MEN RIDING MOUNTAINS
by Frank Quirarte – publisher@mavsurfer.com
photo’s and graphics – mavsurfer

As Tuesday night rolls around, so does the rain. Regardless of the weather, competitors, judges, the press, water rescue teams and others prepare for the next day’s big event. Business as usual on the eve of the surf competition, except for two men absent.

Shawn Rhodes and Matt Ambrose, two of the main contenders, aren’t anywhere near the activity. They had to work. Instead of waxing boards or adjusting fins, or choosing which of their sponsor’s gear to wear, these two are laying tiles. Matt, having recently started his own contractor’s business, has scored a job that needs be finished. Shawn, who along with Greg Savin owns Nor Cal Surf Shop, out on Pedro Point, is helping out his buddy Matt for a little extra change.

The first Big Wave’ competition ever to be held on the US west coast is about to begin, and its host is Mavericks, easily one of the most dangerous surf breaks in the world. Dubbed, The Men Who Ride Mountains. Mav’s most recognizable man, Jeff Clark, has hand-picked twenty surfers from around the globe to compete in this contest. Most of them however, are from northern California, men chosen for their knowledge of the place, who have seen the really big days, who respect the inherent dangers.

On an average day at Mavericks the waves tower twenty to thirty feet. On a really big day they can be over fifty. And there are some very special things about Mavericks, places to watch out for, holes that can suck you in and keep you down. Areas in the pit that do unusual things, that aren’t like other breaks. No place for someone new, even if they are a great surfer. Especially on contest day.

Rhodes and Ambrose, the working men, have been dropping into Maverick’s bombs for nearly a decade. Members of the original Pedro Point crew, they, along with Jim Kibblewhite, Brent Heckerman, and of course Jeff Clark, once had the monster wave playground to themselves. While Maverick’s sister break in Waimea Bay, Hawaii, would be crowded with surfers, onlookers, and tourists, Maverick’s crowds were non-existent. It’s only recently, in the last few years following the death of Mark Foo, legendary big wave rider, that people have begun coming out to challenge the now-infamous spot.

They’re smart out there and they have the four most important elements in surfing: power, speed, positioning, and style
It goes without saying that the thrill seekers, the adrenaline junkies, are going to head out to see what the place is all about. It’s almost an automatic response. See a mountain, someone wants to climb it. Even non-surfers will make the pilgrimage, just to feel the rumble when a big set rolls through. Clark once said that Mavericks takes care of itself, an understatement if ever there was one. There’s no quarter given here. Riders paddle in, get beaten into submission, get their thousand dollar boards broken, and can be held underwater for minutes at a time in the world’s most violent underwater environment. Some are sent into the rocks, battered by outcrops of stone larger than houses. Most go in and don’t ever return. Only the best riders survive the experience, and most of them can’t wait to get back. It’s natural, a part of the human quest to integrate oneself into the environment to as great an extent as possible, perhaps, to be moved and enveloped by almost pure energy.(adrenaline junkies)

I wake up to my usual call from Clark. He’s standing on the bluff watching Mavericks start to come on. He barks at me over the phone to get my butt out of bed and come down. There’s already two guys out he says, hurry up! The two riders are Ambrose and Rhodes. It’s a beautiful morning, no wind, the water glassed off. Twenty foot sets are rolling through, and he’s right, these two guys are already on it. As I arrive at the peak we witness Rhodes drop in on a giant set wave. The face jacks up to thirty, maybe forty feet. We watch small muddy blobs riding up the face, a result of the ocean’s turbulence of late, mixing in with the blue turquoise hue of the surrounding water. With very little effort and absolutely zero fear, he pushes the 10 foot rhino-chaser over the top and down the face of a glistening monster. Arms spread out like wings for balance, he falls through empty space, just for a moment, the board making contact with the wave, and then he rides it through, finally punching out two hundred yards down the line off the peak. He makes it back accompanied by the hoots and hollers of Clark and I, then moves straight back into the lineup to do it all over again.

Arms spread out like wings for balance, he falls through empty space, just for a moment
The next wave belongs to Matt. He spins around to place himself in optimum position. As he paddles he seems more calculated than Rhodes. Maybe letting a few go by, choosing the perfect wave. Rhodes tends to wrestle his way down, while Matt moves more like a cat. His friend Brent Hudson claims that no matter what, you throw him over the edge and he always seems to land on his feet. And this wave is no exception. A few strokes and he’s en route down the face of another twenty foot dream.

The morning passes quietly; the big day has arrived. No babes in bikinis cruising around, no sunshine, just a few spectators and maybe some curious fishermen. A group of bundled-up surfers haul their gear onto the pier, waiting to board the judging boat. The air is brisk after a solid night of rain, and a fog has rolled in, putting the much-awaited event on hold. Who would have thought that on a February morning we would be waiting on fog. Mother nature usually saves this kind of weather for the summer time. The guys are milling around the harbor area awaiting on Jeff to make the call. As the weather is showing signs of clearing, Clark decides to load them up. Word comes from the water patrol to launch the boat, and the fog looks like it might just lift. The skipper gives his briefing, one of the Quiksilver big wheels gives an invocation, and the boat is underway.

The ride out is clear, but thick fog still appears to hang over the bowl. The boat arrives out at the first marker buoy about two hundred yards off the peak. The problem is it’s shrouded in fog and can’t be seen. The fog is thick as soup, and they can’t get any closer without putting the crew in danger. The high speed wait continues as unseen waves roll in ominously through the blackness just beside them.

Finally a small breeze starts to flow through, and like a magical breath from the heavens the fog is blown away. But a new problem has made itself apparent with the renewed visibility—there’s no wave; it’s not breaking. The buoy markers showed a huge swell coming directly at us. But it’s not here. The boat circles around. A regatta of jet skis, photographer’s boats, and kayaks sit waiting. If it floats, somebody is on it, watching and waiting. Everyone wanting to see the men who ride mountains.

The wait continues. Ambrose and Rhodes, in the manner of the true watermen they are, sit patiently through the drama. For others, the sitting in the boats is causing sea sickness. One of the Quiksilver reps breaks the silence, shouting that this thing is going no matter what, we’re all out here to get it done, so let’s do it. A set rolls through, nothing giant, but enough for Clark to call it a go and get things underway. Surfers begin diving off from all sides of the judging boat. Clark calls out over the bull horn, four one-hour heats, best three take home the prize.

Ambrose dons his red jersey, more hot-pink than red really, and paddles into the line-up. The horn sounds and the first heat is underway. Matt spins around and drops in, taking first wave honors. His second wave isn’t as successful. He paddles over the ledge and air-drops into the event’s first horrendous wipe-out. When he surfaces there’s a huge buckle in his board. He now has to paddle over to the boat and get his backup board. This takes valuable time away from his session. He finally makes it back to the line-up to finish off the heat.

Shawn sits in the water and waits his turn. There seems to be a problem with the judging boat drifting, and the second heat sits restlessly at the line-up. The horn still hasn’t sounded to start the heat. As the boat starts spinning into position he turns to see a nice wave coming in. He’s in perfect position, and drops in, but his biggest wave of the day will not count. He’s jumped the gun, the heat has yet to start. Finally the horn sounds. He makes a few more waves but doesn’t manage to make the top five. It’s the third and fourth heats that get the bombs, and even though the first and second heat charged as hard as usual, they just weren’t offered up the big ones. The luck of the draw, and in a big wave competition it’s the size that counts.

So there’s nothing to do but watch and listen as the two next heats receive hoots and hollers, the two men knowing they’ll be back to challenge next year. Nah, fact is that they’ll be back tomorrow and the next day, if not at Mavericks then at Pedro Point for the cloud breaking lefts or Rockaway for the barrels, or maybe even Linda Mar to sit out and just talk about it. Whatever. The money is nice, sure, and so’s the recognition, but at the heart of it is the surfing, for better or worse. The challenge is what brings these guys, and the rush is what brings them back.

Right there in their own back yard, all winter long, these surfers are taunted by the twenty-five foot monsters Mavericks serves up. And season after season, they rise to the occasion. As the bar gets raised with every new season of riding, these two, Matt Ambrose and Shawn Rhodes, are still considered to be in the top ten of the big wave elite, an honor that’s not given lightly, or to many in a lifetime. Over the years they’ve helped Jeff Clark to pioneer one of the world’s top surfing spots, and will continue to raise the level of their sport ever higher in the years to come. Steve Dwyer, another hard-charging Pacifican, quoted in reference to December eleventh, 1998, called them the men of the day. “They’re smart out there and they have the four most important elements in surfing: power, speed, positioning, and style. Many guys have three of those attributes; few have all four.