Unafraid To Make Waves

Niamh Houston finds her voice as she explores the depth of her marine passion.

By Niamh Houston

Being the only female surfer walking through a parking lot of all male locals in Oceanside, California, I feel like the obvious outsider. Everywhere I look, surfers are gearing up for a long day of surfing out of the tailgates of their trucks. Barefoot in my swimsuit, I keep my head down as I make my way through the crowd with my board. I have been warned about the dominant nature of Southern California surfers but never before experienced it firsthand.

On the beach, I wrestle my way into my wetsuit. The familiar suffocating feeling impairs my comfort. I walk along the beach, looking for any area with fewer surfers. My initial efforts prove unsuccessful. The locals practically coat the ocean surface. I decide to walk all the way to the opposite side of the beach. There is a small, choppy reform of a wave that will occasionally go unnoticed by the other surfers in the area. My plan is to pick up the scrappy waves that the locals pass up.

Historically, surfing has been a completely maledominated sport. The World Surfing League did not initiate a female competition until 1983. In 2018, male surfers made an average of $608,000, whereas the average female pay was only $304,000. This was fixed in 2019, and the wages are now equal. The once all-male sport has changed. It offers women a space free of prejudice and judgment.

Often, in the water, gender, racial, and age biases and injustices are completely disregarded. Everyone looks identical in full-body wetsuits. Discernment is purely influenced by personal talent and evident experience, and it soon becomes apparent that all of the locals are exceptionally better than I am. They immediately pop up on their waves, make a turn, and then perform a series of perfectly executed tricks, carves, and airs. My talent feels seriously lacking compared to these surfers.

The wind direction switches from offshore to onshore and the wave peaks turn to visibly unrideable whitewater. I retreat from the water back to the resort. The fairly lousy day of surfing forces me to adapt my plan.

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Surfing has always been my escape from reality. You have to submit to the ocean’s powerful and dangerous force. It is different from a fixed, snowy slope or skate park. The ocean is in constant motion. As a surfer, you learn how to move with it. This dynamic connection continues to intrigue me.

Peeling off my wetsuit, I found myself daydreaming. I was reminded of a recent chance encounter with octopus specialist Lance Hayes and his octopus partner, Ragnorok, named after the fictional Thor movie. Ragnarok is a sizable, male giant Pacific octopus, the largest of its species. I had met the pair on a deadline for a story about the extensive intellect of cephalopods. Given the freedom to write whatever I wanted, I decided to use the assignment as an excuse to check an experience off my bucket list—I've always dreamed about getting to play with an octopus. I was completely ecstatic when the opportunity arose.

Hayes led me through the Oregon Coast Aquarium past multiple pristine galleries. We entered a door that led us behind the scenes. A big room with a loud mechanical whir forced Hayes and I to practically yell at each other in an effort to communicate. A spacious holding facility sat on the right side of the room.

Hayes carefully removed the lid to the exhibit. Ragnarok waited eagerly in the corner nearest us. He serves as an ambassador from a reality so different from our own, quickly altering the public’s initial response from disgust to admiration. The aquarium offers encounters with octopuses, and various other ocean creatures, to both engage the animal and educate guests.

Hayes and I plunged our hands into the water. Mine cramped from the frigid temperature. As the pain slowly subsided, I noticed a single arm motioning towards my own. Ragnarok greeted Hayes with lavish familiarity. Then the octopus tentatively tasted my hands and arms through his skin and suction cups. Soon, he decided that I was another playmate and I too was embellished in ever-undulating arms. His suction cups felt like tiny toilet plungers methodically placed methodically placed and then pulled off my skin. The octopus’ skin was a vibrant red, his color-changing skin expressing excitement. I was overcome with amazement. All I could think to say was “he’s beautiful.”

The octopus’ extraordinary strength curiously pulled my arms to the center of his own where his beak (which injects venom into its victim) is located. Hayes continually detached me from the loving grip. With a loud pop, we were separated, but only briefly, as another arm was constantly sent over. Ragnorok playfully siphoned up jets of cold water towards our faces. Hayes told me they do this for fun. The octopus slowly rotated his body so that his mantle and eyes were visible, rather than the previously exposed underside. His eyes looked like tiny, opalescent jewels. A horizontal pupil stretched lengthwise across the eye. The octopus’ mantle was loosely frilled and bobbed freely in the water. Ragnorok’s body was alien compared to anything found on land.

Through centuries of evolution, the octopus has developed a bevy of adaptations that make it perfectly suited for its environment. As a species, it is able to adapt to the various obstacles thrown at it.

Humans face a crucial point in our history where we will be faced with challenges that our society will have to adapt to in order to survive in our changing environment. For our society to sufficiently thrive in the climax of our obstacles, such as climate change, ocean acidification, and mass extinctions, we need to observe the natural successes of the ocean and its creatures, as well as each other.

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The entirety of my early childhood was spent terrified of the water. The thought of getting in over my head gave me a paralyzing fear that inhibited my ability to function. Many afternoons were spent tantruming on the deck of the lane pool as my mom tried to get me to swim. I swore to her that I would never so much as go near the water in my lifetime. Luckily, she wasn't easily persuaded.

My fear was finally truly diminished when my family took a trip to Kona, Hawaii when I was 8. We drove north to Pu'ukohola Heiau National Historic Site. A small bay with a dark-sand beach sat a few meters off the nature trail. The water was murky, thick with sediment. This was unlike the pristine water we had seen everywhere else on the island. Frantic splashes disturbed the brown, glassy water. Fins erupted above the surface and darted around the bay. Everywhere we looked, juvenile black-tipped reef sharks swarmed. I was in awe. I had never seen this apex predator in the wild. The tropical environment was a drastic change from the Pacific Northwest coastline that I had grown up visiting. The trip truly ignited my love for the ocean. From there, my passion grew exponentially.

The ocean has completely shaped every aspect of my being. I am a different person when I am liberated from my landlocked life. Stressors dissolve and I reach a state of complete utopic mental clarity. The beauty of the ocean fills me with immense joy, which I cannot experience anywhere else. I constantly crave its presence.

I have an innate drive to defend ocean ecosystems and advocate for environmentally-friendly practices, hoping to help save increasingly threatened natural environments. I believe that knowledge is truly power. Ocean acidification, hypoxia, global climate change, mass extinction, and overpopulation are all problems that my generation will experience at their pinnacles.

As we continue to see greater effects of catastrophic man-caused phenomena, the era of human domination will cease, but life will persist. The natural habitats that we have grown accustomed to today will be utterly unrecognizable compared to the inevitable future. Our oceans will be filled with new organisms better suited for the extreme environments that we have created. The only thing we need to worry about saving is ourselves. Life will go on without us; it will be drastically different, but it will continue.

The ocean is truly home for me. I want to ensure that people in present and future generations can experience the ocean in the same way.

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On our third day of surfing, we walked through the parking lot more confidently. A surfer from the prior day waved at us out of friendly recognition. I altered my mindset, deciding to be more aggressive. Instead of picking up all the unwanted waves, I pursued nice peaks for myself. I again walked to the very end of the beach. The first few steps into the water were absolutely frigid. The water slowly diffused into my wetsuit. I began my long paddle out.

I traveled farther out in the lineup than I had ever been before. I was the farthest surfer from the beach in my area, which is a position that is normally only claimed by a local surfer.

The swell was bigger than it had been all week. The wave face stood at about five feet tall, larger than I’m comfortable surfing at home. After about seven consistent waves, the set lagged. I sat up on my board and looked around.

Pelicans soared only a few feet above the water. Fishermen stood on the jetty, waiting to reel in their catch. Everything seemed perfectly picturesque.

In my distracted state, I heard my dad yell, “outside, outside!” I turned and saw an absolutely perfect wave. It had a steep face and a nice peak, perfectly suited to my board.

I started paddling. I hopped up and made a left turn. Squatting slightly, I reached my hand out and dragged it along the wave face, water spraying out behind me. I rode the wave all the way to the beach.