The ocean is dying from our silence too

THE OCEAN IS DYING FROM OUR SILENCE TOO

In March 2026, two mountain guides from Chamonix published an opinion piece in Le Dauphiné Libéré that shook the alpine community. Erik Decamp and Blaise Agresti — a Polytechnique graduate and a former commander of France's mountain rescue unit — broke decades of silence about a toxic risk culture that glorifies the extreme and kills the young people drawn to it.

More than 30 people died in avalanches in the French Alps last winter alone. Three professors from France's national mountaineering school were killed in the same week. And each time, the community responded with the same silence. "He died living his passion." Turn the page.

Decamp and Agresti called it what it is: a culture that has become a monster. A glorification of risk so deeply embedded that caution is seen as weakness, and questioning a death is seen as disrespect.

We published their full article on our blog because we believe it matters. But reading it, I kept thinking about another community that suffers from a different silence.

The surfing community.

We don't have a toxic risk culture. We have a toxic consumption culture. And the thing we're consuming — the ocean — is dying while we ride it.

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THE REEF BENEATH YOUR FINS

Here is what we know.

34 percent of California's surf breaks could be lost to climate change by 2100. Not damaged. Lost. The reefs, sandbars, and rock formations that create the waves we ride are being eroded, bleached, buried, and destroyed.

In 2022, three surf breaks in Perth, Australia, were permanently destroyed for the construction of a marina. In Portugal and Spain, iconic waves were killed by dredging. In the Philippines, Super Typhoon Goni destroyed the legendary Cloud 9 boardwalk and the village around it.

These aren't hypothetical future losses. They're happening now. And the surf community, for the most part, stays silent.

We post the barrel. We don't post the bleached reef underneath it.

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WHAT SURFERS DON'T TALK ABOUT

A team of surfer-scientists at Conservation International recently discovered something extraordinary: the ecosystems within one kilometre of the world's surf breaks — mangroves, seagrass beds, coral reefs, coastal forests — store 88 million metric tons of carbon worldwide. Expand that radius to two miles and the number nearly doubles.

Protect the surf break and you protect the climate. Destroy the reef and you lose both the wave and the carbon it was storing.

Clifford Kapono, a professional surfer and molecular bioscientist in Hawaii, has spent years mapping the coral reefs beneath iconic surf breaks. His question is simple and devastating: how are we supposed to protect something when we don't even know what it looks like?

Less than 20 percent of the ocean floor has been mapped. We know more about the surface of the moon than we know about the reefs we surf over every day.

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THE SURFER'S CONTRADICTION

We fly around the world chasing swells. Carbon-heavy trips to ride waves above ecosystems that are collapsing from the carbon we emit getting there.

We wear wetsuits made of petroleum-based neoprene. We ride boards made of polyurethane foam and polyester resin — both derived from fossil fuels, both toxic to produce, both nearly impossible to recycle. We apply sunscreen that poisons the coral we claim to love.

Surfing generates 60 billion dollars a year globally. More than 35 million people surf. And yet the industry remains, in the words of its own critics, miles away from being sustainable.

Alternative materials exist. Algae-based foam. Bio-resins. Limestone neoprene. But they're expensive, imperfect, and uncommon. The vast majority of surfboards — from entry-level to high performance — are still made from the same toxic plastics they were made from decades ago.

This is the surfer's contradiction: we are the people most connected to the ocean, and we are complicit in its destruction.

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WHAT THE MOUNTAIN COMMUNITY CAN TEACH US

The Chamonix guides broke their silence because they realized that silence itself was the problem. The alpine community's refusal to question its own culture was killing the next generation.

Surfing faces a parallel reckoning.

When a surf break is destroyed by development, the community protests — briefly. Then moves on to the next break. When coral bleaching kills a reef, surfers post about it — once. Then go back to posting barrels.

We lack what the mountain community is beginning to build: a culture of accountability. A willingness to question not just what happens to us, but what we do to the places we love.

The mountain guides asked: why do we reconstruct an imaginary of risk that blinds us? Surfers need to ask: why do we reconstruct an imaginary of paradise that blinds us to what's dying beneath the surface?

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WHAT CAN WE ACTUALLY DO

This isn't a call for guilt. It's a call for honesty.

Know what's beneath your feet. Learn about the reef you surf over. Understand why that sandbar shifts after every storm. Ask why the water is warmer than it was ten years ago.

Choose reef-safe sunscreen. Not because it's trendy — because the alternative is literally poisoning the thing you love.

Support organizations that protect surf breaks as ecosystems, not just recreation spots. Conservation International, Save the Waves, and Surfrider are doing the work. They need surfers behind them, not just beside them.

Demand better from the industry. Ask your board maker what their blanks are made of. Ask your wetsuit brand about their neoprene sourcing. If they can't answer, that's an answer.

Fly less. Surf local. The best wave is the one closest to your house — the one you can ride without a boarding pass.

And break the silence. Talk about it in the lineup. Talk about it on your feed. Talk about it with the next generation of surfers who are watching how we treat the ocean.

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THE PARALLEL

In Chamonix, the mountain guides wrote: "Other imaginaries are possible."

In surfing, other imaginaries are possible too.

A surfing culture that measures itself not by the size of the wave but by the health of the reef beneath it. A community that protects surf breaks with the same ferocity it protects localism. An industry that makes products the ocean can survive.

The mountain community is dying from its silences about risk. The ocean community is dying from its silences about responsibility.

Both silences need to end.

The places we love are not ours. We borrow them. And the rent is overdue.