Nova Scotia has felt the same surf growth as the rest of the world, post-COVID. Photo: Collette Robertson
As Hurricane Erin made her way up the Atlantic a few weeks ago, she gave Nova Scotia four days of picture-perfect swell – and the internet limitless, drool-worthy content.
For those of us who spend our days tracking storms across the Eastern Seaboard, the swell was a godsend. We describe the waves here as “when it’s good it’s good.” Sometimes we score in hurricane season, sometimes we get skunked. When we are graced with a run of swell, it’s usually pretty fun. The rest of the year, however, we spend our time watching charts, predicting swell windows and driving around drinking gas station coffee hoping the forecast was wrong and there would, in fact, be something slidable in the ocean. If you’re a surfer in Nova Scotia… It’s good to have a hobby other than surfing.
Pre-COVID, the Upper Atlantic surf scene had been quietly minding its own business for some 50 years. There are two surf shops, two pros (both guys), and two notable surf schools. There was no active coaching, no in-water sessions, and certainly no cameras at most breaks. As we round the corner into 2026, however, the surf on the East Coast of Canada is visibly experiencing the same growth and stretch that many other small surf communities around the world are navigating in a post-COVID world. The explosion of tech has brought a keen eye to progression and validation-seeking via social media, and the relatively accessible housing (which has since exploded) brought surf-loving ex-pats from all over North America to live a different style of life in the Maritimes.
Hurricane Erin brought us the best waves we’d seen in years. Stand-up barrels in 3/2 wetsuits at your home break is truly the stuff of dreams. She also brought, as is to be expected, her fair share of mishaps. Novices getting raked over boulders at advanced breaks with their Torqs dragging behind them, watching a local legend come out of retirement to enforce lineup etiquette via a very dignified burn, and the local girl squad setting the bar for respect at one of Nova Scotia’s feistiest breaks were among notable events from the swell. The community in NS has been notably tiny for decades. Here, like many other places, we are witnessing the influx of the surf-hungry in real time. As a result, it feels like the scene is scrambling to anchor strong values of etiquette and respect as more and more people flock here during our season’s highlight moments.
On the ground, there are two sides to the surf-coin: On one, the sudden surge of semi-chaotic energy out East is mobilizing people. Community members are talking, differences are being set aside and bonds are forming. People are making plans, shooting videos, and writing articles. There’s creativity and creation happening: all beautiful things in the name of expression in response to expansion.
On the other side of the coin, there’s an uneasiness of how to proceed. Elders are grumpy, breaks are blowing open, and long-retired graffiti tags are hastily being thrown up on telephone poles in an attempt to anchor seniority.
There’s more people waiting on barrels these days in Nova Scotia. Photo: Collette Robertson
As it becomes more and more obvious that the scene out East is indeed transforming – the process itself is beginning to feel like a mirror to the larger questions of our rapidly changing world. How do we navigate a changing landscape with grace? How do we implement healthy boundaries and keep the frothiness, the fun? Who has priority, those who have put more time in the water or those who just show up and have better skill?
To me, Nova Scotia has always felt like something akin to Tolkien’s Hobbit Shire – we’re nice people, we love a good party, we don’t do well with change or the unknown. Of course, to change is to live. We shift, we grow, we adapt. We grow out of old ways of being and bravely (or shakily) step into new ones. Erin showed us the edges of the change that’s coming for us. Beyond the fear, this shift is also showing us the possibility of what’s on an undiscovered horizon. Change brings fresh ideas, new ways of being, a siren’s call to work together. Talk to each other. Respect the breaks outside your skill level. As a visitor, let a few waves go by. You know, friendly stuff.
Out East, new ideas, new concepts and new expressions are sprouting from the ground of previously dormant soil. If we approach the shift with an open mind, a courageous heart, and a little Aloha, we just mind find ourselves in a pretty cool place.
We loved Erin. Warm water, real swell, no complaints. And truthfully, I loved some of the influx of new, fresh energy it brought. There were more female shortboarders out in the water than usual — a scene that always makes my heart sing and my soul froth. But how do we navigate the shifting sandbar of our local ocean community?
With patience, communication, and grace. And, ideally, more swells like Erin.
