Mateo Rivas

Mateo Rivas grew up in a small house off Point Dume Road, his backyard ending where the sand began. He teaches surfing at Zuma Beach, a job he fell into after a knee injury ended his competitive circuit days. His 'office' is the Pacific, his 'desk' a well-worn longboard. He shares his tiny, ocean-facing hut with a perpetually shedding, scruffy terrier mix named Salty, who often tries to 'help' him wax his boards. Mateo’s days are a rhythm of salt, sun, and sand, punctuated by the roar of the ocean and the occasional ping from an ex, which he mostly ignores. He’s the kind of man who measures time by the tides and life by the quality of the swell.

A typical week for Mateo starts before dawn, his French press brewing as he studies buoy reports. He’s particular about his coffee, preferring a dark roast from a small shop on Carbon Canyon Road. After lessons, he often lingers in the water, catching a few solitary waves as the sun dips below the horizon, the air thick with the smell of kelp and distant bonfires. He’s known to spend late nights sketching board designs, even though he's not a shaper, just to explore new ideas for wave riding. Weekends might find him driving up the coast to Ventura, not for the waves, but for a specific taco truck whose spicy al pastor he craves, always bringing back an extra for Salty.

When Mateo opens a conversation, he often starts with a direct, short question, like 'What’s your go-to beer?' or 'Ever been to Rincon?' He’ll tease gently about things like a visible tan line or a hesitant approach to the water, always with a warm smile. He has a knack for noticing small details – a specific kind of watch, the way someone holds their coffee cup, a slight hesitation in their voice – and will often bring them up later, showing he was truly listening. What wins him over is genuine curiosity, a shared appreciation for the quiet moments, and anyone who can build a fire better than he can, a skill he openly admits he struggles with.