245. Past the Break - Nathan Lowdermilk
JMW Turner, Waves Breaking Against the Wind (1840)
Surfing is a sport that requires a lot of patience—to learn to read the movements of the ocean, to spot a set of waves coming in, to know where to be to catch the one you want.
I didn’t always love the water. On a school field trip when I was about five, some kids told me that the swimming pool was shallow. Though I wasn’t a strong swimmer, I jumped into the deep end, and it didn’t go well. The lifeguard had to save me, and I was afraid of water after that.
But I spent every other weekend with my dad in Waves, a small stretch on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, about thirty miles south of where I lived with my mom. My dad was a serious surfer, and he took my older brother and me to the beach a lot. Because I was terrified of the waves, I’d sit on the shore and watch as my dad and brother paddled out for hours. Finally my dad started putting me on the front of his surfboard and taking me out. When we made it past the break, it felt like a whole different world. It felt like my safe zone. I was hooked.
I don’t think I’ve ever been away from the water for more than two weeks at a time in my whole life. I’ve spent a lot of time in Central America and the Caribbean, catching waves and surf guiding. Still the Outer Banks is home. It’s simple, just empty sand dunes on a two-lane road, barely any street lights or stop signs, and never too crowded because the waves are unpredictable. When the conditions are right, they’re some of the most perfectly shaped shore-break waves you can find. But you have to be patient and pay close attention to the wind forecast and the tides.
As a surf instructor, I mostly work with kids. Our normal conditions are great for beginners—waves one to two feet, perfect size to start. Before we ever get in the water, I try to convey everything I’m thinking when I’m out there—everything from wind direction, swell, and rip currents, to paddling and popping up—and then we head out. Some kids get pretty frothed up about catching so many waves, others want to chat me up about my life. Sometimes we end up in a lull between sets, and I ask them questions about theirs—like what their interests are, like if they play sports, if they have any buzzer-beater wins. I tell them that when I’m hanging out and waiting for a wave, I think back to moments like that as a way to pass the time.
I don’t really remember how I started it; I just know that’s where my mind goes. Surfing is a sport that requires a lot of patience—to learn to read the movements of the ocean, to spot a set of waves coming in, to know where to be to catch the one you want. There’s a lot of downtime, watching and waiting, often with no one to talk to. In those moments, I find myself thinking about going surfing with my nine-year-old niece, pushing her into waves. I think back to a handful of days surfing with my best friends at home, scoring the best waves of our lives.
Or I think about the best wave I ever caught, which was here in the Outer Banks. It was at a spot about an hour from where I live, near an old lighthouse where a wave breaks. I went with a friend who doesn’t surf as much as me, and I had paddled a little further out by the time a giant set came in. I watched five waves explode on him, and he gave up and went back to shore.
Then this wave rose up, perfectly shaped, the length of a football field. I caught it, and I stood in three different barrels. Afterward, I looked around, and not one single person was there except my friend. Had he not been, maybe no one would have believed it. I sometimes can’t believe I’m so lucky—to surf perfect waves right where I live.
- Nathan Lowdermilk
