My Near-Drowning Experience While Surfing (2025)

A moment that shook me to my core and reminded me why we should never take the ocean for granted.

A couple of years ago, on my big surf trip, I had a brush with the kind of fear that gets under your skin and lingers.

I was in El Salvador, surfing El Sunzal, a spot that most surfers know for its long right-handers and mellow vibe.

But not that day. That day, El Sunzal had other plans.

The swell had pulsed overnight, and by mid-morning, the ocean was flexing. Double overhead sets rolled in, detonating off the point.

The seawall was doing something seawalls do best. It was sending backwash waves crashing into the oncoming sets, creating chaotic peaks that bounced and folded like origami.

It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

I’d already scored a couple of solid rides and was feeling that sweet post-drop high. I paddled back out, hunting for one more.

Funny how it’s always the classic “just one more” story.

I saw a wave shaping up, late but makeable. I committed. But as I tried to stick the drop, I hit the lip at a weird angle. It was like the bottom fell out. I freefell, landed hard, and then snap — my leash gave out.

Suddenly, it was just me and the open water. No board. No flotation. At least 500, maybe 700 meters from shore.

I started swimming. As calmly and efficiently as possible.

But every set that rolled in dragged me deeper. I’d surface gasping, only to be hit by another.

The backwash would slam into me from behind, sending me back out to sea. It felt like the ocean didn’t want to let me go.

That’s when the panic crept in. I’m not proud of it, but I started thinking: Maybe this is it.

It’s a weird thing, feeling your strength fading while the horizon stays endlessly far away.

I kept telling myself, “Just make it to the next lull. Just one more breath.”

Then, like some kind of miracle, a rogue wave washed me toward shore. It dumped me right on top of a shallow sandbank. I planted my feet, chest heaving, heart pounding, and just stood there… stunned.

No time to celebrate. Another set was charging in.

I scrambled to the rocks, stumbling like a drunk, knees shaking. But I made it. I was out.

And I was alive.

What Near-Drowning Experience While Surfing Taught Me

We love to romanticize surfing. The freedom. The connection to nature. The endless chase. And yeah, it’s all of that.

But the ocean? She doesn’t care who you are. She doesn’t care how many hours you’ve logged in the lineup. One slip, one broken leash, one unlucky current, and you’re on your own.

Since that day, I’ve never paddled out without checking my leash. I take note of every exit point. I don’t chase “just one more wave” when I’m already gassed.

Because the ocean? She gives, and she takes.

And I’m grateful — so damn grateful — that on that day in El Salvador, she gave me one more chance.