Christa Funk

Dad was very artistic; he was amazing at drawing, wood carving, photography. He even had a full scholarship to art school, but his father pushed him toward a “practical, more masculine” career. Still, creativity was always part of our lives, and I grew up surrounded by art, music, colors, and handmade things.

When I was a kid, we lived on the East Coast for a few years. That’s where I first saw the ocean, joined a swim team, and fell in love with being in the water. I was very high-strung, and the ocean calmed me—it helped me focus and channel my energy. Photography did the same. These two things just made sense to me. Then, at sixteen, I saw surf photos in a photography book and realized people were shooting in the water. I didn’t know how to get there, but the idea stuck with me.

I complained to my sister that our dad was pushing me to apply there and I didn’t want to do it. She simply asked, “Why not?” and I went quiet. I couldn’t think of a single reason not to, and I haven’t regretted it. It shaped who I am. I studied marine biology, served five years on active duty, and learned how to work with people, solve complex problems, and take responsibility early on. The military also gave me stability when I started photography. I could afford my gear and had time to develop without pressure, and being stationed in Hawaii put me exactly where I needed to be.

Once I had all of my qualifications, I started shooting again. One afternoon, I went to Pipeline and saw photographers in the water. I thought: that’s it—that’s the goal. I spoke to one of them, and he took me out for my first swim. I loved it immediately and felt this would change everything.

If the conditions are right, I’ll stay out as long as my body and focus feel good—or until my camera battery runs out, which can be 8 to 10 hours. It’s a different mindset than competitive swimming; it’s not about pushing through pain but about awareness. I constantly check in with myself: Am I present, focused, and able to handle what might happen? If something feels off, I call it—no matter how good the waves are.

The waves I shoot are dangerous, even on smaller days. Fear is always there, but it’s a good thing. It keeps you aware. The key is not letting it turn into panic. I’ve had a few accidents, but nothing that kept me out of the water long.