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:: Cortes Bank Awakens For An Eclectic Ensemble |
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Photos by David Pu'u // puufoto@aol.com and Greg Huglin // DolphinFoto.com
[The Forward]
An idea. A boat. A swell. A windless seamount.
Personal watercraft? Check. Tow ropes? Check. Straps? Check.
Still photography. Motion picture. Video. Food. Coffee. Wetsuits. Down
jackets. Beanies. Gloves. Scopolamine patches.
Indelible surfing? Check.
One hundred miles west of San Diego, California. Thin threads of
surf-industry communication manifest an unprecedented number of 'extreme
surfing' cognoscenti motoring far into the Pacific, beamish with a forecast
of high seas and sedate climes. Giddy speculation for the mystic 100-foot
wave had all GPS units set squarely on Cortes Bank. diver's haven, sailor's
bane.
Few had been there. Fewer had surfed there until today. Likely to be a
recurring concept in the annals of the Bank. For us, it was an inauguration.
Michael Kew // mhkew1@earthlink.net
[The Plan]
Forewarned
By David Pu'u // puufoto@aol.com
I stared closely at the 8x10" print in my hands. Lowering it, Greg peered
quizzically at me over his reading glasses. "So what do you think?"
"No scale," I said. The photo was of a huge set of three bright blue waves
that stretched out more than a half-mile in length. Breaking perhaps a
quarter-mile out to sea, outside of a pyramid-shaped rock on a very remote
tip of an island, was this giant righthander that only breaks when the swell
is huge. Greg named it "Psychos" in deference to the extreme difficulty of
accessing it by sea during such conditions.
"That rock is about 20 feet out of the water," Greg said. "I am hanging
about 50 feet above sea level shooting from a chopper."
"How big were the buoys?"
"Twenty-two feet at 20 seconds," he deadpanned. I remembered the day of that
swell. Huge everywhere. Ocean conditions just dicey and inhospitable to
anyone with reason to venture offshore. I had seen some amazing surf ridden
a few places on the coast, at some of the pointbreaks in and around Santa
Barbara and Ventura.
"Where is it?" I asked casually, not terribly impressed.
"Not telling you. What do you think?" he queried. "How deep is the water
where that wave is breaking?"
Eight months later I am staring at the depth finder on Greg's boat. Far
inside us is that little rock, jutting out of a sparkling blue sea on a
magnificent Santa Ana day. Eighty-two feet. We walked a grid all over the
break zone. Depth was fairly constant: about 80 feet. The wave in the photo
had been close to 90 feet high. Give or take 10.
Thinking back to the conditions I had seen the day the photo was shot, a
chill ran up my back. Pondering getting to where we were on a day that
rough and big, countless variables and questions presented themselves,
eclipsing any desire to ever leave the safety of shore on such a heavy day.
I told Greg my reservations as we logged in all the information and
proceeded to make the long journey back to port.
"It can be done." That was all he said.
Planning progressed. Captains and people who headed up the local fishing and
diving fleet were queried and aid enlisted. We slowly began to methodically
tick off and come up with answers to the long list of somewhat terrifying
problems to conquer this remote break out in the middle of nowhere.
The little yellow Piper bucked and rocked a bit as the wail of the engine
blocked out all communication with our pilot and Greg. I was pinned in the
back seat of the tiny plane by camera gear. Something catching my eye 1,500
feet below caused me to swing my big 300mm lens up to the little window. A
cargo ship, powering northward in the shipping lane into the
17-feet-at-17-seconds swell. Making good time in spite of 20-knot winds.
Dropping the lens, I saw them: a series of dark blue bands about a mile
ahead of the ship. A set.
Bucking lens back up, I watched in fascination as the bow plowed straight
into the third wave of the set. The wave washed the decks. The bow of that
ship must have been at least 40 feet high. Small boat out there? The facts
of certain struggle and possible death were obvious, and now underscored.
Flight control over Vandenberg Air Force Base stopped us from any further
scouting that day. We had seen enough.
Next swell was nasty, too. Pal of ours on a boat we knew, and his father,
died going down-swell. No ship, no bodies. All erased on a vicious day. It
was what our head captain warned us about: "Hey, I can get you out there, no
problem. It is getting back where we will die." Now a huge wall lay in front
of us. Seemingly insurmountable.
We wanted to challenge this place, but riding the damned wave was dangerous
enough. How to get ourselves and crew out and back? None of the charter
boats would be easy, or really that safe. A breaking sea, traveling at 22
miles per hour, could simply swallow the ship whole if anything went wrong.
"Multi-hull, we need a multi-hull," Greg said simply. Having spent the last
10 years or so offshore in South Africa, filming sharks and dolphins. He had
used them. "They are fast and stable."
"Hell, I think we need a giant Jet Ski," I said. "Then at least we could run
from trouble. Sort of like the PT boats in World War II-barrel in, get the
job done, and blast out."
I literally saw the light go on in Greg's eye. One name escaped his lips:
"The Condor."
I asked him about the captain. "Don't know if he would do it," Greg said,
"but after Bristol Bay in Alaska, this is a problem he really is used to."
The Condor's captain had run fishing boats in the deadliest stretch of water
in the world. Struggling and living through the worst that the North Pacific
could dish out. His perspective greatly exceeded our own. Greg sought out
the Condor's operator. Our plans, backup plans, water-rescue crews and
training, the best people in the world on board - it meant nothing at this
point. It all came down to a craft and man capable of manning that craft
when things went wrong.
About a year later. It is 12:01 a.m. on a Monday. Our crew is assembled on
the fantail stern of the Condor Express. Damp night air, and an eerie fog
which had seemingly risen out of nowhere, set a somber tone as Captain Ron
Hart, Greg, Jeff Clark and the rest of our crew briefly discussed the swell
numbers at the buoys. Hawaii had been slammed by a largish swell that had
inexplicably jumped an additional unforecasted 10 feet. We were watching for
it.
The weather was what we had been waiting for the past couple of years:
perfect surface high pressure in the Four Corners and Pacific basin.
What was the swell doing? My gut feeling was that it was not big enough for
what we wanted. Yet here was this incredible crew and craft. I had been
speaking with Garrett McNamara. He and Carlos Burle and some of the other
"extreme surfing" guys were ready. They had chartered a ship to run out to
Cortes Bank, which lies about 100 miles off of San Diego. He had offered
Greg and I rides. I had told him we could possibly meet him, but that the
idea of 12 hours on a slow monohull boat was not appetizing, to say the
least. Roooooccckking, swaaaying in the 17-at-20 swell, then: heaving.
"Hey Garrett, you know, we already have a boat. We could possibly just see
you out there."
Here we were. All eyes somehow turned to me. I knew the answer to the
question. An easy shakedown test for us. Meet our friends. Kill a few birds
at once, for sure.
"Lets go to the Bank." It was all I said. Greg nodded, Ron smiled faintly.
Minutes later the Condor's four engines throttled up and she powered into
the dark, windless night at 30 knots, her 3,000 ponies at a mild canter. In
an inky black sea, dolphins dashed in and about our bow wakes, trailing
phosphorescent, bioluminescent sparks. Ron was at the helm. I slept lightly
but securely. Planning.
[The Mission]
A Shoal Less-Traveled - Until Now
Michael Kew // mhkew1@earthlink.net
"The USS Abalonia was a concrete cargo ship, constructed for the purpose of
becoming an independent nation. The company which built it hoped to anchor
it in rich shellfish beds on the Cortes Bank, 100 miles off the coast of San
Diego, and claim jurisdiction over the area. Shortly after the Abalonia.s
launch in 1969, it foundered and sank, nearly killing the crew. In the wake
of the Abalonia fiasco, a second company began plans to build a platform on
the Cortes Bank and declare it the nation of Taluga. The U.S. government
quickly gave notice that the Cortes Bank, as part of the continental shelf,
fell within its jurisdiction." -James L. Erwin, Atlas of Forgotten Nations
The 12th of January, 2004. Today, the Pacific bleeds. Large west swell,
spawned by a huge chunk of weather, saturates the Eastern Pacific, landing
at almost every U.S. West Coast surf nook from Taholah to Tijuana
Sloughs...and spaces between.
Dusk, Santa Barbara Harbor. Covert twilight operations utilize the winch of
the 75' Condor Express to hoist four personal watercrafts (PWC) onto the
stern. Mounds of camera gear and provisions follow suit. Darkness reveals an
intent clear to only those who had RSVPed earlier that day.
Midnight. Target: Pacific Ocean, N32°26.66, W119°06.65. Cruising a smooth 30
knots, Captain Ron Hart steers the mothership via GPS across a windless
surface. The quad-jet-powered catamaran - a "giant Jet Ski" - was built for
whale-watching, dinner cruises, weddings, and marine education. Today, it is
Santa Barbara's first vessel to visit the shoal with a load of surfers,
media, and PWCs.
Journey time from the harbor is less than four hours. We doze thinly and
arrive just before daybreak to a mute, black expanse in the middle of the
sea.
* * *
Morning light. Gin-clear, cobalt blue water surrounding an open-ocean
sealife magnet is what affords Cortes Bank its nearly exclusive stream of
Southern California charter fishing and dive boats.
One hundred miles west of San Diego, the Bank is a 17-mile mountain range
capping within three feet of the ocean surface, featuring rare topography
for what some say can produce a surfable 100-foot wave - or bigger, according
to surf forecasters. This fact lured a dedicated few out to the Bank three
times since 2001 in a widely publicized quest - primarily spearheaded as the
Billabong Odyssey - to surf the largest waves of all time.
January 12 marked the Cortes Bank's fourth official surf expedition,
previously visited in January 2001, October 2002, and December 2003 by
photographer Rob Brown and crews from the Billabong Odyssey. The Odyssey,
devised by surf apparel manufacturer Billabong International, is a mission
is to find the world's biggest waves and ride them with the state-of-the-art
tow-surfing techniques previously honed at other big-wave spots like Jaws on
Maui and Maverick's in California. For its annual XXL Big Wave Awards,
Billabong offers a prize of US$1,000 per foot for the year's biggest wave
ridden. Last year, Hawaii's Makua Rothman pocketed $66,000 for tow-surfing a
66-foot wave at Jaws.
Completely exposed to swell from any direction, waves at Cortes Bank can be
so large they appear on nearby ships' radar screens. To surf these waves,
there's only one problem: the wave moves too fast for conventional paddling
technique. Using PWCs and specially-equipped surfboards, a surfer is towed
into a swell behind a PWC at the same speed or faster than that of the wave
itself. Initially attempted by a small contingent of Hawaiian surfers and
windsurfers, tow-in surfing has evolved as the elite realm of big-wave
extremists, now practiced worldwide.
As for the elusive 100-foot wave, many, including surf forecaster Sean
Collins, believe Cortes Bank is the place it will happen.
"According to the depth of the reef and the surrounding depths," Collins
told Surfing magazine, "Cortes can produce a rideable wave up to 1,000 feet
on the face."
Aboard the Condor Express for their first trip to the Bank were the two tow
teams of Jeff Clark with Marcelo Ulyssea and Grant Washburn with Randy Cone,
plus professional kitesurfers Bennett Williams and Peter Trow from Santa
Barbara, Calif. David Pu'u and Greg Huglin embarked with their camera crew
to document the expedition with still photography, motion picture, and
video.
"Back on the early days of surfing," Huglin said, "friends would pile into a
car and head off to search for waves. We feel that this (Cortes trip) is just
a 21st century version of the same thing. Even though we're using a 75'
jet-powered catamaran and PWCs to access these remote waves, it's
essentially all about the adventure - the 'aloha spirit' of our film crew and
tow-surfers getting together, then sharing the whole experience with anyone
interested."
The January 12 Condor Express voyage was Huglin's cinematic brainchild,
conceived and realized with his access to one of California's fastest
charter boats.
"We're filming as many of the top tow-surfers as possible so we can showcase
the best guys in the world on the best adventures we can dream up," he said.
"Since it only took us three-and-a-half hours to travel the 120 miles from
Santa Barbara to Cortes Bank, everyone on board was well-rested and ready to
charge (big waves)."
Deemed the most over-hyped swell of North American 2003-2004 winter surf
season, the waves arrived at the Bank January 12 from an undesirable west
angle; the reef at Cortes requires a more northerly angle for maximum wave
height. Considering the exceptionally large waves ridden in Hawaii just two
days before, the Cortes waves were much smaller than anticipated.
"It was a beautiful day, but the swell wasn't very big," Washburn said. "We
thought it was going to be bigger, and everybody's expectations were for
humongous waves, but they just weren't there. Conditions were perfect; I
think you can tell by the level of surfing that the guys are just ready for
it to be two or three times that size. Then we'll see a good show."
Nonetheless, large albeit inconsistent swells exploded over the Bank
throughout the day, providing some incredible rides. Washburn and Jeff
Clark, two of Northern California's big-wave pioneers, made the six-hour
drive down from the Bay Area to Santa Barbara to join the mission of the
Condor Express.
"I thought it was going to be a lot bigger by the way the swell models set
up," Clark said. "It looks like the window of the swell just grazed here
from, say, 10 a.m.-3 p.m., but there were some nice sets."
Clark became a household name in the surfing world after he was credited
with exposing Maverick's, the famous big-wave spot near his home in Half
Moon Bay, to the surf media in the early 1990s. He'd pioneered massive waves
alone at Maverick's for 25 years, virtually unable to coax anyone into
surfing with him. Director of the Maverick's Men Who Ride Mountains contest
from 1999 to 2001, Clark has since reincarnated the event following its
two-year hiatus, now called the Maverick's Surf Contest. January 12 was his
first voyage to Cortes Bank, which left a favorable impression.
"(Cortes) looks like it's a great wave," he grinned. "I can't wait to come
back when it's got some real size. The wave itself is very similar to
Maverick's. It's a deep-water wave that hits a reef and just unloads. The
speed is really comparable when you're dropping down through the main
bowl - it's got a lot of water moving."
"Surfing these spots is the most fun thing in the world to do, but surfing
Cortes takes a lot more commitment than just flying into San Francisco,
driving a half-hour to Maverick's and paddling out.
* * *
Unlike the Bank's previous trio of low-key surf media trips, January 12 saw
eight boats and dozens of personnel tuned for the sole purpose of
tow-surfing, viewing, and filming the open-ocean waves.
"With the publicity Cortes Bank has received, it was inevitable that other
surfers or observers would want to see what the excitement was all about,"
said Odyssey director Bill Sharp in a story on the project's Web site.
It was the first appearance of additional media and tow-in teams besides
those serving the Odyssey and online magazine-cum-online surf shop
Swell.com, which produced the original surfing footage of Cortes for
Swell.com's "Project Neptune" in 2001. Since then, considerable film and
editorial coverage has piqued the surf industry's interest about the Bank.
"Today had just a few too many people for how many waves were coming
through," Clark said. "We got waves, but I'd like to surf the spot without
as many people. There was a lot of focus here today. Look at how much effort
was put into coming out here to surf, and today was an iffy day."
The number of boats, people, and a small airplane circling the spot for
several hours caused somewhat of a stir in the surf industry at day's end.
While the scenario caught some off-guard, others knew what to expect as the
swell was widely advertised. Many sought a taste of Cortes Bank after
December 17-18, 2003, the Bank's third surf expedition featuring exceptional
waves, including one ridden by San Clemente's Greg Long in contention for
this year's Billabong XXL Big Wave Awards.
"I figured everybody was coming out already," Washburn said, "so it was kind
of like, 'Let's go down and see the circus.' But, you know, everybody was
pretty cool."
Transported to the Bank via helicopter, the Odyssey was represented by the
teams of Shane Dorian and Noah Johnson (Hawaii) and Mike Parsons and Brad
Gerlach (Southern California). In 2001, Parsons won $60,000 for riding a
66-foot wave - the year's largest - at Cortes Bank in the original XXL Big Wave
contest presented by Swell.com.
With a crew of four teams, extreme surfing champion Garrett McNamara
chartered the Electra out of Oceanside, Calif., infiltrating the action with
a then-unpublicized competition dubbed "If It Can't Kill You, It Ain't
Extreme." The vessel hosted a coterie of extreme surfing teams including
McNamara and Ikaika Kalama (Hawaii), Carlos Burle and Eraldo Gueiros
(Brazil), Josh Loya and Ken Collins (Central California), and Chuck
Patterson and Scott Chandler (Southern California). Darryl Virostko and
Shawn Barron (Central California) arrived on their own and were invited to
compete. Each team contributed $1,000 to the lottery prize, intending "to
maximize the level of extreme surfing, and to see which team has the biggest
balls," according to McNamara.
"It's just a 'skins' game of extreme surfing," he said. "We go where we
want, when we want, and we put up our own money. Then we take the footage to
a pub, judge who got the best rides, and dish out the money to the winners.
No companies control it and they never will. This is all about having fun."
After flying over Cortes Bank two years ago, McNamara knew the spot would be
ideal for the contest's debut.
"I saw the kelp swaying back and forth in the currents and swell," he said.
"The kelp looked like a woman's hair, and the submerged reef was her body. It
looked very inviting. Cortes is the place to catch a 120-foot wave - not a
100-foot wave, but a 120-foot wave. I want the 120-foot wave. That way,
there's no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
"After surfing there, I've confirmed my thoughts: Cortes Bank is the
smoothest and most incredible wave I have ever surfed. The biggest wave in
the world will be ridden there."
* * *
Dusk signals departure. The PWCs are reloaded onto the Condor Express and
Captain Hart throttles north at 30 knots, gliding into Santa Barbara Harbor
four hours later.
Despite a slack swell and bevy of people on eight boats, January 12's
consensus among those present is that the day maintained the allure of
extreme surfing, footing another stepping stone for the consensus that
"towing in" embodies the new avant-garde of extreme surfing.
"Those guys were just absolutely ripping out there," said photographer David
Pu'u. "The bar has risen steadily in terms of performance - it's not just the
biggest wave anymore. Look at Ikaika: he was doing maneuvers on 20-foot
waves that most guys would be wishing they could do on a 6-foot wave. Tow-in
surfers just want to push it further - and they are."
Huglin was equally impressed, summarizing the day's underlying theme with
his view of the big picture. "Surfers have always been explorers searching the world for new breaks and
having great experiences that last forever," he said. "Some of my best
memories from 32 years of filming surfing, windsurfing, and towsurfing have
been the interesting people I've gotten to meet and travel with. At the end of
your life, when the lights are about to go out, what are you
going to be thinking about? How much money you have in the bank? Or all of
the people and places and cool adventures you've had? The one thing you
can't buy is more time. So what are you going to do with the time you have
left?"
"As George Greenough once said: 'Anything that pushes you to the beach is
just fine.' It doesn't matter if you tow-surf, paddle-surf, bodyboard,
windsurf, kitesurf, or just bodysurf - it's all the same: it pushes you to the
beach."
Except there is no beach at Abalonia, the nation of extreme surfers.
[The Epilogue]
A minor controversy. Some felt the Condor Express' intimate surf-zone
positioning placed lives in danger - one rogue wave could invite tragedy.
Others felt it was only a natural decision to remain as close to the action
as safely possible.
Only those aboard the ship knew of its captain's qualifications. Only those
aboard the ship knew their advantage of drifting on the frontline. Only
those aboard the ship know that, despite an open radio invitation, none of
the other cognoscenti chose to join them.
"My crew, captain, and craft are pretty much peerless," Pu'u said.
Hence the opening chapter for the Condor Express. Next? Chapter two.
Elsewhere.
Michael Kew // mhkew1@earthlink.net
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Cortes Bank - 01/12/2004
