French Mom + Longboarder Win Nazaré “Big” Wave Event

If you have not died yet but are close, you can take an organized tour of Portugal. 

For a few thousand euros, a bus will cart you and a handful of other dying individuals around the nation for a week. You’ll listen to fado in Lisbon. Walk the gardens of Sintra. See the pilgrims in Fátima. Visit a port wine manufacturer in Porto. Learn about medieval life in Óbidos. And admire the world’s biggest wave* at Nazaré. 

Understanding that Nazaré is a stop on tours like this is fundamental in understanding the Tudor Nazaré Big Wave Challenge.

As a ghost of the WSL’s formerly global big wave tour, Naz lingers as an annual tow-only event funded by a Swiss watch company, a tourism board, and a bunch of other companies that couldn’t give a fuck about Noa Deane’s new film. 

Eighteen invitees were split into nine teams of two. Each team surfed two 45-minute heats. After 4-and-half hours and enough fuel burned to make Taylor Swift blush, one team would be declared victorious. Awards would also be given out for the best male and female performers of the day. 

Now, the essential question for a big wave event: How big was it?

Shit. 20 feet? 25 feet? Here’s what I know for sure. Standing on the cliff, I noticed a peak to the north churning out what looked like the day’s most impressive waves. I knew the swell was quite west today (by PT standards, at least: 284 degrees). I knew you needed some west to make the canyon do its thing. And I wondered if the swell was so west that the canyon effect generated bigger teepees down the beach than out in front of the cliff. 

I opened the compass app on my phone to better understand where this swell was coming from. And I noticed that my elevation on the cliff was 104 feet above sea level. Fuck measuring waves here with shin bones. Prove to me that one is legitimately as tall as the cliff, and I’ll buy you all the Guinness you want. 

Anyway, the contest. 

This year, Nic Von Rupp and Clement Roseyro’s team won. Clement, a former World Longboard Tour competitor, won the men’s best performer (on a board made from recycled airplane parts no less), while Justine Dupont — who gave birth to a son just over a year ago — won the women’s. How? Bigger waves, more aggressive lines.

All up, it was semi-fun to watch — at least from the cliff with a beer in your hand. Still, my favorite moment came at the end of the day. The contest had ended. The skis had vanished. And the lineup was completely empty. Normally, conditions like this would see 50+ skis out. I was surprised that somebody whose invite got lost in the mail didn’t give it a crack. 

But it was beautiful. And strangely peaceful. If only for a moment, it felt like an era of Nazaré I never knew. Before the world records. Before the tour buses. Before a local bodyboarder sent an email to Garret fucking McNamara and changed the entire dynamic of a foggy little town and bizarrely created a strange sect of surfing along the way. 

People really do devote their lives to doing this well. And, in the scope of humanity, it is an impressive thing to do. But also, it’s OK for both those statements to be true and still result in you well and truly not giving a fuck.

God bless.