Every summer, millions of people head to beaches expecting a simple promise. If something goes wrong in the water, someone will come.

That someone is usually an open water lifeguard.

At SurferToday.com, we have been promoting the sharing of knowledge about water safety, surf lifesaving, and surf rescue, and highlighting the importance of lifeguards in saving hundreds of thousands of lives worldwide every year.

It seems that we, collectively, only realize that when someone close to us goes through a life-threatening event or worse, and eventually, during summer.

So, here's what reality tells us every day, especially during the warmer months.

Whether they patrol the surf at Huntington Beach, the shorebreak at Jersey beaches, or the powerful currents of the North Shore of Hawaii, open water lifeguards are often the first professionals to reach people in distress.

There's basically no one else.

They dive into dangerous surf, swim through rip currents, perform rescues, provide emergency medical care, and hand victims over to ambulance crews when they reach shore.

Now, here's the most surprising and maybe shocking part you might not know.

Despite carrying out many of the same duties as firefighters, paramedics, and police officers during emergencies, open water lifeguards are not consistently recognized as first responders under federal law.

The good news is that a resolution introduced in the U.S. House of Representatives during the 119th Congress seeks to change that conversation.

But will it lobby through? What's at stake?

A job that begins where everyone else stops

Open water lifeguarding is unlike pool lifeguarding or most other emergency services. The workplace itself - the ocean - is unpredictable.

Ocean conditions change by the minute. You've probably witnessed that.

Rip currents form without warning; large surf, cold water, rocks, reefs, tides, and marine traffic all add to the risk.

So, every rescue begins with an assessment of hazards that can threaten both the victim and the rescuer.

The job extends well beyond pulling swimmers from the water.

Many open water lifeguards are trained in emergency medical care, spinal injury management, rescue watercraft operations, marine firefighting support, and public safety.

On busy, crowded beaches, they regularly respond to heart attacks, traumatic injuries, missing children, boating incidents, shark sightings, hazardous marine life, and environmental emergencies.

For many beachgoers, the lifeguard tower functions as the first emergency response station they encounter.

The first person on the scene

When an emergency unfolds in the surf, every second matters. There's actually a timeline of drowning, that is, stages of impact as minutes pass by.

Unlike ambulance crews, whose arrival depends on road access and dispatch times, lifeguards are already on the beach. They react within seconds.

They continuously watch swimmers, identify developing problems, and often enter the water before anyone has placed a 911 call.

That is one of the central arguments behind House Resolution 1188.

Introduced in April 2026, the resolution states that open water lifeguards perform the essential work of protecting lives while placing themselves in danger.

It also notes that many are cross-trained in emergency medical response, marine fire safety, law enforcement, and rescue craft operations.

The resolution argues that their duties fit the role of emergency response providers and first responders, and formally expresses congressional support for recognizing them as such.

The measure is symbolic rather than legally binding.

It does not automatically change federal law or extend benefits associated with first responder status.

Instead, it represents an effort to acknowledge the profession at the national level and encourage broader recognition.

And then, eventually, one day, things could change further.

The numbers behind the rescues

The scale of lifeguards' work often goes unnoticed because successful rescues rarely make national headlines.

According to the United States Lifesaving Association, beaches protected by its affiliated lifeguards record an extraordinarily low drowning rate.

The organization estimates that the chance of a person drowning at a beach protected by USLA lifeguards is approximately 1 in 18 million.

That figure reflects decades of prevention as much as rescue.

Experienced lifeguards spend much of their day moving swimmers away from rip currents, warning surfers about changing conditions, educating visitors about hazards, and spotting trouble before it becomes a life-threatening emergency.

When prevention fails, rescue becomes the priority.

The USLA says its members respond to medical emergencies, drowning incidents, severe injuries, boating accidents, and many other situations involving public safety every year.

Risk comes with the uniform

People often think of lifeguards as young athletes sitting in elevated chairs. The reality is far more demanding.

Open water rescues require swimming through breaking waves, strong currents, heavy shorebreak, or rough offshore conditions while carrying rescue equipment and supporting victims who may be panicked, injured, or unconscious.

The danger is real.

House Resolution 1188 points to the deaths of two New Jersey lifeguards in 2021 while they were performing their duties.

Their deaths serve as a reminder that rescuers sometimes become victims themselves.

Every rescue involves balancing urgency against personal safety.

Lifeguards are trained to minimize unnecessary risk, yet they regularly enter environments that most people are trying desperately to escape.

Ryder Williams became the face of the debate

The discussion about recognizing lifeguards as first responders gained fresh attention after a dramatic rescue by 16-year-old California State Parks lifeguard Ryder Williams at Seabright Beach in Santa Cruz.

Williams repeatedly swam through powerful surf to keep hold of a drowning 10-year-old boy until both could reach safety.

Video of the rescue spread quickly, showing the teenager disappearing beneath breaking waves before resurfacing with the child still in his grasp.

The rescue illustrated what many professional lifeguards have argued for years.

The first emergency responder on a beach is often not an ambulance crew or a firefighter. It is the lifeguard already watching the water.

Why recognition matters

For many lifeguards, the issue extends beyond job titles.

Recognition as first responders can influence eligibility for training programs, emergency management planning, occupational protections, mental health resources, grant opportunities, and other government programs that specifically reference emergency response personnel.

Supporters also argue that formal recognition better reflects reality.

Open water lifeguards routinely make rapid medical decisions, coordinate with firefighters and police officers, communicate with emergency dispatchers, stabilize victims, and transfer patients to advanced medical teams.

In practice, they already function as part of the emergency response system.

The question raised by House Resolution 1188 is whether public policy should catch up with what happens every day on America's beaches.

For surfers, swimmers, paddlers, and families, the answer may already be visible from the nearest lifeguard tower. Long before an ambulance appears, someone has already entered the water.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

Fear is one of the most interesting and mysterious emotional states a human can feel, and one we all would like to tame, control, or reduce in our lives.

As a surfer, the first time you paddle toward a wave that looks far bigger than anything you have surfed before, something strange happens.

Your breathing changes, your heart beats faster, your hands grip the rails of your board a little tighter, and every instinct tells you to turn around.

That's more or less like that, right?

That feeling is fear - pure and simple.

It is one of the oldest survival systems in the human body, and it exists for a simple reason. It has kept our ancestors alive for millions of years.

Surfers often talk about conquering fear, but science paints a different picture. Fear is not an obstacle to eliminate.

Actually, although it might sound like a paradox, we should be thankful for having it in our lives.

Fear is information, and the challenge is learning how to understand it instead of letting it make every decision.

Fear is the brain's early warning system

Fear begins long before you become aware of it.

As your eyes scan the horizon, your brain constantly compares what you see with memories of previous experiences.

It asks a simple question over and over again: "Am I safe?"

If the answer is uncertain or negative, several parts of the brain begin working together.

The amygdala, often described as the brain's alarm system, helps detect events that deserve immediate attention.

It does not work alone.

The hypothalamus, hippocampus, prefrontal cortex, brainstem, and other regions all help decide how serious a situation really is.

Modern neuroscience views fear as the product of a network rather than a single "fear center."

And that network reacts incredibly fast.

In many situations, your brain starts preparing your body before your conscious mind has fully understood what is happening.

For a surfer, that might be the moment a larger-than-expected set appears on the horizon, or simply the fear of deep waters. You know the feeling pretty well.

Your body is built for dangerous moments

Within seconds, the sympathetic nervous system switches on.

Adrenaline enters the bloodstream, your heart pumps faster, your breathing speeds up, and blood flows toward the muscles that need it most.

Your pupils widen, allowing more light into your eyes, pain becomes less noticeable, and your attention becomes more focused.

Although it might look like it, these unbelievably sharp reactions are not signs that your body is failing.

They are signs that it is preparing you to survive.

Many surfers mistake these sensations for panic. They feel their racing heartbeat and assume they are losing control.

In reality, a faster heartbeat is often exactly what your body needs before making a demanding paddle or recovering after a wipeout.

The problem begins when the stress response becomes too strong. Extremely high levels of arousal can narrow attention so much that good decisions become harder to make.

Why beginners fear waves that experts barely notice

Fear depends less on the size of a wave than on how predictable it feels.

A shoulder-high wave may terrify someone during their first surf lesson. The same wave hardly raises the heartbeat of an experienced surfer.

The ocean has not changed; the surfer has. And that's the trick.

The brain constantly updates its predictions using experience.

Every successful takeoff, every duck dive, and every wipeout that ends safely provides new information. Over time, the nervous system learns that certain situations are manageable.

"A six-foot wave on the head... It wasn't that bad, was it?" one could say.

Confidence is often described as belief.

Neuroscience suggests something more practical - confidence is evidence.

The more evidence your brain collects that you can handle a situation, the less likely it is to trigger a strong fear response.

That explains why progression in surfing usually happens in small steps rather than giant leaps.

With the exception, obviously, of those who suffer from cymophobia.

Memory can make fear stronger

The brain never forgets a frightening experience completely.

If you have suffered a violent hold down, collided with a reef, or nearly drowned, those memories become part of your future risk calculations.

The hippocampus stores memories together with the surrounding context.

Years later, similar waves, sounds, or even the smell of the ocean can reactivate those memories and make a surfer feel nervous before anything dangerous has actually happened.

So, we're not talking about weakness anymore. It is the brain trying to protect you by learning from previous events.

The same mechanism explains why positive experiences matter just as much. Every successful session gradually rewrites those predictions.

Our brain like a hard drive - unbelievable, isn't it?

Some people naturally fear less than others

Not everyone experiences fear in the same way, though.

Genes, personality, hormones, childhood experiences, training, and repeated exposure to risk all influence how easily the brain sounds the alarm.

Psychologists have long studied people known as "sensation seekers." The concept really exists.

These people generally enjoy novelty, accept higher levels of uncertainty, and require more stimulation before situations feel exciting or threatening.

Many elite (big-wave) surfers fit this profile.

That does not mean they are reckless. It means their brains often place the danger threshold a little higher than average.

Training then pushes that threshold even further.

The mystery of Alex Honnold

Few athletes have generated more curiosity than free solo climber Alex Honnold.

He has climbed some of the world's biggest rock faces without ropes, including El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

Alex's achievements led neuroscientists to study his brain.

Functional MRI scans conducted by neuroscientist Jane Joseph found that Honnold's amygdala showed remarkably little activity when he viewed images designed to provoke fear.

Those findings became famous, but they are often misunderstood. The scans do not prove that Honnold cannot feel fear.

Scientists have repeatedly warned against that interpretation. They simply show that his brain reacts differently under specific laboratory conditions.

Honnold himself has offered another explanation: preparation.

Before attempting a dangerous free solo climb, Alex may spend weeks or months climbing the same route with ropes. He memorizes every handhold, every foothold, and every sequence of movements.

By the time he removes the rope, very little is left to chance.

While it's true that the climb still carries enormous consequences, uncertainty has been reduced as much as possible.

That lesson applies directly to surfing.

The world's best big wave surfers do not simply ignore fear.

They spend countless hours studying forecasts, tides, wind, bathymetry, currents, rescue procedures and equipment. They become familiar with a break long before paddling into its biggest swells.

The art of managing breath becomes a lifeline for the worst possible scenario.

Ultimately, preparation reduces uncertainty; uncertainty fuels fear. Does it make sense?

By the way, climbing helps your surfing.

What science found inside the brains of big wave surfers

A 2022 study published in Frontiers in Psychology found that elite big-wave surfers process threatening images differently from experienced surfers who do not specialize in giant waves.

Researchers used functional MRI to compare experienced big-wave surfers with skilled surfers who did not ride giant waves.

Participants viewed emotionally charged images while their brain activity was measured.

The study found clear differences in the way the two groups processed highly negative images.

Big wave surfers showed greater activity in regions such as the insula and the periaqueductal gray, while the comparison group displayed stronger activation in the hypothalamus during the same tasks.

The overall pattern suggested that elite big wave surfers process threatening information differently rather than simply feeling less fear. 

Interestingly, questionnaires found no meaningful psychological differences between the groups, showing that brain activity can reveal distinctions that standard personality tests miss.

The researchers were careful not to claim that big wave surfers are fearless. Their brains simply appeared to organize responses to threatening situations in a different way.

That finding fits what experienced surfers have described for decades - large waves demand calm attention rather than emotional excitement.

Fear and panic are not the same

Many surfers use the words fear and panic interchangeably. They should not.

Why? Because fear is a normal response to danger and panic is what happens when fear overwhelms decision-making.

Fear can sharpen focus. On the other hand, panic can destroy it. And that distinction matters a lot in the ocean.

A surfer who feels fear can still choose a good line, protect their head during a wipeout, or stay relaxed underwater.

A panicked surfer may waste oxygen, thrash unnecessarily, and lose awareness of what is happening around them.

Learning to stay calm does not eliminate fear: it prevents fear from becoming panic.

Why breathing matters

One of the simplest ways to influence fear is through breathing.

When breathing becomes rapid and shallow, the body interprets it as another sign that danger is increasing.

Slower, controlled breathing helps reduce excessive activation of the stress response and allows the thinking parts of the brain to stay engaged.

Big wave surfers spend as much time training their breath and underwater comfort as they do improving their surfing.

The goal is not to hold your breath longer than everyone else but to remain composed when everything around you feels chaotic.

Respect is stronger than bravado

Surf culture sometimes celebrates fearlessness; the ocean does not. Many experienced watermen speak instead about respect.

Respect means recognizing when conditions exceed your current ability. It means understanding that courage and recklessness are different things.

The surfer who paddles back to the beach because the conditions are beyond their skills has listened to the same biological system that kept our ancestors alive.

Fear has done its job.

The most accomplished surfers rarely try to silence that inner voice. They ask why it is speaking.

Sometimes it points to poor preparation, sometimes it reflects a lack of experience, and sometimes it is warning about genuine danger.

Learning to tell the difference may be one of the most valuable skills a surfer can develop.

Remember that fear will always paddle out beside you.

The goal is to make sure it stays in its proper place, quietly helping you make better decisions while you chase the next wave.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

Few figures in surfing have lived a life as astonishing as Jack Roland Murphy.

Better known as "Murph the Surf," Jack was an accomplished surfer, a gifted athlete, a pioneer of Florida's early surf scene, the mastermind behind one of the most famous jewel thefts in American history, and later a convicted murderer who claimed to have found redemption behind bars.

His story has inspired books, documentaries, magazine features, and countless newspaper articles.

It remains one of the strangest biographies ever connected to surfing, blending genuine athletic talent with crime, celebrity, violence, and religion.

Resemblances with Miki Dora's bumpy ride in life are obvious.

California roots and a passion for the ocean

Jack Roland Murphy was born on October 26, 1937, in Los Angeles, California.

During his childhood, Murphy's family lived in Carlsbad, where he discovered surfing at a time when the sport was still a small California subculture.

The equipment was nothing like today's lightweight boards.

Murphy learned on heavy redwood and balsa surfboards that could weigh around 60 pounds. Carrying one from the car to the beach was often as demanding as riding the waves.

Even as a teenager, Jack stood out as a remarkable all-around athlete. He excelled in tennis, diving, swimming, and surfing.

He also studied the violin and became skilled enough to perform with orchestras, a talent that surprised many people who later knew him only through newspaper headlines.

His athletic ability earned him a tennis scholarship to the University of Pittsburgh.

The academic path, however, never held the same appeal as life near the ocean. Before long, Murphy headed south in search of warmer weather and better waves.

Helping shape Florida's surf culture

Murphy arrived in Florida in the late 1950s, just as surfing was beginning to gain a foothold on the East Coast.

Cocoa Beach and nearby communities had only a small but passionate surfing scene, years before they became internationally known.

He quickly became one of its most recognizable personalities.

Friends admired his confidence in larger surf, smooth footwork, and willingness to paddle out when conditions kept others on the beach.

Jack's athletic background made him a stylish surfer with exceptional balance, and his outgoing personality helped attract attention wherever he went.

Murphy won the Florida State Surfing Championships in both 1962 and 1963.

He also claimed victories in important contests at Virginia Beach, Jacksonville, and Ormond Beach, establishing himself as one of the strongest competitors on the East Coast during surfing's formative years.

Around the same period, he opened what many historians consider Florida's first surf shop in Indialantic, near Cocoa Beach.

The shop became more than a place to buy surfboards.

Local surfers gathered there to exchange stories, repair equipment, discuss approaching swells, and share ideas at a time when surfing culture in Florida was still taking shape.

Murphy also became known for publicity stunts that matched his adventurous personality.

One of the best-known stories tells of him paddling into powerful Christmas surf while dressed as Santa Claus, entertaining thousands of spectators gathered along the beach.

Long before his criminal life overshadowed everything else, Murphy had already earned lasting respect within surfing.

In recognition of his role in developing East Coast surfing, he was later inducted into the inaugural class of the East Coast Surfing Hall of Fame.

The birth of "Murph the Surf"

The famous nickname did not come from the newspapers.

Friends had started calling him "Murph the Surf" years earlier because he seemed happiest in the ocean.

Besides surfing, he worked as a lifeguard, swimming instructor, scuba diving instructor, tennis coach, and professional high diver.

His bronzed appearance, athletic skills, and easygoing charm fit the growing image of the California surfer that fascinated Americans during the early 1960s.

Surprisingly, that image would soon collide with one of the most sensational crimes of the decade.

The jewel heist that stunned America

Professional surfing did not provide a living in the early 1960s. Murphy's surf shop struggled financially, and his marriage ended in divorce.

Looking for money and excitement, he drifted into a circle of thrill seekers and small-time criminals in Miami.

On the night of October 29, 1964, Jack joined Allan Kuhn and Roger Clark in an audacious burglary at New York City's American Museum of Natural History.

After studying the building beforehand, Murphy noticed that several upper-floor windows were routinely left slightly open for ventilation and that parts of the alarm system were not working properly.

The three men climbed into the museum through one of the windows after dark, broke display cases, and escaped with 24 precious gemstones.

The collection included some of the world's most famous gems.

Among them were the 563-carat Star of India, widely regarded as the largest star sapphire in the world, the 100-carat DeLong Star Ruby, the Midnight Star sapphire, and several other priceless stones.

The theft became known as the "Jewel Heist of the Century."

Newspapers loved every aspect of the story. The image of three young surfers climbing into one of America's most prestigious museums captured the public imagination.

Could there be anything more thrilling than that?

Headlines referred to them as the "Beach Boy Burglars," while Murphy's surfing nickname suddenly became known across the country.

The celebration did not last long, though.

Within two days, investigators tracked the group after they attracted attention by spending freely and hosting expensive parties at a Manhattan hotel.

Murphy and his companions were arrested, and most of the stolen gems were eventually recovered after Murphy revealed their location inside a locker at a Miami bus station as part of a plea agreement.

Although the burglary remains one of America's most famous museum thefts, many security experts later pointed out that the museum's outdated security measures had made the crime surprisingly straightforward.

If we'd known "Point Break" was inspired by the real "Murph the Surf" story, we certainly wouldn't be surprised.

Fame gives way to tragedy

Murphy served time for the jewel theft and was released during the late 1960s. But his life soon took a far darker turn.

In 1969, he became involved in the Whiskey Creek murders in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

Two women, Margaret Bauer and Mary Bender, were found dead after being beaten. Murphy, together with two accomplices, was convicted of the killings.

The case ended any remaining image of Murphy as a charming rogue.

Jack received two life sentences plus an additional 20-year prison term and entered Florida's maximum-security prison system.

A different life behind prison walls

During his years in prison, Murphy said he underwent a profound religious conversion after reading the Bible.

Fellow inmates and prison staff later described him as becoming deeply involved in ministry, education, and counseling.

He earned a degree in theology, helped organize educational programs, and became known for working to calm tensions inside prison.

One of the most widely repeated stories from this period involved Murphy helping negotiate a peaceful resolution during a prison disturbance, although accounts differ on the precise role he played.

After serving nearly 20 years, he was granted parole in 1986.

Returning to society

The final chapter of Murphy's life looked very different from the earlier ones.

He became an ordained minister and dedicated much of his time to prison ministry, visiting correctional facilities throughout the United States and overseas.

His work focused on counseling inmates, sharing his personal story, and encouraging rehabilitation.

Many people who met Murphy during these years believed his transformation was sincere.

Others remained skeptical, pointing to the violence of his past and his long history of exaggerating parts of his life.

The debate followed him for the rest of his life.

Jack Roland Murphy died on September 12, 2020, at the age of 82, just weeks before what would have been his 83rd birthday.

If you asked 100 non-surfers which season they associate with surfing, it's fair to say nearly 100 would probably say summer.

There is a universe of clichés gravitating around the idea of surfing: sun, beach, warm weather and warm water, boardshorts and bikinis, tanned bodies, transparent blue water, tropical islands and settings, and perfect-peeling waves, etc.

Those are valid for Hollywood movie producers and for the mainstream audience as well.

But there are way more.

The language, the slang, the bleach-blond hair, Hawaii, California, the surfboard with three fins, surf vans, and a long queue of semiotic icons that make this sport a rich and multidisciplinary outdoor activity.

Most of the symbols of the so-called surf culture are anchored in the idea and warmth of summer.

Rain and English-like weather are not the first things that come to our minds when we mention places like California and Hawaii.

The same applies to surfing.

Summer surfing has an obvious appeal. There are longer days, near-wetsuit-free water temperatures, and sunny weather.

You can't beat that association.

So, if someone asked surfers whether they would prefer to ride the same quality waves in an empty lineup, barely any would pick the peak of winter.

So, if the variables were identical for both summer and winter, there should be no reason to go for the low temperature and grey skies setting?

It should be a reasonable assessment, right?

However, the idea shared in the timeless and uber-iconic "The Endless Summer" is only possible in movies.

Peace and perfection are rarely a part of the summer surfing equation.

We should therefore leave it as it is and unveil the drawbacks of this classic romantic idea of surfers waiting for waves as the sun sets behind the horizon line.

Dear loyal SurferToday.com reader: summer is indeed, and mostly, a frustrating season for surfers worldwide.

Do you know why?

Crowded lineups

Surfers are often surfers' worst "enemies." That's why crowded lineups during summer are the biggest downside almost everywhere.

School holidays, vacationers, beginners, and occasional surfers all hit the beach at the same time.

In other words, there's more competition for waves, longer waits between rides, more unpleasant dropped-in events, and more frustration and tension in the lineup.

Even normally quiet spots can become packed. How does that relate to an enjoyable experience?

Let's be honest: it doesn't.

Smaller waves

Many surf regions experience their smallest swells during summer because storm activity shifts away from the area.

Smaller waves translate into less power, shorter rides, less time for advanced maneuvers, and more dependence on longboards or higher-volume boards.

That said, some regions (such as parts of Indonesia, Peru, South Africa, or parts of Australia) actually receive excellent surf in their winter, which coincides with summer elsewhere.

More beginners in the water

Summer is when surf schools are busiest and make more money.

The problem is beginners often have limited awareness of surf etiquette, paddle into the wrong position, lose control of their boards, and create unpredictable situations.

And that is never easy to deal with, is it?

Yes, we know that most beginners are simply learning, but even crowded learning areas require extra awareness from everyone else.

More beach traffic

Oh... Summertime... Such great memories... Well, wait.

Getting to the beach itself can become an adventure that has nothing to do with the whole summer surfing cliché.

With traffic jams, full parking lots, long walks carrying equipment, busy boardwalks and access paths, a surfer will be wishing it's all over and back to falling leaves and snowflakes.

A dawn patrol may save you an hour of driving, though. Cherish it.

Hot weather

Warm air feels great until it becomes excessive. You also don't want to be surfing and breathing wildfire smoke from surrounding areas, correct?

Summer heat waves bring dehydration, sunburn, exhaustion, wax melting on the deck, and surfboards delaminating due to extremely high temps inside parked cars.

Choppy afternoon conditions

It's 1 pm sharp. Here comes the wind. A classic.

Summer often brings stronger sea breezes transforming a sunny surf day into a wave-riding nightmare with bumpy faces, more difficult paddling, less predictable takeoffs, and lower wave quality.

More jellyfish and marine life

Warm waters mean stingray and jellyfish blooming season.

Warm water feels great, but it's also amazing for sea lice in some regions, and increased algae and kelp in the lineup.

Lower water quality after heavy rain

In some coastal areas, intense summer storms wash pollutants and bacteria into the ocean through rivers and storm drains.

What does it mean, surfwise?

Many surfers avoid entering the water for a day or two after significant rainfall, especially near urban beaches.

Equipment wear

Summer conditions can be surprisingly hard on surf gear.

Just to give you an example, UV degrades neoprene, salt crystals accumulate, sand gets everywhere, heat can weaken adhesives, and ding repairs may soften if left baking in the sun.

Less consistent surf

Even if there are good swells, they may arrive less frequently than during the storm seasons in many parts of the world.

The result is flat spells lasting days or weeks (the actual reason for the birth of skateboarding), constant forecast checking, more driving in search of waves, and increased localism.

Consequently, when lineups become crowded, tensions rise and, at some spots, this leads to more aggressive wave competition, less patience, and stronger enforcement of lineup hierarchy.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

Spray stung my face as I clung to the back of the jet ski without a sled. What do I do if I fall off now?

I had no idea who was driving, but as we bounced over the big waves in Nazaré, I had a feeling I was in good hands.

How did I end up here? Is this real? Adrenaline rushed through me - I couldn't believe what was happening.

Back in the harbor, buzzing with the kind of happiness only a day out in the ocean can bring, I was holding a couple of wave buoys when João de Macedo grinned at me.

"Do you know who that was?" he asked.

"No clue," I admitted.

"That was Sebastian Steudtner, the world record holder for the largest wave ever ridden, so I knew you were in good hands".

A wave of... well, not quite shame, but definitely embarrassment washed over me. I had been so skeptical about him switching places with João on the ski.

What did I know?

I am just a wave-obsessed surfer from Sandnes, Norway, usually more concerned with deploying wave buoys than recognizing surfing royalty.

My name is Torunn Irene Seldal, and I have spent countless days observing the ocean.

For the last three years, I have been immersed in deploying small friendly wave buoys (SFYs) in Norway and around the world.

Have you ever wondered how we can quantify the force and cycle of individual surf waves? Surfers can see and feel the power of the waves, but how powerful is it really?

This letter is my story. A reflection on the science of surfing and the art of observing waves and the ocean.

It is the story of how I ended up in Nazaré measuring surf waves.

One passion reveals a path to another

My passion for the ocean led me to surfing, and this passion for surfing guided me to physical oceanography, and all of this led me to the science of surfing.

That guided me to work as a researcher who now measures surf waves around the world.

Since I was a child, I have loved the ocean and always wanted to dive deeper into it like a mermaid or dolphin - it is the place where I feel at peace and at home.

I love observing waves and the ocean's movement. I have spent so many days driving up and down the coast at home, watching the waves.

When I started surfing, I started to map the surf breaks in a journal.

I can be very obsessed with what I am passionate about. I have always felt a bit stumbly on land, but I feel more confident when I am in the ocean.

I had a dream to be out in the field and collect my own data so I could compare my visual observations with the measurements.

That passion was sparked several years later in a classroom "Down Under."

In a course called "Coastal Geomorphology", a professor mentioned how challenging it is to measure breaking waves in the surf zone.

I remember my pen dropping as the world around me stopped for a second, and I started to fantasize about doing this one day!

This made me recognize that there is a gap in knowledge around breaking wave processes and that this was something I could pursue.

The dream that I had to become a marine biologist started to feel less and less like the right path for me.

A year later, the professor developed a course called "Geography of Surfing."

This is when my soul started to light up. I was not even aware that this was a pathway I could make a career out of.

During this time, my go-to reading material was the articles of Mead, Black, Butt, Atkin, Lazarow, and Olive.

These scientists became my inspiration.

A few years later, I stepped into the University of Bergen. This is when I started my investigation to find a supervisor who was stoked on waves and the subject.

I met with nearly every supervisor in the building to ensure I made the best choice. No stone was left unturned!

It turned out I was the only student who enrolled in the "Wind Generated Surface Waves" course. For the first time, I felt like I belonged to a scientific community that understood the magic of waves.

The surfing community in Norway is not big, so the chance of finding a person who was both a keen surfer and studying waves was close to zero.

For two years, I sacrificed my surfing to focus on earning my master's degree.

Before moving to Bergen, I had hit rock bottom with my surfing - it wasn't fun anymore, and I felt stuck in a spiral of frustration.

Taking a break from surfing gave me the space to explore other aspects of my life. It felt like having a break from surfing and studying the ocean brought the fun back to it.

It was like peeling away a layer of mental blocks, and I rediscovered the joy and freedom that surfing had always given me.

Success crisis

The reality of completing a milestone hit me like lightning. I was swimming in a void, not knowing what to do with my life.

After I finished my degree, I spent my days applying for jobs and lying to myself that this time I could live a stable life at home and follow socialized norms.

I felt split in two.

One part of me wanted to throw the buoys into the sea and never work with them again; the other part of me gave the same feeling as when surfing: I want more.

How do you let go of a project you put your heart and soul into?

I was driving five hours from Bergen to Jæren to collect surf wave data.

One summer holiday, I drove to Lofoten to work as a journalist and to measure the surf waves.

Not to mention all the hours of analyzing all the data I collected, programming, creating figures, writing, rewriting, editing, more writing...

Completing a master's thesis made me believe that if I want to travel to the moon and back, I know I can do it.

I must laugh at how personal it all felt to leave the buoys behind at the University; it felt like leaving a dog behind on the street.

I couldn't do that, so two of the buoys ended up in my carload of belongings.

If it weren't for the developers Gaute Hope and Jean Rabualt at the Norwegian Meteorological Institute, I would never have had the opportunity to work with the SFYs.

Not only were these buoys an innovative technology, but it was also the first time we tested them in the surf, and I learned to build them.

I feel grateful to have been part of something new from the beginning.

Through experiencing my success crisis, I realized that the more jobs I applied to, the less I was ready to let go of something that had given me purpose for two years.

My heart was calling me to continue researching, and I had already manifested to measure waves around the world.

Nazaré had been a dream for a long time, but how?

So, with almost no money, no new job, and not fully knowing how to work things out, I followed a lead and traveled to South Africa.

Even if things did not work out, I could look back and be happy I took the opportunity to surf J-Bay.

Being in a different environment always fuels me with new inspiration, and after catching some of the best waves of my life, I remembered a woman who once told me that if you don't feel ready to start a full-time job, you can always just apply for a research proposal!

I followed her advice and was filled with joy when the Norwegian Meteorological Institute accepted my proposal.

"The Ashlad and His Good Helpers"

My journey felt like the Norwegian folktale "The Ashlad and His Good Helpers".

This folktale is about Askeladden who goes on an adventure to win the princess and half the kingdom.

He overcomes challenges and encounters different characters with unique abilities, who later become the good helpers who helped him achieve his goals.

The surfers I have met on surf trips in the past and the new ones I met along the way became my "good helpers".

Scientific proof that the people you meet are never a coincidence.

My good helpers had those unique abilities to either... drive a jet ski, read the ocean, be a keen local surfer, paddle far out to sea to pick up buoys, shoot good footage of the waves, and be a well-rounded ocean person.

These people inspired me, supported my research, gave me advice, lent a hand, or even gave me food and a place to stay.

It was also important for me to work with surfers who have learned the art of observing the ocean, especially currents and waves.

It is something completely different from being a good swimmer and comfortable in the water to being an experienced surfer who has been out in many different conditions.

I believe that if you are going to learn about the ocean, you need to be out in Nature and observing it firsthand.

I am a strong advocate for the benefits of fieldwork, and it shocks me that hands-on experience is not prioritized more in the educational system.

My professor was right

Surfers often talk about being humbled by the ocean's power. I found myself humbled by the complexity of these experiments.

While some would have understood the intricacies, I realized that many people I met during my travels didn't fully grasp the purpose of my work.

To some, it might have seemed like I was simply tossing buoys into the waves for fun.

In reality, each experiment was a carefully planned attempt to unravel some mysteries, similar to how surfers constantly study the waves to improve their skills.

Just as catching the perfect wave requires precise timing and understanding of ocean conditions, my research demanded meticulous planning and execution to gather meaningful data about the waves.

The experiments got better and better the more experience I gained, but no matter how much I planned to make it "perfect," it never was.

Let's just admit it: it can be difficult to make plans with surfers. We all have it in our DNA to chase the surf.

This was sometimes challenging when planning experiments. Surfing or measuring waves?

I went on this guilt trip every time I picked up my surfboard instead, and that little voice kept creeping in on me, "shouldn't you be collecting data?"

It was worst when the conditions were epic, and I was sitting there with surf stoke and guilt, wondering what the buoy would have said about that pumping set.

I wanted to measure every individual breaker, but I also wanted to surf freely without my brain doing mental gymnastics.

It was driving me a bit crazy.

I think a sign that my mind needed a bit more Zen was when I had a bad dream about the buoys taking over Nazaré.

In my dream, I could see thousands of yellow buoys in massive barrels, and the whole experiment was just chaotic and out of control.

While the dream didn't come 100 percent into reality, the last experiment I conducted in Nazaré was the first time we deployed buoys from a jet ski instead of a surfboard.

I would have thought that doing it from a jet ski would be easier, but it had its challenges too.

Perhaps that was why João switched places with Sebastian, because he wanted to surf. After deploying eight buoys, who wouldn't?

My good helpers had the idea that they could surf in between experiments, but when you get so caught up in the experiment and realize it is more challenging than expected, there often wasn't time for that.

My professor was right: it is difficult to measure breaking waves in one of the most violent and energetic environments of the ocean.

Follow your passion

This journey has been a story of how I moved from A to B by following my passion and curiosity.

I hope it inspires others to follow their dreams and to take chances.

Like a dear friend of mine said: "An adventure is when you don't know the end or outcome; otherwise, it wouldn't be an adventure".

While this adventure was mainly about measuring surf waves and the science of surfing, it became much more about my personal growth as a human being.

It taught me the importance of trusting my own judgment and letting my inner voice guide me, instead of listening to the outside world.

It helped me develop more skills in overcoming unpredictable challenges and to never give up on my aspirations.

There are many more waves I dream to measure and places I want to explore.

A lot of mysteries are left to be solved, and I think I might not be able to stop before I've put all the pieces together.

Words by Torunn Irene Seldal | Surfer, Physical Oceanographer, and Journalist

My name is Ali Kassem. I was a Syrian refugee in Lebanon.

I left Syria in 2012 after losing my older brother in the war. He was my whole world, and after he was gone, everything changed.

I left my country as a child, not knowing where I was going or what would happen to me.

When I arrived in Lebanon, I was just a kid.

I had no school to return to and no normal childhood like other children. I was far from my home, my friends, and everything I had ever known.

The only place where I felt at peace was the sea. It was the first time I had ever seen the ocean.

I would spend hours sitting on the shore, watching the waves. It felt like the only place that could ease what I was carrying inside.

In 2015, I was sitting on a hill overlooking the beach on a cold day when I saw people riding the waves.

I became curious about what they were doing, so I started researching it and discovered a sport called surfing.

Cutting foam into the shape of a surfboard

One day, I spotted a piece of floating foam in the water. I had the idea to cut it into the shape of a surfboard and try to ride it.

I couldn't afford a real board, and I knew nothing about surfing, but I had curiosity and determination.

I cut the foam into a board and took it into the water. I fell over again and again, but every time I got back up and tried once more.

After a while, a group of surfers noticed me and asked, "What are you doing? Aren't you afraid of drowning?" I told them, "No. I just want to see what you're doing."

They were surprised that I was trying to learn on a piece of foam.

They talked with me, encouraged me, and after they finished their training sessions, they began lending me their boards and teaching me little by little.

At first, I helped them with anything they needed at the surf school just so I could earn a chance to use one of the boards and practice.

After some time, they offered me a job. To me, it wasn't just work - it was the first time I truly felt I had found something I loved.

I earned about $200 a month, which wasn't enough to cover my living expenses, but I stayed because surfing had become part of my life, and I was determined to improve every day.

Becoming a surf coach

Later, I met Roman Calvari, a French diplomat working in Lebanon who used a wheelchair. I became his para surfing coach, and over time we became close friends.

He later invited me to France to attend a para surfing training program with the French Surfing Federation. There, I earned a coaching certification from the federation.

Afterward, Roman and I competed together in a championship, where we won first place.

I eventually returned to Lebanon, but life became even more difficult.

As I got older, my legal residency became tied to my employer, which meant I could no longer legally work anywhere else.

I stayed because I had no other choice, but in the end, I lost my job.

At that point, it felt like everything I had worked for over the years had disappeared in an instant.

I went through a very difficult period of depression and hopelessness, and I could no longer see any future ahead of me.

When the war ended in my part of Syria, hope returned to my life.

For the first time in years, I felt I finally had a reason to go back home and start over.

Roman encouraged me to return to Syria and open the country's first surf school.

I decided to go back, but before returning, I wanted to prepare myself properly so I could build Syria's first surf school.

I earned a coaching certification from the International Surfing Association (ISA) as well as an international water rescue certification, so I would be fully prepared to teach surfing professionally and safely.

After that, Roman, his family, his wife's family, and their friends supported me so I could begin my project in Syria.

Syria's first surf school

Today, I am back in Syria, working to establish the first surf school in the country's history. We started with almost nothing - just a few basic boards and a big dream.

I don't just want to teach people how to surf.

My goal is to build this sport in Syria and give young Syrians the chance to experience the same feeling that changed my life.

I dream of seeing a Syrian national surfing team compete in Asian and world championships, and one day reach the Olympic Games.

Today, there is already a group of Syrian surfers living outside Syria who are ready to represent their country whenever they are given the opportunity.

Years ago, I was a refugee child trying to ride a wave on a piece of foam.

Today, I stand on the shore of my homeland, building the first surf school in Syria.

The war took my brother from me. It took years of my life. But it never took away my dream.

And today, that dream is no longer mine alone.

My dream is to see the young people of Syria ride the waves and raise their country's flag on the world stage.

Words by Ali Kassem | Surfer and Founder of Surf Syria Surf School

For decades, water has been one of the biggest unsolved puzzles in video games. You've probably noticed that in the handful of surfing titles that were released so far.

Developers learned to create convincing mountains, forests, cities, and even human faces long before they mastered oceans.

The thing is, water refuses to stay still.

It reflects the sky, bends light, changes color with depth, carries floating objects, crashes into rocks, forms foam, breaks into spray, and reacts instantly when something enters it. 

Every one of those behaviors follows the laws of physics.

A beautiful ocean is relatively easy to draw, but building one that behaves like the real sea is something else entirely.

Surfing games have always exposed that challenge better than any other genre. There's hardly any gamer who won't say waves are the worst part of these attempts to get surfers into console video games.

Surfers instinctively know when a wave looks wrong. They can spot an unnatural takeoff, a slow breaking lip, or a barrel that closes too neatly.

The ocean follows patterns, but it is never predictable.

Recreating that balance has challenged the gaming industry for more than 40 years.

Early surfing titles such as "Kelly Slater's Pro Surfer," "Sunny Garcia Surfing," "Transworld Surf," and "Surfing H3O" delivered enjoyable gameplay because they concentrated on the feeling of riding waves rather than reproducing every detail of coastal physics.

They were smart compromises for the hardware available at the time.

So, what could lie ahead? Could we still dream of playing the undisputed greatest surfing of all time?

The first digital oceans

If you've been around for, let's say, 50 years, you know that early video games did not simulate water at all.

Oceans and rivers were little more than animated textures that repeated endlessly across flat surfaces. They looked convincing from a distance, but they never responded to weather, coastlines, or players.

As graphics hardware improved during the late 1990s, developers began using mathematical waves instead of simple animations.

The most influential model became the Gerstner wave, first described by German mathematician Franz Gerstner in 1802.

Unlike ordinary sine waves, which simply move the surface up and down, Gerstner waves also move the water sideways.

That produces sharper crests and smoother troughs that resemble real ocean swells much more closely.

Each wave is controlled by a handful of values such as height, direction, wavelength, speed, and steepness.

By combining dozens of these waves, developers could build oceans that looked surprisingly natural while remaining fast enough to run in real time.

The technique became a favorite because it struck an excellent balance between realism and performance.

Even today, modern game engines such as Unreal Engine still use layered Gerstner waves in many water systems because they are stable, efficient, and easy for artists to control.

A mathematical breakthrough

As games grew larger, developers needed oceans that could stretch to the horizon without revealing repeating patterns.

A major breakthrough arrived in 2001, when visual effects researcher Jerry Tessendorf published a paper describing how Fast Fourier Transform (FFT) could generate realistic ocean surfaces.

Instead of adding individual waves one by one, FFT combines thousands of wave frequencies into a single evolving ocean.

Long swells, short chop, and tiny ripples naturally interfere with one another, producing a surface that behaves much more like the open sea.

The heavy mathematics happens almost entirely on the graphics processor, or GPU.

Modern GPUs contain thousands of computing cores capable of performing these calculations simultaneously, allowing complex oceans to update dozens of times every second.

FFT has become the foundation of many AAA ocean systems because it produces realistic deep water while remaining efficient enough for modern consoles and PCs.

Why surfers are the toughest audience

An open ocean is only half the story. The most difficult part begins when a swell approaches land.

As waves move into shallow water, they slow down, grow taller, bend around reefs and headlands, steepen, pitch forward, collapse, generate whitewater, and interact with returning currents.

Sandbars constantly reshape these processes, which is why the same break can produce different waves from one season to the next.

This is where many video game oceans still fall short of a real-life feel.

Standard FFT models reproduce deep water extremely well, but they are not designed to handle every detail of coastal wave transformation.

Developers therefore combine FFT with other simulation methods that calculate shallow water flow, seabed interaction, foam, turbulence, and breaking waves.

Surfing games demand all of these systems at the same time.

A sailing game can hide imperfections because players usually view the ocean from above. A surfing game places the player on - or inside - the wave itself.

Every section, every barrel, every closeout, and every line along the face becomes part of the experience.

That is why surfing remains one of the hardest sports to recreate convincingly in interactive entertainment.

Why fake water still dominates

Even today's most impressive oceans rely on carefully designed shortcuts.

Game developers often describe them as "cheats," although they are really clever approximations.

Instead of simulating every drop of water, different systems handle different jobs.

One generates the main swell, another creates small ripples, and others produce foam, spray, reflections, underwater light, boat wakes, and buoyancy.

Only the areas closest to the player receive the highest level of detail. Waves near the horizon use fewer calculations because the difference is almost impossible to notice.

It's an adaptive approach, known as level of detail (LOD), that allows enormous oceans to run smoothly without overwhelming the hardware.

Without these shortcuts, today's fastest consoles would struggle to maintain playable frame rates.

Flow maps are no longer enough

For years, rivers and shorelines relied heavily on flow maps (see picture below).

Artists painted textures that told the water which direction to move. The illusion worked well for streams and waterfalls, but the water itself never truly responded to the environment.

A rock could not naturally redirect the current, boats produced only simple wake effects, and two rivers rarely mixed in physically accurate ways.

Modern players expect much more.

Recent water systems increasingly combine flow maps with real-time simulations that react to terrain, weather, and gameplay.

Flow maps remain useful for guiding rivers and waterfalls, but they are no longer enough for games that aim to recreate the complexity of nature.

The challenge of light

Even perfect physics cannot save poor lighting.

Water changes appearance depending on the viewing angle, the weather, the time of day, and its depth.

It reflects the sky while allowing the eye to see below the surface.

Sunlight bends as it enters the water, creating refraction. Tiny suspended particles scatter light, giving tropical lagoons their turquoise color and deep oceans their dark blue appearance.

Foam introduces another layer of complexity.

Real foam is not simply white paint floating on the surface. It forms where turbulence traps countless air bubbles inside the water.

It stretches, drifts with currents, breaks apart, and disappears before reforming somewhere else.

Modern graphics engines increasingly generate foam from wave steepness, shoreline interaction, and turbulence rather than relying on fixed textures.

The result feels far more alive.

Why movies still have better water

If video games can render realistic oceans, why do movie waves often look even better?

The answer is time.

Visual effects studios usually rely on FLIP, short for Fluid Implicit Particle simulation.

Instead of calculating only the surface, FLIP models millions of individual particles representing the entire body of water.

It's a system that allows waves to explode into spray, collide naturally, and generate extremely realistic turbulence.

The downside is speed.

A single frame may require minutes or even hours to calculate before it is rendered.

Films can afford that because every shot is produced long before audiences see it - video games cannot.

Every frame must react instantly to player input, often within less than 17 milliseconds.

Developers therefore reserve expensive particle simulations for localized effects such as splashes, waterfalls, or breaking surf while the larger ocean relies on faster mathematical models.

The new generation of oceans

Some of today's best water systems combine several techniques instead of relying on a single solution.

"Sea of Thieves" remains one of the industry's most admired examples.

Its rolling ocean uses spectral wave simulation together with realistic buoyancy, allowing ships to respond naturally to changing seas while remaining synchronized across online multiplayer sessions.

"Red Dead Redemption 2" impresses with detailed rivers, lakes, and shoreline interactions that respond convincingly to weather and player movement.

"Grand Theft Auto V" still delivers remarkably believable open water more than a decade after its release. There are even mods for creating bigger rideable waves.

"Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora" showcases advanced tropical rivers and coastal environments with sophisticated lighting, surface, and underwater effects.

"Crimson Desert" has also attracted attention with demonstrations featuring highly detailed water interaction in river streams.

All these games, with their great water simulation work, illustrate an important point - there is no universal water engine.

Every studio blends different technologies to match its artistic goals, gameplay needs, and hardware budget, and still relies on programmers' creativity to make water look better and better.

Coming up

One thing's for sure: the search for the perfect digital wave continues at a good pace.

Researchers are combining FFT oceans with shallow water solvers, particle simulations, adaptive meshes, and increasingly powerful GPUs.

Experimental projects are also exploring machine learning techniques that could estimate small-scale details too expensive to calculate directly.

The destination is not simply prettier water. Games need more than that and, surfers in particular, are more and more demanding.

Developers want oceans that can be read like the real sea, and swells that wrap naturally around points.

The search for sandbars that reshape a break after a storm, and for whitewater that carries the same unpredictable energy surfers feel every time they paddle into the lineup continues.

Video games have come a long way since flat blue textures slid across television screens or in "California Games." Yet the ocean remains one of nature's greatest illusions.

The closer technology gets to capturing it, the more we appreciate just how extraordinary the real thing is.

And it is surely getting better year after year.

I have always resisted a very common temptation in everyday surfing: paddling out to where everyone already is.

Point breaks and single-peak beach breaks have several upsides and downsides.

On the one hand, they generally provide perfect peeling waves that allow surfers to adjust to the take-off zone and ride for an exceptionally long time.

On the other hand, because their take-off area is so visible and clear, they tend to attract everyone with a surfboard, and even those who are about to catch their first wave.

I am allergic to crowds in surfing, way more than to crowd surfing. Pun intended.

Whenever I spot a perfect wave with too many human beings, I immediately lose interest in it and start scanning for alternative peaks where I can find peace and tranquility.

I never understood how someone can have fun in an environment where they have to literally impose themselves and fight for a few seconds of pleasure.

It's an antithesis.

You're building anxiety, stress, and frustration over something that is supposedly a source of relaxation, fun, and personal fulfillment.

So, I have a feeling that this automatic reaction to unfollowing the sheep has grown with aging.

If, at some point in my life, I was probably OKish with sharing a cool peak with, let's say, 10 fellow surfers, now, I almost need to be alone.

And that, obviously, poses some problems.

Never alone with nobody

I live in a country where not only has surfing become quite popular year-round, but it also attracts (too many) surf tourists, eager to escape their flat, near-wave-less, or landlocked nations, eat well, and have a red carpet rolled out for them just because they're foreigners.

Overtourism is a serious problem, and surfing is not helping.

With just 1,115 miles (1793 kilometers) of coastline, there's surely not enough space for 32.5 million guests, many of them surfers, riding quality rolling waves on these beaches.

I have my tricks to dodge the surf crowds.

I am not going to share the names of the places where I surf, but I definitely can tell you what my strategy is.

Yes, it is bittersweet to skip the best waves, but I've learned to tame the desire to get a slice of those fine cakes.

Now, it's like an automatic mechanism that switches my attention off from those dreamy peaks and instinctively finds the spot where I should be.

I am not someone who easily memorizes famous quotes from surfers or people I admire.

But there are two I remember reading and hearing that stuck with me forever. Interestingly, they complement each other.

The first is from Kelly Slater. Not an exact quote, but this is the spirit:

"I'd rather surf in a spot with more average waves just for himself than be jockeying for position in a crowded lineup chasing epic sets."

The second is from Mike Stewart. He actually said this to me:

"You learn more from surfing small waves than you do from riding big waves."

The point I'm trying to get to is that maybe it's better to surf more average waves than only a few better waves.

At least, when it's time to paddle in, your soul will be filled with a bagful of fun rides. And isn't it all about fun?

Followed after unfollowing

Now, let's make it a bit more complicated.

Yes, we can always unfollow the sheep and carve our own way to a little gem we found more to the side.

However, we cannot control those who follow the sheep, in this particular case, follow the minority of surfers who think like me.

Recently, I found a sweet peak just for me, maybe 400 yards away from where everybody was.

I was there by myself for half an hour.

Suddenly, I noticed, behind my shoulder, the nose of a surfboard ostensively pointing up to the sky and slowly approaching my comfort zone.

A young beginner surfer wanted to feel part of the tribe and probably felt I needed company.

"Oh, dear... Here we go again...," I thought to myself while rolling my eyes.

Unfortunately, I confirmed my worst expectations. He didn't know where to position, so I lost a few good ones because he was in my surf line.

The good thing is I was just chilling and enjoying my time in the water. I didn't want any socializing or chitchat.

And then I had the idea for this article.

Just because you're unfollowing the sheep doesn't mean you won't be the followed sheep. It sounds like a paradox, but it's quite real in the surfing world.

I wonder if there will be, in the future, affordable, portable wave pools/surf machines that you can have in your backyard just for yourself.

Because I might consider it and proudly become the most unfollowed surfer on the planet.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

There have never been so many surfers on the planet. More and more young and old people are giving surfing a try. And yet, the empire that helped make it popular is falling.

The concept of "surf industry" has changed profoundly in the 2010s.

What once was a multi-billion dollar market anchored on surfwear has now broadened its borders to embrace a much larger segment: wave pools.

However, there's still way more investment in surf parks than the revenue that they generate. In the future, it will surely change.

So, what happened to surfing's cash cow? What happened to the boardshorts, bikinis, tees, sandals, and branded towels?

Why aren't they driving the industry anymore?

The last time SurferToday.com reported relevant growth in the surf industry was in 2011, as the world recovered from the ashes of a global economic depression.

At the time, the Surf Industry Members Association (SIMA) released a statement with improvements across several segments of the market.

But there was also a hint of what would become the surf industry's decline.

"Many independent core retail stores that have closed their doors in the past two years have been replaced by specialty chain stores or brand-owned stores," SurferToday.com wrote in 2011.

In other words, surf shops were closing, beaten by the world's largest sports retailers - Decathlon, Intersport, Dick's Sporting Goods, etc.

Suddenly, they were making affordable surfboards, surf wax, leashes, traction pads, wetsuits, and mimicking the Big Four's (Rip Curl, Quiksilver, O'Neill, and Billabong) apparel and clothing.

Tides go by fast

Today, there is nothing these multinational sports retailers won't cover when we talk about surfing.

They have even broken into the stand-up paddleboarding and foiling categories with their own subbrands.

So, when the CEO of an action sports conglomerate criticized Decathlon on LinkedIn for their tasteless surf skirt, "crappy-built surf product that gets sold off the back of a video," he was right yet missing the most important point.

The surf industry is to blame for its own decline.

For decades, the world's most popular (and respected) surf brands have pushed a pair of boardshorts for $150 or more and t-shirts for $50-$75, undermining the market and consumer behavior.

At some point, surfers became detached, and the sales of the Big Four, for instance, dipped to the point of bankruptcy.

Greed and detachment from reality paved the way for small, independent brands to flourish and for large retailers to mass-market anything tagged with the word "surf."

Plus, we tend to forget that in today's world, most of the branded "quality" products that the romanticized idea of surf shops sells are produced in the same Asian factories where Decathlon sources its more affordable goods.

So, where did the surf industry get it wrong?

The surf industry was really a fashion business - not a surf business

As we've seen above, during the 1990s and early 2000s, brands like Quiksilver, Billabong, Rip Curl, and O'Neill generated far more revenue from clothing and apparel than from actual surf equipment.

The revenue gap was enormous.

However, the model worked very well for the famous surf companies because, until then, millions of teenagers who had never surfed wore surf brands.

Surfing represented freedom, travel, Australia, Hawaii, and California. These were clichés, yes, but they really clicked and made sense in any non-surfer mindset.

The brands sold an aspirational lifestyle rather than technical products. They sold a dream not fueled by endless, edited, short social media clips of wave rides.

Professional surfers, films, magazines, and events were essentially marketing investments for apparel sales.

The system was working well, and the price tags were increasingly getting higher and higher, with even greater margins for the surf conglomerates.

Until things change, as they always do in the capitalist world.

Surf culture stopped being the dominant youth culture

Another phenomenon emerged. There was actually a dramatic structural shift - a cultural one.

In the late 1990s, surfwear was fashionable everywhere, with oversized boardshorts and graphic tees becoming mainstream.

Beach culture felt aspirational. Surfers were proud of their lifestyle, and that sentiment crossed the sport's borders.

However, by the 2010s, youth culture was a very different thing.

Streetwear, sneaker culture, skateboarding, hip-hop, luxury collaborations, and athleisure diluted surfing's lifestyle dominance.

Consequently, the surf aesthetic increasingly looked dated compared with brands that constantly reinvented themselves.

Traditional tropical graphics and logo-heavy apparel remained while fashion evolved. And then, there was no going back.

Loyalty, a variable on which the surf industry had relied for decades, nearly ceased to exist.

Surfers were no longer interested in carrying one of the Big Four's logos on a t-shirt and paying $50-plus for it.

Boarshorts were no rocket science for someone to pay $150 for them.

Fast fashion copied surfwear instantly

The surf style never got completely out of fashion, and mass-market clothing moguls knew it. So, they went for it.

One of the biggest competitive shocks came from Zara, H&M, Uniqlo, Shein, and similar retailers.

Consumers could buy from them floral shirts, beach shorts, graphic tees, tropical prints, etc., without paying a premium for Quiksilver or Billabong.

The lifestyle became separated from the brands - like Rip Curl and O'Neill - that had created it.

And so, surf brands were left competing against companies with much faster design cycles, lower prices, and enormous supply chains.

Pricing power was dramatically reduced and, with it, the historical surf logos got into financial trouble.

Surf brands overexpanded

Before the first hit, many surf companies assumed the boom would continue forever.

As public companies or private-equity-backed businesses, they opened hundreds of stores, expanded globally, acquired unrelated brands, increased inventories, and pursued continuous revenue growth.

Their focus was not on feeding and nurturing the "fanbase," but on adding layers of profitability to their annual financial reports.

So, it's no surprise that when fashion trends shifted, they were left with too many stores, excess inventory, heavy debt, and complex organizations.

Billabong was a classic example, with aggressive acquisitions eventually leading to enormous write-downs and financial distress.

Authenticity became diluted

Surfing is unlike any other sport. It is centuries old; probably thousands.

Surfing's universe is so rich and interdisciplinary that the industry that breathes around it cannot behave like any other industry.

Surfers are sensitive to the core and essence of their sport. There really is a thing named surf culture.

Let's not forget that, originally, surfers proudly wore surf brands. Later, everyone wore surf brands.

And eventually, surfers increasingly stopped wearing the major surf brands and many core members of the tribe migrated toward smaller independent labels, local shapers, technical performance brands, Patagonia, and other niche lifestyle brands.

Many pro surfers, such as Kelly Slater (Outerknown) and John John Florence (Florence Marine X), have created their own labels.

Eventually, large corporations became perceived as generic fashion companies rather than authentic surf brands. And punishment ensued.

Digital commerce changed brand power

There's another relevant variable hitting the surf industry's longtime status quo.

In the 1990s, if you wanted surf clothing, you often visited a surf shop or branded retail store.

Today, consumers discover brands through Instagram, TikTok, direct-to-consumer websites, marketplaces, or trusted, leading online surf magazines like SurferToday.com.

That is to say that small brands can easily reach customers without building massive retail networks.

Consequently, one of the biggest advantages enjoyed by legacy surf companies was axed.

On top of that, all these large surf conglomerates are terrible at communicating with their stakeholders.

Surf media collapsed

There was a time when photographs of surfers unveiling their talent, style, and technique were almost only featured in magazines. Print magazines, we should stress.

The old ecosystem was based on the idea that surf brands sponsored athletes, whose performances funded and sold magazines, which eventually led to surf videos and films.

The cycle would fuel an aspirational way of living that would eventually sell clothing.

When apparel sales declined, magazine advertising disappeared, print magazines closed, expensive surf films became harder to finance, sponsorship budgets shrank, and contests became more dependent on outside funding.

In other words, the industry's marketing engine largely disappeared.

Surfing itself is a relatively small sport

As hard as it might sound, it's important to make a distinction.

Globally, there are perhaps 20 or 30 million surfers, but only a fraction surf regularly.

And that is not enough to support billion-dollar apparel companies.

The industry required hundreds of millions of lifestyle consumers buying hoodies, backpacks, shoes, hats, casual clothing, and many other items.

Once those consumers moved on, the underlying surf market proved much smaller than investors had assumed.

And this is what we're left with.

Financial ownership accelerated the decline

We've mentioned this before, but it's never too much to stress it again.

Many iconic brands passed through public markets, private equity, licensing groups, and other types of strategic schemes.

These owners often emphasized quarterly growth, licensing revenue, cost-cutting, and operational efficiency, rather than maintaining cultural relevance.

And this is critical.

The result was brands that became financially optimized while losing emotional connection with consumers.

We might only recall a program - Rip Curl's "The Search" - that clearly aligned with what it means to be a surfer today.

Apart from that, consumers are getting pretty models wearing expensive surfwear.

Recent bankruptcies exposed a long-running structural problem

Maybe the collapse of the surf industry was inevitable. Maybe globalization tends to bleach authenticity across all industries.

But, for instance, the 2025 bankruptcy of Liberated Brands (the operator of Quiksilver, Billabong, and Volcom in North America) was not the beginning of the industry's troubles.

The signs were all over for at least since the new millennium.

The fall of Liberated Brands highlighted issues that had been building for over a decade.

Company leadership cited inflation, high interest rates, fast fashion, e-commerce, and changing consumer preferences.

But those factors compounded an already weakened business model that never quite showed interest in changing or adapting quickly to the fast-moving times.

While most of the classic, iconic surf brands continue under new ownership structures, the era of giant surfwear chains appears to be over.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

For years, the explanation sounded simple.

The Nazaré submarine canyon acts like an underwater highway, carrying powerful Atlantic swell toward Praia do Norte while neighboring waves slow down over the continental shelf.

When both wave trains meet near the beach, they combine to produce the giant waves that have turned the Portuguese fishing town into the world's capital of big wave surfing.

A new scientific study led by Torunn Irene Seldal and Gaute Hope of the Norwegian Meteorological Institute, together with researchers from the University of Washington, the Norwegian Meteorological Institute, +ATLANTIC, the National Research Council of Italy, the Hope Zones Foundation, and several other institutions, suggests the story is more complicated.

After combining field measurements, stereo video observations, and advanced wave modeling, an international team of researchers concludes that the canyon is not funneling swell toward the beach.

Instead, the largest waves appear to be created when incoming swell is refracted and reflected along the canyon's northern edge, concentrating wave energy into narrow beams just before it reaches shore.

The findings do not rewrite everything we know about Nazaré.

They do, however, change the mechanism behind one of surfing's most famous natural phenomena.

An underwater landscape unlike any other

The Nazaré underwater canyon is one of Europe's largest underwater canyons.

Stretching about 210 kilometers into the Atlantic and reaching depths of more than 4,500 meters, it slices through Portugal's continental shelf before ending only a few hundred meters from the São Miguel Arcanjo Fort.

That final section is where things get interesting.

The continental shelf is relatively shallow, but its northern edge suddenly drops into the canyon along an underwater wall with slopes approaching 60 degrees.

Just before reaching that cliff, the seabed tilts gently toward the canyon at about 2.4 degrees.

Those two features, a gradual slope followed by an abrupt drop, create ideal conditions for changing the way swell behaves.

Scientists have known for decades that the canyon somehow amplifies wave energy. The question has always been how.

Looking for waves inside the canyon

To answer it, researchers carried out an ambitious field campaign in November 2024.

Using jet skis led by João Macedo, they deployed lightweight GPS wave buoys across both the continental shelf and the canyon while stereo cameras mounted near the lighthouse continuously reconstructed the ocean's surface in three dimensions.

The measurements were then compared with numerical models that simulated how incoming swell interacted with the canyon.

The experiment focused on two different wave scenarios.

One featured swell arriving almost parallel to the canyon; the other captured waves approaching from the northwest at a much steeper angle.

The first result surprised the researchers.

If swell really traveled through the canyon before reaching Praia do Norte, long-period wave energy should have been clearly visible above the canyon itself.

Instead, the buoys and stereo cameras found the opposite.

The long-period swell was noticeably weaker over parts of the submerged cliff than over the neighboring continental shelf.

The numerical simulations reproduced the same pattern, revealing a shadow zone where very little wave energy entered the canyon.

The conclusion was difficult to ignore: rather than acting as a channel, the canyon edge appeared to be redirecting incoming swell away from the underwater landscape itself.

The canyon works more like a mirror than a tunnel

The study argues that Nazaré's biggest waves are created primarily by reflection and refraction along the canyon's northern wall.

As incoming swell crosses the gently sloping continental shelf, it bends slightly before reaching the steep underwater escarpment.

When the waves finally encounter the steep underwater cliff, many of them are reflected rather than simply continuing into deeper water.

That reflected energy then combines with the incoming swell.

Instead of spreading evenly across the coastline, the wave energy becomes concentrated into narrow beams that extend toward Praia do Norte.

The researchers found that the canyon's shape is especially important.

Its northern edge curves toward the beach during the final several hundred meters before land. Rather than scattering wave energy, that curved geometry focuses it much like a magnifying glass concentrates sunlight.

According to the study, the last 650 to 900 meters of the canyon are responsible for most of the wave focusing observed at Nazaré.

The deeper offshore sections play a much smaller role than commonly assumed.

Why does a long-period swell make such a difference?

Wave period turned out to be one of the most important variables in the study.

The researchers found that waves shorter than about seven seconds generally cross the canyon edge with relatively little reflection.

Longer period swell behaves very differently.

Once wave periods exceed roughly seven seconds, the canyon wall reflects a much larger portion of the incoming energy, particularly when waves approach at favorable angles.

That helps explain why long-period North Atlantic swell consistently produces Nazaré's biggest days.

The study even suggests that a similar threshold may exist at other submarine canyons with comparable dimensions.

Science catches up with local knowledge

One of the study's most practical findings concerns swell direction.

After testing a wide range of wave periods and approach angles, the researchers concluded that the strongest wave focusing occurs when swell arrives from approximately 275 to 315 degrees.

For experienced Nazaré surfers, that number sounds familiar.

Locals have long regarded swell arriving between about 290 and 315 degrees as the recipe for exceptional surf.

The models reached almost exactly the same conclusion.

In other words, decades of experience line up remarkably well with the physics.

The simulations also produced several distinct beams of concentrated wave energy instead of a single hotspot.

That may explain why experienced surfers recognize multiple takeoff zones along Praia do Norte, including the secondary and tertiary peaks farther north that become active during certain swells.

Those peaks may not be random at all. They could simply be different energy beams created by the canyon's changing geometry.

Why Nazaré waves look so unusual

The findings also shed light on another hallmark of Nazaré.

Unlike the long, uniform walls often seen at reef breaks, Nazaré's biggest waves frequently rise as steep, pyramid-shaped peaks.

According to the researchers, the focused waves arrive from multiple directions before interfering with one another near the beach.

That multidirectional wave field may allow waves to grow taller before finally breaking.

It is one more example of how the canyon shapes the ocean during the final moments before each wave reaches shore.

The storms that generate Nazaré's swell still develop thousands of kilometers away in the North Atlantic.

But the waves that emerge at Praia do Norte are not simply imported from the open ocean.

The canyon gives them one last push.

Not by guiding them through its depths, but by bending, reflecting, and concentrating their energy along its northern edge until the sea produces some of the largest rideable waves on Earth.

The study, "Focusing of Swell at the Nazaré Submarine Canyon," was led by Gaute Hope and co-authored by Edwin J. Rainville, Torunn Irene Seldal, Matheus Vieira, Filippo Bergamasco, Øyvind Breivik, Pedro Almeida, Alvise Benetazzo, Trygve Halsne, Cintia Bonanad, and Birgitte R. Furevik.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com