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In mid January of 1998, I nearly
drowned on a big day at Mavericks and I
can say from experience that it would be
a lonely, sad and horrible way to die. The
worst part is that it happened because I
made some classic mistakes: I paddled out
without really stopping to see how big the
sets were and I took off on the first wave
of the first set that came through. Because
of these mistakes, I got held down for two
waves and was swept through the rocks. Had
I died, this would not have been a heroic
way to go. Hopefully this story will remind
others of the importance of some of basic
rules we learn about surfing big waves;
know the conditions before paddling out
and never go for the first wave of a set.
Until this day, I’d been having
a good winter at Maverick’s. I’d
surfed the place six times with no bad wipeouts.
This definitely contributed to my false
sense of confidence coming into January
13th, a day that would forever change the
way I surf out there. I drove up early with
my brother Zach and Mike Brummet. We had
made it a habit to paddle out in the dark
with the intent of being the first ones
out. These were the days before Jet-Skis
or extensive forecasting data so we were
completely on our own to figure out what
was going on out there. Photographer Vern
Fisher was there gearing up and he said
something like “All right, guys, don’t
do anything disastrous until I get out to
the cliffs”. We thought that was pretty
funny at the time.
Brummet, Zach and I all made it
out pretty easily. Once we got around the
corner of the rocks, a strong current picked
us up and swept us from south to north,
through the bowl and beyond our normal lineup.
The surf was big and straight west which
is when Mavs is at its most dangerous. West
swells square off on the bowl and the current
takes you straight into the rocks if you
blow it. Zach and I tried for a couple of
medium-size waves to get a feel for them,
and both of us pulled back kind of ungracefully.
Then a set came through and this time I
decided to really commit.
The first wave of the set approached
and it seemed very makeable. It had a long
wall with a nice gradual taper towards the
shoulder. I though I was playing
it safe, that I was out of the bowl and
maybe two-thirds of the way toward the shoulder.
Brummet was inside of me and made a motion
like he was going to go which started me
paddling really hard to let him know I was
really going. Mike yelled, “Go, go!”
as I went passed him.
When I later saw this wave on video,
I was shocked by how big it looked and how
unmakeable it really was. I though
I was out on the shoulder, but the bowl
shifted over right on top of me. As soon
as I got to my feet, the wind coming up
the face held me up and I bounced along
the top, which took me out of my crouch
just as I began dropping in. I clearly remember
the feeling of the wave growing and growing
as I was dropping down it. I came to a realization
that this wave was too big to make from
my position and that I would ultimately
be engulfed, over-run or have the lip come
down on my head so I simply stepped off
my board and hoped to hell I could penetrate
near the trough. I did manage to get under
water without skipping across the flats
and I began thinking it was possible I could
just pop out the back of this wave. But
then about 5 feet from the surface, I felt
myself being lifted upward towards the sky,
embedded with the lip; here we go.
Time slowed as I went on this pre-impact
ride up and over the falls of a pure, cylindrical
20 foot Mavs beast. I was then
caught in a free-fall from the peak to the
trough and finally carried down through
the trough to the bottom of the ocean floor;
a deep, dark quite place. The water pressure
in my ears let me know I was deeper than
I’d ever been driven and this was
all before the actually beatings even began.
It sounds a bit corny to call what
I was feeling an out-of-body experience,
but as this was happening, I began to view
what was happening to me from a spectator’s
perspective on the cliff, in slow motion
and in black and white. Once the
thrashing kicked in, I snapped back into
the real-time horror of what was happening
and attempted to endure the worst rag-dolling
imaginable. I passed through several cycles
of panic, relax, panic and relax which seemed
to go on forever.
We’ve all seen the cartoons
where the character gets hit by a truck
and has their life flash before them like
a movie strip. This is not far
from what I experienced. I can only compare
it to what people must go through on an
airplane caught in a plummet towards the
ground. It is an overwhelming sensation
of, “this is it, I am going to die
now.” In one instant, my entire life
was summarized as a physical and mental
sensation. All I could think was this is
really pathetic. My parents put me through
school and I’m going out like this?
As the turbulence subsided I began
swimming for the surface and at what must
have been about 10ft left to go, I could
feel and sense the next wave roll over me.
Later I learned from Zach and Brummet that
the second wave was a full Mavs closeout
which broke way outside the bowl. Had the
second wave held back and pitched where
I was surfacing, or had I surfaced any sooner,
I would definitely have been pulled into
a second spin cycle and at this point, I
had burned up all of my oxygen. Instead,
the wave had already dissipated enough to
just roll over me allowing me the opportunity
to surface for an instant between the second
and third wave and reset my lungs with just
enough air to survive the third wave. That
small breath meant everything; it gave me
the inspiration to keep going. And I did
keep going, straight into the rocks.
I went through really fast, lying
on my back with my nose poking above the
water, finally I was ejected into calm water.
I saw Marco Foreman to the south, paddling
toward me with my board. It was at this
moment that I realized I had broken my leash
somewhere along the way. He handed me the
board and I slumped over it like a wet,
exhausted dog. He asked if I was OK. I said
I was, but I could tell from his reaction
that I looked pretty bad off. I'm not sure
this helped him amp up for his session.
I sat on my board for at least 10
minutes before making a move towards shore.
Once I made it to the beach my instinct
was to lie down and sleep. I was sort of
hunched over in the fetal position. There
was blood dripping out of my nose from the
pressure of being pushed so deep, so fast.
I couldn’t move and I didn’t
really care. A friend came by to see if
I was OK; he gave me some preliminary first
aid, like asking me what day it was. It
took me a while to convince him and his
girlfriend that I was fine.
Three days later, I was still coughing
up traces of blood. I know at least
four others that have had similar issues
with coughing up blood from a heavy wipeout
in big surf. Apparently the rapid change
in pressure from being driven deep that
quickly will ring your lungs out like a
sponge.
Although I didn’t suffer any
extensive physical damage from this incident,
mentally it has permanently impacted me.
It has taken me years to get back the confidence
needed to competently paddle at Mavs and
ultimately I have become a much more selective
and calculated surfer out there. I’ve
passed or pulled back on many waves which
I might have made simply because of being
haunted by this experience. I like being
alive so I’ll wait for a more makeable
one.
In some ways, I consider this incident
a blessing because I was reminded of how
fragile life is and got off relatively easy
along the way. Just remember to
check the conditions before paddling out
and never take off on the first wave of
a set. |
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