Chained to the Anchor:
How Some Surf Boats Kill or Live the Dream

By Ahmed Aznil
7 min read · Published on 5/11/2025

 

It was early July 2006. I remember the dates clearly because it was when Zidane headbutted Materazzi in the World Cup Final. We even watched the finals on the boat. One of those strange contrasts, football history playing out on screen while Indian Ocean swells rolled in around us.

I had a group of Spanish surfers on board. Good surfers. Good people. We were on a North and South Malé trip. It was one of those rare Julys where the weather stayed clean and still. We started the trip with a solid four to six foot swell. First day was full on. Jails and Sultans, three sessions, back to back.

But the channel was packed. Ten or twelve boats lined up. It was like trying to escape someone in Malé City and they keep showing up on every corner. Total chaos. On top of that, the swell was dropping fast.

I checked the forecast. Looked like we had one more run left in the swell. So next morning, we pulled anchor at first light and moved to Cokes, hoping to give the crew something different before the swell disappeared.

When we got there, two boats were already anchored. We didn’t waste time. Dropped anchor. Jumped in.

Back then, Lhohis didn’t have a surfer limit. You could have thirty or forty guys jumping off a single dhoni. I was enjoying the session but kept one eye on the horizon. You never knew when the crowd would double in five minutes.

The waves were fun. A few solid ones coming through with some breaks in between. But as we were heading back to the boat, I saw three boats steaming in from the distance. By ten in the morning, another four had pulled up. It turned into a full on surf carnival.

Going back wasn’t going to help either. It was Sunday, and more trips were starting. I knew a few boats would already be heading to Jails or the usuals.

By evening, the swell switched off. The channels were still. Ocean flat. Forecast looked dead for at least three days. Every line on the chart was dark blue.

That night at dinner, the boys started asking me what the plan was. I didn’t have much to give. They were teasing me, saying I must know some secret spot. I laughed along and told them it was time for beers, tanning, fishing or snorkeling.

Later that night, I lay in bed and opened the forecast again, just in case. I zoomed out and saw something that made me sit up. A big low pressure system sitting in the Arabian Sea, pushing a solid northwest swell toward the Maldives.

I tracked it across the map and saw it was lining up perfectly. Passing through Baa and Ari Atoll and hitting the west side of Malé Atoll clean. A good six to eight foot swell. Worth chasing.

Next morning, we stayed anchored. There was nothing to surf around. But I had that swell in my head. I didn’t say anything to the guests yet. I went straight to the skipper.

We need to move.

Move where?

To the west side of the atoll. Near Reethi Rah.

He looked at me like I lost it. Started shouting. Said this trip was only for North and South Malé. Said we are not allowed to go there and I would have to speak to the owner.

I told him it is still North Malé. Just the other side of it. But I knew I wasn’t getting anywhere with him. So I made the calls. Agent. Boat owner. Same pushback.

I told them, you want me to take them to South Malé, which takes two hours and has no waves. But you don’t want me to go one hour and forty five minutes to where it is pumping. That doesn’t make sense.

And yeah, I wasn’t asking to go to Indonesia. Just the west side of the same atoll.

I explained the swell, the conditions and how this could save the trip.

After a lot of disagreement, I finally got the green light.

When I told the guests, they were pumped. As we pulled anchor and made the move, a few other guides called me, asking where we were heading. I told them we were going to look for mantas.

As we got closer to the channel, the boat started to lift and dip gently. That feeling when you know something is out there. Then we turned the corner.

There it was.

Clean lines wrapping across a live reef. Not like the east side. This reef was alive. Bright colors. Full of life. And the wave had energy in it. On the east side, the tide pulls you away from the peak during low tide. On the west, it carries you into it.

The look on the guests’ faces. I didn’t have to say a word. They felt it. We surfed all day. Just us and perfect waves. At sunset, we sat on deck with cold beers, watching the lefts and rights wrapping across the reef. I couldn’t help but think about what the other boats were doing back on the flat side of life.

Next day, we moved up to check a left near Ziyaaraiyfushi. Clean again. We surfed all day and ended with one of the best sunsets I have ever seen. The waves lit up golden as the sun dropped behind the reef passes.

That night, we anchored further down the reef. Next morning, we surfed a little reef pass in the middle of a deep channel. Short wave, but it threw a nice barrel for a second or two.

When the wind picked up from the west, I made the call to head back to the east. By the time we crossed over, a new southeast swell had started showing. Not massive, but enough to keep everyone surfing.

And yes, for the rest of the trip, we stayed on the east side and joined the other boats again. But we had already surfed what they didn’t. We surfed every single day. Not one wasted session.

The guests left with big smiles. The crew ended the trip with a fat tip. And me. I was just stoked that I made the right call when it mattered.

I have had trips that didn’t go that way. I remember one where we moved from the airport to Jails, only to find out the main boat wasn’t leaving the harbor. The plan was to use the dhoni for surf runs while the big boat just stayed parked, like a guesthouse on water.

Even the people who sold the trip were onboard. I asked why we weren’t in the channel, watching waves while eating breakfast. They didn’t want to upset the owner. Just following instructions.

That is not how I do things.

Surf trips are meant to move. To chase. To adapt. You don’t plan them from an office. You don’t lock them into a brochure.

You read the ocean. You trust your instinct. You go where the waves are.

Because if your boat is not willing to move for the swell, you are not on a surf trip.

You are just sleeping in a floating hotel.