Waimea Bay

The Largest Surfing Encyclopedia

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The drop. At most breaks, it's just a prerequisite to the rest of the wave, like crossing the beach before going surfing. But at Waimea, the drop is everything. Since the day its curse was lifted, it has called out to the bravest of men. Make it to the bottom and iron-leg the turbulence, and you're an instant legend.

Truth be known, it doesn't take much skill to ride Waimea. Put most top Waimea surfers on a high-performance wave, and they won't rate a second look. If you can paddle and stand up, you can surf Waimea. The only other qualification is a set of bowling balls in your trunks.

Since well before modern surfers ventured to the North Shore in the '30s, Waimea Bay was off-limits. The hill overlooking the Bay is an ancient heiau, a hallowed ground where Hawaiian chiefesses were brought to deliver their young. Adjacent to the hill, a sacred burial site occupied the Waimea Valley. In 1943, Woody Brown and Dickie Cross got caught out in rising surf at Sunset and tried to paddle in at Waimea. Cross was never seen again. Add the presence of an ominous church tower overlooking the lineup and the place would give Frankenstein the creeps. That's without even considering the wave itself.

Massive Aleutian storms power through the Pacific to create open-ocean swells that approach 50 feet. With nothing to impede their progress, the swells meet the Hawaiian Islands with full force. The Bay, formed more than 5,000 years ago by freshwater outflow, opens to the northwest like a welcome mat. A lava shelf extends beyond the northern end, sloping gradually for a few hundred yards before falling into the abyss. The swells stand up and hurl across the reef, fizzle out toward the center of the Bay and reform before exploding from end to end just off the sand. Surfers would drive past these tempting beasts on the way to surf Sunset for years, but they didn't dare stop.

In November of 1957, on a sunny, 15- to 18-foot day, the spell was broken. Greg Noll, Mickey Munoz, Mike Stange, Harry Church and a few others paddled out on their 40-pound planks and a cult was born. The Waimea crew dedicated themselves to better fitness, better equipment and bigger surf. Pat Curren, Jose Angel, Ricky Grigg and Buzzy Trent soon joined Noll atop the hierarchy, with Curren leading the way on the shaping end. They swam, free-dived, bodysurfed and paddled -- true all-around watermen.

The second winter at Waimea in 1958, produced epic surf and an increase in crowd size. But one certainty remained, and remains today: when the Bay tops 20 feet, you enter another realm, in which there are never more than a handful of takers. The goal during the early years was simple -- survival. He who rode the biggest wave and lived was the best. One of them was always looking to outdo the other.

In the '60s, performance gained equal billing with size. As boards shrunk and became more refined, the success rate had increased dramatically. Reno Abellira, James Jones and Texas transplant Ken Bradshaw rose to the front of the heap. In 1974, Waimea hosted its first contest, the Smirnoff Pro. Abellira came out on top in one of the most memorable events ever.

The '80s were marked by a handful of events, competitive and otherwise, that would push the Bay into its zenith in popularity. Bradshaw and Jones remained among the elite, but they were joined by Mark Foo, Darrick Doerner and Brock Little. The Bay hit maximum capacity on January 15, 1985, and Foo freefell into a legitimate 25-footer before needing a helicopter rescue. In 1986, the first event in memory of big-wave legend Eddie Aikau was held, with Eddie's brother Clyde emerging with a sentimental win. Billabong went on to hold a few rounds of their Hawaiian event at Waimea, with 1987 seeing several closeout sets and members of the Top 16 choosing to stay on the beach. The unfortunate result of the '80s hoopla was unprecedented crowds, as everyone wanted a piece of the action. Each hint of a swell was met with dozens of eager, often inexperienced, Waimea wanna-bes, which would turn the '90s into a decade of exploration.

Faced with lineup gridlock, Bay regulars turned to Hawaii's outer reefs as well as newly conquered spots on the mainland. Todos Santos and Maverick's became rightful alternatives to the Waimea mayhem. Meanwhile, across the North Shores of Oahu and Maui, the trend of tow-in surfing gradually took hold, offering longer, workable faces and taking the emphasis away from the drop. As big-wave surfboards continued to morph into ocean-bound snowboards, the focus on Waimea gradually eroded. Quiksilver stills runs the event in memory of Aikau whenever the Bay tops 20 feet, but the spot is no longer the Everest of big-wave surfing.

The lack of attention is a godsend for the dedicated Bay regulars. While it hasn't eliminated the crowds, it certainly spread things out, meaning more waves for everyone. And even though there is much to be said for turning, there is still no bigger rush than the drop. -- Jason Borte, October 2000