It is hard to describe the feeling of reading The Wave for the first time. You’re sitting on a dry couch, maybe sipping coffee, and suddenly your palms are sweating because Susan Casey is describing a wall of water seventy feet tall. This isn't just a book about surfing. Honestly, calling it a "surfing book" is like calling Moby Dick a fishing guide. It’s a terrifying, journalistic look at the physics of the ocean and the fringe group of people—mostly centered around Laird Hamilton—who decided that regular waves just weren't enough to satisfy their adrenaline itch.
Nature is scary. We forget that in our climate-controlled lives.
Why The Wave Still Haunts Surfers and Scientists
When The Wave (full title: The Wave: In Pursuit of the Rogues, Freaks, and Giants of the Ocean) hit the shelves, it bridged a gap between two worlds that usually don't talk to each other. On one side, you have the "tow-in" surfers. These guys use Jet Skis to get into waves that are physically impossible to paddle into. On the other side, you have the scientists—oceanographers and climatologists—who are looking at satellite data and realizing that "rogue waves" aren't just sailor myths. They are real. And they are getting bigger.
Casey spends a lot of time at Jaws (Peahi) in Maui. If you've never seen footage of Jaws, it’s worth a YouTube rabbit hole. The water doesn't just roll; it explodes. The book captures the specific, manic energy of the 2000s big-wave scene, where surfers were basically becoming amateur meteorologists to track storms in the Aleutian Islands. They weren't just looking for a fun day at the beach. They were looking for monsters.
The math is actually pretty grim. A "rogue wave" is technically defined as a wave that is more than twice the significant wave height of the surrounding sea state. For decades, the shipping industry thought these were one-in-a-million occurrences. Then, on New Year's Day in 1995, the Draupner platform in the North Sea got smacked by a wave that measured nearly 84 feet. The sensors proved what the survivors had been saying for centuries: the ocean can spontaneously create a mountain of water that kills everything in its path.
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The Laird Hamilton Factor
You can't talk about The Wave without talking about Laird Hamilton. Casey writes about him with a mix of awe and journalistic skepticism, though mostly awe. He's the central figure, the "king" of this realm of giants. To some in the surfing community, Laird is a polarizing figure—he didn't compete in traditional ASP (now WSL) tours, and he paved his own way through sponsorships and innovations like hydrofoils.
But in the context of this book, he’s a bridge to the primal. Casey follows him to places like Teahupo'o in Tahiti, often called the heaviest wave in the world. It’s not just the height there; it's the thickness. The entire ocean seems to fold over on itself.
Casey’s writing shines when she describes the physical toll. She talks about the "washing machine" effect—when a surfer falls and is held underwater for minutes, their lungs burning, their eardrums potentially bursting from the pressure. It’s a visceral read. You feel the salt in your throat. You feel the vibration of the Jet Ski engines.
Ships vs. The Sea: The Science of Shipwrecks
One of the most sobering parts of the book has nothing to do with surfing. It’s about the massive cargo ships that simply vanish. Every year, dozens of large vessels go missing. Sometimes they find debris; sometimes they find nothing.
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Casey interviews experts like Michel Olagnon and those at the European Space Agency who used MaxWave satellite projects to track these "freak" waves. What they found was chilling. The ocean is much more chaotic than our shipping routes assume. When a 100-foot wave hits a container ship, it doesn't just rock the boat. It snaps the hull like a dry twig.
- The Draupner Wave: Proved rogue waves aren't "tall tales."
- The Queen Elizabeth 2: In 1995, it hit a 95-foot wave that the captain described as a "wall of water."
- MaxWave Satellites: Identified ten waves over 80 feet in a single three-week period across the globe.
It makes you realize how fragile our global supply chain actually is. We rely on these massive steel boxes to stay afloat, but the ocean doesn't care about our schedules or our steel.
Is Climate Change Making Waves Bigger?
This is the big question Casey leaves us with. As the planet warms, the energy in the atmosphere increases. More energy means more intense storms. More intense storms mean larger swells. Since the book was published, we've seen places like Nazaré in Portugal become the new epicenter of big-wave surfing.
Nazaré is a freak of geology. There's an underwater canyon—the Nazaré Canyon—that funnels water directly toward the shore, amplifying the swell. In the years since The Wave was released, surfers like Rodrigo Koxa and Maya Gabeira have set world records there, riding waves that look like skyscrapers. Casey was ahead of the curve in identifying that we are entering an era of "extreme" ocean conditions.
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What's fascinating is how our perception of "big" has changed. In the 90s, a 50-foot wave was the "Holy Grail." Now, if it's not 80 feet, it barely makes the evening news. We are becoming desensitized to the scale, but the physics remain just as deadly. One mistake at that speed is like hitting concrete at 50 miles per hour.
Why You Should Care (Even if You Don't Surf)
Most people will never stand on a surfboard, let alone a 70-foot wave. But The Wave matters because it’s a study of human obsession. Why do these people do it? Casey explores the psychology of risk. For Laird and his crew, it’s not about "fun." It’s about being present. When a billion tons of water is chasing you, you can't think about your mortgage or your taxes. You are just... there.
It’s also a warning. We treat the ocean like a highway or a trash can. But Casey reminds us that it is a living, breathing, and occasionally very angry organism.
Actionable Insights for Ocean Lovers and Readers
If you're fascinated by the themes in Susan Casey’s work, there are ways to engage with this world without risking your life in the impact zone.
- Track the Swells: Use tools like Surfline or Magicseaweed (now part of Surfline) to look at "Purple Blobs." These are massive low-pressure systems. Even from your desk, seeing a storm move across the Pacific gives you a sense of the scale Casey describes.
- Understand the Bathymetry: Look up the "Nazaré Canyon" or the "Cortez Bank." These are the underwater features that create giant waves. Learning how the seafloor shapes the surface changes how you look at every beach you visit.
- Read the Follow-up: If you liked the science aspect of The Wave, Casey’s other book, The Devils Teeth, focuses on Great White sharks off the coast of San Francisco. It carries that same sense of "holy crap, nature is wild."
- Support Ocean Research: Organizations like the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution do the actual work of measuring these monsters. Rogue wave research is still an evolving field, and they are the ones figuring out how to keep sailors safe.
- Watch "100 Foot Wave": For a visual companion to the book’s themes, the HBO docuseries about Garrett McNamara in Nazaré is the modern-day spiritual successor to Casey’s narrative. It shows the sheer logistics of trying to survive these environments.
The ocean is the last great wilderness on Earth. The Wave is probably the best map we have for the parts of that wilderness that want to swallow us whole. Just remember: if you're standing on the beach and the water suddenly disappears far out into the horizon, don't stop to take a photo. Run.