What’s the best wave you’ve ever caught in your life?
I heard Taj Burrow give an interview about a recent session out at Cloudbreak where he caught the best wave of his life. He’s 46 years old. He surfed on Tour for who knows how many years, traversed the globe a handful of times surfing the most ideal locations on perfect days; surely Taj’s highlight reel is something out of your dreams. So imagine what this wave must have been like to trump everything prior. There is no footage of the wave, so your imagination is all that you’ve got.
Taj explained how, if there was footage of the wave, he might have a different opinion of it. This really got me thinking – what’s the best wave I’ve ever caught in my life? And if that had happened to be on film… damn. Quite embarrassing.
You see, I’ve never really been on a proper surf trip. I’ve surfed outside of California once in my 15+ years of riding waves. I’m from Huntington Beach. It doesn’t barrel here often, so I’m a horrible tube rider. The waves are soft here, so if I do find myself surfing a top-to-bottom wave, I have to make adjustments.
Excuses, excuses.
California has diversity when it comes to waves, too. I should be able to get barreled. You can find almost any and everything to surf here, and there are plenty of people who charge. All of that to say – the best wave of my life is likely performance related.
Of course when prompted with this inquiry, a handful of waves flashed through the hard drive in my brain. Was it that day at Malibu? I remember one insane leg burner from that session. I had one day out at Lowers that I ditched high school and got some really good ones with a very minimal crowd. No single wave stands out from that surf. Ah, I’ve got a good one. Maybe the best wave I’ve ever missed. That’s an alright short story.
I was probably 21 or so, and competing quite a bit. Kinda thought I was hot shit (I sucked). I entered into a few South Bay Surf Series events, and I was not familiar with those waves at all. I remember the first one that I did was at El Porto. I went up the Friday before the event for a practice surf by myself, and was shocked to see 4-6 foot bombs thumping up and down the beach. This wave was not like Huntington. It was spitting tubes. Tough to make; really fast. I was scared shitless. Might have caught 3 waves before scurrying up the beach and back south.
So the next day of the event, I’m in the very first heat of the morning. I remember checking-in in the dark. No way I was getting a warm up wave in, but I was able to get in the water before the heat started so I could feel out the lineup. Still big, and still heaving. Uncomfortable and hesitant, I remember talking myself through it – if I can wait out the set and slip underneath to catch a shoulder, I can make the heat. But I know I could get absolutely smoked. It’s a contest, so I’ll have to risk it. Plus my girlfriend (now wife) is on the beach. Still looked really quick, but the tide was higher, so there was a little more opportunity than the day before.
I was sitting way out the back. Like I said, I was scared to get caught inside, and I was waiting for the heat to start. Finally the horn blows, and I can see the lines start to form outside. I break down towards the south and more into the lineup, but I look like I’m in a good spot for the first wave. It started to stand up and since I was already paddling with momentum, I got in pretty early. Almost like a chip in. The vision and memory of this moment will never leave my head. I’m at the top of this wave rolling in, it’s starting to stand up and I can see I’m deep. I’ll have to backdoor this thing heavily. That’s such an unknown, foreign thing for me that I think in all reality there was about a 10% chance of me making it. I do have a pump or two looking at it, and right before making the drop and pulling in, I kick out the back. All I felt was fear and adrenaline coursing through me. I look behind and see spray flying over the back of the wave maybe 15 yards down the beach. Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.
I ended up making the heat, but that’s not what matters. When I was discussing it with my lady afterwards, she informed me how the entire beach let out an audible “OHH!”, followed by whispers and chatter about how I should have gone and how I blew it. Bam. Just like a slap across the face of embarrassment. Even worse than that – that wave could have been the best wave of my life. I think it had the potential. If it’s stuck in my mind this long, there must have been something to it.
So, what is the best wave you’ve caught in your life? Or maybe the best wave you did not catch? A good wipeout? Drop a comment below; let’s talk about it.
Cheers,
hwilsin
Drew Stanfield