IT WAS CHRISTMAS MORNING OF 1989, and the tail-end of a cold front had just slid by. The air was a biting 28 degrees; the water, a much warmer 65. With rapid-fire precision, 15-foot waves kept rolling in. Like liquid surges of energy, they rushed toward the coast and crashed onto shore.
About 100 spectators sung a chorus of hoots from the beach as a few surfers hunkered down and braved the madness. Wearing wet suits, they rode massive waves in hot pursuit of an intense quick-thrill high.
California? Hawaii? Australia? How about Palm Beach? While the image of surfing does not cling well to Florida, it’s a sport with a local following numbered in the thousands. In fact, after California, Florida ranks second in popularity for surfing in mainland U.S.A.
The areas most mentioned among surfing studs are Jacksonville, Daytona Beach, New Smyrna, Sebastian Inlet and Palm Beach. Fort Lauderdale surfers play in the waters just north of Port Everglades, but they worry about sharks that occasionally follow tankers into the port, and they are often harassed by the Florida Marine Patrol, who prefer them to go elsewhere. Miami rarely gets noticeable waves because the Bahama islands break up most of the action before it gets close to shore.
Florida’s surfing season runs from November to April and is at its best when a low-pressure system or major storm is brewing in the Northeast. Hurricanes coming from the Caribbean have a small effect on South Florida waves but not as great as a northern storm. Unlike Hawaii, where swells from Pacific storms have a great expanse of water to travel across and pick up momentum before reaching shore, most of the swells from Caribbean storms dissipate before hitting the Florida coast.
One of the hottest surfing spots in all of Florida is Palm Beach’s Reef Road. Just south of the Lake Worth Inlet, Reef Road is a one-block-long residential street that juts into A1A. Facing the ocean in front of it, a wide stretch of sand is dotted with cabanas owned by area residents.
At this spot, the Florida peninsula is at its easternmost point, similar to North Carolina’s Cape Hatteras — another great surfing area. The beachfront cove at Reef Road cradles north and northeasterly swells and, according to Surfing magazine, no other break on the East Coast can match the intensity or insanity of its waves when they hit. Unfortunately, Reef Road breaks big only about a dozen times a year, with swells that last from a few hours to a few days. When it happens, surfers invade the beach, and parking tickets start flying like New Year’s Eve confetti.
Waves of 35 feet — measured from the crest to the trough — are found in few areas of the world and can only be tackled by a handful of professional surfers. Waves of 25 feet are considered brutal, and waves of 15 feet mean serious business. Unless they have traveled to surfing areas in the Pacific or Puerto Rico, most Florida surfers can’t handle the 15-footers like those that crashed at Reef Road on that famous Christmas Day of 1989.
The average Florida surfer spends his time with waves of two to four feet, with an occasional six- to eight-footer thrown in, if he’s lucky. This is why Florida has the reputation among hot-shot surfers as the poor-man’s surfing spot. However, because of the Gulf Stream, the coastal waters here are always fairly warm and, unlike Pacific areas, there is little threat of shark attacks. Although one surfer was killed off Boynton Inlet last year when he was sucked into the rocks by an undertow, serious surfing injuries in Florida are extremely rare.
While that spell in 1989 will likely go down in South Florida surfer history as the best ever, other good years — ’83, ’81, ’77, ’73 — are rattled off by surfers with ease and are recalled with fondness, as if they were vintage wines. And like fish stories, the tales of waves and their size grow each time they are retold.
December almost always brings a present of big waves to good little surfer boys and girls.
“It’s funny, but there has always been this tradition of waiting for the big waves on Christmas Day,” says Bruce Borkenhagen of Wilton Manors, presideazy adolescents in search of the endless summer is gone, and so is the wild 1960s pot-smoking, anti-establishment image.
“When I started surfing in the late ’60s my parents went crazy,” recalls says Kirk Cottrell, director of the Eastern Surfing Association of South Florida. “They acted like I’d joined the Hell’s Angels. Today the sport is much more accepted and parents don’t worry about it.”
Other changes have occurred since the ’60s. Cowabunga is out, awesome is in. The Surf Punks have replaced the Beach Boys. Long boards are rare, short boards the norm. The guys, however, still tend to be handsome hunks.
SURFERS TODAY, AS THEY HAVE always been, are a close-knit society with their own stye of dress and language. They describe their desires to “hang ten” with a zen-like zeal: “It’s like taking communion with nature…going back to the womb …being at one with the sea.” And they invariably describe its thrills in words that carry sexual connotations: “It still feels as good at 40 as it did at 14….It’s like trying to explain what it feels like to make love to a virgin.”
Surfing clothes, a $1.5 billion-a-year industry, are now the rage and are just as likely to be found on teenagers in land-locked Peoria, Ill., as on surfers in Palm Beach. Those silly shocking-pink trunks and fluorescent shades have become a trendy fashion statement — much to the chagrin of “real” surfer jocks.
Although Florida has spawned a few world-class surfers, the state’s most famous, or infamous surfer was Jack “Murph-the-Surf” Murphy. Murphy, who was actually a transplanted Northerner, was the burglar who in 1964 stole the Star of Indiag hooky from school. Many middle-aged professionals — doctors, lawyers, businessmen — can’t resist the temptation to hang out the Gone Fishin’ sign and hit the beach.
A number of Florida’s serious surfers have left the state in search of more active areas along the Pacific coasts. “We have a brain drain situation here in Florida, sort of like Third World countries,” says Kirk Cottrell of the Eastern Surfing Association. “Our best surfers often split for better surfing opportunities elsewhere, and you can’t blame them.”
The Eastern Surfing Association has some 2,000 members in Florida. It is an amateur organization that offers surfing lessons, competitions and scholarships for young people. It is also an environmental watchdog of sorts that reports on beaches and inlets that have been damaged by developers.
The South Florida Long Board Association has a much smaller membership. Most of its members are over 30 and all are dedicated to the philosophy that long is better than short, a major bone of contention among surfers.
Short boards are more maneuverable and better for fancy gymnastic moves. Long boards are more stable, easier to paddle, and better in big waves. The argument between the two groups goes like this: Short-board riders are crazy young kids into rock ‘n’ roll and showing off. Long-board riders are old barge cruisers. And so it goes.
But whether it’s on a long board or a short board, South Florida surfers who have stayed around are a dedicated bunch. The atmosphere of local surfing has changed considerably in the past 20 years. The waters are now more crowded and the competition fiercer. The bottom line is, too everyone else watches. There are a lot of serious egos out there.”
According to Degnan, average surfers spend two to three hours in the water, and if they are aggressive, catch four to six waves an hour. Each wave lasts about 15 seconds. The jockeying for position in order to “take a wave” gets devious as the most aggressive surfers try to psych each other out with warlike maneuvers. The hierarchy of those who control the surf is complicated, and some say that because big waves are rare and the area is so heavily populated, South Florida surfing is among the most competitive you will find anywhere.
For out-of-towners, the competitiveness is even more intense because local surfers resent non-local surfers and make no effort to conceal it. The problem is common outside of Florida as well. At times it results in slashed tires and surfboards “accidentally” aimed at the back of somebody’s head.
For women the problem is even worse. Although Florida has the unusual distinction of being able to claim the world champion women’s surfer — Freida Zamba of Flagler Beach — the number of female surfers in Florida is minuscule. Unlike most other male-dominated sports of the past — bicycling, body-building or long-distance running — surfing has not been greatly affected by women’s liberation.
“To be a woman surfer you really have to be a whole lot tougher than the men,” says Dana Jones,atterns, and waves are a direct result of the weather. Others disagree.
“I don’t believe in that weather business,” says Kirk Cottrell. “I just think some of the old-timers remember when they were smaller and naturally the waves seemed bigger.”
But whether the waves are big or small, the boards long or short, the action laid-back or aggressive, for these young men of the sea their oneness with the waves is a unique way of life. It might not be Beach Blanket Bingo anymore, but surfing South Florida style is definitely here to stay.
CATCHING THE WAVE
Associations: For information on the Eastern Surfing Association, call Kirk Cottrell in Deerfield Beach at 427-4929. For information on the South Florida Long Board Association, call Bruce Borkenhagen in Wilton Manors at 566-1194.
The Surf Weather Report provides up-to-the-minute information on area surf conditions in Broward, Palm Beach and Dade counties. Call 976-SURF, 976-WAVE or 976-TUBE. Each call costs 95 cents.
The Florida Surf Map provides information on 137 of Florida’s most popular surfing areas, from Key Biscayne to Pensacola. Data includes crowds, parking, direction of the surf, etc. Maps can be purchased for $4.95 at most surf shops or by writing to Surf Florida, P.O. Box 8475, Madeira Beach, FL 33738.
Surfing Equipment: There are dozens of surf shops in the South Florida area. The price of a surfboard ranges from $250-$450, depending on length and type of paint job. A wet suit costs $50-$200.
JOANN BIONDI is a freelance writer. She lives in Miami.
