|
Everest of the
Seas
Mavericks From a Different Perspective
Taken From California Surfers, #1
by Henry Schulte All Photos by Mike Peralta
The break, the location, the mystique, and the power that
encompasses Mavericks makes it a world unto itself. And
those individuals attempting to surf one of the ocean's
most powerful and largest rideable waves, or those wanting
to capture a perfect shot on film of this liquid beast,
have all become adrenaline addicts. And now I've become
addicted as well. On January 29, I was on the phone with
Don Curry, a long time Mavericks junky. It was 3:30 in
the afternoon , and I'd asked him to let me know the next
time he thought Mavericks would be breaking. He was telling
me the buoys were going off the scale and that he had
rescheduled the entire following day in order to make
Mavericks at dawn. An hour later I had my camper loaded
on the truck, had tossed in all my camera gear and a 12
pack, and was on the road for the six-hour drive from
Goleta to Pillar Point in El Granada. The beer wasn't
for the ride.
My plan was simple. I would find a guy named Tom Monaghan,
hire him and his boat, and make for the infamous Mavericks.
Of course, I had no guarantee it would be breaking or
if the weather conditions would make it ridable.
I arrived in El Granada around 11pm and was quickly assured
by the pounding shore break and whitewater visible through
the blacknass of night that lack of swell wasn't going
to be a problem.
After sucking down a few beers to wind down, I was out
in munutes and woke six hours later ready and mped to
catch the great Mavericks on film. At the harbor I asked
a local crab fisherman if he would be interested in takin
me out. He replied that I couldn't pay him enough to risk
his boat or his life. This was my first indication that
perhaps I was getting in a bit over my head. However,
he affirmed what Curry told me: Mohaghan was the man ro
speak with. After a quick serch with the aid of the crab
fisherman, the illusive Captain Monaghan couldn't be found.
During my search, I was again warned by the owner of a
local bait-and-tackle shop that going out in those conditions
was insane. He'd also mentioned that he'd had words with
Monhagan about the dangers the day before, and the tackle
shop owner shrugged in indignation.
That clinched it for me. I'd drive out to the point, settle
comfortably on terra firma and be staisfied with the long
distance shots. The crab fisherman led me to the small
parking lot used by the surfers and onlookers. I'd find
out later how lucky I was to secure a parking spot.
While getting my gear together, a small-framed, gray-haired
man with a cheerful face and pleasant smile approached
me.
"You taking pictures?" he asked.
"Yeah, drove up from Santa Barbara just to catch this
place," I said. "I tried to hire a boat but..."
"I have a boat, " he said. "I'm taking two other photographers
out."
I paused and looked at the man for a moment then asked,
"You wouldn't be Monaghan by and chance?"
He smiled and offered his hand. "Yeah, Tom Monaghan."
I chuckled at how things worked out.
"To be honest, the feedback I've gotten...it doesn't [look]
like a good idea to be going out in a boat, " I told him.
"Aw, I've veen doing it for six years," Monaghan said
with a mischievous grin. "I'm not going to say it's perfectly
safe, but I havn't had any trouble yet."
"If you're questioning the safety, you're not making me
feel any better," I said nervously.
Monaghan didn't reply. I hesitated and began to form the
excuses. Sometimes you need to listen to your instincts.
But seeing Mavericks was why I had driven six hous in
the middle of the night.
"Ok, lets do it," I said.
Twenty minutes later we were on our way out of the harbor
in the worst ocean conditions I have ever seen in my life.
"When we get around the breakwater, hang on tight,: Monaghan
shouted above the din ot ht boat's twin engines.
Within seconds we began clombing over ten foot ground
swells and became embroiled in churning water. I instantly
regretted my decision to be on this boat. Despite the
rought seas, Monaghan's 31-foot Bertram, the "Glass Moppy"
moved gracefully and with authority out to deeper water.
The swells continued to grow larger and Monaghan maneuvered
the Glass Moppy northward. My apprehension deepened. The
ocean behaved like an angry creature disturbed by our
presence. She showed her mighty power by slamming large
swells over the breakwater to our right.
The boat ride out was vicious as the small craft battled
heavy seas and agitated water. I got a sick knot in my
gut as I was sure I was going to die. The knot grew ever
tighter.
And then there it was, straight ahead, a 25-foot perfect
right pitched off the reef of Pillar Point and peeled
to oblivion unridden. As we approached the line-up, there
were only two guys in the water, an unidentified and Darryl
"Flea" Virostko, a couple of other boats, and Doug Acton,
a professional photographer on his Jet Ski.
Suddenly, as we slipped into position, another set began
to build and I started to chew on my heart. All the way
out, Monaghan had preached and warned that everyone aboard
needed to keep a watchful eye for shifting sets so we
could escape in time. Escape in time! My focus shifted
from taking pictures to concentrating on the horizon.
Thundering 25- and 30-foot waves moved toward us in a
kind of surreal slow motion, like lumbering, overweight,
charging rhinos: harmless on the approach, but if you
get hit you're history. I was at sensory overload and
enthralled watching these monsters rise and pitch. From
30 yards away we were staring smack into the barrel, witnessing
the full force of these waves. It was overwhelming and
something I'll never forget. Before I realized it, I had
finished a roll of film and not quite recalled even pressing
the shutter. The were shots of waves without a rider and
it was mesmerizing being so close to so much energy.
Finally Flea caught a monster. Riding the wave, he gave
ma a scale on exactly how big the waves really were. Flea
came blasting off the backside as if he were riding a
rocket and immediately paddled back to the lineup.
It was captivating. On a scale of one tot 10 for danger,
I felt that what we were doing qualified as a 10 plus.
I continuously an politely encouraged Monaghan to move
the boat into deeper water and I kept a nervous eye on
the large sets that reached for us as they rolled past.
To my astonishment, Mike Peralta, one of the other photographers
on board, donned his wetsuit, tied a water-housed camerea
around his leg and jumped overboard. He swam directly
into the mayhem. This 28-year-old man literally placed
himself in the impact zone in an attempt to capture the
perfect shot. There I was continuing to chew on my heart
"safely"aboard the Glass Moppy, and Mike was poised at
the base of a 25-foot wave clicking pictures. Mike earned
my unconditional respect, and I felt somewhat foolish
with my own fears.
Meanwhile, Frank Quiarte, the other photographer and founder
of the MavSurfer Web Page, and I ran through film as fast
as we could load it. Never once could I convince myself
to relax.
Within the hour, two surfers in the water ewre joined
by another half-dozen of the Mavericks elite. It was getting
crowded and we found ourselves having to maneuver around
four additional boats that had just arrived. It was becoming
dangerous as each boat jockeyed to get in the perfect
position.
A key factor in the safety of a boat and its occupants
is to keep the bow pointed toward the channel marker and
be prepared to make a run for deeper water. However, with
all the other boats jockeying for position, the risk of
something serious happening was growing. After a crab
boat filled with fisherman slipped in too close to the
lineup and was nearly swamped, I began to push Monaghan
harder to head for deeper water.
The combination of huge waves, swirling water, strong
currents, large sets, taking pictures and watching the
horizon had me overwhelmed. Short of being in the water
and attempting to ride such enormous surf, I had never
been more frightened nor had I ever experienced a more
thrilling or stronger adrenaline rush in my life. To endure
the might of Mavericks, you don't have to actually surf
it. To merely be close to so much energy and know that
at any moment a shifting rouge wave could come through,
was enough to keep me on edge for the entire three hours
we were out there.
At one point, a set caught all the boats off guard and
there was a mad scramble for safety. The whitewater sprayed
off our backs as we rolled sideways over a behemoth swell
and slid more thad 10 feet down its backside. It took
all I had to maintain some degree of composure. On his
fifth wave, Flea was fiercely pitched into a mass of swirling
whitewater. As everyone in the lineup and the boats watched,
Flea was spotted directly inside the impact zone with
a 25-footer heading his way. He was in trouble.
Doug Acton tossed his camera gear in our boat and made
a valiant attempt with his Jet Ski to rescue Flea. As
we watched the attempted rescue, the true dangers of riding
a place like Mavericks became evident. We were witnessing
a struggle for survival. Sometime later, Acton returned
wide eyed and said there was nothing he could do, Flea
had become wrapped around a rock, but he thinks he broke
free. Thankfully, he had.
Mavericks was not so gracious to other visitors that same
day. A young surfer had flown in from Brazil to catch
the large swell. He was sucked over the falls. His leash
snapped and he blew out both eardrums and both his knees.
It left him flopping in the impact zone and the last boat
in the water risked being crushed as it tossed a line
to the Brazilian and quickly dragged him to safety over
oncoming waves. Another guy severely injured his back,
and yet another nearly drowned.
Mavericks is the Everest of the seas.
The morning I spent taking pictures there will be forever
burned in my mind. Even the trip back to the harbor riding
atop giant swells was a nerve-wracking experience. By
the time we docked, I had had enough excitement to last
me for quite some time. For those surfers who are toying
with the prospect of charging Mavericks, my advice is
to try taking the boat ride first. There's nothing wrong
in checking out what you're up against, and you might
find that a boat ride is about as close to surfing the
place you want to get.
For those who surf it on a regular basis, I salute you.
Would I ever do it again? You bet.
|
|
|
