In August of this year, I visited Ireland for the first time. While I was there, my bed-and-breakfast host recommended that I go to a small island about two hours away, and on blind trust, I went. I got off the ferry, walked about a mile to the other side of the island, and found a perfectly sheltered cove between two cliffs with cows. There were about seven people on the beach that day, taking icy dips, warming in the sun, all watching a perfect peely wave with no one surfing it.

That day came and went, and I couldn’t get that wave out of my mind. How many people live on the island? Was that a fluke wave? Do people surf there? I couldn’t stop wondering, so I scoured the internet and found a website with one sentence mentioning “surf lessons with Dan.” No photos, no email, no surf shop, and no real info—but there was a number. I called, and sure enough, Dan answered the phone.

Three months and many phone calls later, I went to Sherkin Island again, this time with my fiancée and best friend. We stayed with Dan’s family at his home, cooked and ate every meal together, and waited for waves. What I found there was different from anything I could have planned for—something far more important than a wave.