I’m perched at the top of a 15-foot moving mountain of ice-cold water, and a voice in my head is screaming at me to pull out and let this wave pass.
At this point I’m committed to the ride, and as the water sucks up the face of the wave and the lip starts to pitch out and over, it now measures at least 20 feet from the top to the bottom.
I am bodysurfing at Ocean Beach along the Great Highway, no surfboard necessary. It’s December 4, 2020, and the wave energy, which began days before in a winter storm in the North Pacific more than halfway to Japan, has drawn power from the winds as it crossed thousands of miles of ocean.
The energy has nearly reached its end point, sandbars 50 to 75 yards out from shore at Ocean Beach, and it builds into huge waves that crash onto the San Francisco coastline. Huge rideable waves.
There is no backing out now. I’ve put myself right on top of this thing and I’m either going to slide headfirst down the face and surf this wave, or get thrown out over the edge, with something close to the equivalent of a house landing on me.
This winter has been exceptional for “XL surf” in Northern California. In December and January, locals were tested and big wave hunters jumped onto red-eye flights to chase the same storm energy that generated 50-foot waves in Hawaii before rolling east. As usual, Mavericks in Half Moon Bay got all the attention. Reports of all-time sessions and best rides ever were all over the media.
But our epic NorCal winter actually began on December 4 at Ocean Beach.
Bodies, not boards
Bodysurfing a wave — just a wetsuit and fins, no fiberglass or foam — involves kicking, stroking, sliding, bouncing, skipping, rolling, spinning, and the inevitable whomping at the end. A lot of smiling too. Since I ditched my board and committed to bodysurfing a few years ago I truly feel like a kid again. Tons of waves, the friendliest people, and I’ve swallowed more water than I ever did over a lifetime of water sports. It’s because I’m smiling so much, not just on the biggest waves but on smaller days. Right after a ride, I turn and swim back out for more, and discover that I’m ducking under the waves with a big open-mouthed grin.
Board surfing is a real crowd pleaser, of course: the movies, the ads, the lifestyle, even the Olympics this year. Big personalities, big money, and big stars.
Bodysurfing is the populist sport, which just about everyone has tried during heat waves or vacations. You let the wave crash on you, and you ride the whitewater toward the beach. But true bodysurfing can be much more than that; like other surfers, accomplished bodysurfers ride sideways out along the steep, clean, open part of the wave before it breaks.
The thing about Ocean Beach is that, from shore, the waves always appear smaller than they actually are.
The holy grail for board and bodysurfers alike is getting barreled, and that is where bodysurfers truly excel. Getting tubed, shacked, pitted; bodysurfers spend an inordinate amount of time in the green room. We almost never make a clean exit, but the pounding is half the fun.
Braving big swells without a board means no flotation for support. But it also means you are unencumbered, faster, and more maneuverable when you’re not on a wave and ducking under them. It’s purity and freedom, just you swimming around in all that deep water, current, and energy.
One word: ‘Epic’
The website Surfline’s forecasts often uses adjectives like junky, messy, mixed-up, blown-out, chunky, and crumbly to characterize Ocean Beach waves, thanks to the wind and the long, unprotected shoreline. On the morning of December 4, locals woke up to a one-word headline: “Epic.”
The scene along the Great Highway was electric. Photographers with tripods, skaters, dog walkers, and groups of would-be surfers in heavy pullovers, jackets, and beanies looked out in disbelief. “Where are we?” was the collective question, what with no wind, perfect A-frame peaks rolling through, and massive barrels showing perfect form. A surfer would paddle into a double overhead wave and drop down the face as it grew to three or four times their height.
The crowd would hold its collective breath. Sometimes the rider would disappear completely, and sometimes we could just see the tip of their board as they raced inside the collapsing wave, finally shooting out of the tube to resounding hoots and hollers from the gathered crowd.
I was here to bodysurf, and I was meeting Eric Gustafson, a journalism teacher at Lowell High School and organizer of the 2019 OB Big Wave Classic, the first bodysurf competition in SF in 10 years.
The thing about Ocean Beach is that, from shore, the waves always appear smaller than they actually are. The outer sandbars where the best waves first break are hundreds of yards away. There is often nobody out, or a few scattered surfers, making it hard to gain any perspective. We’re on the edge of the continent, for crying out loud.
As we swam out, the first wall of whitewater hit us, shoulder-deep, and something felt different.
The swim out to the sweet spot is a storied endeavour, one of the hardest in the surfing world and recounted many times over, even in William Finnegan’s award-winning bestseller Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life. “Making it out” is an accomplishment in itself. You might paddle or swim for 15 or 30 minutes, duck-diving under 50 or more waves.
“Normal” days at OB only go so far in preparing you for a day like December 4. Being in shape for the quarter-mile swim out isn’t put to the test until you start swimming under 15-foot waves. Even more to the point is being mentally prepared for the fear, the intensity, the immense power of the ocean, the critical rapid judgment calls, the hold-downs, and the exhaustion.
The day before, the swell was arriving and conditions were already excellent. I met Eric and Chris Navarrete, an air traffic controller in Sacramento who makes the trek to Ocean Beach in his truck with a personalized license plate that reads “WHOMP,” which is the term for getting slammed at the end of a ride as the wave finally crashes on your head.
As we swam out, the first wall of whitewater hit us, shoulder-deep, and something felt different. It was no more than three feet high, the remnants of a 15-foot wave, yet it shook my body like a dusty rug and held me under for six or seven seconds. I normally would have popped right through.
These waves were carrying a lot of power, more than we expected, forcing Eric and Chris out early without catching a wave. On my first wave, I had possibly the worst wipeout of my life. I’ve hit bottom, scraped rocks, gotten drilled by my surfboard, wrenched my neck and back, but I had never experienced a pounding as violent or been held underwater and dragged as far or long. After getting stuck crossing a rip current for 15 minutes straight, I caught two more bombs.
The swell had arrived, and I was both stoked and shaken. Everybody was eager and anxious for the next day. Conditions were going to be even better.
Part 2: A rogue wave. An award-winning shot. Redemption. And friends for life. Click here.
Born and raised in San Francisco, Josh Harris bodysurfs, skates, bikes, takes apart his old Vespa and motorcycles, and then can’t get them back together again. He also spends a good amount of time on his three teenage kids’ online homework.