds easy, yet takes a good amount of understanding. A steady stream of skaters (both roller and board) stroll on to the course. Fashion is strictly boho chic, save for the lone normie who stands out here like a sore thumb. An ad hoc DJ sets the vibe, breaking into a respectable rap when the mood strikes.

We approach skaters to see if they’re game to be photographed. It’s easy to spot the stoners—harder to get a minute of their time. They’re not here to get famous; they’re here to skate. But, cheers from the crowd when a fellow boarder hits their mark are welcome encouragement. After a few snaps, we learn a little bit about each of our subjects. Three questions are part of our request: “When did you first smoke? When did you come out of the green closet? How does the combination of skating and partaking transcend?” In these sixty-second interviews, we find universal love for the flower, a glimpse into upbringings—filled either with love or strife—and the dying relevance of even asking about any green closets.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a board catch air, knock into the adjacent palm tree at about ten feet up, rebound with the lanky passenger upright, to stick the landing back on deck, in flow, and glide off down the snake. This is the move that went viral some ten years ago. Of course, we ask, “Can you do it again?” Leandre Sanders (@skategoat) is game, with an almost imperceptible nod. His first attempt sends his four-pound ride of sweat-petrified board, metal screws, and heavy-gauge sandpaper just over the heads of the audience. Undeterred, he snakes back for another try—and nails it. Bang, off the palm tree, feet in position, he grabs the board, and smack, every eye locks as he plants. The crowd reacts with a buzz of praise.

It᾽s a friendly, collegial gang of wheeled conveyances. Not a helmet in sight. Many know each other, either fist bump level or full-on embrace. A classic stoner crowd with the typical outlier (here, the non-partaker). This group of free spirits shares the field, concedes way, celebrates each otherʼs wins, and commiserates a fail with hard-earned sympathetic wisdom.

As our models eloquently describe: “Go with the flow.” “Forget the worldʼs problems.” “It keeps me zen.” Thereʼs no doubt the power of cannabis plays hard here. As we head out, after meeting a dozen fun, interesting, and talented individuals, we pass a young boy of maybe seven as he adds his tag to a mural of those who have gone before. A kid, whose parents must be lingering nearby—a future skater, awaiting his day.

Fred Siegel is an LA-based photographer (and Ad Agency refugee and recovering CMO) whose work has been seen in multiple magazines including Sports Illustrated, People, Hollywood Reporter among others. He is currently working on a book featuring Black church pastors called Fifty-two Sundays, to be released in late 2025.