Surfing felt ‘super straight’ and ‘intimidating.’ These locals are building a safe space of their own
At age 14, Glen Walsh started surfing because of a crush. He was a boogie boarder until the object of his adoration told him, “What are you riding that for? You should be surfing. Get a surfboard.” So, he did. “I was terrible at it, but I kept going. I was super persistent.”
That resilience proved useful. As a gay teenager in Santa Monica, Walsh was often called slurs on the Venice Pier. “You think you’re like a unicorn — a weirdo,” he says. He felt at odds with the local surf community. To Walsh, surfing was “super straight, very hypermasculine, very intimidating.” Yet his love of the ocean — and sure, crush-worthy surfers — kept him returning to the water. “I wanted to be around them, and surf with them,” he says.
When Instagram launched in 2010, Walsh began posting one of his early loves — only this time, it was morning surf conditions. Every morning, before surfers paddled out, the longtime Venice resident described swells, winds and surf conditions to his followers, becoming for some the town’s trusted surf chronicler.
A “Surf Swim” sign greets beachgoers at Venice Beach — a stretch of coast where daily surf reports and grassroots organizing have helped break down traditional surf stereotypes.
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
His videos combined informative dispatches with the laid-back vibe of surfer ASMR. “Light offshore wind. Clean, glassy barrels,” he declares softly to the camera as gray waves break behind him. “Lumpy close-out with hollow barrels with low tide, fam.”
At first, the account functioned like a group chat for local surfers. “Friends were asking me how the waves were, and I was texting them. I figured I’d jump on Instagram and start doing it for them,” says Walsh, who has been a Venice resident for 15 years.
What began as a practical update for a handful of friends eventually attracted followers in London, Berlin and Tokyo — people who checked in daily to see whether the surf was firing in Venice Beach. The account has amassed over 10,000 followers, inspiring imitator accounts. “Now it’s just for everybody,” says Walsh. “I built a community around the surf reports. It really blew me away. I didn’t realize that people were so interested.”
His surf reports have made him an unofficial mayor of Venice surf culture, getting recognized at the beach town’s local hangouts like Hinano Cafe and the Cow’s End. “People stop me and tell me they love my surf reports. They don’t even surf, but they see it every day,” says Walsh. “I always tell people I’m very popular between Washington Boulevard, Lincoln Boulevard and Rose Avenue.” His nickname around town is Glenice Venice.
However, the real triumph wasn’t becoming recognizable around Venice — it was finding other queer surfers, something that felt elusive in Walsh’s youth in Southern California. “I had met a lot of other surfers from all over the world and built a queer community of surfers here in L.A.,” says Walsh. “It was pretty awesome.”
Walsh saw an opportunity to use his surf report to not only report on the condition of the ocean — which is especially unpredictable during our current El Niño cycles — but to also create a burgeoning queer space in the Venice surf scene. “I could set up a community-based surf report for everybody, and the fact that I happen to be queer made it a little more unique,” he says. He began to connect with gay surfers, organizing trips with them and building lasting friendships. “It was just a lot of fun, building a little team.”
Later, Walsh became a co-producer and music supervisor of a movie about homophobia in surfing titled “Out in the Line-Up” that premiered at film festivals across the world in cities such as New York, San Francisco and Sydney, Australia. “The movie kind of spoke for itself. It was a worldwide issue — homophobia in surfing.” Since then, Walsh has served on panels about queer people in the surf world. Last June, the film had a 10th anniversary screening in Venice, hosted by the Venice Surfing Assn. “At some point, I brought some diversity to this culture. I put my name on it,” he says.
In recent years, others have joined Walsh’s efforts to create a burgeoning queer surf scene at Venice Beach. In 2020, Shelly Guidera relocated to Venice and noticed that there wasn’t a strong queer presence in surfing. “My friend and I were maybe the only queer people some of these surfers had ever seen,” she says. Shortly after, Guidera started Dream Team Surf, a collective for queer surfers to meet up and build camaraderie.
Its mission is simple. “It’s all of us looking out for each other,” Guidera says. “ Having a team of people makes the experience that much more enriching and safe.”
Surfers ride the waves near the Venice Pier, where Glen Walsh does his daily surf reports.
(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)
Early on, Guidera was inspired by Walsh’s uplifting presence in the Venice surf scene. “This person is respected in the community for what he brings, which is knowledge and insight and fun and flair,” says Guidera. In turn, Walsh has championed Dream Team Surf.
In January 2025, Dream Team Surf hosted a Pride beach party with a banner that read: “Trans bodies belong on the beach.” In some San Diego area beaches, Guidera says, queer representation can still feel like an anomaly. “It’s so funny because it’s like these people have maybe never seen a woman in a bathing suit with hairy legs,” she says. “I’m like, ‘Oh my God, it’s not that deep.’”
Guidera is certified in surf therapy, taking courses through Groundswell Community Project, a surf therapy program that uses surf to promote holistic healing. The mental health benefits of surfing are lifelong, Guidera explains. “Growing up as a swimmer, surfing was a form of play and wellness,” she says. “It eased the brakes on competition and the structure within competitive swimming.”
Group photo of Dream Team Surf, which hosted a Pride beach party.
(Sara Werner)
Even if you don’t shred waves, being in the ocean can promote healing. “To give people access to the ocean that is in and of itself a form of wellness,” she says. “There’s a level of surrender and humility that comes with surfing and that comes with being in nature. … You have to be so present in such a way that makes you a stronger person.”
Like Guidera, Walsh also works as a surf instructor with a similar goal to instill confidence in his students. “I was teaching a lot of people to surf, mostly women who didn’t want a straight man to teach them how to surf because it feels vulnerable enough,” says Walsh. “I try to break down the stereotypes and have a little fun with them and let them become a kid again.”
When done correctly, he argues, surfing can invite expansiveness. “I love seeing people out there. Feel the fear and do it anyway,” says Walsh. “And creating a lifestyle around it — going to different beaches — and meeting friends.”
