Finding Waves 100 Miles From The Ocean… Standup Paddle Surfing In Washington’s Puget Sound

The alarm beeped far too early on my day off.  I stumble down the hall, turn on the espresso machine and go to the computer to check the buoys.  “How does it look?” asks my wife Lori.  I grumble the usual; “it might be going.”  In the last few years I have learned that predicting waves inside the Puget Sound of Washington State is almost as accurate as flipping a coin.  Modern technology has somewhat improved the forecasting of waves with hourly buoy reports that give wind and swell direction via the internet.  If any one variable is off however, the all-important waves will not arrive.  Normally, around the evergreen state, most people have to drive 3-6 hours for more predictable waves.  But if the stars align, and all the big variables come together, there is beautiful, un-crowded surf only an hour away for a hearty few.

I look outside. Of course it is still dark and will be for two more hours.
I see that the snow that was falling the night before has stopped and has mostly melted away.  Am I really going to go surf when it’s in the low 30’s? Hell yes.  Well, that’s the idea anyway.  The board, paddle and wetsuit were all loaded the night before… so there is less chance of me forgetting something important at o-dark-thirty.  I slug down the espresso and bowl of cereal and head down the road.  The music is a bit louder this morning to help keep me awake.

The hour drive to “the spot” is far more enjoyable than the drive home. This is especially true if it is one of those times I make the drive only to find the swell has not arrived, or the wind has blown the waves back out to sea.  But on the way there, I am full of giddy anticipation for the beautiful little waves that do something magical inside me.  Some weird sort of purification of my soul is about to take place.  It is hard to explain, but I often compare it to the best day of powder skiing multiplied by 10.  Besides that, there are no lift lines, no crowded highway to the mountain and more often than not, no one else within sight.  Sure, the waves are small waist high rollers; occasionally head high, and the rides are short.  Oh, and the water is a balmy 45 degrees and the air temperature soars to maybe the mid 40’s too.  But it’s my little piece of heaven, and did I mention, it’s only an hour away?

My equipment for the day consists of a twelve-foot long standup paddleboard that resembles a regular surfboard on steroids.  The other important part of this equation is the carbon fiber single blade paddle that stands 8 inches taller than I do.  This is standup paddle surfing or SUP for short. I started learning how to do it 2 years ago after a trip to Kauai.  I came home from that trip determined to learn a new way to surf.  I thought at first I would only be doing it for exercise on local lakes and Bellingham Bay.  And at first that was enough.  It is a tremendous work out that produces strong abs and great balance.  But then I started playing in wind chop on the bay, and the occasional ferry wake (the Coast Guard loves that.)  I could catch these little tiny waves so easily!  Of course I had to wonder about riding “real waves” on one of these monster boards.  Well, to all the seasoned surfers out there, I’m here to tell ya, it’s like cheatin’.  When the wave comes, you are already standing up, and you are accelerating twice as fast with a paddle than with your hands.  Once on the wave, the paddle becomes a sort of rudder that helps steer the otherwise bulky board.  Those cool long board tricks are now so much easier… walking up the board and trying to “hang five” now seem like much more attainable goals.  There is a reason so many seasoned watermen like Gerry Lopez and Laird Hamilton have taken to ‘standup.’  With the same board they have crossed the English Channel and surfed the Banzai Pipeline.  It has opened a whole new world of water born opportunity.

At popular surf breaks, where crowds are more often a problem, standup surfers really have to mind their manners.  Because of the insane acceleration the paddle gives you, you can catch a wave much earlier and farther “outside.”  Because of this it becomes very easy to be a wave hog. Prone surfers will not take kindly to you if you take more than your fair share of the commodity.  So, as SUP’ers we really need to make a conscious effort to “surf with aloha” as they say in Hawaii. Where I’m headed this morning though, I won’t have to worry about crowds. I only have to share my spot with seals, jellyfish and bald eagles.  And I am happy to do so.  A beautiful thing about these surf breaks is that you can’t just pull up and park in front of the waves.  Once in the water you are looking at a ten-minute paddle to get there.  On a regular, prone surfboard, it might be more like thirty minutes. There are several spots in the Straits and the coast that used to be inaccessible due to private property and gun yielding red necks.  Now, we can just start on public property and paddle to the break without fear of disturbing Bubba’s junkyard.

As I pull into the parking area, I am already seeing that the chances of waves today are good.  The sun is not up yet, but in the gray distance I can see the tell tale sign of white water breaking 100 yards off shore. The predicted south wind has not come yet, and the breeze out of the east is somewhat blocked by the giant cliffs above the waves.  The wetsuit, booties & gloves get thrown on lickity-split, the leash gets attached to the board, and I’m off, walking into the knee-high shore break.  Once on the board, I turn and head north to my target.

I have been calling it my spot and I shouldn’t.  There have been guys surfing this area for decades.  I am just the new interloper. It is easy though to consider it yours when 90% of the time, you are the only soul there.

As I get closer to the point, the dawn is breaking, although it will be awhile before the sun clears the cliffs and warms my body.  As I arrive, I am dismayed to find no waves for the first few minutes.  I start to wonder if I have missed the day’s window.  Then, as if to answer my question, rising out of the darkness, the first sign of a swell builds and lazily moves toward me.  Now, a patient, seasoned surfer would wait and let the first couple go by to get a read on how they are breaking today.  Not me.  I spin around and paddle like mad, as if this might be the only wave to break all week. I catch it easily and let it take me 150 yards north where I kick out before it gets too shallow.  Paddling back out, I am actually fulfilled by just that one wave.  I could seriously go home and that one lonely wave would have made my two hours in the car worthwhile.  But, as luck would have it, the waves come for the next three and half hours.  At one point the sun breaks over the cliffs while the sky to the west is jet black with storm clouds.  And if it couldn’t get any better, a rainbow appears on the horizon.  It now looks like am surfing in the middle of a religious greeting card.

The morning repeats itself like this over and over.  I wait, looking to the west.  Looking for the dark line of water appearing out of nowhere and signaling me that my next ride is coming.  I have lined my self up with a submerged rock that occasionally shows itself and a boulder on the beach.  A triangulation of sorts that helps me to stay in a spot where the waves offer the biggest push and the longest ride.  When the wave is within about 30 feet of me I turn and start paddling toward shore. This part is hard to put into words.  It is at this point that a magical acceleration occurs that is both frightening and awesome.  Mother Nature, and nothing else, is propelling me along the waters surface.  I have learned to not just be pushed by the wave, but rather to control my board’s speed, to stay on and become a part of the wave. I am now moving parallel to shore, trying to stay just a few feet ahead of where the glassy wave breaks and becomes violent.  For these few moments, my world consists of nothing other than this wall of water.  It’s like I’m in a vacuum, all senses highly aware of nothing other than what this wave is telling me.  One of the things I am highly aware of is the rocks zipping along beneath me.  As the wave approaches shore, it actually sucks up the outgoing water from the previous wave.  While the water behind me is 6 feet deep, the water under my feet is about 2 feet deep.  After surfing this spot for a year now, I am intimately aware of the location of each barnacle-covered boulder, waiting to bring my peaceful ride to an abrupt halt.  As I approach the end of this waves journey, I plant my paddle hard to the left and kick out of the waves grasp.  

The wave I just rode started its journey some 800 miles away, after being spawned by a storm in the Pacific.  It then funneled through 90 miles of the Strait of Juan de Fuca before piling up on the first piece land it encountered. All so I can ride it for the last 20 seconds of its life. Tell me that’s not a near religious experience.

The waves break to the surfers left at this spot. Fifty yards to the north, the water flattens out and offers a calm exit point and a path back out to sea.  I was here once on a day like none other I’ve experienced. The entire bay was breaking.  There was an almost endless wave from the parking area to the point, over a half mile.  I honestly could not believe my eyes.  On this day, I had some of the longest rides of my life.  Unfortunately, I paid for almost each ride with a pummeling trying to get back outside the breaks.  There were few channels or exit points once you reached shore, and each return trip took all my strength.  I have never had that much saltwater pressure-washed into my sinuses before. It was worth it, but man did I get worked. I am always in awe of how much power a little 5 or 6-foot wave can harness.  I have no ambition to ride 20 or 30-foot monsters like on Hawaii’s north shore, but I have a world of respect for those that do.


The waves today come in sets of 3 & 5.  The first couple are never the biggest, and waiting for the 2nd or 4th wave pays off in size and power.  I still have much to learn.  Riding a wave on a 12-foot board is a bit different than my 7-foot surfboard.  Probably every 6th wave on average is a disaster.  I don’t get back quick enough on takeoff and the nose “pearls” pitching me head first into the icy foam.  I usually try to ball-up to avoid bonking my noggin on a rock, or get my own surfboard fin in the head. Wiping out also reintroduces a fresh batch of cold water into my wetsuit. Nothing wakes a person up quicker than 45-degree water down the back.  But, I am not complaining… its way too much fun to complain.

Eventually, just as it started, the waves just stop coming.  The wind shifts to the south, and my paddle back to the car is long and fatigued.  I can barely lift the paddle with each stroke.  As I strip off the wetsuit, I take stock of the morning’s damages.  One broken fin, one lost hat, one damn near broken toe, and one bruised thigh.  Best morning of my life? Damn near.  As I drive home, lips still wrinkled with the brine of saltwater, I start wondering when I might be able to make the trip again.  An hour later, I am home in front of the computer, checking swell and wind forecasts.

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