Trickster Magazine

Essay and photos by Liisi Voolaid
Intro and edit by Paula-Stina Tasane

Before the board, before the wetsuit, before the wave – comes the feeling. That magnetic pull toward something wilder, freer, colder, warmer. Surfing, for Liisi, isn’t just a sport. It’s a full-body meditation, a way of navigating the Baltic winds and tropical breaks alike, and – sometimes – a straight-up obsession. DJ, curator, creative mind, and full-time wave chaser, Liisi takes us through her evolving surf life: from unlikely beginnings on Estonia’s moody shores to sun-drenched point breaks across the world.

This is a story about surrendering to nature’s rhythm. It’s about falling, trying again, and learning when to paddle out – and when to let go. So grab a hot coffee (or a cold beer), find a cozy spot, and ride along.

The Baltic Blueprint

Pine trees, sturdy and solid even in rough winds. Bending, adjusting to the elements. Sea water sprayed in the coastal air, so fresh that it’s impossible to take a step without inhaling deeply and feeling fulfilled by the salty scent. This is the privilege of living close to nature: the seaside, the green backdrop of trees on the vista, the hiking trails, the boulders scattered across the moss-covered forest floor. Small fisherman villages spread out along the coastline. Occasional storms bring unique waves with… let’s say, a distinctly Baltic character.

To surf is to adjust to nature. To surf in Estonia is sometimes to survive: the wind, rain, hail, snow, and low temperatures. Years ago, I thought in absolutes: I will never surf, I will never surf in Estonia, I will definitely never surf in winter. Luckily, life proved me wrong.

When I heard or saw the word “surf” growing up, I pictured huge, terrifying walls of water in Hawaii, with surfers almost – or actually – drowning on every wave. Pretty much how the movie Blue Crush framed it when I was a teenager. I mean, that is all possible, still – but when I turned 30, I discovered something else: the beauty of small, surfable waves, and my latest love – longboard surfing. Thanks to one hot day in Bali years ago, I am addicted to surfing. From that day on – from the first green wave the instructor pushed me onto – surfing gave my life a new layer of meaning. 

The Wave Is the Boss

In order to surf, well – you need a wave. And the wave comes when it comes. You can’t summon it, you can’t make it fit your schedule. The wave is nature itself, and nature does its own thing in its own time. That’s what makes surfing so special to me – it’s completely out of my control. All I can do is try to move with it, with its timing. Try to catch a wave. But the wave doesn’t care. It simply rolls. There’s nothing I can do to change it, to make it faster or slower or come more often... The wave is the boss. I’m just a small piece in the water, navigating the environment and doing my best to keep up.

Wave pools are popping up all over the world, and I guess that works best for people who like to plan ahead – booking machine-generated waves at a certain time. And I get the appeal – it’s nice to practice on regular waves. But for now, and until we get one of those pools in the Baltics, I’m sticking with wild waters for my natural thrill. And that constant chase for the thrill? Addictive.

Addiction can make you do things you once couldn’t imagine – like surfing in winter. Or surfing in Estonia at all — I mean, really? It’s Läänemeri, not a proper ocean with actual waves. But it has its own kind of wild. Cold water surfing has hypnotized me. Now I find myself in the sea, enjoying the one-degree splash on my face, watching the shoreline disappear into a snowy mist, while I float with my baby blue board, waiting for a wave. At my home break. Incredible. A Nordic meditation. A Baltic fairytale.

Cold Water, Warm Stoke

Addiction also makes you flexible. You’ll rearrange your life just to grab your board and drive to the break – even if it’s an hour and a half away – when the forecast hints and the waves hit. Since good, clean waves are rare in Estonia, you have to be ready. Which means arranging your life to be as flexible as possible. As a freelance human, I’ve chosen to live with an open schedule. Not every day, but most of the time I can mold it. It helps to work with people who understand that. There have been days with meetings planned – then the waves appear. I’ve been lucky enough to reschedule, squeezing in a two-hour session and running to the meeting straight from the water, or vice versa.

That’s why, when the waves are good – clean, green, and long – and you actually find the time to be in the water, gliding in that precise moment… it feels like the whole universe clicks into place. The good old right-place-at-the-right-time feeling. Catharsis. One of a kind. And gone within a couple of hours – maybe a whole month until the next swell hits and the winds turn right again. So you see – I need to get my fix exactly when the waves hit.

Dear Baltic Sea

A year-round Baltic surf – whether in fall, winter, or even spring – usually starts with struggle long before you hit the cold water. The process begins with pulling on your 5-6 mm hooded wetsuit, then boots, then gloves. All of this takes place on the beach, where the wind rattles you and the rain falls – or sometimes, snow. By the time you’re done – and already a bit tired – you’re covered in neoprene, with only your eyes and nose exposed to the world. Off you go, into the sea.

In the water, I don’t feel cold – I feel refreshed. Wide awake. Fully alive. You surf for an hour or two, your face shriveled like a raisin from the wind and seawater blasting straight into your eyes. There you are, laughing with the sincerest, childlike joy as the waves shake you. Surfing is a solo sport – a meditative space just for you. You’re focused, alert, doing your best not to drown… and not to hit other surfers. And yet, at the same time, the feeling is so freeing that it’s hard to put into words. When you catch a wave, the takeoff and drop are exhilarating – an instant high that lasts as long as the ride itself. In that moment, all I can hear is natural quiet: the wave swooshing, the wind in the air. And total stillness in my mind. 

What makes the experience even better – what raises the stoke – is going out with my partner and friends. Frolicking around, yeoowing and whooping to cheer each other’s rides. Shoutout to Annelis Rum, my surf sister. A couple of years ago, when I first considered year-round surfing, Annelis was the lone woman braving Estonia’s winter waters. And that made me believe I could, too. Sharing the stoke through the community she created, Nordic Surfisters, has brought me so much more… life. 

After the session, you walk back to shore, trying your best to keep your board from flying away in the gusts. Then comes the final phase – getting the wetsuit and all the gear off. Ah – now the shivers come. Your limbs and fingers are numb from the cold and hours of paddling, so taking off the wetsuit is always the hardest part for me. Especially when it’s zero degrees outside, in the parking lot. I haven’t surfed in sub-zero yet – but I’m excited to! Eventually, you manage to peel off that rubbery second skin, do the farewell rounds in the parking lot – everyone red-faced and happy – and then it’s time for the ride home. Hopefully, there’s a sauna waiting for you. A perfect way to seal the cold surf session in a hot embrace. Maybe even a McDonald’s drive-thru on the way – another kind of treat.

The Start, the Kookiness, the Rulebook

When you start surfing as a beginner, it can feel impossible. You’re awkward in the ocean, the whitewash is trying to drown you just a little, and the instructor yells “Paddle harder!” when you’re sure your arms are about to fly off your body. Maybe you catch one or two waves – two seconds each – just to fall right away. Then the whitewash comes back, evil and laughing, threatening to drown you all over again. But you power through. You curse, scream, get pissed off – and at some point yell to yourself “I hate this!!” But if you get infected with the stoke, you’ll never quit. You go back. You fight the whitewash. You give everything to the paddle. You stop caring about looking stupid. There’s only one goal: to ride and ride and ride with the wave.

That dream kept me going. Just visualizing myself gliding on a perfect green wave makes me crave even bigger ones. I’ve even found joy in stormy days, when the wind is so strong it blows my board over and over, tossing me off into the crisp water again and again. It’s kooky – but so fun! 

Let’s talk kookiness. A “kook” in surf lingo is someone who has no idea what they’re doing – especially when it comes to etiquette. I still feel like a kook. I still am one sometimes. Surfing humbles you like that – the conditions are unpredictable, and no wave is ever the same. One day I feel like Ariel – gliding on a perfect glassy line, solid, trusting myself and the wave, with the sound of calm and focus riding alongside me. Then I go another day and I can’t even stand up. I keep nosediving, falling in weird positions, and just… not handling it. But one of the most important ways to avoid dangerous kookiness is learning the etiquette. You have to know it. You have to respect it. Otherwise, no respect will come back to you.

I learned to surf – and learned the etiquette – on my first proper surf trip in Mexico, three years ago. I’m no expert, but I’ve picked up the basics, so hear me out. First off – when you’re new, surf with an instructor. They’re locals. They know the break, the tides, the dangers in the water. Are there rocks? Is it a beach or reef break? What beautiful but risky creatures live there? Side note: last year in Mexico, we got stung by sea lice and jellyfish – ended up completely rashed up. Aside from natural dangers, there’s the lineup – the ABCs, the rulebook of it all.

The lineup is where surfers wait for waves. It’s a space governed by strict – though mostly unwritten – rules. You should learn them in advance, ideally from your instructor during your first session. Where to paddle so you don’t block someone’s wave. Who has priority. Yes, waves are for everyone – but one surfer rides the wave so they can enjoy it without someone else ruining the line. Of course, there are party waves – you can all ride and have fun. But that has to be communicated first. Usually by yelling “Party waaave! Let’s goooo!” There’s a lot of joy in that shared, all-together wave. Etiquette also teaches you how to wait your turn. How not to snake – meaning, don’t hoard waves or steal them before it’s yours. How to remember to share waves with others who’ve been waiting, especially once you’ve had your ride. All in all, etiquette is the holy grail of a good surf session. With respect. The essence of Aloha.

Wave tourism with a dash of anxiety

I’ve been lucky to surf in Bali, Mexico, France, Hawaii, Denmark, California, Portugal – and my homeland. All these spots have trained me, scared me, messed me up, and rattled me to my core – on some days making me feel like I might die... but only for a second. Discovering new spots is scary at first, but so fulfilling. 

Surfing in Mexico is fun, both because of the warm temperatures and the laid-back locals. Two surf sessions a day, mixed with tacos, guacamole, tiritas, and sipping mezcal to connect with the local spirits. The whole western coast is lined with surf breaks – something for every taste and level. With parties nearby – or isolated beaches with nothing and no one in sight. Just make sure not to drive around in the dark – or take every little inviting dirt road, even if it feels like a fun detour on a road trip. Resist that urge, and you’ll be good.

Surfing in France means driving along the southwestern coast, checking out different spots, searching for mellower waves – though rarely finding smaller crowds. The boards squeezed into our tiny rental car, and me – also squeezed – wedged in the back somewhere between them. Croissants in a paper bag, ready to be grabbed. And I’m dreaming of that glass of Bordeaux red I’ll have with dinner. The French surf experience can also be uncomfortable. On one trip to Biarritz, wave days were rare, so when they came, the locals were hungry – and definitely not interested in sharing. We paddled with a bunch of people, and then a local lady yelled “Op op Op OP OP!!” and literally put her hand in front of me to take the wave. Honestly, it made me feel like I should leave, never return – and maybe never surf again. It’s not a great feeling – to think you’re doing something wrong, and that you’re not welcome. These mental blocks inevitably come with surfing. So you navigate the emotions, the people, the conditions.

Hawaii is a real-life dream: the bright blue waters of Waikiki and its beginner-friendly lineups. It’s far from home, but a great place to learn to surf. For us, it was the bucket-list item – Waikiki is the birthplace of longboard surfing. I’ll never forget arriving at the beach and seeing local surfers in their home waves – the same ones I’d followed on Instagram, admiring their style. They’re professionals, competing all over the world. And there we were – sharing the waves with them, keeping our very Estonian distance, of course.

Denmark was cold and rough – even in June! In contrast, Klitmøller’s surf community was warm and inclusive. You could tell the locals surf the hectic waters of the near-North Atlantic as a way of life – kids to retirees, ripping it up at lunch, during a quick two-hour work break, or just because that’s how they choose to spend their days. 

Now, California. Getting to see and surf the Cali spots was a ‘70s-inspired definition of cool. Thinking about all the surf culture that place holds – then stepping into the water with your board in hand. It was kind of intimidating. We were prepared not to catch any waves – because, as legend has it, California breaks are 100% locals only. But it turned out to be pretty friendly – as long as you choose a spot that matches your level and don’t try to dominate the local lineup.

Portugal was a one-day-surf-session-only trip – the stormy swells were tearing up the beaches while I was there. But that one session was The One. A total dream. Green, see-through waves that were soft and perfect for my longboard. I get the sense that the western region of Peniche is better suited for advanced surfers on shortboards and mid-lengths, while the south offers more consistent, longboarding-friendly peelers.

Surfing new places is another kind of natural and social sightseeing. You Google the spots, learn the history – and then you go and experience it yourself, immersing in the area’s (surf) culture. I can watch waves for hours – admiring the power of nature and the different surfers, each with their own style, turns, tricks, and steps. It’s its own kind of show. 

Seeing hundreds of surfers in the water, all competing for waves. Thinking... oh shit, I’m not going to survive this chaos. The anxiety hits. Hard. I’m paralyzed for minutes. Then you take a breath, gather yourself mentally, grab your board, and walk into the water – legs shaking, breath shallow, heart pounding fast. In those moments, when I’m scared of the surf, I feel like a mouse in a pink dress with a fluffy pink bow on her head. Then I picture myself as a cool mouse. A sporty mouse. A pumped-up little mouse in her swim gear, muscled up and ready to gooo. 

The Pink Mouse Goes Anyway

So I go. I paddle out to the edge of the lineup – never straight to the peak, where the best waves break. I spend about 20 minutes on the shoulder (a bit outside the lineup), adjusting. Adjusting to the ocean, eyeing the sets. Waves usually come in sets of six or seven, and in between there’s a slower, calmer period with no waves. That’s basically what it means to wait for your wave. I just observe – how the wave breaks, where it forms, how other surfers act. Getting a sense of the local etiquette – which can differ from place to place.

Even after three years of surfing, I still have so much to learn. I can’t even make sharp turns or cross-step properly yet. And then you see all these local pros – cross-stepping to the nose, doing cutbacks (sharp 180° turns), gliding effortlessly on those evergreen waves. And again, the pink-dressed, pink-bowed mouse feeling returns. I feel so small. So fragile. So powerless. “Who am I to think I can surf…” my inner voice repeats, shaking. So that’s the mental space I have to work with! Still. But after 30 minutes of waiting and not going for a wave, I get bored – frustrated, actually – and then I go… “fuck it.” And I do the only thing I can – I try. Try to catch some waves. 

A Watery Restart

Eventually I always do, even if it’s just three waves per session. When I calm down, find my center, and remind myself that the waves are for everyone – as long as I’m respectful and pay attention – the mental chaos quiets down. Then the clarity arrives. It’s only the wave. Me on my trusted board. Gliding. Riding. And a smile turns up on my face all on its own. I am in the moment. I am in tune with the wave. I really then feel connected with nature. Everything else – all the unnecessary – disappears. You surf yourself anew, every time. A watery restart.

Surfing is a rare kind of delirium on water. Lasting for some seconds. And then it’s gone. And there you go, teary-eyed from the jolt of happiness after finishing your ride, paddling back for one more. And more… and the infinite surf circle just goes on and on. As do the waves, evergreen, ever-rolling. Unless we pollute everything out of the water and erase all the natural beauty from the shores –  “to put up a parking lot,” as Joni Mitchell wrote. It’s soul-wrenching to see so many surf breaks, villages, and communities being torn down all over the world for big money and big resorts. I guess that's another (culturally and aesthetically sad – and boring) thing to adjust to.

If this romance of a story made you feel something, you may find joy in the Nordic Surfsisters podcast I host with Annelis Rum – join us in our surf talks. And finally, a little seed for thought about the not-so-flowering state of our dear Läänemeri.

Here’s to clean lines, open hearts, and forever wild waters.