At 6 a.m., the temperature is below freezing, the highways across this state are slick with black ice from an overnight nor'easter, and Jim Loft checks the weather forecast and decides surf's up.
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"I live in a rigidly framed world, with meetings and responsibilities," said Loft, 45, an architect from Concord, who learned to surf growing up in Southern California and moved to New Hampshire 17 years ago. "When there's a swell, you can just take off for a while and get away from all that. The key is you have to be flexible." Some might say you also have to be a little bit nuts. The prevailing image of surfing culture exudes warmth: sun- dappled beach bums in Bermuda shorts or dental floss bikinis, palms sashaying in the tropical breeze and water roughly the temperature of a YMCA swimming pool. But the surging numbers who ply the Granite State 's 13 miles of craggy coastline know no such comforts. On this recent winter morning the weather is foul, and the beaches, water and sky are almost indistinguishable shades of gray.
By the time Loft arrives at a stony strip of land called Rye Rocks, 20 other early risers of all ages are already bobbing in the penetrating chill of 40-degree water, waiting for a wave.
"There's definitely a bit of an insane factor," said Jack Keefe, 43, of Hampton . "My dad used to say, 'You know you're stupid, right? Other places have better weather, nicer beaches, and bigger waves.' I'd just tell him, 'You raised me here, whose fault is that?' "
Depending on the tide, it takes the surfers here about 15 minutes of frenzied paddling to reach what they call the lineup, where waves begin to break. The first moments in the water are the most painful, before their skin, insulated by a wetsuit, heats a thin layer of water that makes it possible to surf for hours.