Despite the two-hour time difference meaning three pre-dawn risings in a row for the old bloke, I actually loved watching the return of the WSL Fiji Pro live, after a seven-year hiatus, because, as someone noted on social media, even when Cloudbreak is not so good, it’s really, really good.
I’m too old and slow to surf it now, but that classic wrapping left hiding around the backside of Tavarua Island, one of the world’s great small resorts, remains my favourite wave in the world, a place of magic memories. The three days of the last event of the championship tour ahead of the finals series at Trestles wasn’t even vintage Cloudy, but oh my, so much happened, so much to unpack, so many moments of sheer joy and sheer terror.
Let’s deal with the terror first. Okay, it’s not the below sea level, cavernous drop onto dry reef that characterises Te’ahupoo, but at double overhead and some, Cloudbreak gathers speed down the line like a freight train, and if you try to outrun the Shish Kebab section on lower than half tide, the wave will drop out from under you and deposit you on spikey reef if you’re lucky, or in the ankle-breaker canyons between the clumps if you’re not.
One of the more tragic images to emerge from the Fiji Pro was of France’s Johanne Defay, a contender for the event title and an outside chance to make the WSL final five, standing forlorn on the dry reef where the jet skis couldn’t reach her, while the clock ran down on her quarter final against our Molly Picklum. If you’ve ever stood on that reef alone, you’ll know what I’m talking about.
Of course, none of the surfers in the top echelon should have been fearful of what Cloudbreak threw at them last week, and they all went hard. But speaking as a televiewer, I cringed in my armchair watching some of those gnarly drops in cross-offshore winds that would blow a dog off its chain. It was gnarly, and I didn’t even think about mind-surfing a wave until it got down to shoulder height on finals day.
Meanwhile, in the real world, giants were toppling and midgets were replacing them. Kelly Slater, 52, had two go-outs for a mere handful of points and without worrying any of the contenders. More about him later.
Men’s rankings leader John Florence, a standout in the early rounds, inexplicably dropped his bundle against Hawaii’s Imai Devault and left the building. Rampaging Brazilian Gabe Medina, tipped to go all the way, got out-manoeuvred in tricky winds against Griffin Colapinto in the quarters and failed to make seven airs in a row.
In the women’s, the tiny teenage terriers, top-ranked Caity Simmers and wildcard Erin Brooks went head to head in the quarters and Caity had no answer to the 17-year-old god-bothering phenom representing Canada, who would take down our Pickles next and Brazil’s Tatie Weston-Webb in the final. A worthy winner and champ of the future.
At the pointy end of the men’s, our Jack Robinson and Ethan Ewing went out in the semis, but not before both had qualified for next month’s finals series. And so we ended up with men’s number two Griff Colapinto and Indonesia’s Rio Waida in the final. For mine, the gutsy little bloke from Bali was the surfer of the event, and his come-from-behind semi-final win against Ethan Ewing was the heat of the event.
But the fairytale ending didn’t happen.
Colapinto was too focused, too shrewd. What a comp! Couldn’t take my eyes off it. Time for a nap.
But first, I said I’d get back to the GOAT, whose lovely partner Kalani had given birth to their son just a few days before the event. Having been eliminated early, Kelly copped an entirely predictable beating from the social media haters, by hanging around and having a bit of fun on Tavy, a true place of the heart, before heading home to change nappies. Oh puleez! But I was somewhat surprised to learn in an interview Kelly did with Barton Lynch that they hadn’t decided on a name yet, and that it might take them several months.
A personal aside here.
A short time after the publication of our book, Kelly Slater For The Love, in 2008, the wife and I were invited to dine with Kelly and his newish squeeze Kalani and other friends at the beautiful mountain-top home of mutual friends Katie Killebrew and Mark Cunningham, overlooking Honolulu’s Diamond Head.
About an hour into the cocktails I whispered to Mark: “Do you think Kelly is still coming?” He whispered back: “They’re out in the car having a fight.” I wondered aloud what kind of fight would be more important than dinner. He said: “I could tell you but I’d have to kill you. Oh, OK, they’re arguing about having a baby.”
So they’ve had about 15 years to come up with a name. That’s a very Kelly scenario, but I’m sure that, like the baby boy, it will be just perfect when it comes.
FOOTNOTE: More news on Saturday afternoon’s awesome Vintage Surfboard Exhibition and chat show at Owen Cavanagh’s Studio 53 in Coolum. In addition to Firewire guru and philanthropist Nev Hyman, I’ll be chatting to former world masters and Australian champion and topline shaper Terry Richardson, plus Sunny Coast board building legend Les Purcell. Plus maybe a mystery guest or two. From 3pm, drinks and food on site, don’t miss it.
