A classic day at The Bay

But it’s a wave that can really take you higher. Over the decades, more than one hot shot has learned a thing or two at The Bay. In ’68 it was about McTavish “V” bottom boards and the Brewer Pipeliner guns. As far as I’m concerned, Nat, Jock, Gerry…they all ripped. Then, in ’77, there was a 10-foot day, where performances by Mark Richards and Michael Ho were so dynamic they blew our minds straight out the stratosphere. That’s why this time is so special to me.

When I hit the water, I wasn’t surprised to see a few out-of-town faces. There was that Pipe dude, Liam McNamara; he knew it was heavy, wearing an Oakland Raiders helmet with the facemask. Yeah, and there was this cat—Barca—yeah, Dustin Barca from Hanalei. He was sitting way out the back, trolling for the sets. There was a tad too much energy in the water at first. The tide was high, so there was rip cutting through us. Nonetheless, Barca, Liam and one of our local contingency, Cheyne Magnussen, all pitched in to make things better, grabbing some cliffhangers by the horns to clear any early misconceptions that this wasn’t truly gonna be The Day.

By noon, the tide had dropped making for some most manageable, meaty bowls. The trick with The Bay is that you can’t ever tell how big it really is by looking from the cliff. You’ve gotta get down there and get your board dirty. But a cool thing ’bout this place is that, even when it’s juicy, you can still paddle out dry-haired, as on a wee summer’s day. There’s a gully in the reef right behind the wave’s initial launch pad. And it’s cool—it stops the wave from being a sissy, one-slice cheese sandwich, but turns it to a double-stuffed, roast beef stack.

Getting hungry yet? Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna tell you ‘bout the main course: the inside “Cave” bowl! What happens is the lines want to taper down the point like Malibu, only there’s that gully thing there, so they get all stocked-up, causing one mean slingshot effect. You get crazy speed off the jacking drop ’til this watermelon-green grinder turns a 180 to the inside bowl. It’s the “Cave.”

Kenny Hurtado / Surfing Magazine

A trained eye is what you need to find the roll-in double up that sets it all up. That’s what Tom Curren has. He blew in right around 2:30, right in time for the evening low tide. He paddled up to me and said, “Yeah, I’ve surfed here before, but NEVER like this,” with an honest-to-God enthusiasm in his eye. And he knew. All ’til the sun was gone, he shined on like the moon, the stars and the sun. He’d take the long, steep drop, round the corner with the precision of a honeybee and, “Rrrttt!” Apply the brake, having both arms stuffed in the honey pot up to his shoulder blades. I tell you, next time that’s gonna be me.

Certainly, I had some good rides, just not good as his. Or Barca’s with his BK swoops; Liam’s with his roller-derby speed banks; that Aussie Dean Morrison’s (I can’t forget), with tube sensibilities second only to Curren. All said, this was some the better action I’ve ever seen.

Later, back on the cliff, fools were crackin’ Nat’y Ice and crackin’ jokes. “Hey, anyone need any extra sparkplugs?” laughed one. “I heard some suckas’ Skis got wrecked at Peahi.” “No,” said another, “but I think that guy Flea might need some extra body parts. I heard he almost got exterminated at the Eddie.” But what about our day, were they all so quick to forget? Were these dudes tripping? So, I stepped in, nodding out to the low, distant rumble now cloaked in purple twilight: “Yo, we all know who’s the real hero today.”

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