I never really planned on becoming someone who could offer tips on surf photography. If you had asked me a few years ago, I would have confidently said my photography world revolved around families and weddings. Fast-paced beach breaks, surfers carving up waves, and salt spray on my lens weren’t exactly in my comfort zone. But then I married a surfer. And not just someone who casually paddles out now and then, but someone whose love for surfing runs so deep that nearly every vacation we've taken—eight out of the last nine—has been guided by the rhythm of the waves.
And you know what? I can't complain. We’ve chased swells across two Hawaiian islands and most recently in Costa Rica. The destinations are dreamy, and the photography opportunities? Endless. Every trip, I tell myself that this will be the one. This time I’ll pack the right gear, get up early, and finally capture some epic shots of my husband doing what he loves most. But reality always has its script. While he’s catching dawn patrol waves, I’m often still catching up on sleep or taking photos of our kids playing in the sand.
Still, my desire to document this part of his life hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s grown stronger. Over the years, I’ve picked up my camera, rented different lenses, and tried to learn from every missed shot. What follows is a collection of those lessons. It’s not an expert manual on surf photography. I won’t pretend to be a sports photojournalist. But these are my honest, hard-earned observations from behind the lens—things I wish I had known sooner, and things that I hope will help anyone else trying to photograph surfing in a way that feels real, intentional, and beautiful.
Gear Talk: The Lenses That Almost Made It
Learning the Hard Way on the North Shore
One of the first trips where I tried to shoot surfing was on the North Shore of Kauai. My husband had been looking forward to surfing Cannons for months. I brought along my trusty 70-200mm f/2.8L, assuming it would do the job. After all, it was a lens I used all the time for portrait sessions and weddings. But when I stood on the beach and looked through the viewfinder, I immediately knew I was in trouble. The break was so far out that even at 200mm, the surfers looked like dots on the water.
The composition was all wrong. I couldn’t isolate the action or capture the detail I wanted. The waves themselves were stunning, but the surfers were too small to see their expressions or even the movements that made the wave ride special. The lens just couldn’t bring me close enough to the action. I walked away from that shoot frustrated and disappointed. I had been so excited to finally photograph my husband in his element, and I felt like I had wasted the opportunity.
That was the trip where I learned my first real surf photography lesson: portrait lenses don’t always translate to action sports, especially not when you’re dealing with long-distance breaks and unpredictable light.
Upgrading (Temporarily) to the 100–400mm
Determined not to repeat my mistake, I rented a 100–400mm f/4.5–5.6L for our next trip—this time to Playa Grande in Costa Rica. The longer focal length helped a lot. I could stay on the beach and still fill the frame with a surfer mid-turn or paddling into a wave. It still wasn’t the dream setup, but it gave me more creative control. I didn’t need to crop as heavily in post, and I could play more with timing and composition.
Still, even with the longer lens, I ran into new challenges. The variable aperture meant that I lost light quickly, especially when clouds rolled in or the sun started to set. And because the lens was heavy, I found myself struggling to hold it steady without a tripod. I didn’t always want to lug around extra gear, especially while managing our kids on the beach. But a shaky hand can ruin even the sharpest frame.
The Fantasy of the 500mm f/4
Of course, the dream lens for surf photography—the one many professionals use—is the 500mm f/4. With its fast aperture and insane reach, it’s perfect for isolating a surfer even on far-off breaks. But with a price tag close to $10,000, it’s firmly in the dream category for me. I can’t justify spending that kind of money for something I’d use only a few times a year. Renting it is a possibility, but even then, it requires careful planning, budgeting, and making sure the surf will cooperate.
That’s the other hard truth about surf photography: you’re at the mercy of the waves. You can show up with the perfect setup, only to find flat seas, onshore winds, or a crowded lineup that makes clean shots impossible.
Tripods, Monopods, and Making Do
One thing I’ve come to appreciate is the value of stabilization. Even a basic tripod can make a huge difference, especially if you’re shooting with a heavy telephoto lens. Monopods offer a more mobile option, which is great if you need to move quickly along the beach to follow the action. I still prefer to shoot handheld when I can, especially when I’m trying to stay close to my kids, but I know now that sacrificing stability often means sacrificing sharpness.
Learning to adapt and make the most of the gear I have is still a work in progress. I know there are always going to be better lenses out there, better camera bodies, and better tools for the job. But surf photography, for me, has never been about perfection. It’s about connection. It’s about capturing the person I love doing something he loves—and sometimes, that means working with what I have and letting go of the idea of flawless gear.
Timing Is Everything
The Challenge of Early Mornings
One of the biggest hurdles I’ve faced is the timing of surf sessions. Surfers live for early mornings. The wind is calm, the light is soft, and the waves are usually at their cleanest. But as a mom, early mornings often mean something very different to me—either trying to sleep in a little longer after a busy day or getting our kids fed, dressed, and entertained while my husband is already out in the water.
By the time I get down to the beach with my camera, the light has changed and the best sets might already be gone. It’s a constant trade-off between family priorities and creative ambition. I’ve learned to manage my expectations. I may not always get the perfect golden hour shot, but I can still find meaningful moments.
Sometimes, it’s about shooting the pre-surf ritual—the wax on the board, the walk to the shoreline, the first paddle out. These quieter, less action-packed shots tell a story too. And sometimes they’re the ones I end up loving the most.
Working With Harsh Light
Surfing doesn’t happen on a schedule, and often the best waves show up when the sun is high and harsh. That kind of light creates deep shadows, blown highlights, and tricky contrast that can be hard to edit later. I’ve learned to embrace the challenge. I shoot in RAW whenever possible, which gives me more flexibility in post-processing. I also try to position myself with the sun at my back to avoid shooting into glare.
When the light is just too difficult, I switch my focus. Instead of trying to capture tight action shots, I look for silhouettes, water reflections, or wide-angle scenes that include the whole beach. There’s always something worth photographing, even if it’s not what I originally planned.
Patience and Persistence
Surf photography requires more patience than almost any other type of photography I’ve tried. Waves come in sets. Surfers sit and wait. The rhythm of the ocean doesn’t care about your shutter speed. I’ve spent whole mornings waiting for the perfect wave, only to miss the moment because I looked down to check a setting or got distracted by a toddler needing a snack.
But when I do catch a great shot—when everything aligns just right—it’s incredibly rewarding. There’s a thrill in capturing motion, in freezing the exact moment when a board slices through water or a surfer drops into a steep face. Those are the images that make me want to keep trying, keep learning, and keep showing up.
What Surfers Want in a Photo
The Disconnect Between Photographer and Subject
One of the more surprising lessons I’ve learned is that what I consider a beautiful surf photo doesn’t always match what my husband—or other surfers—think makes a great shot. I’ve shown him images I was proud of, only to hear, “Yeah, but I didn’t land it,” or “That wasn’t a good wave.” To him, a surf photo isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about performance.
Surfers want to see the critical moments of their ride: getting barreled, throwing spray, sticking the landing on a turn or air. If a maneuver doesn’t end cleanly, it doesn’t matter how cool the shot looks. That was a tough pill to swallow as a photographer who’s used to chasing light and composition over technical perfection.
But I’ve come to appreciate their perspective. Surfing is part sport, part art. The image has to capture both.
Capturing Style and Movement
Each surfer has their style—some are smooth and graceful, others are fast and aggressive. Part of the magic of surf photography is learning to recognize that and capture it. My husband, for example, has a compact, powerful stance. He carves deep turns and likes to get low on the wave. Knowing that helps me anticipate what he might do next and position myself accordingly.
I’ve learned to shoot in bursts, tracking him from the moment he pops up to the moment he kicks out or wipes out. That gives me the best chance of getting a frame he’ll want to keep. It also helps to review the shots together afterward. I ask him what he likes, what he doesn’t, and why. That feedback has been invaluable in shaping how I shoot.
The Power of Perspective
Perspective matters. A photo taken from eye level on the beach looks very different from one shot from a dune or rock outcrop. Whenever possible, I try to change my angle. Getting higher up can give me a better view of the lineup and let me isolate the surfer from background clutter. On the other hand, shooting low can emphasize the size of the wave and create a more dramatic effect.
I also try to include context when I can. The curve of the beach, the cliffs in the distance, the changing colors of the water—all of it adds to the story. Surfing isn’t just about the trick or the ride. It’s about being in nature, about being part of something bigger. And that’s something worth documenting too.
Surf Locations and Wave Behavior: Knowing Where and When to Shoot
The Myth of the “Perfect” Break
When I first started photographing surfers, I thought the key was just finding a good beach with decent waves. I assumed that if my husband said a spot was “fun” or “clean,” it meant I’d get great shots. But I quickly learned that what makes a wave fun to ride doesn’t always make it easy to photograph.
Some surf breaks are just more photogenic than others. The lighting, the shape of the wave, the distance from shore, even the backdrop—they all matter. A spot might be amazing for surfing but leave me squinting through my lens trying to figure out which tiny black dot on the horizon is my husband. Other times, I’ll find a break that’s average in size but magical in the way it curves and throws spray, with a lineup framed perfectly by cliffs or palms. Those are the places I live for.
Point Breaks, Beach Breaks, and Reef Breaks
Understanding wave types has completely changed how I plan surf shoots. Before, I just went wherever the surf report said would be decent. Now I do my scouting based on how and where the waves break.
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Beach breaks are typically the easiest to access. The waves break close to shore, and there’s usually plenty of room to move around. But they can also be unpredictable—peaky, short rides with inconsistent shape.
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Point breaks are a dream for photographers. The wave breaks along a single line, which makes it easier to track a surfer from takeoff to finish. These waves tend to peel smoothly, giving surfers (and photographers) more time to react.
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Reef breaks can be powerful and dramatic. They often offer perfect barrels and long rides, but they’re usually farther out and can be dangerous. For me, this means either shooting with a serious telephoto lens from shore or trying to find a high vantage point that gives me a better angle.
Each type has its pros and cons depending on what kind of image you’re after. For a wide landscape-style photo with surfers framed in the scenery, beach breaks often work well. But if I’m aiming to capture maneuvers—like cutbacks, snaps, or barrels—point breaks and reef breaks tend to deliver more consistent results.
Timing the Tide, Swell, and Wind
One of the things I didn’t realize early on was just how much tides affect wave quality. My husband would sometimes come back from a session and say, “It was too low,” or “The tide came in and it shut the whole thing down.” I didn’t understand what that meant until I started planning my shoots more seriously.
At low tide, reefs can be exposed, making the waves faster and hollower—but also more dangerous. At high tide, waves can mush out or close out entirely. Some breaks only work well during a narrow window of mid-tide. If I don’t time it right, I might show up to a flat ocean or a chaotic mess of whitewater.
Wind is another major factor. Offshore wind (blowing from land to sea) holds the wave face up, creating beautiful, clean shapes. It’s what gives those dramatic spray arcs when a surfer carves. Onshore wind (blowing from the sea toward land), on the other hand, tends to flatten and crumble waves. It also kicks up sea mist and glare, which can make shooting even harder.
As for swell, bigger isn’t always better—especially when I’m shooting from the beach. If the swell is huge but breaking far out, I’m limited by my lens. Sometimes a waist- to shoulder-high swell at a consistent point break is far more photographable than an overhead day with unpredictable conditions.
I’ve learned to use surf forecast tools like Surfline or Magicseaweed, but I also ask my husband or local surfers what conditions work best for each spot. Knowing the local rhythm makes a huge difference.
Iconic Surf Locations: From Dream to Reality
Honolua Bay, Maui
This is one of the most stunning surf breaks I’ve ever seen. It’s also one of the most difficult to shoot—at least from land. The wave wraps around the point and peels like a machine, with long, perfect walls that seem made for carving. But the takeoff zone is far from shore, and the cliffs that offer the best view are often crowded and tricky to access with gear.
Still, if you can get to the right spot at the right time—especially during a big winter swell—the results are incredible. The light filters down over the cliffs, the water glows emerald green, and every turn throws golden spray into the air. It’s one of those places where every frame feels like a postcard.
Playa Grande, Costa Rica
Playa Grande was where I really started to understand the rhythm of surf photography. It’s a wide, open beach break with consistent swell and good access. The waves here are fast and punchy, breaking close enough to the beach that my 100–400mm lens could keep up.
The sunsets in Costa Rica are pure magic, casting everything in warm tones. I loved capturing silhouettes against a glowing sky or shooting during the blue hour when the last light clings to the horizon and the waves turn silver. Playa Grande also has a mellow surf community, which made it easy to approach people, get tips, or ask questions without feeling like an outsider.
Cannons, Kauai
This spot holds a special place in my memory—not because I got great shots, but because it taught me how hard surf photography can be. As I mentioned earlier, I showed up with the wrong lens and the wrong expectations. Cannons breaks far from shore and can be unpredictable depending on tide and wind.
Still, it’s one of the most scenic spots on the island. The contrast between the deep blue ocean and the lush, jagged cliffs of Kauai makes even an average session look epic. I’d go back in a heartbeat—this time with better gear and more patience.
Trestles, California
Trestles is a famous surf spot in Southern California that’s been featured in countless surf magazines and competitions. I shot there once during a road trip, and it was the first time I felt like I was part of a bigger surf culture. The trail to the beach is lined with surfers, bikes, and board bags, and the break itself is incredibly consistent.
From a photographer’s standpoint, the waves are close enough to shore that you don’t need a massive lens. There are also several vantage points from the bluff that give you a wide view of the lineup. I shot from both the beach and the trail above and loved how different the perspectives felt. Trestles has that iconic golden Southern California light, especially during late afternoon sessions.
Reading the Ocean: A Photographer’s Superpower
Learning to Read Sets
At first, I would stand on the beach and just wait for something cool to happen. But over time, I started to notice patterns. Waves come in sets—groups of waves that arrive together, followed by lulls. Surfers learn to time their paddles and positioning around these sets. As a photographer, learning to anticipate the next set makes all the difference.
When I see the horizon darken or the water around the surfers shift, I know a new set is about to roll in. That’s when I raise my camera and start tracking. If I wait until the surfer is already on the wave, I’m often too late. The best shots come from anticipating the action—not reacting to it.
Watching for Position and Priority
Another trick I’ve learned is to watch the lineup for who has priority. Surfers take turns (more or less), and the person deepest on the wave usually has the right of way. By paying attention to who’s paddling into position or who just let a wave go, I can guess who’s likely to take the next one.
This helps me track the right person—not just whoever catches my eye in the moment. It also means fewer missed shots and more chances to capture someone performing a maneuver instead of just paddling around.
Reading the Wave Face
Not all waves are created equal. A good surf photo starts with a good wave. Clean, open faces offer the best canvas for maneuvers. Closeouts—where the wave breaks all at once across its length—often leave surfers with no exit and no opportunity to showcase their skills.
I’ve learned to look at the shoulder (the unbroken part of the wave) and see how much space there is to work with. If it’s steep and fast, I know I might get a dramatic turn or snap. If it’s mellow and peeling, I might see more flow and style. Being able to read the wave face helps me choose the right moment to press the shutter.
Mastering the Technical Side: Camera Settings That Work
Shooting in Manual: Finding Control in Chaos
In the early days of shooting surfing, I stuck with Aperture Priority mode. It was what I was comfortable with. I liked controlling the depth of field while letting the camera handle the rest. But with surfing, where action happens in split seconds, I started to see the cracks in that approach.
Light changes constantly—sun filtering through clouds, glare bouncing off the water, sudden shadows from a wave lip. Aperture Priority didn’t give me enough consistency. One wave might be perfectly exposed, while the next was blown out or too dark.
So I made the switch to Manual mode, and I haven’t looked back. It gave me total control over the exposure triangle—shutter speed, aperture, ISO—and helped me react more intentionally to conditions rather than letting my camera guess. Yes, it takes more attention, but the results are worth it.
Shutter Speed: Freezing the Spray
Surf photography is all about freezing motion, especially when you want to capture moments like a board slicing through water or spray flying from a bottom turn. For sharp, clean action shots, I keep my shutter speed at 1/1000 sec or faster. If the light allows, I’ll push it to 1/2000 or even 1/3200 to make sure I catch every droplet of water mid-air.
For more creative shots—like slow pans or motion blur—I’ll experiment with shutter speeds between 1/100 and 1/500. But those are rare and very situational. Most of the time, I’m prioritizing speed to lock in sharp images.
Aperture and Depth of Field
I typically shoot at f/5.6 to f/8 for surf sessions. That gives me enough depth of field to keep the surfer and wave sharp, especially when using longer focal lengths. A wider aperture (like f/2.8) might be tempting for bokeh, but it often results in too narrow a focus range for moving subjects.
With surf photography, you want room for error—especially since the subject may move slightly toward or away from you during a ride. A bit of extra depth can make the difference between a perfect frame and one that’s just soft enough to be frustrating.
ISO: Light Is Everything
Since I shoot fast shutter speeds and medium apertures, I have to be flexible with ISO. On sunny days, I can keep it at ISO 100 or 200 and still maintain fast exposures. On cloudy days or early mornings, I often have to bump it to ISO 400–800. Anything higher and I start to notice noise, especially in water shadows.
That’s where full-frame sensors help a lot. If your camera handles noise well, don’t be afraid to raise the ISO. A sharp, slightly noisy image is far better than a perfectly clean one that’s out of focus or blurry.
Autofocus: Tracking the Ride
Autofocus performance can make or break your session. I rely on continuous autofocus (AI Servo / AF-C) and use a single focus point or a small group of points to track my subject. Wide-area focus tends to get confused by the water, especially if the surfer is small in the frame or surrounded by spray.
Many modern cameras now have eye-tracking or subject detection, which can be a game-changer if it works well with small, fast-moving subjects. But even with basic gear, keeping your focus point on the surfer’s chest or head gives you the best chance of nailing sharp focus.
Burst Mode and Buffering
I shoot in burst mode almost exclusively during surf sessions. A ride lasts only a few seconds, and I want every moment covered—from takeoff to turn to kickout. My camera shoots 10–20 frames per second, depending on the mode, and that’s usually plenty.
The real challenge is managing the buffer. Shooting RAW files fills up memory fast, and I’ve had moments where my camera froze mid-ride because it was still writing to the card. Fast memory cards and good buffer management help. I’ve also learned to be selective—only holding the shutter when something is happening.
Composing the Shot: From Snapshots to Storytelling
Rule of Thirds—But Not Always
The rule of thirds is a great place to start, especially when composing surfers against the horizon or setting them off-center on a wave. Placing the surfer in the lower third can emphasize the sky and light; placing them higher can give more weight to the ocean.
But surf photography often breaks the rules—and that’s okay. Some of my favorite shots are dead-center, because they showcase symmetry and balance in a way that feels powerful. Others are cropped unusually, because the action happened so fast that I barely caught it.
Composition should always serve the moment. Don’t force a rule onto an image that works better without it.
Framing with Background
A clean background helps the surfer stand out. But sometimes, including a bit of scenery—like a distant cliff, palm trees, or beach crowd—adds depth and context to the photo. In places like Trestles or Playa Grande, I try to include just enough environment to tell the story of the spot without distracting from the action.
Beware of visual clutter, though. If the horizon cuts through the surfer’s head or there’s a flagpole in the background, it can pull attention away from the moment. Take a second before shooting to shift your angle, if you can.
Leading Lines and Wave Shape
Waves are naturally dynamic shapes—curves, lines, foam trails. Using these elements as leading lines can make your image more compelling. I love when a wave lip arcs directly toward the surfer, or when the spray from a turn creates a diagonal line that points across the frame.
Study the way the water moves. It can help guide your composition and even your timing.
Don’t Forget the Quiet Moments
Some of the most emotional surf photos happen outside the action. A lone surfer sitting in the lineup. A silhouette walking with a board under one arm. Water dripping from the nose of a longboard. These quiet, contemplative moments often evoke more than the action itself.
If the light is harsh or the waves are messy, switch focus. Shoot the mood instead of the movement. You’ll walk away with a more diverse and emotionally rich set of images.
Post-Processing: Making the Most of the Shot
Culling: The Emotional Challenge
Culling surf photos is tough. On a busy session, I might shoot 1,000 images in 30 minutes. And maybe—maybe—15 of them are worth keeping. It’s a humbling process.
I’ve learned to be ruthless. If it’s not sharp, it goes. If the composition feels awkward or the moment is off, I let it go. At first, I held onto shots just because they were close—almost great. But those almosts crowd your library and make it harder to find the real gems.
I use Photo Mechanic for fast culling, then move my selects into Lightroom for editing. Keeping my workflow efficient helps me stay excited about the process instead of overwhelmed.
Color Grading: Enhancing the Mood
I tend to edit surf images in two main styles: warm and nostalgic or cool and moody, depending on the light and location.
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Warm tones work beautifully at golden hour, emphasizing the sun and the glow of the water.
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Cool tones are great for overcast days, emphasizing contrast, power, and drama.
I start with basic adjustments—exposure, white balance, contrast—then dive into HSL (Hue, Saturation, Luminance) to tweak water tones. Deep blues and teals usually look better when slightly desaturated, while greens and aquas can be enhanced to pop just enough.
Sharpening and Noise Reduction
Surf photos often benefit from extra sharpening, especially since water details can get lost in motion. I apply light sharpening globally, then use a brush for extra detail around the surfer’s face or board.
If I had to shoot at a higher ISO, I use noise reduction in moderation. Too much, and the water looks smudgy. Too little, and the grain distracts from the image. It’s a balance, and every shot is a little different.
Cropping: Composition in the Edit
Even with the best intentions, my in-camera framing isn’t always perfect—especially when tracking fast surfers with a heavy lens. Cropping in post gives me a second chance to refine composition.
I try to avoid over-cropping (it kills resolution), but I’m not afraid to adjust horizon lines, center the surfer, or open up negative space if it helps the image breathe. I always crop with intent: to improve the story, not just to “fix” something.
Progress, Not Perfection
Surf photography has challenged me in ways I never expected. It’s technical, unpredictable, and sometimes downright frustrating. But it’s also one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done with a camera.
It’s taught me to see light differently. To understand movement. To anticipate moments instead of chasing them. It’s deepened my appreciation for the ocean—and for my husband’s quiet, relentless love for it.
I still don’t have the perfect gear. I still miss great rides. But every session teaches me something new. Every photo—whether it’s sharp and glowing or slightly out of focus—is part of a bigger story I get to tell.
And to me, that’s enough.
Getting in the Water: A Whole New World
Why I Got in the Water
For a long time, I was content shooting from the beach or cliffs. It felt safer, simpler, and honestly, more comfortable. But after a while, I started to feel removed from the action. I wanted to be closer—inside the lineup, where the wave curls and crashes and everything feels alive. That’s when I decided to try water photography.
I’ll be honest: the first time I swam out with my camera, I was terrified. Not just of waves or currents—but of ruining my gear. Of getting in someone’s way. Of being overwhelmed. But the moment I floated into position and saw a surfer bottom-turn just feet away, all that fear turned into awe. It was like stepping into another dimension.
Gear and Safety in the Lineup
If you’re thinking of shooting in the water, get a good housing. I use a waterproof hard-shell housing rated for deeper water, with proper access to shutter, focus, and zoom controls. It’s expensive, yes—but trying to cut corners here is risky. There are more affordable options like soft bags, but I’ve seen too many fogged lenses and dead cameras to trust them for serious sessions.
I also wear swim fins, even in mellow conditions. They give me mobility and let me hold position in the lineup or duck dive under incoming sets. A wetsuit or spring suit helps with buoyancy and protection (and warmth), and I always wear a leash or float on the housing, just in case.
And I can’t stress this enough: know the spot before you shoot in the water. Study the current, the reef, and where surfers are taking off. I usually watch for 15–20 minutes from shore before I paddle out. I also let at least one person in the water know I’m shooting—especially if it’s crowded.
Positioning and Timing in the Water
Shooting from the water is more about reading the rhythm than anything else. You have to position yourself where the surfer will be—not where they are now. I usually line up just outside the pocket or inside the shoulder, depending on the wave. Too far out, and you miss the action. Too far in, and you risk getting mowed down.
There’s a sweet spot where you can frame the surfer against the open face of the wave while still staying safe. But getting there takes trial, error, and a few awkward duck dives.
Timing is everything. I’ve learned to start shooting as soon as the surfer pops up, because the next two seconds are often where the magic happens. One turn. One stall into a barrel. One moment of eye contact. That’s the frame.
The Water Angle: What It Gives You
Water shots feel intimate. There’s something raw and immersive about seeing spray in the foreground, droplets clinging to the lens dome, the curve of the wave right behind the surfer. You’re not documenting from the sidelines anymore—you’re inside the moment with them.
That said, water photography isn’t always “better.” It’s just different. Shore shots give you perspective and scale. Water shots give you emotion and intensity. The best surf storytellers use both.
Collaborating with Surfers: Connection Over Perfection
Photographing My Husband
When I first started, I only shot my husband. That came with benefits—familiarity, trust, feedback—but also challenges. I’d often miss his best waves because I wasn’t ready. Or I’d focus too much on trying to impress him rather than improving my craft.
Over time, we learned to communicate better. Now, before a session, we talk:
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Where will you sit?
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What’s the swell doing?
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Do you want action shots or portraits?
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What’s your goal for this surf?
I also learned to set expectations. Sometimes I’m not in the mood to shoot. Sometimes I want to focus on one lens or location. And that’s okay. We’re partners first, artist and subject second.
Working with New Surfers
As I expanded my work, I started photographing other surfers—friends, acquaintances, even strangers I met in the lineup. The key to good collaboration is trust and communication.
I never shove a lens in someone’s face. I ask. I introduce myself. I make it clear that I’m not there to sell or exploit—just to capture the beauty of surfing as honestly as I can.
If someone’s stoked, I’ll offer to send them a few shots or even plan a proper shoot. That’s where magic happens. When the surfer knows the photographer and vice versa, the results always feel more personal.
Giving and Receiving Feedback
One of the best parts of photographing surfers is showing them how they look on a wave. So many have never seen themselves surf before—not properly. When I show someone a turn mid-spray or a moment in the barrel, they light up.
But I also ask for feedback. Was I in the right spot? Did the timing feel right? Would you have rather had something wide or tight? These conversations help me grow—and help them feel seen.
Telling a Visual Story: Beyond the Single Frame
Think in Sequences
A single surf photo is beautiful—but a sequence tells a story. I try to build a narrative in every session I shoot:
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The walk to the beach
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Waxing the board
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Paddling out
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Catching the wave
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Falling, laughing, trying again
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Coming in at sunset, dripping and happy
These in-between moments often carry more emotion than the action itself. A complete photo story captures the full experience of surfing, not just its highlight reel.
Consistency in Style and Tone
When editing or curating a set, I think about visual cohesion. Are the tones consistent? Does the mood flow? I don’t want one bright, vibrant shot next to a dark, moody one unless it’s intentional. I want the viewer to feel like they’re flipping through a journal—not a random stack of images.
Sometimes I’ll shoot an entire session with just one lens or in one orientation (landscape only) to help maintain visual continuity. It limits me creatively but makes the final story more cohesive.
Adding Text, Sound, and Motion
Lately, I’ve started experimenting with short videos and audio snippets—the rush of a wave, the scrape of wax, the wind. Even simple clips can elevate a photo story into something deeper.
And pairing photos with journal-style captions or written reflections (like these!) gives the images weight. Surf photography doesn’t have to be purely visual. It can be poetry, memory, even activism.
The Soul of Surf Photography
At its core, surf photography isn’t about gear or technical mastery. It’s about paying attention. To light. To water. To movement. To emotion. It’s about chasing something fleeting—a wave, a feeling, a second that might never happen again.
Whether you’re on the beach with a long lens or duck diving into the impact zone with a camera in hand, your job isn’t just to record. It’s to witness. To share the joy, the struggle, the connection.
That’s the soul of surf photography. And if you’re lucky, you might just catch it.
Final Thoughts
I didn’t set out to become a surf photographer. I just wanted to spend time near the ocean, camera in hand, watching my husband do the thing he loves most. But slowly, quietly, it became something more.
It became a way to connect—with the rhythm of nature, with the people who chase waves, and with a part of myself that’s always been drawn to movement and beauty and fleeting moments.
I’ve learned that surf photography isn’t just about capturing the peak of a turn or the height of a barrel. It’s about showing what surfing feels like—the stillness before a set, the joy after a good ride, the salt-drenched camaraderie in the lineup.
It’s taught me patience. You can sit for hours and get nothing. You can miss the best wave of the day by a second. But then, suddenly, it clicks—a moment of perfect light, perfect motion, perfect emotion—and it reminds you why you do this.
You don’t need the best gear. You don’t need a pro athlete in front of your lens. You just need curiosity, time, and respect—for the ocean, for the people in it, and your own evolving eye.
The more I shoot, the more I realize: this isn’t just about surfing. It’s about bearing witness to something real. Something wild and human and honest. And that, to me, is enough reason to keep showing up.