Why do waves break?
A tiny wave lab. A reasonable amount of chaos.
Slide the water shallower. Watch a lazy swell turn into something you'd paddle for.
Make some waves →I’m Kevin. Welcome to my little corner of surf, skate, and figuring stuff out.
↑ No backstage pass required.
Two tiny lessons. Both are real physics, both involve falling over, and neither comes with a quiz.
Poke the controls. Break things. The wave lab is fine with it. So is the paper skater, mostly.
← Start anywhere. I did.
A tiny wave lab. A reasonable amount of chaos.
Slide the water shallower. Watch a lazy swell turn into something you'd paddle for.
Make some waves →An argument with gravity, explained.
Five steps, frame by frame. Pause it at the good part, or at the part where it all goes sideways.
Pop into the details →A tiny wave lab. A reasonable amount of chaos.
Out in deep water, a swell is mostly energy passing through. The water itself just bobs in circles. It's a very chill situation.
Once the water gets shallower than about half a wavelength, the wave starts feeling the bottom. The bottom drags on it, so it slows down and bunches up, and all that energy gets squeezed into less water. So it grows taller.
Eventually the crest is moving faster than the water underneath can keep up with. Once the wave is roughly 0.78 × as tall as the water is deep (the real number swings between about 0.6 and 1.2 depending on how steep the bottom is), the top outruns the bottom and falls over its own face. That's the wave breaking, and that's the bit you surf.
Model: linear wave theory, 8-second swell, 1 m tall in deep water, no wind. The vertical scale zooms to fit, but depth and wave height always share it, so the ratio you see is the real one.
CHECKING THE GULF…
Mostly lake-flat. The Gulf is a small, closed-in sea, so wind can't blow over enough water to build real swell. Longboard, or go skate.
The main event. A storm way out in the Gulf sends in longer-period swell with real push. The catch: the good days come right before the storm, and some of them aren't safe. If the storm is coming at you, don't paddle out.
Strong south winds blow in ahead of a front and build short, choppy wind swell. Then the front passes, the wind swings north (offshore on the Texas coast), and for a morning or two it's clean. Wetsuit required. Probably.
Texas beaches are long, straight sand. A jetty or pier traps sand on one side and builds a sandbar, which gives the waves somewhere to peak and peel instead of closing out. Downside: rip currents love jetties and piers too.
CHECKING NWS RIP CURRENT STATEMENTS…
Rip current alerts: National Weather Service (api.weather.gov), live. No alert doesn't mean no rips. If you're caught in one, swim parallel to the beach, not against it.
Texas doesn't wait for swell. It waits for ships.
Galveston Bay is big and mostly shallow, but there's a trench dredged right through the middle: the Houston Ship Channel, about 45 feet deep and, after the Project 11 dredging, up to about 700 feet wide in the bay. Giant loaded ships run up and down it all day.
Short version: a giant ship's wake rolls out of the channel, hits a sandbar at an angle, and peels like a point break for minutes.
A tanker that size shoves an enormous amount of water out of the way. Its wake rolls out of the deep channel and onto the shallow flats and sandbars beside it, and then it does exactly what ocean swell does in the wave lab: slows down, stacks up, and breaks.
Here's the magic bit. The wake hits the sandbar at an angle, so it doesn't break all at once. It peels along the bar like a point break. The whole wake pattern travels with the ship, so the peel keeps pace with the tanker. Rides can go on for minutes (charter captains talk about 10+ minutes on a good one) and cover a mile or more, from a wave that started as a boat.
The best wave in Texas has a cargo manifest.
Model: classic Kelvin ship-wake theory with finite-depth correction (Havelock). The shape is real, and the size is drawn for vibes.
Sort of, and it's public. There's no surf forecast for ships, but there are two things people use:
What you're looking for is big and fast. The folklore number is ships around 100,000 tons doing 10+ knots. Loaded tankers sit deep and push more water.
Out in Galveston Bay, on the shallow shoals beside the Houston Ship Channel. The original spots were around Redfish Island and Atkinson Island, the spoil islands along the channel. The exact sandbars are local knowledge, and they shift.
You need a boat. The move is to sit about half a mile to the side of the ship's path, wait, then jump in as the wave shows up. On a longboard. With strong swimming.
Easiest way in: Tanker Surf Charters (Capt. James Fulbright, who's spent years working out the formula). Best season is roughly summer into fall, when the wind is under about 8 knots.
The channel always wins. Stay on the flats.
CHECKING BAY WIND…
Loads a live AIS ship-tracking map from VesselFinder, a third-party site, centered on the Houston Ship Channel. It stays off until you press the button.
The ocean, landlocked. Waves on a timer.
A few miles outside Waco, on a spot that started life as a barefoot waterski lake (BSR stood for Barefoot Ski Ranch), there's a pool that makes some of the most famous man-made waves on Earth. In 2018 it became North America's first full-size PerfectSwell surf pool (made by American Wave Machines), and clips of pros launching airs in Central Texas went everywhere.
Short version: 24 air cannons fire one after another, and their little bumps add up into one wave that peels down the reef. On a timer. Forever.
Here's how it works. A wall down the side of the pool hides a row of air chambers: 24 of them, each about 10 ft wide, 240 ft in total. Each one blasts air against the water and makes a bump. Fire them all at once and you get one flat wall of water. Fire them one after another and all those little bumps add up into a single angled wave that peels down the reef.
That's a phased array, the same trick radar and ultrasound use to steer a beam without moving anything. And it's secretly the tanker trick again: the break runs along the reef at the speed of whatever made the wave. For a tanker that's the ship's speed. Here it's how fast the chambers fire in sequence. Software picks the timing, so the same pool can make lefts, rights, A-frames or a beginner-friendly roller.
Surf report: 100% chance of waves. Every ~10 seconds. Forever.
Simplified model: 24 chambers × 10 ft, and waves moving at ~5 m/s (a guess at pool depth). Every chamber sends out a ripple and the page adds them all up. The real sequencing and reef shape are proprietary. Lefts and rights are from the surfer's point of view, facing the beach.
Book early. Sessions usually sell out about two months ahead, and walk-ins aren't guaranteed. Overnight guests get first dibs on booking.
Every surfer has to be a proficient swimmer. Boards should be under 8 ft because the pool is shallow, and rentals are available.
wacosurf.com →
5347 Old Mexia Rd, Waco. Details checked Sept 2026, so check the site for current hours and water-park status.
Same physics in all three: shoal, steepen, break, peel. ← tankers
An argument with gravity, explained.
Hang time: about half a second. Make it count.
A simplified physics experiment. You pick a speed and a ramp angle, and the board gets launched as a single point: no friction, no wind, no rider. The dotted line is the prediction and the red one is what actually happened.
The board rolls up a 1.4 m ramp. Climbing costs it speed. Then it leaves the lip and falls in a parabola until it hits the ground.
v_lip² = v₀² − 2·g·h y(t) = h + v·sinθ·t − ½·g·t²Friction, air drag, the rider, bearings full of sand, and fear. In real life you land shorter. Steeper ramps give you more height and less distance, and 45° only maximizes distance on flat ground, which a ramp isn't.
Three machines. Zero warranties. Built from browser APIs and electrical tape.
Punk was DIY before DIY was a hashtag: borrowed photocopiers, four-tracks in the garage, flyers stapled to every telephone pole in town. Surfing and skating were the same, with boards shaped in backyards and ramps built from "found" plywood.
So here's that energy, plus a laptop. One machine listens to the actual ocean, one turns skateboard noises into a drum kit, and one prints flyers for a show that may or may not exist.
Pick a break. The machine asks a real ocean model what the waves are doing right now, prints you a receipt, and uses the wave-lab physics to work out how shallow the water has to get before those waves break.
STANDING BY. PICK A SPOT.
Data: Open-Meteo Marine, a few km offshore. It's a model, not a lifeguard, so check local conditions before you paddle out.
A drum machine where every drum is a skateboard. The kick is a tail pop, the snare is a landing, and the hi-hat is your wheels over sidewalk cracks. Every sound is synthesized live from noise and oscillators, no samples. Press play and it makes noise, obviously.
Tap the pads to build a beat (arrow keys work too). Headphones recommended. Neighbors not consulted.
A photocopier that only makes gig flyers. Type a band name and every letter gets cut from a different magazine. The artwork is real halftone, with the dots worked out pixel by pixel, and the grit is on the house.
Every reprint re-cuts the letters. Copies are 10¢. (They're free.)
After the wipeouts: cold spring water and cypress shade.
Central Texas sits on limestone full of holes, like a giant sponge made of rock. Rain soaks down into aquifers like the Edwards and the Trinity, then pops back out as springs. The water's been underground long enough that it comes out at roughly the same temperature all year, around 68–72°F. That's freezing in July and weirdly warm in January.
The catch is that springs are only as healthy as the aquifer behind them. In drought, or when too much groundwater gets pumped out, they slow down, and sometimes they stop completely.
So every card below has a live USGS gauge on the spring or river. Numbers go up, go swim. Number says 0.00, and you've just learned something about groundwater.
cfs = cubic feet per second. I converted it to bathtubs, you're welcome.
Hill Country rivers flash-flood fast, sometimes from rain miles upstream that you never saw. If the water's rising, muddy, or carrying debris, get out and get high. Never drive or wade through flooded crossings.
Reservations, capacity caps, closures and bacteria advisories change all the time. Every card links to the official page, and those beat this zine. (Status notes here were checked Sept 2026.)
Pack out your trash. No glass. Some of these springs are the only home on Earth for things like the Barton Springs salamander and Texas wild-rice. Don't stomp the plants, and definitely don't stomp the salamanders.