Tow Surfing |
 The Largest Surfing EncyclopediaA-Z: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Advertisement
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For 35 years, big-wave surfing staggered around like a fumbling toddler, failing to make a single convincing stride. There were baby steps, to be sure, but nothing that really blew the lid off what the boys were doing in the late '50s. The obvious difference between Waimea Bay in 1958 and 1993 were the crowds. The lineup was clogged worse than Greg Noll's toilet, sending the real pioneers fleeing for air. They found it on the outer reefs, where what had been coined "The Unridden Realm" -- waves that were too big to be ridden by conventional means -- soon became child's play. And the unlikely medium for catching these monsters was the personal watercraft, a device so foul to most surfers that it would take several years before it was accepted.
Staring out at massive Honolua Bay walls in 1967, Herbie Fletcher was among the first to dream of a machine that could help him catch waves. Within a few years, he was testing a prototype by Kawasaki that would turn his vision into reality. In 1975, Herbie had his first jet-ski, a stand-up version that zoomed around the lineup and left a stench of gasoline in his annoying wake. By the early '80s, he was blazing along Oahu's outer reefs, outrunning waves that would squash a non-motorized surfer. In 1986, as Herbie was buzzing around the second reef at Pipe, some of the best surfers of the day -- Tom Carroll, Martin Potter and Gary Elkerton -- grabbed his ski rope and hitched rides into a few mackers. The event was barely noticed, and even as big-wave surfing entered a vogue period in the early '90s, Waimea remained the center of the universe, just as it had been for decades. Enter that insatiable Hercules, Laird Hamilton. He and pal Buzzy Kerbox launched a Zodiac and began catching a parade of big waves at Phantom's and other outside spots around Oahu's North Shore. While their paddling counterparts were catching only a handful of waves in a session, Laird and Buzzy were racking up quadruple that with half the effort and none of the crowds. The focus soon moved to Maui, where surfer Mark Angullo was already using foot-straps to boost airs that were rockets to everyone else's pogo-sticks. Then Gerry Lopez tuned the guys into a spot the fishermen called "Jaws," a giant, deep-water right-hander perfect that was perfect for fine-tuning their act, both as strapped-in waveriders and ever-ready safety monitors. Shaping legend Dick Brewer led the tow-in board revolution, and eventually the crew found itself riding ridiculously narrow, heavy, shortened spears, and Strapped, Inc. was born. The core group consisted of Hamilton, Kerbox, Lopez, Angullo, Pete Cabrinha, Darrick Doerner, Dave Kalama, Mike Waltze, Rush Randle and Bob Haskins. They switched from Zodiacs to sit-down personal watercraft, and during the winter of 1993-94 turned big-wave surfing on its head. Bruce Brown's Endless Summer II introduced tow-in surfing to the world, whipping the Strapped squad into instant hero status. Towing was cool at remote outer reefs, but where petrol mixed with paddlers closer to shore, there was heavy friction. At Maverick's, for instance, Vince Collier received a leper's welcome in 1994. And by the next winter, even the outer reefs were facing congestion. The environmental impacts of spewing filth into the ocean were obvious, not to mention the growing numbers of surfers who were getting in way over their heads. A public backlash against the motorized militia was strong, but it gradually faded as magazines and videos brought us the irrefutable evidence of the obliteration of the Unridden Realm. On January 28, 1998, longtime paddler Ken Bradshaw was towed into what is generally considered the biggest wave ever ridden, an Outer Logs behemoth with an 85-foot face. The same week, Doug Hansen pulled Perry Miller into two waves at Maverick's that the paddlers couldn't touch. Soon, Mav's best were grabbing the ropes for a frontal assault on the most malicious wave on the Mainland. Not be outdone, Hamilton again stole the reigns on August 17, 2000, as he was towed into a Teahupoo cavern that defied description. It was heavier than anything anyone had ever seen, a wave that couldn't be ridden by conventional means in a million years. When the Cortez Bank expedition took towing a hundred miles out to sea a few months later, the floodgates were opened. Suddenly, nothing was too big, and people began talking seriously about riding 100-foot waves. No longer content with baby steps, the tow-in elite has embarked on a worldwide search to see just how far we can go. --Jason Borte, August 2001
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