There is a sound that lives in the marrow of my bones. It isn’t the crash of a car door or the roar of a stadium crowd. It is the sound of the Atlantic Ocean deciding to stand up. It is a bass note so low you feel it in your teeth before you hear it, a rumble that starts somewhere off the coast of Greenland and ends its long, angry journey at the small fishing town of Nazaré, Portugal.
I remember my first "monster" swell. I thought I understood big waves. I’d surfed Mavericks, I’d watched Waimea. But Nazaré is different. Nazaré is a geological anomaly, a physics experiment gone wrong, a cathedral of water. Standing on the cliffs in 2016, watching Garrett McNamara thread a line that looked impossible, I realized I was witnessing the ocean’s ego. And in 2026, the ego is projected to be as inflated as ever.
If you are planning the pilgrimage to the canyon of Praia do Norte this coming winter, you aren’t just going to watch surfers. You are going to witness humanity’s oldest rivalry: man versus nature. But to do it right—safely, respectfully, and with the camera gear to prove it—you need more than a plane ticket. You need a strategy. You need to know the hideouts, the angles, and the rules. Here is everything you need to know to survive and thrive in the shadow of the 2026 monster.
To understand where to stand, you must understand why the water rises.
Nazaré isn’t just big; it’s a freak. The secret lies beneath the surface: the Nazaré Canyon. This is an underwater gorge that runs 16,000 feet deep, slicing into the continental shelf just off the coast. When winter swells hit the Atlantic shelf, they don’t dissipate. They are forced up that canyon, compressing and amplifying the energy until it hits the shore with the force of a freight train.
Meteorologists and deep-sea buoy watchers are already eyeing the patterns. The 2025/2026 season is shaping up to be a La Niña transition year, which historically pumps aggressive, long-period energy into the North Atlantic. We are expecting the "calendar months" of November through March to be the danger zone.
If you are tracking the swell, you are looking for West-Northwest swells. Anything coming due west tends to wrap differently, but that NW angle hits the canyon head-on, throwing the wave vertically. You want the wind offshore (blowing from land to sea) to keep the face clean, but at Nazaré, the wind is often your enemy because the cliff face creates its own micro-climate.
There is only one way to truly grasp the scale of a Nazaré wave, and that is from the sky. The ground view is terrifying; the aerial view is incomprehensible. But flying a drone in the middle of a big wave event is like trying to pilot a paper airplane in a hurricane.
Perched at the edge of the cliff, it offers the perfect altitude advantage.
If the wind is too strong at the lighthouse, back up here.
Let’s be real: The wind at Nazaré during a swell is often 30-40 knots. Your Mavic 3 is rated for maybe 25 knots. You will lose drones here.
You cannot understand the noise from a drone. To feel the beast, you need to be on the ground. But where?
This is the stone breakwater that juts out into the sea. It is iconic. It is also dangerous.
This is the "arena." It’s where the contest is held if the swell is too massive for the main town beach.
Capturing the moment is an art form. Here is the hard truth: You cannot do both well simultaneously.
If you are filming the surfers, you need reach. A 70-200mm lens is the minimum. A 100-400mm or 200-600mm is better. You need a high shutter speed (1/2000s or faster) to freeze the spray.
Tip: Underexpose slightly (-0.7 EV) to protect your highlights in the water.
Nazaré is a small town that swells into a metropolis during big waves. Hotels book out a year in advance. For 2026, you are booking now.
You need fuel.
While big waves can happen anytime, the "events" are scheduled based on the swell.
Invite-only. Usually takes place in January or February. The Fort is the best viewing, but get there at dawn.
Keep an eye on the WSL "Big Wave Tour" calendar starting in November 2025. They usually give a 48-hour window.
I have to be the voice of reason here. The rock at Nazaré is slippery. It’s covered in algae. One slip, and you aren't just falling 20 feet onto rocks; you are falling into the wash cycle of a 50-foot wave.
When the monster comes, the town changes. The locals, the "Nazarénos," are a stoic bunch. They sit in the cafes, sipping coffee, glancing up at the sky. The fishermen watch the water with a respect that borders on fear.
There is a moment, usually around 2:00 PM, when the light hits the face of the wave just right. It turns translucent green, backlit by the sun. The wave looks like stained glass. It is beautiful and horrifying.
If you go in 2026, don't just be a consumer of the spectacle. Be a participant in the respect. Pick up your trash. Don't block the locals' driveways. Buy the fisherman a coffee.
Nazaré in 2026 will not disappoint. The monster will wake up. It will roar, it will tower, and it will humble the bravest souls on the planet. I will see you there, probably shivering on the cliff edge, cursing the wind, and loving every single second of it.