So how’d ya know it was gonna be like this? in this part of the world? Photo: Marcus Paladino
A growing number of mainstream news headlines these days have been heralding what appears to be the current executive branch’s systematic dismantling of myriad federal government agencies — so many on a daily basis, it’s hard to keep up. One in particular, however, caught my eye, reporting that NOAA — the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was one of those formerly sacrosanct government entities being dragged onto the chopping block.
NOAA, of course, having been founded in 1970, and staffed with several generations of lab-coated eggheads and rain-coated field experts dedicated to both studying and reporting on virtually every aspect of the Earth’s oceans, atmosphere and coastal regions. All three of those categories affecting surfer’s lives on a much more regular basis than those of most civilians, for whom NOAA only appears on the radar during times of meteorological catastrophes. Most pertinent to surfers, however, is how NOAA, through its Coastal Marine Automated Network (C-MAN) has designed, developed and deployed 60 oceanic data collecting buoys, measuring, among other arcane weather-related info, wave heights and periods.
Yeah, I’m talking about surf forecasting. And while NOAA’s far-flung fleet of buoys are hardly the only source of applicable nearshore wave data these days, with surf-science having outpaced any other innovation in our modern sport, the idea of having that agency’s lights turned off, and its faithful, floating buoys set adrift, got me thinking about how dependent we’ve become on having that sort of pertinent data and analysis being available 24-7 — and what our contemporary surfing lives would be like without it. Because by historical standards, we haven’t had to live without it for very long.
Consider those intrepid Polynesian adventurers in centuries past, who, spreading out through the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean in their twin-hulled voyaging canoes, were as sophisticated at reading and interpreting wave formation and direction as any early-20th century oceanographer — and way more so than any early-20th century surfers. It was only natural, then, that after discovering the remote archipelago that would come to be known as the Hawaii Islands in 400 CE — along with the incredibly accommodating surf conditions throughout — these Polynesian proto-surfers would not only develop all the characteristic elements of equipment and performance associated with recreational surfing, but also employ their collective knowledge to the skillset necessary to forecast favorable surfing conditions.
“It wasn’t just that they learned how to interpret things like changing weather patterns, sea conditions, even seabird behavior to predict an approaching swell,” asserts Dave Gilovich, former director of Surfline, the world’s foremost, and most innovative, surf forecasting entity. “They had literally centuries of historical data to draw from, eventually associating different swells with different seasons. Generational data that, combined with observing all sorts of natural elements, would allow them to forecast pretty accurately.”
Unfortunately, by the beginning of the 20th century, all that rich, detailed anecdotal evidence and forecasting technique accrued by our Polynesian fore-bearers appeared to have been lost to time; rather than reading the relevant signs, surfers were reduced to staring at the horizon and wondering. And some of the answers they came up with were pretty wild. As late as the 1930s, big swells were even thought to have originated not from the swirling depths of distant low-pressure systems, but from somewhere even deeper.
“In 1917, during the Japanese earthquake, there was a long spell of big surf here of which the boys still talk,” wrote Tom Blake, in Hawaiian Surfriders 1935. “So it seems to be the jars, the shaking, the vibration from the inside of the earth that causes big surf.”
Strange, that as the decades passed, with only a few notable exceptions (think Hawaii’s George Downing and California’s Bob Simmons, who in the 1950s both began meticulously recording swell events) surfers in general remained largely incurious. It wasn’t like there was no quantifiable data out there. Renowned oceanographer Walter Munk began his groundbreaking work on nearshore wave forecasting back in the 1940s, working with the U.S. military in preparation for the mass European amphibious landing on D-Day. He then maintained his sharp focus and considerable imagination, developing the early technology necessary to track individual swells from what he deemed the “lovely confusion” of mighty storms in Antarctica, all the way to Alaska.
Munk presented this wave-tracking concept in his 1967 documentary Waves Across The Pacific, an academic-yet-still-fascinating film that apparently very few, if any, surfers showed much interest in. In fact, it wasn’t until an article titled “The Fantastic Wave Machine” appeared in a 1974 issue of SURFER magazine, that even a little attention was given to the nascent art/science of surf forecasting. Written by Newport Beach surfer/photographer Woody Woodworth, the feature focused on the prediction of Southern California’s late-summer south swells. Frustrated by the seemingly capricious nature of tropical “chubasco” swells, Woodworth, drawing on anecdotal records provided by longtime Newport Beach lifeguard Logan Lockaby, began tracking the paths of these annual hurricanes spinning off the coast of Mexico, plotting the optimum swell windows for his beloved Newport Point. But even he admitted to be only scratching the surface.
“I will say that there are many factors determining the exact wave height and swell duration produced from tropical disturbances that we are unable to acquire information to calculate.” concluded Woodworth.
Holding contests at places like Pipe would be almost impossible without the forecast. Photo: WSL
At about the same time that Woodworth began formulating his SoCal-centric forecasting treatise — the first of its kind — another weather-minded surfer was studiously tracking hurricane swells with an eye on scoring central Baja’s fickle right points. This was Sean Collins, a Surfside local and Harbour Surfboards team rider, and if you know anything about the history of his brainchild Surfline, you already know where that got us.
So, from the starting point of, say, 1907 (Hawaiian beachboy George Freeth’s first session in Venice, California), to Surfline’s first incarnation in 1985, surfing, whose history can be traced back centuries, did without at least some sort of reasonably accurate wave forecasting for a paltry 78 years. This means that if you want to regale groms with tales about the golden “good ‘ol’ days” before surf forecasting ruined everything for you and your buddies, you had to have begun surfing on a single-fin pintail. Simply because two generations of surfers have now grown up not having to wonder what the surf was doing that day, and when the next swell was coming.
Today’s surf forecasting is so sophisticated that it’s become possible to predict not only oncoming swells to the hour, but, in some cases, an individual set of waves; vast data collection and algorithm-based analysis can tell a surfer what the waves will be like tomorrow at virtually every known surf spot on Earth. Not to mention webcams, which keep surfers updated on a minute- to-minute basis. Small wonder the collective surfing world has become completely dependent on modern surf science; no putting that genie, with all its promises of low-pressure riches, back in the bottle.
But what if something unexpected happened, and that particular genie was sucked back in? Something like…NOAA having to cut their buoys loose. What would the surfing experience be like, if we were forced to return to that earlier state of existence — the one we somehow lived through for those 78 years? Before it was possible to “know before you go.” Back when every trip to your local beach, or on a far-flung surf trip, was fueled by hope, not expectation; the arrival of a good swell inspiring a sense of delight, not affirmation.
Silly thinking. And nostalgia just isn’t my thing; I might not be a big fan of pinpointed “strike missions,” as opposed to going on a true surfari, but I certainly don’t begrudge those fortunate, and mobile, enough to enjoy their fruit. On the other hand, when I read about those who’ve made a science of their surfing — not only the sponsored pros, but plenty of recreational surfers, too — a poem I once read comes to mind. Written in “free verse” by the hugely influential 19th century American poet and essayist Walt Whitman (1819-1892), “When I Heard The Learn’d Astronomer” should resonate with anyone who, having once decided to go surfing, still hasn’t figured out the difference between a occluded front and a cold frontolysis, or what ITCZ stands for:
“When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
when the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me.
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide and
measure them.
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer where he lectured with
much applause in the lecture room.
How soon unaccountable I became sick and tired,
‘til rising and gliding out I wandered off by myself
in the mystic moist night air, and from time to time
looked up in perfect silence at the stars.”
