Cold Water Saints
Surfing the Gulf of Alaska in February with a community of people who refuse to call it suffering.
By Joaquín Reyes January 12, 2024 10 min read Issue 03
The water is thirty-six degrees. The air is colder. There are seven of us in the lineup and nobody is talking, because talking means opening your mouth, and opening your mouth means tasting the wind.
Sage paddles past me on a battered 9'2" she's had since college. She's grinning. She's always grinning. I have no idea how she does it.
“It's not bravery. It's just the only place where my brain shuts up.”
Crude
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