I started to see forecasts for a major hurricane almost two weeks out from Teddy. My friends Austin Kalama and Kelson Lau, both local young guns at Pe’ahi were patiently waiting with me on the East Coast for a big swell to materialize and I’d promised that if that happened, we would score a world-class wave I’ve had my eyes on. A big wave-style slab — one that’s at the very least, big by East Coast standards.
By the weekend of September 19, the forecast models were better than ever, calling for the swell to slowly filter in on Sunday and Monday, followed by a big push up to 14 feet at 19 seconds and favorable NNW winds late Tuesday. These are numbers I’d never seen before on the East Coast — the kind that would turn places like Jaws or Nazaré on when similar swells sweep through the Pacific or Europe’s side of the Atlantic. Knowing what I know about deepwater spots and how they interact with big, long period swells, I couldn’t think of a reason my favorite outer reef in Maine wouldn’t go XXL. But the East Coast is complicated, especially during hurricane swells. The slightest change in track or wind orientation can lead to waves that don’t measure up to the forecast. Either way, the forecast was there, so I started making calls to assemble a team.
Will Skudin was very interested, and there is no one I’d rather team up with than the East Coast’s most acclaimed charger. He was sold on the idea and made the drive up to Maine on Monday night along with Joey Crum and photographers Dylan TerMorshuizen and Christian Habberstad.
Mind you, this was all for a wave I had no photo evidence of. It existed only in my own limited experiences at the location and a very small crew of people that also knew of it. It sits nearly a mile out to sea, only turning on with a big swell coupled with a northerly wind, and it needs a lower-mid tide to work. When all of this comes together, it will still only show its true self anywhere from one to three hours before and after a low tide.
It all sits over a wide reef field that has three distinct peaks: Backyards is the outermost bombie that breaks in big, cloud-breaking avalanches at low tide; then there’s The Outside Corner, which is a slabby peak followed by a fat shoulder on the right and a long wall on the left; and finally, The Inside Corner is the section I’ve always surfed and seen the most potential in. I would always describe this place as a mix between places like Silverbacks and a smaller version of Jaws, but without photo evidence, it’s hard to know if anyone ever actually believed me or thought that I was just creating some fantasy wave in my own head. Admittedly, I even questioned myself sometimes. Still, other people were now committed to seeing it with their own eyes, all based on the word I had given them.
Just past noon, Will and his crew met up with Austin, Kelson, and I in the harbor, along with my friend Gavin Loughlin, a young charger from my hometown. Each team had its own ski and tuna fisherman Aaron Diamond hauled out all of our equipment on his boat, the Jah Reel.
We pulled up to the ledge at dead high tide with everybody eager to just get out there, even though I’d warned it wouldn’t be working. Sure enough, we were met with disappointment. The swell clearly wasn’t as big as its forecast and the reef was too deep — nothing was breaking. I knew our window would be the final two hours before light, if not the final hour. But even that would put us in the water hoping for waves four hours before low tide and surfing at a higher tide than I’d ever surfed the place. So my hope rested on the swell filling in as it had been forecasted and being big enough to overpower that higher-than-preferable tide.
As the day went on, the crew grew increasingly impatient. But suddenly around 5 p.m., a switch flipped. The wave started working. At first the outside corner started rearing up with big A-frames. Will, Joey, and Gavin paddled out on their guns. Kelson and Austin zipped over and put on a tow-in clinic. Then, slowly but surely the inside corner came to life and I was on it.
It got hollower and hollower with each set and the swell was clearly building. Even though it never filled in as big as the forecast, the wave still got a healthy fill of Hurricane Teddy’s waves and there was a proper crew on hand to tackle it. Right before dark Will paddled into the biggest wave of the day, and the biggest wave I’ve personally witnessed ridden on the East Coast. I’m sure the first two hours after dark saw the best conditions, leaving what could have been to the imagination. But that’s part of the allure of the Northeast; our chase is never-ending. But for now, I’m content. In my mind, my mythical wave had been validated.
