If I were to portray my Garden of Eden, an eternal utopia, it mirrors an existing paradise on the island of Tahiti. Isolated on all sides by the vast Pacific Ocean, Tahiti, a partially independent territory of France, is a recluse paradise in the middle of the South Pacific. Although small, relatively unpopulated, and remote, it is an island of abundance. Colorful flowers and tropical fruits line the single highway that encircles ¾ of the island. At the end of that road, there is a small village called Teahupo’o (pronounced ‘Choh-poo’), home to about 1000 local residents, and very few expats. There is a single restaurant open daily from 11AM-3PM, and half the town is only accessible by crossing the river over a narrow pedestrian-only bridge to get to a dirt path. I stayed in a local’s house on a volcanic black sand beach just across the footbridge. Every person in the village knew one another, and each and every one of them greeted me with a warm smile and the local greeting of “ia ora na.” A 20-minute paddle to the reef pass outside this village, at the “end of the road,” there is the Teahupo’o wave — renowned and often referred to in the surfing world as “the heaviest wave in the world.” It was in search of catching a barrel at this wave that brought me to this remote village in the middle of the South Pacific, but it was the abundance of nature and the kindness of the people that truly made me fall in love with this island.
The wave at Teahupo’o is infamous in the surfing world for its iconic, impossibly heavy left-hand barrel. The wave breaks about ½ mile from shore on a living coral reef shelf that cuts through human flesh like soft Brie cheese. The ocean topography goes from deep to shallow so quickly on the reef shelf that the wave throws forward with such force that there is more water above the barrel than below. The wave doesn’t grow upward out of the water, like most other waves, but rather the bottom sucks out from below creating a steep and critical takeoff, and an incredible amount of force of water above the lip of the wave. Teahupo’o can handle, with picture-perfect barrels, any amount of swell from 3 feet to 40 feet. Each of the locals has a story to tell, and often a scar to match, facing this aquatic beast. I felt strong trepidation to face this monster, to say the least.
I came during the “low” season, with a 50/50 chance of scoring good waves during this time of year. The first day, I explored the small town with an anxious eye on the waves breaking ½ mile out at sea. The forecast was 6–8 feet, but there were seasonal trade winds blowing heavy cross-shore, making the ocean look extremely messy and uninviting. I didn’t see anybody in the water all day, and it would be foolish of me to make the solo paddle out to the reef pass knowing nothing about how or where the wave breaks, or the invisible currents that could easily sweep me into the Pacific.
At 4PM, my light window was closing, and I saw a single tiny black dot of a surfer on the horizon. I was scared, but I came here on a mission, so I paddled out into the unknown. After a 12-minute paddle-out, heavily assisted by the conveyor belt of the outflowing current through the reef pass, I made it to the buoy in the channel where the spectator boats can tie off to, and saw the lone surfer sitting close to the reef in the middle of what looked like to me, an unorganized mess of 7-foot chop. I followed his lead, and paddled towards the takeoff zone. Reva obviously knew the spot intimately, as he seemed to be able to read exactly which waves were going to break cleanly off the reef amongst the mess out there. I was mindful that I was intruding on a local’s solo session, so I gave him his space and sat a bit off on the shoulder. He greeted me with a warm smile and a wave, and immediately took off on another head-high drainer.
Afraid of getting sent over the falls and raked over the reef, I tried to play it safe and take off on the shoulder. That isn’t an option at Teahupo’o because unless you drop in from the narrow takeoff zone and fully commit, you won’t be able to paddle into the wave, or worse, you’ll get caught on the lip and sent straight over the falls and into the reef. Reva saw me unsuccessfully flapping around for a few waves on his paddle back towards the peak, and offered some friendly advice to paddle more towards the reef — an area that seemed like I’d be playing a dangerous game of roulette with Poseidon. I confessed that it was my first time out there, and was open to any pointers he was willing to give. He happily gave me little tidbits after the next 5 waves I missed or ejected from last second to avoid being tossed over the falls. There were so many unwritten rules to this precision-spot that only come from years of tribal knowledge: “sit 5-meters away from that section of the reef; the big ones are closed out on this swell angle today; don’t go for the ones smaller than shoulder high or you’ll be caught inside when the set comes; take off deeper to avoid getting caught on the lip.”
I paddled deeper, and went for a head-high wave. I felt myself beginning to slip down the face of the wave, and I looked down at the 6-foot vertical drop, and then to my left at the vertical wall extending a seemingly unreachable distance ahead of me. “I’m not gonna make it!” I thought to myself, and ejected at the last second in shame, almost getting sucked back over the falls from below. I wussed out.
Expecting Reva to be disappointed for letting a good wave like that go to waste, he smiled and looked me in the eyes. In his French accent he said, “Trust yourself. And trust the wave, it will always be right.” I had no idea what he meant, but at the same time, it made so much sense. Instead of taking his rightful spot in front of me when the next set came, he signaled toward the next wave and said “This is a good one. Stay exactly where you are, and take 3 strokes directly towards shore when the wave gets here.” I couldn’t read what the wave was doing with all the wind chop, but I took Reva’s word, and trusted the wave. I felt the wave pick me up and my fins lift up above my head behind me. It was a vertical drop, and the wave continued to stretch forward to my left as the water beneath me dropped out from under me. I noticed I was beginning to doubt that I was going to make the drop, so I repeated in my head, “trust the wave.” I pushed the nose of my board down the half-pipe shaped face and popped to my feet as my board slid smoothly down the face of the ramp. The wave magically transformed from a messy white-capped wall into a glassy C-shaped bowl before my eyes. I was surfing the infamous Teahupo’o.
After catching my first wave out there, my confidence grew quickly, and I began to trust myself, and the ocean more. The waves that did break in the right place were incredible. It just seemed like they already knew what to do, as they had done for hundreds of years. It was too messy to barrel, but the handful of waves I did catch were fun, fast, and rippable, unlike any beach or point break in California. This wave had a completely different feel. It was more predictable, but also more technical, faster, and unforgiving. Without the experience, it was also difficult for me to read as the wave changes shape much faster over the contours of the reef.
The wave held a perfect shape for maneuvers through the entirety of the wave, and it was tempting to do a 3rd or 4th turn, but getting too greedy and not keeping a peripheral eye on the impending reef ledge while on the wave may result in ending the wave in 1 foot deep of water with a head-high set ready to rake you across the shallow coral below. On my last day this happened to me, and I paid the price with reef cuts all over both forearms and back. After a handful of surprisingly fun and playful ones, I ended that session with the 20-minute paddle back to shore (against the current), and went to bed that night with exhausted shoulders and an enormous sense of accomplishment. All my life I have admired photographs of professionals surfing this infamous wave, and I honestly never thought I’d be experienced enough to surf it myself. Of course, I surfed it in a fraction of the size that the pros do, but I was proud nevertheless. Throughout the next week, I surfed Chopes almost every day, whether there was decent swell or not. Half the time I had it to myself.
A week into my trip, a friend met me out there, and we explored as much of the island together as possible, searching for obscure natural features above and below the ocean surface. When I wasn’t surfing, we went on daily hikes and snorkels together discovering untouched jungle and off-the-beaten-path trails and waterfalls with no other people in sight. One hike took us through a mile-long mango tree forest with ripe yellow-orange mangos blanketing the ground. On this hike we harvested a backpack-full of mangos, passion fruit and a perfect papaya to feed us breakfast for the rest of the week. Under the sea’s surface we explored the tropical reefs directly below the wave, and the surrounding area — the same reef structure that generates surfing perfection above the surface. Just under the surface there were hundreds of different species of tropical fish with flamboyant shapes and colors that made home in the colorful reef gardens that surrounded the entire island. We saw volleyball-sized conch snails, giant clams in every color, clown fish navigating through pillowy sea anemone tentacles, black-tipped reef sharks, and a gaggle of other tropical fish I couldn’t name. Every sunset, we made homemade poke bowls with fresh ahi caught that day (<$4/pound at the market) and ate them under a Banyan tree with our toes in the black volcanic sand on our private stretch of beach. Life doesn’t get much better than this.
My first surf of the New Year, January 1 2024 will always be a particular standout that I will never forget. It was a beautifully calm, sunny, glassy day. Looking back to shore is the most gorgeous sight you can ask for while surfing — enormous vertical volcanic mountains covered in lush, green forest. The water was crystal blue, and the wave was picture-perfect. When the swell and tide is right, almost every wave barrels in crystalline beauty. The offshore spray apparated miniature rainbows off the lip of the wave as it passed by. Today had the biggest crowd I had seen at this spot — a manageable 8 guys, and each of them was friendly and welcoming. Each new surfer that paddled out approached me, shook my hand, and with a warm smile wished me “bonne annie” which means ‘happy new year’ in French. Nowhere in the world have I encountered such a warm and welcoming lineup. I was not expecting such hospitality at such a world-renowned and high-profile wave.
In the lineup, I met up with a local that a friend put me in contact with named Bogus. Bugus grew up surfing this wave, is one of the most well known surf photographers on the island, and knew every guy in the lineup. I was clearly the only tourist and native English-speaker out there. Bogus told me I was in the company of some of the biggest chargers on the island. I later learned one of them held the record for biggest wave surfed at Teahupo’o. Most of them were intimidating upon initial impression — large Polynesians with long hair covered in tribal tattoos — but each of them were welcoming and cheering me into waves when it was my turn. Vibes were at an all-time high.
Bogus continued to coach me into the right waves, giving me more ultra-specific pointers after each wave, successful or not: “don’t go for the ones bending too much; take off behind the inside peak; don’t take the third wave of the set; take off pointed directly towards shore” or my favorite, “when you get a good barrel, don’t think too much, just go straight.”
And then it happened… I made it out of a barrel at Teahupo’o. I will never forget the mental photograph of the water forming a sapphire cylinder around my body. The near-perfect circle of the barrel perfectly framed the mountainous jungle island. Time stood still as I momentarily left my body and became a 3rd-party observer of the magnificent moving-portrait before my eyes. I was riding a thin fluid line between nirvana and oblivion. My body did nothing, and I surrendered into complete trust, cradled by an equally mighty and graceful force. After an eternally fleeting moment inside that aquatic wormhole, the pocket receded back behind me and I was ushered back into the physical realm. I felt goosebumps and butterflies simultaneously as a stupid-smile plastered across my face. As I paddled back into the lineup I got a smile and nod of approval from Reva. Bogus later congratulated me too. After Day 1 of 2024, I could not catch a single other wave this year, and I’d be satisfied.
Teahupo’o is the best and most well-known wave on the island, but there are countless others that break on all sides of the island in varying swell conditions. On a small day at the end of the road, Bogus and his girlfriend Margaux gave us a driving tour hunting for bigger surf on the other side of the island, excitedly describing each wave with intimate detail along the way. We ended up surfing a river mouth wave on the north side of the island that was overhead, shifty, and fast, and completely different from Teahupo’o. He spent the entire day with us, sharing local knowledge, ushering me into competitive local lineups, and telling us stories the entire time. Bogus also told us a bit about his life story, and how he left his desk job that he said was making him “fat and pale” to pursue his passions of riding and taking photos of waves. He explained that he may not be rich, but now he is tan, healthy, happy and has a rich life. He also then went on to tell us how abundant the island is, and said “if I get hungry, I can fish and find food,” and proceeded to point out 7 different kinds of fruit trees within viewing distance. After a full day of touring around the island and hunting for surf, Bogus refused any sort of payment. Legend. Gratitude Bogus.
It was from Bogus that I obtained my first local perspective about the construction of the aluminum judging tower for the surfing competition at the 2024 Summer Olympics hosted by France. Except for the very few contractors that are getting rich from the project, the new construction at Teahupo’o is unanimously and vehemently opposed by every local on the island. For only three days of Olympic surfing competition, the imperialist Olympic overlords are drilling dozens of holes into the reef to install an oversized and intrusive aluminum judging tower. The existing structure for the wooden judging tower has been in use and sufficient for the World Surfing League since 2003. They are also building a large cement viewing deck and walking paths that seem gaudy and out of place among the naturally crafted and unassuming infrastructure in town. He also explained that the drilling barge has already taken out large chunks of reef, and that the aluminum grows a toxic algae, that gets eaten by the fish, which get biomagnified and eaten by the residents of the town. “Destruction of the reef in one place affects the reef for the entire area,” he explained.
I got another perspective from the owner of our homestay during the 1.5 hour ride to the airport he offered us as another incredibly kind gesture. Gratitude. He explained to us how it is going to take over $60,000 to rebuild the tower every year, money that the town does not have in order to maintain it. He also explained how nobody in the town is going to benefit, yet they will bear the brunt of the harm. “My kids grew up here,” he explained passionately, “this is their playground, this is their classroom!” These three days will affect us for generations. There is a small wave in the bay that the children learn to surf on, and it has already changed shape because of the construction on shore. He went on to say that these rich Parisians are making decisions from many thousands of miles away for a few days of entertainment with zero understanding or regard for the destruction of the coral that is the foundation of the food system that feeds families who have lived here for generations.
The degradation of the Teahupo’o reef may appear insignificant amid the numerous pressing global challenges. However, with growing populations and depleting resources, our encroachment intensifies on the diminishing natural assets. It is imperative for surfers and nature enthusiasts to safeguard the remaining lands that retain their natural beauty. While we relish our retreats to tropical paradises, it is essential to comprehend and actively contribute to the preservation of these cherished places, or we will mourn their disappearance from our planet completely.
If you enjoyed this story, please be so kind as to support what you can.
There are two simple ways you can help.
- Sign the petition fighting against the new construction that is destroying the reef (link below). Construction has already begun, but opposition has been successful in preventing a [completely unnecessary] vehicle bridge and other unnatural roads and street lights from being constructed in the village. It is free, and takes 30 seconds. The more people that sign the petition, the louder our voice against destruction against natural resources will be. (htps://www.saveteahupooreef.com/)
- Plant coral. For only $25, you can adopt a super coral that is planted on the nearby island of Mo’orea. This will help offset coral habitat loss from the construction of the tower. Planting these types of super corals will also become increasingly important as rising sea temperature levels are causing mass coral bleaching. (https://coralgardeners.org/products/adopt-a-coral)
Thank you for your support in keeping nature beautiful!
