In going back through my notes I found several about the ups and downs of surfing in Vietnam. It’s such a weird surf scene in so many ways. Some surfers I met there said they love it. Others won’t even be bothered to paddle out.
My experience has been confusing. I’ve left the water feeling exalted from an unexpectedly super fun session, and also dejected from total let down. Here’s a combination of notes from my sessions: Chasing Barrels in Vietnam
Surfing Central Vietnam
Da Nang, Vietnam’s third largest city almost exactly mid-way between Ho Chi Minh City in the south and Ha Noi in the north, has an unassuming, long stretch of beach. Where palm trees meet the sand, and usually calm clear waters invite backpackers in for a dip, it’s your classic Southeast Asian beach.
The waves here are dismal by most accounts. It’s flat in the summer months, can be surprisingly active in the winter, but is not positioned to get the type of waves most surfers seek out.
The surf in Vietnam is unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. Most of the time I’m researching and chasing world class waves, but sometimes I find myself surfing unusual breaks off the normal surfing path.
Surfing in Vietnam was unlike anywhere else I’ve ever surfed. Only one aspect was consistent with all other breaks: it was still just as difficult to predict when I’d have a great session, terrible experience, or learn something profound about myself. Regardless of where I am, THIS has been the common thread throughout all of my surfing experiences.
- It may be firing but it’s too crowded and difficult to get waves – I leave frustrated
- It could be terrible conditions, but I’m out with a couple of friends on soft tops and we’re messing around, laughing, having the time of our lives – I leave stoked
- And then, less common but more memorable, there are the sessions that make me question my very existence…
I was surprised to find that Vietnam had it all…
The Waves of Vietnam
The waves of central Vietnam are soft, weak, and amazingly frustrating.
Any swell heading towards the Vietnamese coast from the Pacific Ocean is blocked by the Philippines, Taiwan, and China. This leaves a relatively small area, the south China sea, where waves can form and be delivered to Vietnam.
Due to this small area, Vietnam rarely gets any long period, powerful swell. Instead, it’s almost exclusively short period wind swell.
In addition, the ocean floor off the coast of Vietnam is relatively shallow, tapering off slowly into deeper waters. Shallow water over a long stretch drains the energy of a swell and reduces the force of a wave when it reaches its breaking point. It’s the opposite of places like Hawaii where swells from deep waters hit shallow shelves quickly and bless the coast with powerful barreling waves.
The result for Vietnam is low-power, fat, and mostly crumbly waves.
Furthermore, the sandy bottom of Da Nang beach is uneven with troughs and banks. This creates an unpredictable shifty wave breaking here and there. As the waves roll in it’s typical for them to break a little bit, hit a trough and roll for several meters, then break again.
This combination of low power swell and shifty break, makes the waves difficult to ride. I’ve met a few surfers in Vietnam who really like it. I’ve met others who won’t even paddle out. Here’s my experience of the waves:
They are hard to judge – A set rolls in and starts feathering a bit on the outside but doesn’t fully break. Then it rolls a bit further and breaks, sometimes in a decent peak with lefts and rights, but almost never in the same place. There seems to always be a peak down the beach, just out of reach – rarely where I’m waiting. Quickly after breaking it backs off and rolls a bit further before breaking again. It’s very hard for me to figure out where to sit – both how far out and to the left or to the right.
They are tough to catch – soft rolling waves are difficult to catch on a short board. When the waves are breaking with a bit more of a vertical face it’s very sudden and unpredictable. A wave will roll in, stand up and break, then quickly back off and start rolling again. This means you really have to be in the right place at the right time and there’s little opportunity to get any momentum when paddling for a wave. This often means a late takeoff with only one or two paddles, a steep drop if the wave is big enough, and then a quick dissipation of power and speed as the wave dies in deep water.
They are frustrating to ride – the power inconsistency is the most challenging aspect. When I get into a wave, I can get a nice takeoff and decent bottom turn but then the wave almost always dies, leaving me high and dry. A bigger board helps significantly, harnessing a bit more speed to carry me through the flats.
To milk the wave, I have to make a shallow bottom turn and be very conservative with my top turn, pulling back hard all the way to the whitewater…then almost stall a bit, mid-face, with the crumbling whitewater nipping at my heels. From here I can keep riding and be high enough to dodge an unpredictable pitch of the lip or move lower down the face to keep some speed through a flat section.
The key for me is to be ready for anything. The next section could throw over if we pass over a shallower section, or it could die without warning over a trough.
Despite my best attempts to prologue rides, most were short, ending prematurely as the wave got fat and slowed to much to support my weight.
The sessions are an amazing workout – paddling out is a serious workout on any days over chest high. Waves break and reform again and again all the way out to the biggest lineup which is often 300m or more. This essentially means you need to paddle out three times further than a normal beach break if you want to sit on the outside.
While sitting on the inside is an option, it’s not a good one. At least being out at the biggest breaking waves, there is a bit of relief knowing you can rest. The frequency of waves is usually high. If you’re sitting on the inside you’re duck diving every couple seconds.
The size is variable – when there are waves it’s usually small – waist to chest high. These can get fun and playful, as we’ll see in part 1. Occasionally the waves get big – overhead plus. If the conditions are clean and you can make it out, standup barrels are not out of the question. I’ll share my experience about this in part 2.
Part 1: Small Peak, Big Reward
I didn’t really think that I could get any super fun waves in Vietnam. Maybe that’s part of the reason I got so stoked a few days during my stay. Out of everything I’ve ever done to improve my surf experience, lowering my expectations has had the biggest ROI on stoke.
I found a rare and magical sandbar right in town. A consistent, somewhat punchy peak, offering up a two to three turn left. Occasionally a right would work off the same peak, offering a 3-second screamer, and possibly a tiny barrel if you were small enough to crouch in.
To get fully stoked, a few stars had to align:
Goldilocks Conditions
The right size was key. The swell needed to be just the right size to roll in to the inside without first breaking and losing most of it’s power on the outside, but still having enough juice to work on the inner most sandbar. A little bit of feathering on the outside but not fully breaking was my signal to know it was the perfect size wave to take.
The Roll In or Late Takeoff
This little inside peak offered me up two choices.
Option 1: The Roll In – there was a trough just on the outside of the sandbar: deep enough to conserve the energy of the oncoming wave, but shallow enough that bigger waves would stand up just enough to catch. It was possible here to start paddling early and get enough momentum to get to my feet a second before the wave hit the sandbar and broke. It was much more work, but a good strategy for claiming waves once a few other surfers discovered the peak.
Option 2: The Late Drop – closer to the impact zone, right on the edge of the sandbar, offered a more thrilling late takeoff. Kind of like a kiddy version of a slab wave coming from deep water and hitting shallow reef, this was a one and a half to two paddle quick burst and steep drop. Sometimes it was right under the lip.
The Ride
Once up and on-wave there were two more choices:
Option 1: The speed pump and big turn – well suited after the roll in style takeoff, I could get a surprising amount of speed for a waist high wave by making a mid-face bottom turn and taking a high line on the top of the wave. It actually may not even be a bottom turn. On my toe side, I just bring my knees up toward my chest, letting the board rise up the face of the wave then lightly turn back toward the beach once the board is at the crest. Harnessing the full speed of the wave from the top all the way to the bottom, was nice rush in itslef. From here I had the speed to do a big arching bottom turn and either a quick snap if the wave was upright – lip starting to pitch – or a longer drawn out turn if it was still developing with a more sloped face.
Option 2: The hand stall and barrel attempt – on the late drop I played with the small wave barrel attempt. Many were hollow enough to pull this off. The difficulty was in tucking into a small enough ball to not have the lip hit my head or back and roll me. The fun was in transitioning from the quickness of a steep fast takeoff, to the stillness and poise required to stay within the tiny barrel. As soon as I got to my feet I’d dig both hands into the face of the wave. This helped to set the board parallel to the wave, nose pointing down the line, and also to slow me down so I could stay under the lip. Then I’d crouch as small as possible, trying to get my butt down to my heals and my head almost below my knee without losing balance. I managed to make a few. Short and small as they were, I came out of them with renewed stoke – smiling and laughing to myself in disbelief.
After either of these options off the takeoff, there was usually a closeout end section offering a final top turn, small floater, or the occasional body air. Sometimes it feels good to surf like a kid again and launch off the lip.
The Stoke
I left these sessions thoroughly stoked. Looking back at the peak from the beach, exhausted from catching so many waves in quick succession, in a bit of disbelief.
“Did I just have that good of a session in Vietnam? Did I find my stoke in the most unlikely of places?”
Sessions like this speak to the magic of surfing. It doesn’t seem logical and I shouldn’t try to understand it. It makes sense to get stoked on 200m ride in Morocco, but a 2 second ride in Vietnam?
As we’ll see next, this isn’t the only surprise Vietnam’s surf had for me.
Part 2: Standup Barrels?
It was my birthday and a rare swell had rolled in. What a nice gift I thought.
The storm that generated this swell had just passed, leaving Da Nang beach with overhead surf rolling in under a light drizzle of rain and a gentle offshore breeze.
Any inside sandbars that had been formed were surely demolished by this swell.
The outside sets were easily breaking 300m out. Peaks lined the beach as far as I could see and there wasn’t a single other surfer in sight. Empty surf sounds like a dream, but I wished there was at least a couple guys out I could share the stoke with.
The water was a dark disgusting brown. I thought runoff from the previous night’s rain had washed sewage into the waters, but only a few areas where runoff was meeting the water did the waves create that ominous green-brown foam that must be avoided at all costs.
The water color was actually caused more by the sand being kicked up by the waves. On flat days in the summer, the water is aqua clear and picturesque. With any substantial wave action it turns brown but the quality is generally safe… I think.
In any case I was fired up, thinking more about getting a standup barrel out the back, and less about getting sick from the water. I figured if I had survived the street food, I could handle the water, and I really just needed to make it past the initial breakers to be into diluted and safer waters.
I found an area between two runoff points and started what I knew would be a battle to make it to the lineup.
20 minutes later, I was about halfway out and absolutely gassed. It was 4 to 5 paddles forward, followed by a duck dive, and sometimes losing all the ground I had just gained if it wasn’t a clean one. I had made it out in similar conditions before and knew it was possible, but my excitement was waning. Was this really worth it?
I seriously considered turning around. What the hell am I doing here? The water is disgusting. There’s no one around and I’m getting tossed like an old T-shirt and a washing machine.
I sat up on my board for a few seconds to catch my breath and rethink my decision. There was no shame in turning around, right? No one could see me and I didn’t have to tell anyone. Maybe the bros would even find it funny and we could have a good laugh over it.
My initial enthusiasm was turning to doubt. If I didn’t make it out soon, I’d be too tired and then could put myself in a dangerous situation. The surf was high and there was no one around to help if something went wrong.
I suddenly thought about my parents. The last time I was back home, my mom had urged me to be careful. Like any good mom she was worried about my safety and wanted to make sure I always had a friend with me in case something happened and that I wasn’t surfing in shark infested waters. Like a good son I assured her I was being responsible and not putting my life at risk. And also – half-heartedly – promised to look for a girlfriend, get a reliable job, and come back home.
This wasn’t a life flashing before my eyes type situation but rather a type of insecurity about whether or not I had accurately judged my capabilities and the reality of the conditions.
Then the ocean calmed slightly and I snapped back to attention when I saw there was a short break from the fury. I knew this was my chance, possibly my only chance. I laid back down on my board and gunned it. I could see where the last set had broke from the remaining white foam on top of the water, set my eyes on that, and give it my all.
I paddled parallel to the shore a bit to catch an eddy flowing out to see. That sped my progress and I started gaining confidence.
This is it I thought, the timing was right, and I’m going to make it out. I was already thinking about how nice it would be to rest on my board once on the outside. I would let a few sets pass me by so I could catch my breath before charging into my first wave.
I was gonna get a standup barrel in Central Vietnam and call my bros to brag about it, “yeah dude, miles of beach with peaks up and down and no one out. Stand-up barrels; left and rights as far as you can see. It was wild!”
Then I was shaken from my daydream. I was on the cusp of being in the safe zone past the biggest breakers when what must’ve been the set of the day appeared on the horizon. I could see it feathering out the back and immediately knew this was a serious situation.
I didn’t have much left in the gas tank, but had no choice but to dig deeper and try to make it through. If I could just make it under the first one I’d be OK.
The face of the first set wave grew in front of me and rolled a bit before standing up to pitch. With a spike of adrenaline from seeing the set I dug deeper with my head down, focusing on clean strokes and trying not to think about what would happen if I didn’t make it under this first beast. I told myself, “just get through the first one don’t worry about anything else”.
As I neared the bottom of the wave and started prepping for the deepest possible duck dive I could muster, the wave jacked up and started to break. I was right under the peak. A little to the left or right and I would have been safe on the shoulder, possibly not even needing to duck dive. But I was lined up almost directly under peak. I was also almost perfectly in the impact zone where the full weight of the lip would be bearing down. It was comically bad timing.
I knew I was either going to just scratch through or get absolutely dominated.
I started my duck dive early and went as deep as possible. It felt good. A nice deep dive.
I felt the power of the wave as it passed over me and I started to pull through the back. I could see the light and was turning my attention to making it past wave 2. But I quickly realized that I wasn’t out of the grip of the wave yet. In one of the worst feelings I’ve had during surfing, I felt the wave slowly pulling me back like it had my leash and was trying to take me with it, even though I had already started paddling for the next one.
I paddled harder trying to break the grip, even though I knew that wasn’t possible. When you’re on the backside of a breaking wave and haven’t made a clean pass through, it feels like the entire ocean is moving underneath you. Fighting it is like trying to paddle upstream on a river. Even the strongest paddlers can only stay in place.
With a few deep paddles and another rush of adrenaline I was finally able to break the wave’s grip, but it was too late. I’d lost too much ground. The next set wave was right behind it and a little bit bigger. The only thing I could do was duck dive as deep as possible and hope to find a little pocket of shelter between the whitewater columns.
I didn’t get lucky. I got absolutely wreaked. The wave spun me around, turning me upside down and backwards. I clung to my board as it did a 360 rodeo underwater. I didn’t hit the sand but knew I was deep because I could feel the pressure on my ears. The wave passed by but I was still deep under water, now hugging my board, waiting for it to buoy me up to the surface.
When I came up I was in a cloud of foamy water and the next wave was bearing down on me already. I mounted my board as quickly as possible and attempted to duck dive but I was dead in the water. I had no forward momentum and the water from the previous wave was still churning, rising to the top, preventing me from getting any depth on my dive. It was like trying to duck dive in wet cement.
I made what felt like a life or death decision, jumped to the side of my board, and swam as deep as possible.
I got thrashed again. Rolling around underwater, disoriented, my leash was pulling at my leg and I was just praying that it wouldn’t snap. I dreaded swimming 300m in to shore in these conditions.
I came up relieved to find that my leash had not snapped, but heartbroken to see my board had. It was a clean break into two pieces. Like Nearly Headless Nick, a thin piece of fiberglass on the deck was keeping the two pieces from completely severing. My board was dead. I was relieved to be alive.
Now, completely spent and utterly defeated, I pulled it in and tried to belly ride it back toward shore. Half body surfing, half bodyboarding the broken board, the remaining 3-4 set waves tumbled and rolled me into shore.
Once on dry land I collected myself on the beach. Broken board beside me, leash still attached, I sat with my arms crossed over my knees and my head resting on my forearms.
All at once emotions I had pushed down over the last few months, possibly longer, came to the surface. Or, perhaps more accurately, they were magnified by the state I was in. Either way, the message was clear:
- I was tired – Physically worn out: Drained. I felt a little shaky and sick, an after effect of the adrenaline rush. But a deeper fatigue washed over me. Moving between hotels, flying on cheap airlines, and eating an inconsistent and unhealthy diet had taken its toll. If I had been properly taking care of myself I probably could have made that paddle out.
- I felt lonely – I’d met plenty of cool people on the road, but very few I could deeply connect with. I desperately wanted to just have a beer with the boys and talk about old times. Have an easy laugh over an old shared memory. Deep down I knew I wanted that feeling of acceptance that couldn’t be denied, the kind provided by my time-tested friendships dating back to childhood.
- I suddenly realized I was lost – What was I doing? Where was my life going? I’m sitting on a beach in the rain in Vietnam by myself while my friends were building careers, starting families, and learning to golf. Was I going to be one of those 60 year old guys with long hair, a bandana, and a 25 year old girlfriend?
This is what I contemplated while catching my breath and letting my body return to a steady state. My deepest anxieties had been drawn to the surface.
The nomad life is all good when you’re surfing great waves and drinking $2 beers.
But when the ocean kicks your ass and there isn’t even anyone there to lie to when they ask if you’re alright – you see the other side of the coin. A life of freedom and chasing waves is not as dreamy as it seems. I may only send home the reports of amazing waves and pictures of beautiful beaches, but that’s not the full story.
If not with everyone, I need to at least be honest with myself, “Is this what I want?”
Questions still unanswered, I removed my leash, got to my feet, and walked back to my motorbike. I was sure of one thing – I wasn’t going to stop surfing.