Larry “Longboard” Williams is running late. It’s 45 minutes past our scheduled meeting time, and there’s still no sign of him—or anyone else—on this quiet street along the Sheboygan River. This wouldn’t be a big deal, except it’s February and the sun isn’t up yet. It’s cold. I leave my car running and turn up the heat while I wait for him.

Suddenly, headlights on a bright yellow low-rider truck pierce the pre-dawn gloom. I make out silhouettes of surfboards hanging out the back. This must be him. Larry, 55, is one of the founding fathers of the Sheboygan surfing community. And yes, there really is a surf scene in Wisconsin.

 

September 2008 marked the 20th year Larry and his twin brother Lee have hosted the Dairyland Surf Classic, an annual Labor Day weekend event that draws dedicated enthusiasts and curious tourists alike to the shores of Lake Michigan. This folksy gathering has put Wisconsin on the map as an unlikely destination for surfers around the world.

 

“The media coverage that Lee and Larry have generated over the annual Dairyland Surf Classic is priceless,” says Kim Swisher, tourism manager for Sheboygan. “National media has taken note of the annual event as well as the opportunity to surf mid-continent.”

 

When he’s not riding the waves on his home turf, Larry takes several surfing trips a year and acts as a de facto ambassador for freshwater surfing. He recently returned from one such trip to California. “In Lake Michigan,” he’s fond of telling out-of-state surfers, “there’s never been a reported shark attack.”

 

Back in Wisconsin, he seems perfectly acclimated to the late-winter chill. His Corona baseball cap and hooded sweatshirt under a thin brown coat provide meager insulation against below-freezing temperatures, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

 

If he’s aware of his tardiness, he gives no indication as he pulls over to casually chat. He talks with a relaxed and friendly manner that suggests you’ve been drinking buddies for years. He has the slow, mellow speech of a stereotypical surfer, but the hard vowels of a Midwesterner give him away. It’s almost as if Spicoli, the laid-back surfer from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” grew up and started stuffing casings at Johnsonville Sausage.

 

On this morning, Williams is on his way to meet his twin brother Lee “Waterflea” Williams and Kevin “Gripper” Groh at a popular break on Lake Michigan. The trio has been surfing together since the 1960s, beginning by sharing a single surfboard between the three of them. The other kids would be out playing baseball; they never left the beach. They went out even in the cold-weather months, which produced the best waves. It kept them out of trouble.

 

Today, Larry announces that the morning’s waves are suitable for surfing, though they’re not as powerful as a few days ago. “The surf was just epic,” he says, sipping from a coffee mug. “You should have been there.” Therein lies the rub of surfing in Lake Michigan. Some may find it hard to believe that it’s possible to surf without the ocean. As Larry has proved for years, it is possible. You just have to be patient and wait for the right conditions.

 

Since lake waves are produced by winds instead of tides, the breaks tend to be smaller and unpredictable. That’s not to say they’re easy to surf. There’s one break in Sheboygan so technical that it’s been dubbed “the Mount Everest of freshwater surfing.” Surfing in the lake also requires strength and endurance to paddle farther out to find the waves. Then there are difficulties no ocean surfer ever has to deal with, like losing surfboards under icebergs.

 

On this morning, the sky is gray and the lake looks angry. There would be no high-profile Dairyland Surf Classic without the dedicated regulars who migrate to the lakefront on these less-than-picturesque days. So it’s time to hit the waves, Wisconsin style. “What else are you going to do,” Larry asks, “on a February day in Sheboygan?” 

 

While it’s becoming the most celebrated Great Lakes surf town, Sheboygan isn’t the only place in the Midwest to “feel the stoke,” as Larry puts it. Surfing exists up and down the Great Lakes. Third Coast Surf Shop in New Buffalo, Mich., is a popular destination for tourists and surfers, and a few brave souls even dare to surf the icy waters of Lake Superior.

 

But thanks to the Dairyland Surf Classic, the largest freshwater surfing competition in the world, Sheboygan is gaining a reputation as “the Malibu of the Midwest.” In recent years, Sheboygan’s surf scene has appeared in national media like the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, and even on film. The 2006 Disney animated movie “Surf’s Up” includes a character named Chicken Joe, who hails from Sheboygan.

 

“A lot of people thought I was crazy,” Chicken Joe says about surfing in Lake Michigan. “But I’m used to it.”

 

Sheboygan’s surfers can also be seen in the 2001 documentary “Step Into Liquid,” a sequel to the seminal surfing movie “Endless Summer.” The film, now available on DVD, follows diverse surfing cultures all over the world, from Malibu to Ireland to Wisconsin. Larry has surfing friends in Honolulu who told him people there parroted the Wisconsin surfer accent after seeing the film in theaters. “They say, ‘Aloha Bruddah,’ but we say ‘Hey dere, come here once’,” Larry says. “They love the Sheboygan speak.”

 

Every year, big wave surfers from as far away as Hawaii and Australia flock to the Dairyland Surf Classic. It’s the unofficial kick-off to the Great Lake’s surf season, when low-pressure systems and high winds usher in big waves. There are competitions and trophies and custom surfboards awarded, but for half the weekend there are no events scheduled except “just hangin’ at the beach.” As always, it ends with an intimate invite-only pot-luck dinner. Larry revels in it. “I’m not sure which I love to do more,” he says, “surfing or meeting people.”

 

Thanks to his promotion, the festival has grown over the years and is now sponsored by Corona. This soured a few purist surfers who feel the sport should be strictly non-commercial, but Larry says he simply couldn’t turn down free beer.

 

“It’s really stayed pretty true to its origins,” says Greg Hering, a local surfer and co-owner of Expedition Outdoor Supply. “It’s really a picnic. It’s just a gathering of friends
that surf. I don’t think we ever wanted it much bigger than that.”

 

The tight-knit surfing community comes from all walks of life. There’s an Australian native and golf course maintenance manager who cut his teeth on ocean swell. There’s a retired schoolteacher everyone calls “the Bear” due to his paddling power. One of the youngest is a 16-year-old who got his start three years ago when Lee Williams gave him his first surfboard and wetsuit. Now, the regulars are noticing even more new faces. “Five years ago we knew every single person on the water,” Larry says. “Now there’s just tons of people coming out.”

 

Hering’s store, which opened in August 2007, is the first store in town to cater specifically to surfers. Their primary market may still be kayakers, hikers, and campers, but a corner is devoted to surfing equipment. The store even offers informal lessons. Hering said he’s rented about 30 boards in his first year of business, mostly to visitors who are curious about trying surfing on a Great Lake.

 

“We don’t make much profit off the surfing equipment, but it’s a passion of ours,” Hering says. “There are a lot of surfers in town who have my personal cell phone number, and if they need something early in the morning I’ll meet them at the shop. I’m usually at the beach anyway.”

 

Hering, a Sheboygan native, discovered the sport the way most people in the area do: He ran into Larry. In his case, they shared the same barbershop, and while getting haircuts they started talking surfing. “He said, ‘Anytime you see a wave, come down to the beach and I’ll have a board for you’,” Hering remembers.

 

There’s a scene in “Step Into Liquid” showcasing not particularly athletic Wisconsinites surfing not particularly gracefully. There’s a shot of a Chris Farley look-alike charging into tiny waves and subsequently wiping out. On the surface, these characters don’t exactly embody surfer archetypes. But surfers know that what powers a wave can’t be seen on the surface.

 

“I wouldn’t put me in a national contest,” veteran Sheboygan surfer Robert “Doc” Beaton tells the camera. “But I have as much fun as anyone else and I like it as much.” But it’s immediately hard to see what is fun about diving into near-freezing water when snow covers the ground. Borrowing a suit and board from Williams, I intend to find out. Virtually my entire body is covered by material as thick as my thumb, including a hood, boots, and gloves, but I still shiver, shake, and feel my feet going numb.

 

At least I’m not the only one crazy enough to try this. By now, the sun is up and a few wetsuit-clad surfers jump off the rocks to ride what appear to be four- or five-foot waves. Larry and I take a less intense route by paddling out from the sandy beach. Turns out, it’s not so bad in the water.

 

Because the water is warmer than the air temperature, wading through its currents actually warms me up—for a little while, anyway. An icy wave smacking me in the face—the only exposed skin on my body—suddenly jolts me back to reality. Sprays of water seep under the edges of my suit and pool in my boots and back. The Arctic shock takes my breath away.

 

Then something surprising happens. My body heat warms the water trapped in my suit and forms a protective layer. I feel like I’m floating in a bubble. I bob on my board while watching the rising sun reflect off the lake. I hear nothing but the sounds of flowing water. It’s Zen-like, and it makes sense that Larry is a practicing Buddhist. “The wave is a life source,” he says. “Its energy isn’t lost; it’s reborn again. We don’t challenge the waves, we work with them.” 

Larry’s animated antics fade in the water as he instructs me. His tone is fatherly. I realize I’m far from the first newbie he’s taken out here. He’s even taught his daughter how to surf. Her middle name is Lake, and he says she has a better wetsuit than he does.

 

I’ve surfed only once before, under the guidance of an instructor in Costa Rica. In some ways, this was more difficult. The waves may be smaller, but they come at you faster. I quickly tire myself out trying to paddle to the breaks. I never make it out to the big waves. I also never stand up on my board.

 

I’m in the water just long enough to gain an appreciation for the difficulty—but also the serenity—of surfing in Lake Michigan. The real activity seems to be back on dry land, anyway. A group of about a half dozen surfing regulars has gathered in the parking lot. 

 

“You can surf for five hours and then swap stories for five hours,” Larry explains. “Generally, there’s a lot of beer involved. I just won’t have any beer before I surf. Not even one, no matter how thirsty I am.”

 

This fellowship is just as much part of the culture as gliding over a wave. It’s a small-scale version of what Larry calls “the gathering of the tribes.” For some, this has been a way of life for more than 40 years. 

 

Suddenly, the novelty of surfing in Wisconsin fades, and it doesn’t seem unusual at all. Just replace the surfboards with a deck of cards, an ice shanty, or a deer stand, and this type of scene plays out all over the state. In Sheboygan, it just happens to take a slightly different form. WT 

Tim Cigelski is a writer from Milwaukee.