The Arc of A Swell

Although I've experienced many arcs over the years, I haven't stopped to look at it from an outsider's perspective until this last summer, while on Nias Island in Indonesia.

I was staying at a little guesthouse, and sharing meals with two doctors from the UK. They were an anomaly in this surf village, there for a few weeks, lending a hand at the local clinic. They didn't surf and likely hadn't thought much about the surfing lifestyle until they were unexpectedly submersed in it.

Everything, they said, seemed to revolve around the wave... and the whole village shifted gears when a big swell came in.

I wrote this note partly through this new vantage point.

Here's this week's note: "The Arc of A Swell"

Each swell follows a predictable arc that plays out in the surf community. I've experienced this same pattern in different flavors in almost every surf community I've been in, whether it's a beach town tucked within a much larger city or a remote surf village that exists solely for the surfers who travel from around the world to get there. While the cycle is much more prominent in the dedicated surf villages, the same ebb and flow is apparent in bigger surf cities.

It goes something like this:

T Minus 2 Weeks

I'm checking the charts as always to see what's on tap. Not much for the next few days, but a storm system forming far off could have potential. The charts show big blobs of dark red, potentially a little purple starting to form. Could it send something our way? I try not to get my hopes up too much—we've all seen promising forecasts fizzle into nothing. Still, I make a note and check back multiple times per day.

T Minus 1 Week

The storm has materialized as hoped—there's a good chance we're getting swell. The vibe starts to shift. Conversations begin. "You sticking around for this one?" someone asks with a knowing look in their eye. "Might want to extend your stay," I hear someone else say.

There's always someone who is overhyping it and someone else bringing everyone back down to earth. One guy is licking his chops, telling everyone it's going to be the swell of the year. "It's definitely coming," he says. "It's locked in. Get ready."

Meanwhile, a more experienced, older surfer sits back in the pocket, more relaxed. He doesn't offer unsolicited advice, but for those who ask he helps set their expectations. Does he know more than everyone else, or is he just hedging his bets? Either way, it seems like the right move to me. He's talking with more detail, explaining how the storm's trajectory isn't quite right and the swell's angle might be too steep to hit us. Despite wanting to side with the wiser older man, I still can't help appreciate the enthusiasm of the hype man and start to daydream about what might be one of the top swells of the year.

T Minus 4 Days

It's locked in now. Even the experienced surfers are confirming it's on and starting to prepare. The size, the direction, the period—it all looks good. The only variable left is the local wind, which we hope will cooperate. It shouldn't be a problem, but still, the experienced guys continue to manage their expectations. They've been through many a swell that didn't materialize.

Some surfers have no idea what's coming. They're gonna roll out of bed, get to the beach after breakfast, and have to make a tough decision - Do I paddle out, totally unprepared for this level of surf, or walk back inland dry, with board in hand?

I kind of wish I could have the laid-back surf whatever, whenever, mindset. There'd be some level of relief if surfing wasn't an all-encompassing event for me - something I could just enjoy it when I had the time to paddle out. But for now, at least, I can't let that happen. The FOMO of sleeping in through the best part of the morning session or making other plans without knowing a great swell was coming would torture me for weeks. So, I'm in the camp of getting fully prepped and taking full advantage of the waves once they arrive.

T Minus 2 Days

A strange quiet settles over the community. The dedicated surfers are playing out their pre-swell routines: saving energy, eating well, cutting back on the beers. It's the calm before the storm. The casual surfers don't even notice the shift. The nervous surfers are overthinking pre-existing injuries or a tickle in their throat. "Am I starting to catch a cold? Is my shoulder injury flaring up again? I might not be able to paddle out for this one..." The older surfers like to joke about it: "Yeah, looks like the surf flu is coming back around..."

The Day Before Arrival

The air is thick with excitement—a mix of eagerness for the fun to begin and a dash of nerves about how the size and strength might test one's capabilities. I'm checking the ocean every hour for any signs of energy. Other surfers are doing the same, standing at the best lookout point, gazing out toward sea, conferring with each other about what board to take out and, most likely, just trying to pass the time because they can't stand to wait any longer. I can hear the low murmur of every surfer's excitement. Every conversation I overhear is about the swell. Walking past a coffee shop, I catch snippets: "Nineteen-second period..." "Nice and direct from the south..." "This looks like a good one..."

Bodies are being prepped—fueling, resting, stretching. Boards are being prepped. Leash rope secure, check. Fin screws tight, check. Deck perfectly waxed, check. All systems go.

Day 1 - The Swell Arrives

At first light, the lineup is already crowded, but the waves are still small, no bigger than yesterday. "Where is it? Did we overhype it?" A collective deflation settles in. Some paddle in, disappointed. The more experienced know the swell is a little late and aren't troubled. A few more hours of rest and a few more stretches won't hurt.

The afternoon finally arrives... there it is. The first real sets start to roll in. The infrequent but big and powerful frontrunners of the swell catch the lineup off guard and clean everyone up. Excitement builds again, tentatively at first. If I just do a quick check, this small window can be misleading. I could watch for only 5 minutes, not see one of the frontrunners, and think it hasn't arrived yet. Or I could walk out just as one of the big sets is pummeling the lineup, and race to grab my board... only to return to a calm ocean and second-guess what I'd seen. "Didn't I just see a nice set roll through? Was that a fluke?"

Some surfers are on it instantly, too eager to wait. They paddle for anything that moves. The older, more experienced ones hang back. They know what's coming. They save their energy for prime time. I try to remain disciplined and put myself in the latter group, but often find myself paddling out early. "I'll just stay out longer. I have the energy!" I tell myself.

By the time the sun is low on the horizon, it's clear—it's definitely on. Sets are bigger and more consistent. If the winds cooperate, tomorrow will be a day to remember.

Day 2 - Peak of the Swell

This is it. Surfers are out from first light until dark. Some surf for five hours straight, maybe more. There are boats in the channel filming, a water photographer, a drone, and a bigger group shooting from the shore. Spectators watch in amazement as surfers perform their odd ritual.

This is when the magic happens. A few surfers get waves they will remember for the rest of their lives. Others are humbled. Some sit on the sidelines, watching, waiting for the swell to back off so the size can re-enter their comfort zone. A few boards are snapped. A few reef cuts are stitched.

As the sun sets, surfers congregate at the "go-to" bar—almost always the place with the best view of the break—to rehash the waves of the day and share their stoke. This post-surf ceremony helps to cement the swell into its proper place in history. The locals and experienced surfers give all the visitors an accurate account of how it stacks up against previous swells. "Yes, this is one of the best I've seen in the last few years," one might say. "Everything was lining up perfectly. Any bigger, and the reef wouldn't be able to handle it. This is as good as it gets." Or, another might critique, "It wasn't quite right. This place gets way better with the right direction and a little more size. If you think this was fun, just wait until a real swell arrives."

The super stoked are fried but full of energy. With zinc still on their faces and hair stiff from the salt water, they can't stop smiling and talking to anyone who will listen. "Bro, I saw you on that one, that was epic! That wave was just kegging so hard over the reef. That was so sick, dude!"

"Oh, bro, I had the sickest one, but that one guy chandeliered me so hard! Damn... whatever, though, it was still a sick session. Should still be good tomorrow, yeah?"

Day 3 - The Backside of the Swell

There are still good-sized sets coming in, but less frequently and with less power. Most of the cameras are gone. The "big dogz," who were feasting on the best barrels yesterday, sit well outside the pack waiting for the last of the big sets. They compare notes about their best waves from the day before - how to navigate the final section and make it out of the high and tight barrel that sometimes clamps. They laugh about a board snapped, admirably, deep in a barrel, and curse a novice who, having overestimated their abilities, was flailing on the inside and ruined what could have been a perfect wave.

Some of the surfers who sat out during the peak are out to charge into a few today, hoping to get the ride of their life.

Despite my entire body being stiff and sore, I force myself out of bed. I know the next swell may be multiple weeks away. I also know the crowd has likely diminished - other surfers give in to the comfort of their beds and sleep in. I have to get it while the getting is good.

I remind myself that with a few stretches, my body will start moving freely again, and with a quick check of the surf, I'll be revitalized and ready for another session.

After the Swell

By Day 4, the magic is gone. The waves are still fun by most standards, but compared to the peak of the swell, they're much less thrilling. Still, most of us paddle out yet again, despite being drained from our multi-day surf binge. I'm a little relieved it's backed off a bit and can have a more casual surf. This one won't be a marathon-session, but I still want to milk the last of it before the waiting game sets in again.

The humbled surfers are digesting the truth of their surfing capabilities, recently tested by a real swell. The big dogz are gloating. The general community is happy the ocean has delivered. Photos and videos will be sold. Food and beers will be served. Broken boards will be fixed, and new boards will come off the racks. Stoked surfers will make plans to return again, and the news about the epic swell will draw in new surfers. The surf economy has been refueled.

Now grateful for a few days of rest, we all turn back to the forecast and start the cycle over again.