Queer Surf: From the bars to the beach

This story aired in the January 31, 2024 episode of Crosscurrents.

Northern California waves are colder and wilder. Two Bay Area surfers are taking hold of that wildness, and the possibilities it opens up. Kyla Langen and Nic Brisebois are the founders of the Queer Surf Collective. The group invites all bodies, all boards to surf differently and more inclusively.

Kyla Langen is crouched down on the beach, with their messy bun and undercut facing the sky. They’re waxing their turquoise surfboard. It’s short — and looks fast. "I could definitely stand to strip the wax off this board. Put some fresh wax on."

It’s 9 am. The still air is thick with salt at Pacifica's Linda Mar Beach. The Taco Bell Cantina glistens like a lighthouse on the shore. It’s the meeting point for the Queer Surf Collective Community Day. The bobbing heads of surfers crowd the waves. They look like a thousand buoys from afar.

On shore, I'm watching a group of queer surfers shuffle across a maze of surfboards strewn across the sand. Everyone’s stopping to pet a little dog with a pride flag leash.

Leenah Bassouni

Kyla is beckoning everyone into an intro circle. "Thank you all for being here. Super appreciate everybody coming today."

Then they throw it to their co-director, Nic Brisebois.
"Hey there, my name's Nic. They, she, Capricorn, Aries, Pisces. And it's so fun to roll up and see queer cuties on the beach."

Nic’s got a camera around their neck and they’re keeping everybody hydrated: "Did you have a Yerba Mate? Come back and get another one."

Leenah Bassouni

Together, Nic and Kyla are partners in life and in their passion to bring all bodies and all boards to the beach. And with this collective, they’re doing just that. Take it from one of the queer cuties at the meet-up:

"Hi, my name is Will. My sign is Gemini. That's all I know. That's all you need to know.  Uh, just kidding." Will Lange has been surfing at this spotc— on and offc— for the last 20 years. "I could never imagine that a bunch of queer people could take over the lineup. So I'm here to be part of that."

Courtesy of Nic Brisebois and Kyla Langen

Kyla and Nic founded Queer Surf in 2016 to make the unimaginable as Will said, a reality. They wanted to “queer the line-up." So, what does that mean?

Well, first of all, a lineup is where you literally line up to catch a wave. But it's not quite first come first serve. Sometimes it's about how much you can dominate the waves, how much of a man you can be, or as Kyla says, "how aggressive you are and how, you know, fast and how much spray you can throw."

Queering the lineup also means honoring the indigenous roots of surfing. Kyla explains how important this is, especially because "a lot of people have this entitlement and they treat their waves like their property."

Instead, the collective is making the beach more accessible to everyone. They offer lessons and surf trips up and down the California coast and community days, like the one we’re at today. They make sure everyone has everything they need to be safe in the water.

So they bring boards, and wet suits to share, and they teach folks how to read the waves and how to paddle:

"How about this one? So, start paddling. Nice and knees together. There you go!"

And most of all, they’ve built a community of people who understand what it means to be queer, to have queer bodies. To maybe not have grown up with access to the beach, or the resources to play in the water.

Kyla and Nic’s journey to making the beach a more inclusive space didn’t start with Queer Surf. By the time Kyla was 12, they were surfing competitively — then professionally. But soon enough it became clear that Kyla had to leave a part of themself behind if they were going to stay in this industry.

Courtesy of Kyla Langen and Nic Brisebois.

Courtesy of Kyla Langen and Nic Brisebois.

Kyla says, "I actually was told by my team manager that I had to quote, keep that under wraps. And that I wouldn't be sponsored still if I was out."

So they dressed more femme. No one queer held hands with their partners. The thing was there were queer surfers everywhere behind closed doors; but out on the shore, it was a don’t ask, don’t tell vibe.

Kyla recounts, "I had to kind of leave the industry in order to kind of come out and be more okay with my queerness and kind of settle into who I really was."

In a different beach town, Nic struggled with the same exclusivity.

Courtesy of Nic Brisebois.

So they traded boogie boarding in their small beach town for late-night dancing at El Rio and queer community in the Mission.

Then Kyla and Nic got together. And sure enough, Kyla brought Nic back to the water. Then their friends took notice and they wanted in. They started asking for surf lessons.

Courtesy of Nic Brisebois and Kyla Langen.

Kyla tells me, "we wanted to get people to the beach, out of the bars and onto the beach."

And so Queer Surf was born. Right in California’s gay capital.

Nic explains, "it was like, well, if we're together on this, maybe we can push back a little bit on the surfing or carve out a little space.

And now I’m standing in that space. Right here at the community meet-up. I'm chatting to a surfer as they jog out of the water. She tells me what it feels like to be part of Queer Surf:

"It's like unhinging my jaw and being able to smile from ear to ear, um, and just look around and feel both safe and celebrated for like the first time."

That's Alene Spindel. She's been surfing for 10 years. Back when she first came out to a session with Queer Surf, she only caught three waves. But it didn’t matter how many she missed. In this carved-out space, queer means abundance. Means community. Means being silly. Means making mistakes.

Nic tells me the name they have for this particular flow:  "The queer art of failure is a guiding principle in life that whatever we're doing or trying is okay, and perfection is not the end goal."

Surfing queer is not always about how many waves you catch. Instead, Nic describes it as, "dancing on the waves, being silly, being playful, letting go of like, just quiet, serious lineups."

Leenah Bassouni

But no matter the style, they say at the forefront of Queer Surf is radical inclusivity. And pushing against conventional expectations. Nic elaborates — it's about, "celebrating all bodies on all boards and whatever getting free on the beach looks like to you."

At Queer Surf, the ocean is not an escape. It's a portal. An open door to togetherness. It's space in the lineup for community. Queer Surf sits in that carved-out opening. And makes way for those left behind.