Mr. Bombard has been cursed at. But he gets it. “If you show respect, it’s certainly O.K. to be out there,” he said. “You show respect and earn it in kind.”

The nor’easters of early March brought great surf, with up to 12-foot waves out at Rockaway. The ocean temperature was around 40 degrees, the air in the 30s, and winds created a powerful swell, Mr. Bombard said.

“I wish it was like that every day. I’m always watching the weather, looking for storms,” Mr. Bombard said. “It’s my new existence.”

Later on that cold and cloudy February day, after his 90-minute subway journey through Manhattan and Brooklyn to Queens, Mr. Crowley stood with Mr. Mattison and looked out over the Atlantic. It was 8:30 a.m. and there were already 20 surfers in the water despite the dinky, one-foot-high swell. They watched two surfers nearly run into each other trying to catch the same wave.

“Only at Rockaway,” Mr. Mattison said.

Mr. Crowley pointed to a scar on his left cheek. “The only scar of my life after nearly 30 years of surfing was getting run over by a beginner” at Rockaway, said Mr. Crowley. “But I believe the ocean is free.”