John Bonan is gone. I went looking for him anyway.

Twenty years ago, in the summer of 2001, a Malibu wave crashed upon the shores of southwest Montana and spit John Bonan out in Elkhorn. Out of the cresting tumult and hustle of Southern California came a man already too familiar with grief and loss, in search of calmer waters. He found that serenity in Elkhorn for 20 years, up until his death in June, but the losses followed him here. With faith, friendship and an inextinguishable wonder for the world, the old surfer rode it out until the end.

John’s time here overlapped with mine for about 20 days. I moved to Boulder from southern Idaho at the end of May to take the job as editor of The Boulder Monitor. John died at 76 years old on June 19. I had one opportunity to meet him: I visited Elkhorn State Park, directly across from his cabin, two weeks before he died. I’d read about John online before moving here, and I’d watched a short but fascinating documentary about this man I hadn’t met but was now standing feet away from, outside his cabin.

But I was in a rush and figured I could see him some other time, maybe knock on his door later in the summer or catch him in his yard showing rocks and crystals to young visitors. Maybe we’d tromp around Elkhorn in the snow this winter.