Early August of ’25 an easterly wave of low pressure pushes off the African coast into the Atlantic Basin. Over the next 48 hours, NOAA satellites watch that atmospheric disturbance form into Tropical Storm Erin; making her the first name-worthy system of the year. Erin gained speed just northeast of the Caribbean with winds jumping from 145 mph to 160 mph, officially gaining the designation of hurricane on the 15th. Ratcheting up in intensity from category 4 to category 5 within a 24 hour window, surfers across the Eastern Seaboard patiently looked through that window, knowing that after a relatively quiet start to the season it was about to get noisy.

Early August of ’25 an easterly wave of low pressure pushes off the African coast into the Atlantic Basin. Over the next 48 hours, NOAA satellites watch that atmospheric disturbance form into Tropical Storm Erin; making her the first name-worthy system of the year. Erin gained speed just northeast of the Caribbean with winds jumping from 145 mph to 160 mph, officially gaining the designation of hurricane on the 15th. Ratcheting up in intensity from category 4 to category 5 within a 24 hour window, surfers across the Eastern Seaboard patiently looked through that window, knowing that after a relatively quiet start to the season it was about to get noisy.

It’s not uncommon for Rhode Islanders to wait for waves. Their particular section of coastline is home to many beautiful yet frustratingly illusive breaks. By the time most weather systems from down south reach them, the energy has dissipated just enough to prevent things from hitting on a consistent basis. Dreaded conversations about wind direction cut through fantasies of glassy right handers with the all too regular reality of steep chop. This storm possessed a different energy to it though. All the elements were there on paper and the prospect of a once in a generation type swell started to rattle in the not-so-patiently waiting Holland Pierek. Holland spends a solid chunk of the year getting waterlogged in Puerto Rico, catching his fill of rights, lefts, and point breaks around the reefs of Rincón before heading back up to his native Newport. Joe, his dad, has been familiar with the waters of the Northeast Atlantic for longer than a lot of us have known how to tie our shoes, and he too saw the makings of big swell in the backyard. He’s seen it before. Storms that have come and gone with the same promise and lack luster delivery. “I haven’t seen [that] break in I don't know how long”, he said while looking out the front door, awe and excitement in his tone “Normally, if weather like this lands inside of 65 degrees we get swell…” nodding his head, “oh yea…we get swell”. He’s referring to the 65th meridian west, the line of longitude situated a few hundred miles off the U.S.. The standard flight path of most significant Atlantic weather travels along this corridor at varying degrees of intensity and distance off shore, when a sustained system of this scale lives within that line, swell rising from the deep becomes inevitable.

It’s not uncommon for Rhode Islanders to wait for waves. Their particular section of coastline is home to many beautiful yet frustratingly illusive breaks. By the time most weather systems from down south reach them, the energy has dissipated just enough to prevent things from hitting on a consistent basis. Dreaded conversations about wind direction cut through fantasies of glassy right handers with the all too regular reality of steep chop. This storm possessed a different energy to it though. All the elements were there on paper and the prospect of a once in a generation type swell started to rattle in the not-so-patiently waiting Holland Pierik. Holland spends a solid chunk of the year getting waterlogged in Puerto Rico, catching his fill of rights, lefts, and point breaks around the reefs of Rincón before heading back up to his native Newport. Joe, his dad, has been familiar with the waters of the Northeast Atlantic for longer than a lot of us have known how to tie our shoes, and he too saw the makings of big swell in the backyard. He’s seen it before. Storms that have come and gone with the same promise and lack luster delivery. “I haven’t seen [that] break in I don't know how long...” Joe says while looking out the front door, awe and excitement in his tone. “Normally, if weather like this lands inside of 65 degrees we get swell...” nodding his head, “oh yea, we get swell.” He’s referring to the 65th meridian west, the line of longitude situated a few hundred miles off the U.S.. The standard flight path of most significant Atlantic weather travels along this corridor at varying degrees of intensity and distance off shore, when a sustained system of this scale lives within that line, swell rising from the deep becomes inevitable.

Spot selection is a skill earned though time put in. Anticipating the movement of water is a lost cause, it is a substance that has a mind of it’s own. As helpful as it may be, data only gets you so far. Nothing replaces time spent face to face. It’s apparent that Joe’s knowledge of the local breaks is a result of that. Offering a sage piece of advice while on a call with his son, “Ya know, my philosophy is that a ridable wave in front of you is better than one you can’t see.”, his voice rings though the speaker. “Yea, that’s true. Ok.” Holland responds as he puts the truck into park. Joe was right. More waves are left unridden due to indecision than apathy and you certainly can’t have an epic session on dry land. Not that kind of session.

Spot selection is a skill earned though time put in. Anticipating the movement of water is a lost cause, it is a substance that has a mind of it’s own. As helpful as it may be, data only gets you so far. Nothing replaces time spent face to face. It’s apparent that Joe’s knowledge of the local breaks is a result of that. Offering a sage piece of advice while on a call with his son, “Ya know, my philosophy is that a ridable wave in front of you is better than one you can’t see.”, his voice rings though the speaker. “Yea, that’s true. Ok.” Holland responds as he puts the truck into park. Joe was right. More waves are left unridden due to indecision than apathy and you certainly can’t have an epic session on dry land. Not that kind of session.

Weaving through crowds of tourists and curious onlookers, Holland stops to chat with the other locals about where the water would get good. Opting for a clean, sunny evening beneath the Breakers gave him the opportunity to dial in his 6’4 and 7’4 Mutts. It was still a few days until the projected peak was meant to hit and and a few friends were en route to bolster the ranks.

Weaving through crowds of tourists and curious onlookers, Holland stops to chat with the other locals about where the water would get good. Opting for a clean, sesh at this familiar spot gave him the opportunity to dial in his 6’4 and 7’4 Mutts. It was still a few days until the projected peak was meant to hit and a few friends were en route to bolster the ranks.

It didn’t take long for the streets to be lined with every array of surf rig and spectator. As the conditions built, ‘beautiful and illusive’ felt more applicable to parking spots than waves, but shrouded behind a dense hedgerow somewhere on Aquidneck Island sat the solution. Holland’s driveway. The first group arrived from Maryland, made up of Simon and Elina followed by Nick and James who came in from Jersey. “It likes a southeast swell and straight north.”, Holland says while waxing his board. The group has been discussing where to go first. He lives just a few blocks from a reef break notorious for breaking inconsistently. When it is firing though, this wave is a special one. Not in the sense of novelty commonly associated with a ghostly A-frame, but in the sense that for Joe and Holland, it’s generational. A test-piece where each of them have cut their teeth as young surfers from the area and as a family, it’s a timeless avenue into a shared passion. When you’ve surfed through the good, the bad, and the ugly-your connection to place becomes just as important as anything else. It’s part of how we find a sense of ourselves in this obscure planet. It’s how these two in particular have found parts of themselves. A Southeast swell and straight North don't have to be that deep though. The swell was coming in clean, the stoke was high, and the crew was not interested in staying dry for any longer. Voila, let the bomber session ensue.

It didn’t take long for the streets to be lined with every array of surf rig and spectator. As the conditions built, ‘beautiful and illusive’ felt more applicable to parking spots than waves, but shrouded behind a dense hedgerow somewhere on Aquidneck Island sat the solution. Holland’s driveway. The first group arrived from New Jersey, made up of Simon and Elina followed by Nick and James. “It likes a southeast swell and straight north.”, Holland says while waxing his board. The group has been discussing where to go first. He lives just a few blocks from a reef break notorious for breaking inconsistently. When it is firing though, this wave is a special one. Not in the sense of novelty commonly associated with a ghostly A-frame, but in the sense that for Joe and Holland, it’s generational. A test-piece where each of them have cut their teeth as young surfers from the area and as a family, it’s a timeless avenue into a shared passion. When you’ve surfed through the good, the bad, and the ugly-your connection to place becomes just as important as anything else. It’s part of how we find a sense of ourselves in this obscure planet. It’s how these two in particular have found parts of themselves. A Southeast swell and straight North don't have to be that deep though. The incoming swell was clean, the stoke was high, and the crew was not interested in staying dry for any longer. Voila, let the bomber session ensue.

On August 21st, 2025 NDBC - Station 44097 buoy reads 14ft. @ 17s. There was no ‘shot heard round the world’ necessary in this part of New England’s history to get out-of-staters to gather for a cause. Two more came down from New Hampshire to join; another father son duo Kody and his dad Kevin Grogdin. When it comes to gathering intel, surfers have a network that would make the CIA blush. Cloud cover and light rain trickling in from Erin added to the ominous and raw energy hitting Rhode Island. Joe exhales while taking in the sites and says, “I have not seen this spot like this in 30 years.”

On August 21st, 2025 NDBC - Station 44097 buoy reads 14ft. @ 17s. There was no ‘shot heard round the world’ necessary in this part of New England’s history to get out-of-staters to gather for a cause. Two more came down from New Hampshire to join; another father son duo Kody and his dad Kevin Grogdin. When it comes to gathering intel, surfers have a network that would make the CIA blush. Cloud cover and light rain trickling in from Erin added to the ominous and raw energy hitting Little Compton. Joe exhales while taking in the sites and says, “I have not seen [this spot] like this in 30 years.”

“I’m getting the 7’4." Holland says while jogging back down the beach after catching his first few waves of the day. Set after set of double over head waves roll in. A constant flow of people paddling out, diving, and waiting in the line-up for their turn at the fun. After a few hours of hammering down on the gun, Holland rushes back to the beach after noticing curling waves further left. “I’m getting shacked” he says as he switches back to the red 6'4 Rozbern Mutt. On one of his final waves that day, Holland sets his line, grabs rail. Gone. Engulfed in a kaleidoscope-like tunnel of watery motion.

“I’m getting the 7’4." Holland says while jogging back down the beach after catching his first few waves of the day. Set after set of double over head waves roll in. A constant flow of people paddling out, diving, and waiting in the line-up for their turn at the fun. After a few hours of hammering down on the gun, Holland rushes back to the beach after noticing curling waves further left. “I’m getting shacked” he says as he switches back to the red 6'4 Rozbern Mutt. On one of his final waves that day, Holland sets his line, grabs rail. Gone. Engulfed in a kaleidoscope-like tunnel of watery motion.

The impossibility of prediction is all part of the game, and holding any kind of wisdom taught by the water is to know all you can do in the surf is be as present as possible. A state of mind shared throughout the community. It was the first hurricane of the year but it certainly won’t be the last; something bigger and badder could come tomorrow or it could be another thirty years. The sensation of excitement that struck East Coast surf communities, however, is cemented in stone. If all they say about water having memory is true then it can be found in these kinds of places. Erin was the catalyst for a generational swell.

The impossibility of prediction is all part of the game, and holding any kind of wisdom taught by the water is to know all you can do in the surf is be as present as possible. A state of mind shared throughout the community. It was the first hurricane of the year but it certainly won’t be the last; something bigger and badder could come tomorrow or it could be another thirty years. The sensation of excitement that struck East Coast surf communities, however, is cemented in stone. If all they say about water having memory is true then it can be found in these kinds of places. Erin was the catalyst for a generational swell.