Words and photos by Jonah Allen

The sky was a blend of a thousand shades of gray, the wind howling, and the Gulf pulsing with energy. As the swell began to peak, the waves towered over 15 feet. I gripped my camera tightly, caught between excitement and vigilance. This was the moment I had been waiting for.

Hurricane Helene wasn’t just a category 4 storm. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for over the last decade. The Gulf of Mexico is a flat, waveless lake for long stretches of time, with only rare storms creating waves of significant size. But when a storm like this forms, it can awaken a world-class wave—one that surfers dream about.

As a Gulf Coast surfer, my relationship with the ocean is one of extremes. I wait months between swells, enduring long periods of stillness. It’s unpredictable, an emotional roller coaster, never knowing when the next quality waves will come.

But based on Hurricane Helene’s track and strength, I knew this storm could be my chance to capture something extraordinary—to surf and photograph the wave I had been dreaming of.

As the storm drew closer, so did the doubts. Would it hit us directly, or veer east? If it shifted, would the winds be right? Would the swell peak overnight, or arrive in time for us to surf it? And if the waves did arrive before dark, would they be too big for us to even make it out past the break?

When the forecast solidified, it looked like everything might align—an 11-foot swell at 14 seconds, coming in from the perfect 166-degree angle. The right tide at peak swell, and rare light north winds at 10 knots. This kind of event might happen once in a lifetime. It was a fleeting window, and I was ready for it. 

Knowing how rare this opportunity was, my friend Ben Bricken and I woke up at 4 a.m. to be in the water at first light. We had a long day ahead of us, a marathon session that required meticulous preparation. Accessing these waves meant getting there by watercraft, so we fueled up the jetski, packed a rescue sled, hydrofoil surf gear, a tow surfboard, my camera equipment, and enough food for 12 hours.

For those who don’t know, a hydrofoil is a wing-like shape under the board that lifts you above the water, letting you glide on the swell’s energy. Tow foiling with a jetski gives you a boost into the wave, allowing you to catch more of them and ride at speeds up to 30 mph. This technique was key to maximizing our ride time on Helene’s waves.

We knew safety was critical. If the waves hit 15 feet and something went wrong with the jetski or a rescue, the consequences could be fatal. Two other jetski crews were out there with us—surfers Lance Moss and Chase Sasser. All of us were seasoned watermen with thousands of hours in the ocean.

That deep connection with the sea, built over a lifetime, is the real preparation for a swell like this.

By sunrise, there were already 6-8 foot waves, and we knew by dark, it would be an entirely different world out there. By midday, the swell fully arrived, and we surfed a wave that had never been ridden before. We named it Mythics, for its otherworldly presence.

By 2 p.m., our wildest dreams were coming to life—10-foot barrels rolling in consistently. The offshore winds howled, sending wave mist 15 feet into the air. The moment we’d been waiting for all these years had arrived.

For the next three hours, we surfed perfect, towering waves—15-20 feet tall—breaking for over 500 yards. “One of the heaviest moments for me,” Ben recalled, “was when I whipped Jonah into a 15-foot bomb, and I saw him get crushed. Before that, I watched him get the first legit barrel on a foil I’ve ever seen, and then he got absolutely pounded. I thought for sure he was done—either he or the foil was broken. Then, right behind it, six more waves landed on him. But he came up stoked, eyes wide. It was incredible.”

After nine hours of surfing, I knew I had to get my camera out. For me, there’s always this tug-of-war between surfing and photography.

The Gulf’s surf is so fleeting, I usually choose the waves. But this day was too special not to capture.

Ben steered the jetski while I grabbed my camera and housing from the compartment. Despite the rain and the risk of losing the camera to the sea, I removed it from the dry housing for more control. One wrong move, and we’d lose everything. But this was the moment.

Wave after wave pounded the sandbar, each one larger than the last. I steadied myself and the camera, waiting for the perfect shot. Everything had to align—the wave, the light, the timing. “He’s asking you to sit in a critical spot on the sandbar to get the shot he wants,” Ben said. “And we have to be ready to take a bomb set that could wipe us out.”

“At that moment, a massive wave started barreling down the line, freight-training toward us. Every instinct screamed to hit the throttle and get out of there. But Jonah was still firing shots, and right as I was about to pull the trigger, he said, “Don’t do it. Don’t touch the gas.” So I held. We rode up the face of the wave, nearly vertical, looking down into a 15-foot barrel. I could have reached out and touched it. We barely made it over the top.”

And in that instant, I hit the shutter. The shot I had been dreaming of, captured in a split second when everything aligned.

For me, this wasn’t just about surfing or photography—it was a spiritual pursuit. In the Gulf, where waves are rare and conditions unpredictable, you learn patience in a way that few things can teach you. Surfing and photographing these moments are about connecting to something larger than yourself. When I paddle out or frame a shot, I feel deeply connected to the ocean, the wind, the energy around me. These moments of waiting, witnessing, and being fully present in nature give me a sense of peace and clarity.

When that rare window opens—when the storm brings the waves and all the elements align—it’s not just the wave that’s the reward. It’s the connection to something timeless, something beyond the everyday. Ben and I have traveled the world chasing waves, but what we experienced in the Gulf that day during Hurricane Helene rivals anything I’ve seen. It was one of the best days of my life.

Hurricanes bring a strange duality. While I don’t wish for destruction, storms like Helene offer a rare gift—a chance to experience waves that would otherwise never appear. It’s a reminder of nature’s power and the delicate balance between hope and chaos. My heart goes out to all those affected by the storm, especially in the Florida Big Bend and Carolinas, who faced its destructive path. While we were fortunate to witness nature’s beauty in the Gulf, many others were left to deal with its devastating aftermath.

Surfing and photographing in the Gulf aren’t just physical challenges—they are spiritual journeys. In a place where waves are fleeting, you have to trust in nature, embrace its unpredictability, and wait. And when that moment comes, when everything aligns, all the patience, all the years of waiting, become worth it. It’s more than chasing waves—it’s about understanding the flow of life itself and connecting to something eternal.

Explore more of Jonah Allen’s coastal art at jonahallen.com, and stay updated by following him on Facebook and Instagram.