Surfers basically work on the assumption that any lump of ocean is fair game. You could go so far as to argue our fundamental belief system is permeated by a spirit of piracy. We make treasures of waves and feel entitled to plunder any hint of broken water we can find. On land we’ll accept denial of access to all kinds of institutions, clubs and organisations, but out in the water we expect no barriers to entry, and the right to roam as we please.

‘Freedom’ is often mentioned in the same sentence as surfing, but this connection hinges on the notion anyone can stake their claim to a rolling swell if they have the ability and the courage to take it on. Sure, there are basic rules, and localism serves as an unofficial form of regulation – to varying degrees at different breaks – but the idea we might legally be denied the opportunity to enjoy a particular surf zone is at odds with our entire ethos.

Riding waves is pleasurable, but a big part of surfing’s appeal is based on the understanding that once we hit the waterline no one can really tell us what to do. Clubbies, and any other kind of beach-related authority, are frequently met with stern disapproval if not disdain. 

However, it’s worth noting that wave restrictions have been part of surfing history from the start. Amongst the ancient Hawaiians certain breaks (and boards) were off limits to all but the royalty and nobility. The aliʻi, as they were known, had the tribal mandate to slide across the best waves, but for regular folk many of these breaks were ‘kapu’ or forbidden. Violating the rules made by chiefs about surfing and ocean resources could be met by severe punishments like clubbing, drowning, or exile.