The Electric Spark
Riding the Queer Wave
How Jaime Fernández found a new rhythm in the ocean, creating a safe harbor for others to finally belong.
Interview with Jaime Fernández
The Electric Spark
It happened in a small coastal town called Caión, in northern Spain. Jaime Fernández was thirty-five, standing on a surfboard for the first time. The water pulled at his ankles, the board wobbled beneath his feet, and then—for a fleeting, breathless second—he was up. He wasn't just standing; he was flying. He remembers the feeling not as a physical exertion, but as pure electricity. It was the same jolt of recognition Billy Elliot felt when the music finally took hold of his limbs. For a man who had spent decades navigating the quiet friction of being gay in a world that didn't always offer a map, this wasn't just a sport. It was a language he finally understood.
A Lifetime of Hiding
Growing up in a small town in Castilla-La Mancha, Jaime lived a life of echoes. He was supported by his family, but he was hollowed out by the absence of reflection. He saw himself in no one. At sixteen, he learned the art of compartmentalization. He performed the required theater of teenage boyhood—basketball, swimming, team sports—while harboring a secret, vibrant interior world of dance, pop music, and longing. He didn't want to be labeled. He didn't want to be the boy who disrupted the team.
It wasn't until he started visiting Madrid, and later moving to Dublin, that the architecture of his life shifted. In Ireland, he found the breathing room to be himself. He stopped editing his own personality. But the ocean—that massive, chaotic, beautiful equalizer—didn't enter the frame until years later, when he moved to the Galician coast for work. He was looking for a healthier rhythm, a way to reclaim his mornings from the predictable cycle of weekend social obligations. He wanted to feel the daylight.
First Light Caión
The ocean became a language he finally understood
He wanted to feel the daylight.
The Call of the Islands
After that first taste of electricity in Caión, the world suddenly seemed too small. A trip to Bali introduced him to the sheer scale of the sea—larger, warmer, and more demanding waves. When he returned to Galicia, the cold, gray Atlantic felt like a challenge, but his heart was already elsewhere. In early 2020, he took a solo trip to Siargao, a remote island in the Philippines. It was supposed to be a vacation. It became a compass heading.
Castilla La Mancha
A life defined by the echoes of hiding
Group Siargao
When he returned for good in 2025, the island revealed its true gift. In the lineups at Siargao, he saw something he had never witnessed in Europe: a queer community surfing in open daylight. There were gay men, trans surfers, and non-binary athletes, all carving lines through the water, existing in a state of grace. He saw no need for the silent, careful posture he had carried in European surf circles. They were simply there, together.
Dublin Mornings
He stopped editing his personality to survive
Building a New Shore
That realization sparked the mission. If he had spent years searching for a community that would accept his full self, he would build one. He began to organize, weaving together a circle of local queer surfers to host retreats. These weren't just surf camps; they were intentional spaces for liberation. Guests would arrive as strangers, unsure of the terrain, and leave with a sense of connection that bypassed language entirely. "They don't feel like tourists," Jaime says. "They feel like they are part of the community."
Then, serendipity struck. Back in Spain during a rainy season in the Philippines, Jaime ran into Patrick, the very coach who had pushed him onto his first wave in Caión years earlier. A chance meeting on a walkway led to a coffee, which led to a bold proposition. What if the retreat came home? What if they could bring that same radical openness back to the cold, northern waters of Spain?
The Galician Coast
The sea was a chaotic and beautiful equalizer
Group Galicia
The Full Circle
It happened with surprising ease. The first groups arrived at the Caión Surf House, and the transformation was palpable. Seeing queer surfers take to the water in the very place where he had once felt like an outsider was, for Jaime, profoundly emotional. It was a full-circle moment that felt less like a plan and more like destiny.
Bali Horizons
The water demanded more than he could offer
Now, he receives messages from strangers, thanking him for the courage to enter the water. They tell him they finally feel empowered to try, to paddle out, to stand up, and to simply be. For Jaime, the surfing is just the starting point. The real work happens in the quiet moments between waves, in the acknowledgment that you no longer have to hide to belong. He is no longer looking for a reflection; he is the one holding up the mirror for everyone else.
Siargao Lineup
They existed in a state of grace