It was 6:50am, the sun had yet to rise above the horizon, and the crowd on the bluff at Jaws was already getting restless.

Waves 50 feet high were exploding across the reef, winds were blowing straight offshore out of the adjacent valley, and the cliff was lined with scores of photographers ready to shoot -- the only thing missing from this big-wave spectacle was some big-wave surfers.

Standing there, amongst over 100 people who like me had trekked through the pineapple fields in the dark to catch the first rides on Opening Day at Jaws, it was explained that the surfers, for obvious reasons, like to take their time getting out on big days like this. But this morning, for some reason, the action was getting started much later than normal.

One person speculated that the tide was too high and the usual launching spot, Maliki Gulch, was flooded. Another guessed that the waves were too big so everyone was taking off from Kahalui Harbor. Someone else wondered if maybe there was some kind of forced lockout -- exactly why that might be, he had no idea.

The speculation ended around 7:00am when a pair of skis motored in from the west. Watching everyone turn their heads and point as the tow teams arrived reminded me of being at Staples Center when the Lakers emerge from the tunnel -- except here, the players were tiny little dots on an otherwise gigantic playing field.

By 7:15am, eight teams were in the channel, but nobody had taken off.

Brad Gerlach, who was with long-time partner Mike Parsons, explained what the vibe was like in the water, and why it had taken everyone so long to get going: "We had been hearing for days about how huge the waves were going to be, how it was supposed to be the biggest swell in at least a couple of years, so there was a lot of adrenalin, a lot of nervous energy that morning. Luckily for Mike and I, we were invited to launch with the Maui crew, and Gerry Lopez's brother, Victor, got the guys together before we took off and offered a prayer for everyone's safety. That was so cool, and really meant a lot to everyone who was heading out."

Finally, one of the skis broke from the pack and headed for the lineup. The first wave ridden was at least thirty-five feet on the face.

After the first successful ride was in the books, it was Game On. Team after team took its spot in the lineup. Epic drops and deep barrels were on display within the first hour, mixed in with the occasional terrifying wipeout.

Huge bombs were ridden that morning by Ian Walsh, Pete Cabrinha, Garrett McNamara, Archie Kalepa, Mike Parsons, Brad Gerlach, and of course Laird Hamilton and Dave Kalama -- the Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen of tow-in surfing, who, unlike any of the others, were easily recognizable even from the bluff by how deep they would take off in the pit, and the speed at which they would whip each other into the wave. As a team, they were simply head and shoulders above all others in the lineup, and as an individual rider, Laird was so far above anybody else it wasn't even funny. His performance at Jaws was like that of Slater at the height of his powers at J-Bay or Trestles -- nobody was even in the same league. Not even close.

Meanwhile, as the performances were heating up, the channel was getting packed. By noon, at least 50 skis were in the water, along with four boats full of photographers. There was so much flotsam and jetsam bobbing around it looked like a scene from Water World or Tora, Tora, Tora.

And on land things were even more crowded. Hundreds of people were driving, motocrossing, hitchhiking or walking through the dusty fields to the Peahi bluff -- one guy even rode in on a horse.

Spectators were everywhere. The seasoned Jaws crowd, those who had arrived before dawn and had gotten the best spots, sat in beach chairs atop parked cars on the bluff, beer in one hand, binoculars in the other -- the Peahi equivalent of a ring-side seat. The rest were scrambling for any spot that provided a decent view. There was a general concern, expressed more than once during the day, that the crowd might nudge forward, pushing someone off the cliff.

Meanwhile, four helicopters, these too filled with photographers, hovered loudly overhead, adding an Apocalypse Now-like vibe to the already confused tableau.

Amid the mayhem, the waves kept rolling in with mechanical precision. Jaws bends and peels over a perfect, triangular reef in a way that is exactly how you'd draw it up if you were to create your own fantasy surf spot -- only you'd never, ever make it that freaking big.

The size is completely outside the realm of anything you've ever seen in your life. The waves are so big even the jet skis look miniscule. And the surfers actually riding them are mere dots...barely visible on waves the height of buildings in downtown LA. Remember those old Japanese horror movies where the giant lizard steps on people fleeing through the streets? That's what it looks like when somebody wipes out at Jaws. They're just crushed by waves 8 to 10 times their size. It's surreal.

Although Skindog, Garrett McNamara, Dave Waffel and a few others suffered brutal wipeouts that day, the worst happened to Dan Moore, who was forced to straighten out after streaking beautifully for a hundred yards or so across a 50-foot-plus wall. Mike Parsons saw the whole terrible scene unfold from the channel and later called it: "No doubt one of the worst wipeouts I have ever seen in my life."

Luckily, Dan survived. Local Kolea Roberson, who broke his leg and some ribs when a jet ski hit him while being rescued, suffered the day's only major injury. Roberson was plucked from the lineup in a helicopter rescue basket and rushed to the hospital.

As far as the toll taken on the guys' equipment, Ryan Rawson lost one to the boulders on shore while motoring in to help rescue Skindog, who got pummeled on a wave and rolled underwater for a distance that appeared, at least from the cliff, to be beyond human tolerance. No one, it seemed, would be able to hold his breath for that long while cart-wheeling under 50 feet of whitewater. But, thank God, Skinny did, as did all the others who wiped out that day.

The swell peaked somewhere between 10:00am and 1:00pm, with the sets measuring at least 50 feet on the face. (To see this swell's precise height, interval and direction in LOLA Archives click here)

Mike Parsons was calling the surf to be overall a touch smaller than both the Tow In World Cup of 2001 and the November 26th swell two years ago, but they were certainly the biggest waves seen anywhere yet this season. To most everyone standing on that bluff, including me, these were the biggest waves we had ever seen in our lives.

Another giant swell, although a bit smaller than this one (15 to 16ft. of deepwater energy), is predicted to hit Peahi Tuesday, December 21. Whether it turns in the epic performances, and draws the rock concert-like crowds of Opening Day, remains to be seen. --Dave Gilovich

*All photos by robertbrownphotography.com; special thanks to helicopter pilot Douglas O'Sullivan