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.
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