It dawned on me last weekend, between catching what was left of the swell filtering under the Pleasure Pier, that surfers spend most of our existence in waiting.
Like a lot of the surfers I know, I spent a part of the previous weekend online watching the World Surf League’s competition held at Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch in central California.
A much-heralded documentary film that shines a spotlight on the triumphant but tumultuous life and tragic death of professional surfing icon Andy Irons is headed for Galveston.
James Fulbright has tanker surfing down to an art and a science. He’s been exploring these waters for years, mapping the shallows where the wakes from passing tankers morph into beautiful, peeling waves that surfers can ride.
What’s changed over the past decade or so is where newly acquired surfboards originate. Based on the photos I’m seeing online, it seems that most surfers in the Lone Star State don’t ride boards shaped in Texas.
The state’s two artificial wave parks — NLand Surf Park in Austin and BSR Surf Resort in Waco — have reopened following brief closures for maintenance.
Stephen Hadley is a longtime surfer who lives and works in Galveston. If you have an idea for this column, email him at email@example.com.
A strong contingent of Texas surfers is battling it out at the U.S. Surfing Championships in Southern California this weekend.
There seems to be a special day on the calendar set aside to honor or celebrate just about everything: Donuts, hamburgers, workers, bosses. You name it, and it probably has a day.
On a rare quiet evening this week, between switching channels to dodge the Rockets’ playoff collapse, I finally had the chance to watch Lauryn LeClere’s film, “Broken Waves: Origins of a Texas Surf Cult.”
If it weren’t for Robby Robison and his Sunrise Surf Shop, it’s likely surfing would never have become the all-encompassing passion that it has for me.
Upper coast surfers have been spoiled over the last month or so. Each of the past few weekends we’ve been greeted by stellar surf groomed clean by offshore breezes. It appears our luck, however, has finally run out.
One of the biggest changes in surf lineups along the upper Texas coast in the past decade has been the increasing abundance of watercraft other than surfboards being used to catch waves.
A few weeks back, when the Texas version of competitive surfing made its way to the island, there was Brett Hopkins, hooting from the seawall in support of his son Kris as he battled to the win in one of several heats that day.
The water’s surface, glittering gold as the sun crested the horizon and broke through the underside of the Pleasure Pier, was smooth as glass, roughed only occasionally by the little swells sneaking through the barnacled pilings.
The art and craft of shaping a surfboard has followed a well-worn tradition for a reason: Learning to build a good surfboard that performs optimally can take years.
I’m a surfer in my late 40s, a fact that stares back at me each morning as I look in the mirror and see the wrinkles creasing across my forehead and framing the corners of my eyes.
While the upper Texas coast has been generally frozen for much of the week, keeping even the hardiest from attempting to catch a wave, the surfing world has been glued to big wave locations in Hawaii, Portugal and Northern California.
The act of riding waves naturally lends itself to abundant and colorful descriptions of lively waters interacting with the bends of verdant coastlines. Sprinkle in copious amounts of travel, the inevitable lessons in patience of waiting for surf and immersion in new cultures, and you have a …
If you’ve ever ridden what you’d consider a magic surfboard — one that seems to meld perfectly with your abilities and the conditions to transform average sessions into otherworldly experiences — it’s likely that craft was shaped by hand.
Stephen Hadley is a longtime surfer who lives and works in Galveston. If you’ve got a suggestion for a surfing-related topic you’d like to see covered in this column, email firstname.lastname@example.org.
The cooler weather that blew through the island Friday was yet another reminder that the beach water temperature won’t be getting any warmer for the rest of the year.
The little red Datsun pickup truck wasn’t much to look at it. There was rust all over its fenders and it seemed the bed was a few deep potholes away from collapsing.
Surfing doesn’t follow a set schedule, say the way a football or baseball game might. There’s no printed calendar that tells you when there are going to be waves or where the best surf might be breaking on a given day.
In 1984, a group of surfers in Malibu, Calif., were worried that they would lose access to the famed Malibu Point surf break because of looming development.
The new surfboard is sitting in the corner of a room in our house. It’s a beauty, shaped to perfection by a local craftsman who has been creating masterpieces for wave riders here for nearly two decades.
A new documentary, “Broken Waves: Origins of a Texas Surf Cult,” chronicles the storied era in Galveston. The film will make its debut at the Endless Summer Galveston Reunion, set for next Saturday, Sept. 30 at Moody Gardens.
Jerry Shelton and his family have deep roots in Galveston’s surfing history, so it seems fitting he’d organize a yearly island reunion that connects the wave-riding past with the present.
Life is all about perspective and priorities, and right now riding waves has fallen to the bottom of a long list for quite a few people here along the Texas coast.