Thirteen-Foot Waves Threaten City Beaches as East Coast Rip Current Warnings Linger

As climate volatility heightens and state intervention in public order grows, New Yorkers confront fresh threats—from surging Atlantic breakers to uniformed patrols below ground.

If anyone needed proof that the phrase “never a dull moment” was coined for New York, the past week has furnished evidence aplenty. According to weather agencies, beaches along the East Coast reopened days ago, having been shuttered due to tempestuous seas. Swimmers now face not only the bracing Atlantic but the sobering prospect of rip currents strong enough to hurl waves as high as 13 feet, a rare and dangerous phenomenon for late August.

Meanwhile, under Governor Kathy Hochul’s renewed directive, National Guard members have begun appearing in the city’s labyrinthine subway system. Ostensibly there to deter wrongdoers, these soldiers join a swelling contingent of law enforcement tasked with ensuring public safety underground. Their presence is both spectacle and signal: the city and state are mustering unusual resources to address an old problem.

Most beachgoers in the metropolitan area treat swimming warnings as an annual rite, but this summer’s coastal drama is exceptional. Meteorologists cite the confluence of tropical storms and peculiar wind patterns as the chief culprits behind August’s pounding surf. Emergency services have been on high alert; the city’s Department of Parks and Recreation has issued advisories non-stop since last Thursday. Drownings elsewhere on the Eastern seaboard—most recently in New Jersey and Long Island—have lent urgency to the city’s pleas for caution.

This is hardly the first time Atlantic volatility has buffeted the nation’s busiest shoreline. But what distinguishes 2025, apart from the sheer scale of disruption, is the manner in which climate fluctuations now shape the very rhythm of city life. Economic effects have followed: cancellations of outdoor events, abrupt drops in boardwalk commerce, and a visible downturn in local tourism. The momentary thrill of surfing gaudy waves cannot offset the hit to hot dog vendors or the blight of empty roller coasters at Coney Island.

Underground, a different order—more martial, less capricious—has been imposed. Governor Hochul argues that National Guard patrols in the subway will discourage “would-be criminals” from exploiting perceived gaps in public safety. The Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA), notoriously strapped for cash and plagued by rider wariness, has welcomed the move. For many New Yorkers, however, the sight of camouflage uniforms among the turnstiles resurrects memories of 1980s crackdowns and post-9/11 anxieties—not all of them fond.

This double-fronted display of state response—one to the elements, another to crime—invites mixed feelings. Few would deny that robust rip currents and sporadic subway violence both call for action. Yet as is so often the case in Gotham, the cure and its side effects are subjects of as much controversy as the sickness itself.

Heightened vigilance, persistent unease

The financial ripples from these events portend sharper challenges. New York’s coastal amusements are a small but telling specimen of the city’s wider economic fragility in a time of environmental instability. Insurance premiums on beachfront businesses have inched upward; tourism authorities fret about a premature Labor Day slump. At street level, meanwhile, transit ridership—which had only recently recovered to 80% of pre-pandemic norms—now faces another psychological hurdle. Policymakers wager that visible enforcement will reassure the public, but history shows that a balance between deterrence and discomfort is hard to strike.

Politically, Ms Hochul’s penchant for conspicuous action is not unique. Governors on both coasts have leaned on the National Guard of late, whether to tackle weather emergencies or bolster public order. But such reliance can be a double-edged sword. Proponents argue that a visible deterrent stymies petty lawlessness; critics warn of “securitising” public space, with all the risks to civil liberties and urban conviviality that implies.

Nor is New York alone in confronting the mercurial effects of climate and crime. Miami’s lifeguard corps spent much of July contending with similar surges, as did officials in Boston and even as far afield as the English Channel. Urban transport hubs elsewhere—think London’s Tube or the Paris Métro—occasionally deploy military troops after terrorist threats, but seldom to tackle ordinary lawbreaking. Whether such measures are sustainable, let alone desirable, remains an open question.

One could be forgiven for detecting a certain ambivalence in New Yorkers’ reactions. On the one hand: gratitude for lifeguards risking the surf, and the hope that armed patrols curb the city’s periodic rash of subway assaults. On the other: a bracing awareness that the city, for all its resilience, is running harder to stay still. If rising seas and swelling security details are the new normal, what becomes of the freedoms—and unguarded joys—that make urban life worth its price?

For now, the city bides its time: vigilant, if wary. It is too soon to say if these measures will deliver more safety than they extract in serenity, or if the Atlantic’s new muscle signals a step change in climate on the city’s doorstep. New Yorkers, ever adaptable, have seen worse—though not always on quite this many fronts at once. We suspect that prudence, not panic, will serve residents best in the weeks to come.

The sea may yet return to its usual sullen rhythm; the Guardsmen may soon be rotated out. In the city that never sleeps, unease is never off duty. ■