How bad do you think it hurts? photo: Jeff Chamberlain
This past weekend, a good buddy of mine trailered his custom-built, 21-foot Greenough surf boat from his home on the California’s Central Coast up to Half Moon Bay to enjoy the spectacle of what was being predicted to be a fine day of big wave action at Maverick’s. My buddy, a lifelong surfer and former harbor patrol officer, has years of experience at the helm, and enjoys nothing more than providing suitably inspired friends with “on the water” angles of some of the best waves on the California coast. He also frequently takes photographs to share with a select group of suitably discreet friends, presented magazine feature-style in serial emails which, from his “everyman” spot in the channel, often capture the essence of a session better than more sophisticated coverage. This day at Maverick’s was no exception, with photos from his prudent positioning behind the PWC scrum providing a broader perspective, you might say, than the tight action shots. And this is what was graphically revealed:
Wipeouts. Lots of them. Bad ones. Wipeouts worse than a vast, vast majority of surfers in the world will ever experience. Wipeouts worse than most have ever even witnessed. In fact, the mere image of said wipeouts would make most cringe and shudder, forcing the majority of surfing brothers and sisters into a unified, self-defeating admission: “No way could I survive that!”
And yet these surfers at Maverick’s did survive the terrible wipeouts depicted. Being pitched over the falls, 10-foot guns spinning high in the air at leash’s end; tripped up on the drop and being flung off their boards, skidding down the curl on their backs; trapped deep inside the vortex, spun like a dish rag in spin cycle; rendered helpless, cold, breathless and blind while being pounded and thrashed by unfathomable tons of angry ocean. Time and time and time again, and yet, judging by the absence of any rescue helicopter evacuations or ski-sled CPR scenes, plus the fact the crowd didn’t appear to noticeably thin out following each ass-over-tea kettle attempt, these serial disasters resulted in virtually no significant consequences for any of the surfers involved. Most of whom, by clear example, are no superhuman big wave stars, but surfers pretty much like the rest of us, albeit wearing inflation vests. Which for me, at least, can only lead to this burning question: When it comes to wipeouts, what have we all been so afraid of?
This existential query becomes even more relevant when you consider that surfers today are inundated with more horrendous wipeout imagery than at any other time in surfing history. Take the last few months, for example. Full rubber jacket hellmen at 50-foot Mullaghmore, pulling into un-makeable, unthinkable sections exploding scant yards away from an exposed rock ledge; Lucas “Chumbo” Chianca’s pair of horrific Nazaré catastrophes during this past December’s Big Wave Challenge, both abjectly frightening in their chaotic intensity; virtually every one of Nathan Florence’s YouTube clips, in which the affable Flo-Bro depicts himself regularly experiencing getting the ol’ “pound and ground” at various global slabs, not only when pitched over the falls or chewed up by monster foam balls, but, in many cases, simply while paddling out.
And yet they all seem to come up smiling. At least, that’s what it looks like on YouTube. Hell, after two of the worst wipeouts ever seen by modern man, Chumbo went on to win the Men’s Best Performance Award at the Nazaré event; in one video clip Florence’s wife Mahina, manning a camera on shore, can be heard casually offering encouragement, along with an occasional laugh, while hubby gets scraped over a jagged Irish reef by relentless 15-foot sweeps of whitewater (that counts) just trying to make it back to shore. The kind of stuff that regularly rolls Coast Guard vessels. Nate survives what for most humans would be a life-threatening ordeal, only to emerge with nothing more than an “aw, shucks” grin, and a bit of seemingly unaffected, “Boy, that was sketchy” commentary.
Again, are these particular big wave surfers super-heroes, imbued with some other-worldly power that renders them impervious to the consequence of failure? In fact, some of them do get hurt. Take Irish big wave surfer Tom Lowe, who currently finds himself in the comeback process, having recently stared into the abyss with not one, but two near-fatal wipeouts at Teahupo’o; French five-story queen Justine Dupont, having previously been placed on the injured list following a misstep in macking Peahi, just fractured her spine during last week’s Thriller at Killers event in Baja California. So yeah, it happens. But for the most part, civilian surfers are today being fed a steady diet of exponentially more unimaginable wipeouts, presented not as something deeply traumatic, but merely as an inconvenience.
I’m of the opinion this is why we saw so many surfers out at Maverick’s on that particular Saturday who, skill and experience-wise, were quite literally in over their heads. Is it merely a case of CO2 courage provided by the aforementioned inflations vests, or the presence of incredibly competent rescue teams hovering on the shoulder? Not so sure about that — reassurances are nice, but poke your nose on a Mav’s drop and you still have to take the beatdown.
No, what I think has happened to explain why we see so many more surfers pushing themselves into heavier and heavier conditions, not at only big wave breaks like Maverick’s and Peahi and Mullaghmore (not to mention Nazaré), but on heavier days at Santa Cruz’s Steamer Lane, Rhode Island’s Tuckermans, Mundaka in the Basque Country, or maybe just the last way-bigger-than-average day at your local spot, has been a collective shift in awareness, taking hold almost 70 years after surfers first paddled out at Waimea Bay with their hearts in their throats. And reinforced today, not only by myriad big wave “proof of life” videos, but every YouTube clip of Mason Ho recklessly riding over an exposed lava reef: the widespread acceptance, after all these years, that when surfing is viewed as a ratio, comparing serious thrills to serious consequence, the number is about 2:2000. Do the math, and realize that we probably enjoy the safest action sport going, regardless of the conditions. It just took us a few decades to believe this.
But don’t just take my word for it. Consider this meditation on wipeouts, mere food for thought. And if you’re one of those surfers who weren’t out at Maverick’s last week, or maybe just during that last big swell at home, hit the comment section and let us know why not. Peer deep into your surfer’s soul and tell us: When it comes to wiping out, what are you afraid of?
