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***Everything has a beginning, and an end. The erBB is officially on life support.***
- Thread starter casa_mugrienta
- Start date
I don't think it's too awful. Most of the time there is a thread here before or right after I hear about it anywhere else. Seems like a pretty smooth way to filter out the BS celebrity stuff that clogs up most "News" feeds.afoaf said:
magazines are basically dead. don't you look at your phone while you shlt? i hope this place lasts a lot longer. i come here first, and for the most part here only, to check up on the relevant world news of the day. it's like a reddit where the users are thirty years older and used to surf. or a facebook without my family.
TSJ is the benchmark magazine and my throne companion at home. It has history, awesome photos, awesome stories and adventures, no ads and is exactly the right size for weekend only reading until the next issue arrives, every other month. To even try to compete against it is senseless.
some of you guys are gonna have to take up surfing then...crowding my lineup more...ive subscribed to surfer mag for 25 years and it sucks bad now...juston hausman or whatever is horrible...surfers journal is way bettershackwell said:
if you held a gun to my head i couldn't tell you 1 article i can remember from surfer from last 3 years..pretty sad huh..tons of sh!t from TSJ thoughafoaf said:
I admit I too let my subscription lapse,butt if am hopping on a plane,first mag ibuy is er! 
_____________________________________
The best revenge is living well.
_____________________________________
The best revenge is living well.
I'm gonna dig up the Oct 1996 "Future is Now" Big Issue for you cats.
Hawk, Barlo, Warshaw, Marcus, ESlater, me - we all had these 'future features' from 2035 - looking back as Surfer turned 75. When I started at 'er in '95 as online ed, I was the oddball - but everyone saw the threat of the net. That 'future' issue of the mag tho - is just bizarrely prescient. Even features TJ Barron and Makua exchanging slaps.
http://forum.surfermag.com/forum/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=1841546&page=5
Hawk, Barlo, Warshaw, Marcus, ESlater, me - we all had these 'future features' from 2035 - looking back as Surfer turned 75. When I started at 'er in '95 as online ed, I was the oddball - but everyone saw the threat of the net. That 'future' issue of the mag tho - is just bizarrely prescient. Even features TJ Barron and Makua exchanging slaps.
http://forum.surfermag.com/forum/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=1841546&page=5
@ "beach park cracks"
I keep my subscription to -er and -ing because it's so f'ing cheap....it's like, why not? Sucks -er is going quarterly though...hate to see icons lapse.
I have to admit though, I hardly EVER read the articles in the two mags.
Look at Thrasher....that mag still seems to be going strong and staying relevant. Free DVDs now and then. Maybe the skate industry is just bigger because you can skate anywhere? But still....Surfer tried to get too PC so the articles are about as interesting as watching paint dry most of the time. Hell I don't know....maybe Thrasher is also in trouble, I don't follow them that closely.
God forbid Surfer write an actual objective review of, say, a surf fin.....then lose their advertising dollars from Futures/FCS.
I have to admit though, I hardly EVER read the articles in the two mags.
Look at Thrasher....that mag still seems to be going strong and staying relevant. Free DVDs now and then. Maybe the skate industry is just bigger because you can skate anywhere? But still....Surfer tried to get too PC so the articles are about as interesting as watching paint dry most of the time. Hell I don't know....maybe Thrasher is also in trouble, I don't follow them that closely.
God forbid Surfer write an actual objective review of, say, a surf fin.....then lose their advertising dollars from Futures/FCS.
You are making a good point there. I checked the issue of TSL that I have laying in front of me and it does have adverts but they are tasteful with great photography. They are stuck in the middle of fantastic in depth stories so you forget about them while the er has the stories stuck in the middle of the adverts! It's all good though I don't think the erBB will go away, they are going to go more digital. Kids in Kansas are all about the interwebs yo.hgsouth said:
I actually grabbed a couple of recent TSJ stories that I really liked that are in .pdf does anyone know a trick to posting them up for people to see?
Agree. I think one of the reasons Thrasher has stayed strong is due to the fact they never got PC.hgsouth said:
Look at the annual King of the Road contest. Basically send pro skaters on a road trip with a check off list of crazy stuff and see who can do the most first. Stuff like make out a MILF, do x y or z on a particular handrail, etc. Has sex drugs, booze, hot chicks, etc.
<iframe class="ThrasherVideo" width="610" height="343" frameborder="0" style="margin:0px;padding:0px;border:0px;" src="http://www.thrashermagazine.com/Embed.php?ooyalaId=w3OXNtNDE6085dk5K7w5ZjVOBp7SZuFu&Remote=1&Width=610"></iframe>
This is the kind of great stuff that complements Thrasher's print issue. Compare to ERmag :hah:.
1. Open .pdf fileMr_Stagger_Lee said:
2. Open MS Word or Google Doc
3. Copy all text from .pdf file
4. Paste into MS Word or Google Doc
5. Remove any weird formatting that comes from ads or pics hosing up the text
6.Copy the now pristinely formatted wall of text
7. Paste into erBB magic text box
8. Hit submit to share stock
So much flipping work to get this up for you guys. i will not be doing the second one. it really needs the pics anyway....ENJOY amigos/amigas
Hawaiian Lifeguard and big-wave specialist Dave Wassel has been chasing monsters for most of his life.
Has he finally caught his limit?
By Rori Parker
The pre-dawn moments of January 20th, 1998,
found Dave Wassel preparing to paddle out to
a well known, but seldom surfed wave on the
outskirts of Oahu’s seven-mile miracle. Breaking
on a ledge that erupts skyward from an 80-foot depth, with
a takeoff next to a jagged boulder, it’s a spot that illustrates
intimidation by the fact that it has remained rarely
ridden, despite fi ring in plain view. Hawaii Civil Defense
had deemed the day “Condition Black,” forbidding ocean
activity until the swell subsided.
There is little on Earth as impressive and intimidating
as a Condition Black swell on Oahu’s North Shore. Coastal
air hangs heavy with spray fl ung loose by the towering surf.
The unceasing thunderclap of the sea drowns out all other
ambient noise. Residents wake in the middle of the night,
hearts racing with adrenaline, an atavistic fi ght or fl ight
response recalling a time when humanity was prey to the
elements rather than master of them. In a place where
challenging the might of a killer ocean is par for the course,
most choose to remain safely beyond the reach of deadly
currents and surges that push up and over coastal roads.
Only the hardiest, or craziest, actually choose to venture
out into the predatory sea.
“That was kinda my go-to spot,” says Wassel. “So
I showed up in the dark. I had my 10'2", which was a
giant board back then. The sun began to rise, giving me
a tiny bit of light, and I started walking down the public
right-of-way and it was soaking wet. And I was thinking
to myself, ‘Why is it wet? It didn’t rain last night.’ Then
the sun comes all the way up and it’s two feet deep with
ocean water and seaweed and driftwood from a set that
had washed through not too long before. And I look out
and the lineup is so big and so out of control that I go,
‘I better run and hide before someone sees me down here
and I have to paddle out.’”
Back in his car, Wassel battled his way east on
Kamehameha Highway, through the gridlocked traffi c that
plagues the North Shore during any swell of note. Every
near-shore break, from Haleiwa to Laniakea to Alligator
Rock, was a churning mass of hell. Upon reaching Waimea,
he found parking and made his way to the beach.
Twelve years later, Wassel would be invited to surf
in the Eddie for the fi rst time. But that morning he arrived
at the Bay as a spectator, curious as to whether the event
would run. Spotting Brock Little, he approached in search of
advice. Where was it rideable? Where could he paddle out?
Could he successfully punch through the tumultuous
inside closeouts that were only the fi rst obstacle before
a 45-minute grind to the outer reefs?
“Brock Little was the man at that time,” he says.
“I mean he still is, but at that time he’d solidifi ed himself
as the greatest big wave paddler of the decade. And it’s out
of control, closing out from Outer Logs across the channel
all the way to Alligators and washing into Waimea. And
I asked him, ‘If they don’t run the contest, where are you
going to surf?’ And Brock, the most fearless man I’ve ever
known, says, ‘If they don’t run the Eddie today I’m not
paddling out.’
“I couldn’t believe it. And then he goes, ‘Oh my god!
Look out!’ and just starts running. This set was breaking
way outside, closing out the whole bay. And it comes
rolling in, pushing this huge surge up the beach. So we
ran up behind the bathhouse and the water hit it and it
was knee deep and washing into the parking lot. And
Brock goes, ‘Yeah. I’m out of here.’ And that’s when I asked,
‘Where should I surf?’ And Brock says, ‘You got a ski?
You gotta go surf Makaha if you don’t have a jet ski.’”
Though only 15 miles away as the crow flies from
Waimea, reaching Makaha from the North Shore requires
a lengthy 45-mile trip around the base of the Waianae
Mountains, then a double back north along Farrington
Highway. The drive provided Wassel ample time to
second-guess his decision. Was he doing the right thing,
or merely choosing the path of least resistance? With a
once-every-few-decades swell hitting his stomping
grounds, should he really be fleeing to a “smaller” spot?
“I felt like I’d chickened out, honestly. But when I
paddled out, there were four guys in the lineup. It was Dave
Parmenter, Jay Moriarty, Jeff Clark, and Titus Kinimaka.
And those guys aren’t chicken so I thought, ‘Okay, I’m in
the right spot.’ But I still felt like I might have missed
some big waves that day. So I’m thinking to myself, ‘I’ve
gotta have a partner for this. Who am I gonna get?’”
Finding a person with the drive, and ability, to
paddle a mile out to sea in search of deep-water freight
trains eliminated the vast majority of surfers in Hawaii.
Simple desire was not enough. Wassel has always been
well aware of the inherent risks in big wave surfing, and
had no desire to fi ll a mentor role for someone who was
still learning the ropes.
“I will not subject anybody else to the things I do,”
he says. “I know what I am capable of. I don’t invite other
people to do the same things. I surfed by myself on the outer
reefs for years, literally because I couldn’t find anybody,
but also because I couldn’t trust someone else.”
Further complicating matters was the fact that it was
the tail end of the 20th century and the jet ski revolution
was in full swing. Wassel had no shortage of peers with the
ability to ride the waves he sought, but they’d all become
members of the motorized whip-in set. He was prepared
to continue surfi ng alone, as he’d done for years, but then
during his search for a partner someone off ered a
suggestion: Mark Healey.
It’s perhaps no surprise that Healey remembers
meeting Wassel years earlier, during the course of multiple
sessions at Pipe. Coming full circle, Wassel had become the
type of man Mark aspired to be, his very presence leaving
an impression on a new generation of North Shore chargers.
But Healey, a tow headed young hellion, wasn’t even on
Wassel’s radar.
“He was about 17 or 18 and I said, ‘That’s too young for
me. I don’t know if he’s proven himself.’ But I asked around
and someone said, ‘Nah, this kid’s solid. He can free dive
a hundred feet. In fact, he’s down at Pipeline right now.
You should go check him out.’
“So I went down to Pipeline, and it was a pretty big
day. Double to triple overhead, 6 to 10 feet on First Reef,
and he’s out there just going for it. And I’m looking at this
little freckled kid and I’m thinking to myself, ‘There’s no
way.’ But I’m watching his performance and I realize, ‘Yeah,
this kid’s legit.’ So when he paddles in I decide I’m going to
fi nd out where he’s parked and I’m gonna go talk to him.
So he walks up to his car, and I see he’s got this little white
sedan. And as I go up to talk to him he’s stacking telephone
books on the driver’s seat because he can’t see over the
dashboard. And I just started laughing. I couldn’t even
approach him with a straight face. I just kept walking.”
Despite any perceived physical shortcomings,
Wassel and Healey eventually came to know each other
well, forming a partnership that has fl ourished over the
ensuing 17 years, chasing thrills, sharing laughs, and
pushing each other into the largest surf possible, often far
removed from the eyes of the surf paparazzi.
“Wassel was always the guy you called when you had
nothing to do,” says Healey. “Or he would think up some
crazy sh!t and call you. One night we were bored so we
decided to drive to the East Side and go prawning. We
grabbed a couple of our other buddies and we’re basically in
full suits, hopping people’s fences at midnight, running
through their yards and jumping into streams with dive
lights and about a hundred beers. We must have gone ten
miles up this fucking stream. We got a bunch of prawns and
walked back and had to run through people’s yards again.
That was just typical stuff —just go make something happen.”
A peculiar game the two played involved paddling
to an outer reef with a mouth full of chewing tobacco.
Whoever kept the chaw in his lip the longest would win.
“One time,” says Healey, “it was probably the craziest
day I’ve ever surfed. It was just me and him at the outer
reefs. No infl ation vests, no jet skis, just shorts and
surfboards. He showed up with this huge 10'8" that looked
like a total piece of sh!t to me. But we’re out there and the
waves are getting crazy. It’s 60 feet, and like, top-to-bottom.
And it was doing this underground, almost Teahupoo
thing, how it kind of drops and you can actually see the
reef contour. And the actual reef ledge is maybe 40 feet
deep, dropping off to about 70. So for that amount of
water to be moving, and to be able to see the contour on
a 40-foot shelf, is pretty incredible.
“And Dave, he turns on this wave that’s like 25 feet,
and absolutely scooping, and I’m losing my mind because it
looks like it was gonna barrel on the takeoff . And I start
screaming at him. The fi rst thing that comes to my mind
is, ‘I can’t save you!’ I had to get that off my chest. Like, ‘I
can’t do anything at all. I hope you’re not doing this
thinking I can help you. Because we could both die out here.’
“And I watched this wave just unload, spit so hard, go
into another section, spit so hard again, and then he pops
out the back screaming. Clearly he must have packed the
barrel, like grabbed his rail and got the fucking craziest,
double-spit underground barrel. And then he gets sucked
over the falls. And as he’s going over, he pulls the dip out
of his lip, holds it in the air claiming it, then puts it back
in his lip, and just disappears. It was quite possibly one of
the most heroic things I’ve ever seen.”
Wassel grew up in a small house a few doors in
from the beach in Kailua, Hawaii. Modern Kailua
—a densely populated, predominantly white
upper class area located on Oahu’s windward side—is often
referred to, somewhat derisively, as “Kailuafornia.” High end
SUVs sit bumper to bumper on its narrow streets. Rampant
development has fi lled most of the open space. But during
Wassel’s childhood things were starkly different.
“It was very quiet,” he says, “just transitioning from
cattle fi elds to residential homes. There was a lot of open
land and we’d build forts, shoot B.B. guns, have our little
wars. It was a free for all. But that area now, where we used
to have our clubhouse, that’s where Barack Obama stays
when he’s on vacation. It’s like the biggest tourist trap in
the world.”
Wassel’s primary love was always the water. His fi rst
surfboard came at the age of 5, when his older sister Julie
convinced their parents to buy him a secondhand 7'2" gun
from a local garage sale. But his passion was born even
earlier, according to his mother, Marianne.
“He was absolutely hysterical about being in the
water,” she says, “starting when he was 9 months old. I used
to throw him and Julie into the bathtub together. But there
was one time when Julie asked if she could please take a bath
alone. So I said, ‘Yeah, we’ll put David down for a nap and
you can have a bath by yourself.’ And while she was in the
tub, Dave heard her and woke up and crawled to the
bathroom door and started banging his head against it,
sobbing because he knew that Julie was in there without him.
He just had to be in the water. That’s all there was to it.”
Young David’s ocean aspirations, however, were
stymied by a near-drowning experience his father, Gary,
suff ered at 11 years old, leaving the Wassel patriarch with
a lifelong fear of the ocean, a phobia which manifested
itself in the requirement that his son always wear a life
vest, a rule which he enforced until Dave was 15.
“Yeah,” Wassel says. “I got picked on quite a bit as
a kid. My neighbors were fi sherman and so in tune with the
water, and my family, not so much. But I always wanted to
go that route, even though they’d take me out in their boats
and the kids would throw me off to see if the life jacket
actually worked. And then they’d drive in circles and throw
chum at me.”
Wassel quickly realized that the only way to avoid
parental restrictions was do his thing out of sight, leaving
the onshore chop of the East Side for the wild north.
“I remember my fi rst trip to the North Shore with
the Moncriefs and Kimo Hollinger. These guys were crazy
watermen. They’d go to Kawela Bay, surfi ng until dark,
and one night, of course, they left me out there. This was
the place where, the night before, all our fi shing rods got
annihilated by sharks. And I didn’t know my way in. And
I remember just being left out there and getting washed over
the rocks and coming in crying. Literally crying. It probably
wasn’t big, but at 13 years old, double overhead is plenty.
“And I was thinking, ‘How do these guys do this? How
do they maintain their composure in this environment.’ So
that was probably my biggest hurdle at a young age. Like,
‘Okay. I gotta be able to fend for myself. I gotta be able to
do this.’ And that was one of those moments. ‘Your parents
let you go, your friends let you go, and now you’re fucking
out here by yourself. What are you gonna do?’ And I
realized that, yeah, the only way to get in was to look for
a channel. But in the dark that was impossible. So I just
went straight in and got blown right up the rocks.”
With the fi re lit and his mind on more challenging
surf, Wassel looked to local heroes for inspiration. “Initially
there was Kimo Hollinger,” he says. “He was basically the
fi rst lifeguard on the North Shore. He’s a fi reman who was
so in tune with the water that he’d bring his surfboard to
work and now, to this day, all those rescue trucks around
the island have a surfboard on top, because of him.
“My next influence would be Roger Erickson. I
wanted to be those guys—someone who could dive down
a hundred feet, or do whatever it was to be comfortable in
that environment. I guess it’s the whole package, right?
Just being a man. It’s something probably every kid can
relate to. You’re trying to fi nd yourself, trying to blend in, so
what do you do? My father was my god but he also wasn’t
a surfer. And to me, at that time, and still to this day,
that’s what I wanted.
“So I pulled Roger aside when I grew older and felt
comfortable enough to talk to him. And I said, ‘What’s
going through your mind? How do you do this?’ And he’s
like, ‘You know, when I started, I’d just come back from
Vietnam. I’d done a few tours, and to tell you the truth,
anything’s better than getting shot at.’
“But looking at pictures in the magazines, and
watching Roger Erickson lance boils on this 10-foot board,
to this day those visual pictures, and what Kimo Hollinger
would write about, and relate to me, are seared into my
memory. Those two guys really helped me get where
I wanted to go. I also wanted to prove to my dad that I could
swim without a life jacket.”
Wassels professional surf career, and his lifelong
affi liation with his sponsor, Volcom, can be
traced to a relationship born of a small pro/am
contest he entered at 17. At the time, his Kailua shorebreak
peers were making their mark on the surf world: Jason Bogle
had recently scored the cover of Surfer, Jun Jo snagged
page one of Surfi ng, and the Miller twins were making a
name for themselves as hot sh!t Eastside rippers.
Wassel stayed up all night before the comp “doing
what kids do,” eventually dropping his then-girlfriend off at
her home and making his way to the beach. There, he met
long time Hawaiian Volcom sales rep Clint Moncata, and
formed a relationship that would shape the rest of his life.
“He came up to me and said, ‘What’s your story?
What’s going on here?’ And I said, ‘I’m just gonna do this
contest.’ And he goes, ‘Tell you what. You win this event, and
I’ll give you a sponsorship.’ At the end of the thing, I was
riding for Volcom.
“I went to the mainland, met all those guys, and it
was a really good deal. I did my fi rst international surf trip
to Puerto Escondido and it was like, ‘Wow, this could go
somewhere. You know, this is something I’ve always wanted.
But realistically, I need a college education.’”
In a startling mature decision, Wassel chose to pursue
a marketing degree at Chaminade University on Oahu in
order to remain near the safety net provided by his friends
and family. He struggled to fi nd a balance between fulltime
college enrollment and a fulltime construction job over the
next fi ve and a half years, while also continuing to chase
his dream of being a professional surfer.
“So I went to school, didn’t surf much, and would
talk to Volcom on the phone and they’d be like, basically,
‘Being out of sight and out of mind—it’s just not going to
work for you.’ So I did whatever I could to really manage my
time, to maybe get a picture with somebody at Backdoor,
or what not. I learned to really focus.
“Growing up in Kailua, I’d already learned about the
weather because you’re surfi ng onshore sh!t your whole
childhood, and you kinda want to surf on either a high tide
or a Kona wind, and neither of them lasts very long. So I’d
focus on those weather events and it got me away from my
job and school just long enough to go surfi ng for a little bit,
to maximize that. I was able to really target my surf sessions
and be able to produce just enough to stay on their good
side. Clint was the guy behind me and he said, ‘You’re gonna
lose your sponsorship unless you stand out. So why don’t
we try to focus on your strong points? You like to surf in
adverse conditions. Let’s work on going up 2 feet every year.’
“In ’93 it was 10 foot Pipeline. Fast-forward 20 years
to 2013 and I’m out at Jaws and I’ve caught a 53-foot wave.
Supposedly somebody measured it. I don’t know how, but
it was 53 feet, and it happened to be the biggest wave that
anybody rode under paddle power that year. So I guess I’m
on the right track. It’s just little baby steps. I’m not trying to
kill myself, just doing the baby steps. It’s been 24 years that
I’ve been with my sponsor. And that’s rare. And it could
disappear in a second. But I’ve been fortunate. Million dollar
memories, that’s for sure.”
Wassel has supplemented his income by serving
as a parttime lifeguard during Oahu’s winter
since 2005. The arrangement provides a muchneeded
infusion of cash, while also allowing a certain
amount of fl exibility should he choose to chase a
looming swell.
“To be a lifeguard on the North Shore means that
you’ve proven to your peers you can handle adverse
conditions,” he says. “And it’s defi nitely not a one-man job.
Eddie Aikau is credited with saving hundreds of lives and
never losing one, basically doing it by himself. But in the
past four years we’ve gone up to almost eight million annual
visitors to Hawaii, and they’re not coming here for the
shopping. So I have great partners and I can depend on
them to actually race me into the worst possible situation.
And that is probably the best thing I get out of being a
lifeguard: great backup. And at the end of the day, when
somebody pulls through, it’s important.
“When Dorian got his fi rst XXL wave at Jaws, that
giant barrel where he puts his hands up in the air, I didn’t
go for that swell. I was scheduled to work. And I’m thinking
to myself, ‘What am I gonna do? Am I gonna work or go surf?
And I said, ‘Okay, well, I need the job.’ So I went in and my
partner and I hear a cry for help and rescue a lady trying
to take pictures of her kid at Ke Iki.
“We pull the two of them out with the help of
bystanders and it’s a sh!t show. She’s cyanotic. Her skin is
gray, her eyelids and lips are blue. I set her down, and I’m
putting on gloves, getting out the O2, and I open up her eyes
to see her pupils and they’re just filled with sand. And for
whatever reason, just as we’re about to start compressions,
she vomits and starts breathing on her own. So we roll her
on her side. She’s alive. Her kid’s alive. And while Dorian
won the XXL, I’m thinking, ‘I made the right choice to come
in to work today because I contributed to this situation.’
“You can’t imagine how big Ke Iki was. And I believe
I was there with my partners, at the right place and right
time, because I was supposed to be there, because I was not
supposed to be at Jaws.”
An incremental approach to big wave surfing,
coupled with a chosen profession that finds
Wassel risking his life for the benefit of others,
found its culmination in 2012 as a mega swell hammered
Cloudbreak during the Volcom Fiji Pro, forcing contest
organizers to put the event on hold.
“Dave and I were commentating when the waves
started to pulse,” recalls editor and writer Chris Cote. “It was
getting bigger by the second and then the fi rst real big set
came through and it was huge. So Dave keeps talking,
getting a bit more serious. The heat in the water gets
critical, Raoni Monteiro eats sh!t, Kai Otton gets blasted,
and the waves keep getting bigger. And Dave’s face changes
from smiling and happy to serious, focused. Then he gets
up out of the chair and disappears.
“And the next thing I know, he’s jumped off the boat
and gets a proper 40 footer at Cloudbreak. He catches the
wave of the day, gets back on the boat, and is somehow
sitting right next to me again, back to joking around,
smiling ear to ear, like he just got away with a bank robbery.
I could feel this crazy energy fi eld around him, and it was
amazing how he was so happy initially that morning, joking
and cheerful, and then when sh!t got serious how he
switched it on and went into full Terminator mode. And
that’s what makes him like Superman in lifeguard trunks.
He senses trouble and there’s no hesitation with him.”
“I’m terrified of heights,” Wassel admits. “Every one
of the biggest waves I’ve ever ridden, I can’t remember the
drop. From the top to the bottom it’s just blank. I remember
getting hit by lips, spending lots of time in the water, but for
the whole free fall part, my mind is just blanked out. I don’t
know if that’s good or bad. And the barrel that I got during
that big Cloudbreak swell? I have no idea what happened.
I caught one wave, I kicked out. I’d only been in the water
for two or three minutes, but Kai Garcia picks me up and
says, ‘You’re outta here. You’re done.’ And I was like, ‘What
are you talking about? I want to keep surfi ng.’ And he goes,
‘You’re never gonna top what you just did. Trust me’
“So he drops me back at the boat, where all the guys
are packed, and they’re popping beers and someone asks
me about the wave. And I just tell him, ‘I took off and got
a cover up.’ And that was that. I was just a kid in the Kailua
shore break, no idea what was going on around me, in the
moment. I just wish I could remember it.”
Wassel’s mechanisms for coping with fear have
varied throughout the years, from partying like
the next day might be his last during his youth
to, nowadays, living a life in which every one of his pursuits,
from hunting to diving to trail running, could be considered
part of a 24-hour training regimen. But everyone has a limit.
And while his has yet to be reached, it has been glimpsed.
“When I was at Cortes Bank a few years ago,” he says,
“the day that Greg Long almost died, that evening we were
going over probably 45 footers and passing those up because
they were the small ones. And then these 55 foot, 60 footers
would come and break and we’d be out of position. We were
throwing our boards and swimming through ’em.
“Going under the surface three feet and having a
50-foot wave roll over you—well you’re 53 feet down. You
feel that much pressure. Ears pop, things hurt. It’s radical.
And the lights go out. That’s the fi rst thing. The lights go
out and it’s so loud it sounds like a jet engine is taking off
right next to your head. And your limbs want to rip off .
Broken eardrums are a dime a dozen.
“Anyway, I remember sitting there with Pete Mel and
Jamie Mitchell. And we go over one and the next wave
breaks and we throw our boards and all of a sudden it’s
just Pete and I out in the lineup and Jamie has gotten sucked
away. And Pete’s like, ‘Holy sh!t! Where’d he go?’ And I say,
‘I don’t know but the guys on the ski will be looking for him.’
And Pete looks at me and asks, ‘At what point are we going
to say enough is enough?’ And I look at him and say, ‘I’m
pretty damn close to calling it right now.’
“And that was a turning point for me—being a
hundred miles off shore and getting picked off like a fl ea.
Forty-fi ve minutes later, we see Jamie again and he asks
how we got through it. And it was really just dumb luck.
And that’s how it is. Just dumb luck that we’re still here.”
Which is not to say, necessarily, that Wassel has
mellowed. As a father and husband, his priorities have
shifted though, leading to a decision (perhaps counter
intuitively) to chase only the biggest swells on the maps.
“I don’t want to waste my time,” he says. “I just passed
up going to Tahiti. The conditions looked dreamy, maybe
12-foot sets, but I said I didn’t think I could go. ‘I’ve got
a baby party for this guy. I’ve got all this family stuff .’ So I sat
down with my wife and she says, ‘Is it gonna be 20 feet?’
And I tell her no and she just says, ‘Then why bother?’ And
it’s that simple. It’s that rational. At this stage, sure it’d be
fun, but it’s not gonna grant me the wave of my life.”
Despite being an invitee to the Eddie, the Titans
of Mavericks, and having a wildcard slot for the Big Wave
World Tour’s Jaws event, Wassel also sees an eventual
end to his big wave escapades. And it’s coming sooner,
rather than later.
“I give myself three more years,” he says. “Three more
years of seriously doing it and by then I’d like to pass the
torch. And the thing is, I don’t even know if I have to pass it.
There’re so many people who are onto this lifestyle
nowadays. The lineups are crowded. But I’d like it to be
people doing it for the right intent, who are safety-minded.
You see guys without a vest and they go, ‘Well you didn’t
wear one for 20 years.’ And yeah, but that’s because they
weren’t invented yet. And if someone fucks up, going
after them is gonna put my life in danger. I’m not trying
to tell people what to do, but we’re all out here to have
fun, and if somebody doesn’t make it back in that’s when
the fun ends.”
Hawaiian Lifeguard and big-wave specialist Dave Wassel has been chasing monsters for most of his life.
Has he finally caught his limit?
By Rori Parker
The pre-dawn moments of January 20th, 1998,
found Dave Wassel preparing to paddle out to
a well known, but seldom surfed wave on the
outskirts of Oahu’s seven-mile miracle. Breaking
on a ledge that erupts skyward from an 80-foot depth, with
a takeoff next to a jagged boulder, it’s a spot that illustrates
intimidation by the fact that it has remained rarely
ridden, despite fi ring in plain view. Hawaii Civil Defense
had deemed the day “Condition Black,” forbidding ocean
activity until the swell subsided.
There is little on Earth as impressive and intimidating
as a Condition Black swell on Oahu’s North Shore. Coastal
air hangs heavy with spray fl ung loose by the towering surf.
The unceasing thunderclap of the sea drowns out all other
ambient noise. Residents wake in the middle of the night,
hearts racing with adrenaline, an atavistic fi ght or fl ight
response recalling a time when humanity was prey to the
elements rather than master of them. In a place where
challenging the might of a killer ocean is par for the course,
most choose to remain safely beyond the reach of deadly
currents and surges that push up and over coastal roads.
Only the hardiest, or craziest, actually choose to venture
out into the predatory sea.
“That was kinda my go-to spot,” says Wassel. “So
I showed up in the dark. I had my 10'2", which was a
giant board back then. The sun began to rise, giving me
a tiny bit of light, and I started walking down the public
right-of-way and it was soaking wet. And I was thinking
to myself, ‘Why is it wet? It didn’t rain last night.’ Then
the sun comes all the way up and it’s two feet deep with
ocean water and seaweed and driftwood from a set that
had washed through not too long before. And I look out
and the lineup is so big and so out of control that I go,
‘I better run and hide before someone sees me down here
and I have to paddle out.’”
Back in his car, Wassel battled his way east on
Kamehameha Highway, through the gridlocked traffi c that
plagues the North Shore during any swell of note. Every
near-shore break, from Haleiwa to Laniakea to Alligator
Rock, was a churning mass of hell. Upon reaching Waimea,
he found parking and made his way to the beach.
Twelve years later, Wassel would be invited to surf
in the Eddie for the fi rst time. But that morning he arrived
at the Bay as a spectator, curious as to whether the event
would run. Spotting Brock Little, he approached in search of
advice. Where was it rideable? Where could he paddle out?
Could he successfully punch through the tumultuous
inside closeouts that were only the fi rst obstacle before
a 45-minute grind to the outer reefs?
“Brock Little was the man at that time,” he says.
“I mean he still is, but at that time he’d solidifi ed himself
as the greatest big wave paddler of the decade. And it’s out
of control, closing out from Outer Logs across the channel
all the way to Alligators and washing into Waimea. And
I asked him, ‘If they don’t run the contest, where are you
going to surf?’ And Brock, the most fearless man I’ve ever
known, says, ‘If they don’t run the Eddie today I’m not
paddling out.’
“I couldn’t believe it. And then he goes, ‘Oh my god!
Look out!’ and just starts running. This set was breaking
way outside, closing out the whole bay. And it comes
rolling in, pushing this huge surge up the beach. So we
ran up behind the bathhouse and the water hit it and it
was knee deep and washing into the parking lot. And
Brock goes, ‘Yeah. I’m out of here.’ And that’s when I asked,
‘Where should I surf?’ And Brock says, ‘You got a ski?
You gotta go surf Makaha if you don’t have a jet ski.’”
Though only 15 miles away as the crow flies from
Waimea, reaching Makaha from the North Shore requires
a lengthy 45-mile trip around the base of the Waianae
Mountains, then a double back north along Farrington
Highway. The drive provided Wassel ample time to
second-guess his decision. Was he doing the right thing,
or merely choosing the path of least resistance? With a
once-every-few-decades swell hitting his stomping
grounds, should he really be fleeing to a “smaller” spot?
“I felt like I’d chickened out, honestly. But when I
paddled out, there were four guys in the lineup. It was Dave
Parmenter, Jay Moriarty, Jeff Clark, and Titus Kinimaka.
And those guys aren’t chicken so I thought, ‘Okay, I’m in
the right spot.’ But I still felt like I might have missed
some big waves that day. So I’m thinking to myself, ‘I’ve
gotta have a partner for this. Who am I gonna get?’”
Finding a person with the drive, and ability, to
paddle a mile out to sea in search of deep-water freight
trains eliminated the vast majority of surfers in Hawaii.
Simple desire was not enough. Wassel has always been
well aware of the inherent risks in big wave surfing, and
had no desire to fi ll a mentor role for someone who was
still learning the ropes.
“I will not subject anybody else to the things I do,”
he says. “I know what I am capable of. I don’t invite other
people to do the same things. I surfed by myself on the outer
reefs for years, literally because I couldn’t find anybody,
but also because I couldn’t trust someone else.”
Further complicating matters was the fact that it was
the tail end of the 20th century and the jet ski revolution
was in full swing. Wassel had no shortage of peers with the
ability to ride the waves he sought, but they’d all become
members of the motorized whip-in set. He was prepared
to continue surfi ng alone, as he’d done for years, but then
during his search for a partner someone off ered a
suggestion: Mark Healey.
It’s perhaps no surprise that Healey remembers
meeting Wassel years earlier, during the course of multiple
sessions at Pipe. Coming full circle, Wassel had become the
type of man Mark aspired to be, his very presence leaving
an impression on a new generation of North Shore chargers.
But Healey, a tow headed young hellion, wasn’t even on
Wassel’s radar.
“He was about 17 or 18 and I said, ‘That’s too young for
me. I don’t know if he’s proven himself.’ But I asked around
and someone said, ‘Nah, this kid’s solid. He can free dive
a hundred feet. In fact, he’s down at Pipeline right now.
You should go check him out.’
“So I went down to Pipeline, and it was a pretty big
day. Double to triple overhead, 6 to 10 feet on First Reef,
and he’s out there just going for it. And I’m looking at this
little freckled kid and I’m thinking to myself, ‘There’s no
way.’ But I’m watching his performance and I realize, ‘Yeah,
this kid’s legit.’ So when he paddles in I decide I’m going to
fi nd out where he’s parked and I’m gonna go talk to him.
So he walks up to his car, and I see he’s got this little white
sedan. And as I go up to talk to him he’s stacking telephone
books on the driver’s seat because he can’t see over the
dashboard. And I just started laughing. I couldn’t even
approach him with a straight face. I just kept walking.”
Despite any perceived physical shortcomings,
Wassel and Healey eventually came to know each other
well, forming a partnership that has fl ourished over the
ensuing 17 years, chasing thrills, sharing laughs, and
pushing each other into the largest surf possible, often far
removed from the eyes of the surf paparazzi.
“Wassel was always the guy you called when you had
nothing to do,” says Healey. “Or he would think up some
crazy sh!t and call you. One night we were bored so we
decided to drive to the East Side and go prawning. We
grabbed a couple of our other buddies and we’re basically in
full suits, hopping people’s fences at midnight, running
through their yards and jumping into streams with dive
lights and about a hundred beers. We must have gone ten
miles up this fucking stream. We got a bunch of prawns and
walked back and had to run through people’s yards again.
That was just typical stuff —just go make something happen.”
A peculiar game the two played involved paddling
to an outer reef with a mouth full of chewing tobacco.
Whoever kept the chaw in his lip the longest would win.
“One time,” says Healey, “it was probably the craziest
day I’ve ever surfed. It was just me and him at the outer
reefs. No infl ation vests, no jet skis, just shorts and
surfboards. He showed up with this huge 10'8" that looked
like a total piece of sh!t to me. But we’re out there and the
waves are getting crazy. It’s 60 feet, and like, top-to-bottom.
And it was doing this underground, almost Teahupoo
thing, how it kind of drops and you can actually see the
reef contour. And the actual reef ledge is maybe 40 feet
deep, dropping off to about 70. So for that amount of
water to be moving, and to be able to see the contour on
a 40-foot shelf, is pretty incredible.
“And Dave, he turns on this wave that’s like 25 feet,
and absolutely scooping, and I’m losing my mind because it
looks like it was gonna barrel on the takeoff . And I start
screaming at him. The fi rst thing that comes to my mind
is, ‘I can’t save you!’ I had to get that off my chest. Like, ‘I
can’t do anything at all. I hope you’re not doing this
thinking I can help you. Because we could both die out here.’
“And I watched this wave just unload, spit so hard, go
into another section, spit so hard again, and then he pops
out the back screaming. Clearly he must have packed the
barrel, like grabbed his rail and got the fucking craziest,
double-spit underground barrel. And then he gets sucked
over the falls. And as he’s going over, he pulls the dip out
of his lip, holds it in the air claiming it, then puts it back
in his lip, and just disappears. It was quite possibly one of
the most heroic things I’ve ever seen.”
Wassel grew up in a small house a few doors in
from the beach in Kailua, Hawaii. Modern Kailua
—a densely populated, predominantly white
upper class area located on Oahu’s windward side—is often
referred to, somewhat derisively, as “Kailuafornia.” High end
SUVs sit bumper to bumper on its narrow streets. Rampant
development has fi lled most of the open space. But during
Wassel’s childhood things were starkly different.
“It was very quiet,” he says, “just transitioning from
cattle fi elds to residential homes. There was a lot of open
land and we’d build forts, shoot B.B. guns, have our little
wars. It was a free for all. But that area now, where we used
to have our clubhouse, that’s where Barack Obama stays
when he’s on vacation. It’s like the biggest tourist trap in
the world.”
Wassel’s primary love was always the water. His fi rst
surfboard came at the age of 5, when his older sister Julie
convinced their parents to buy him a secondhand 7'2" gun
from a local garage sale. But his passion was born even
earlier, according to his mother, Marianne.
“He was absolutely hysterical about being in the
water,” she says, “starting when he was 9 months old. I used
to throw him and Julie into the bathtub together. But there
was one time when Julie asked if she could please take a bath
alone. So I said, ‘Yeah, we’ll put David down for a nap and
you can have a bath by yourself.’ And while she was in the
tub, Dave heard her and woke up and crawled to the
bathroom door and started banging his head against it,
sobbing because he knew that Julie was in there without him.
He just had to be in the water. That’s all there was to it.”
Young David’s ocean aspirations, however, were
stymied by a near-drowning experience his father, Gary,
suff ered at 11 years old, leaving the Wassel patriarch with
a lifelong fear of the ocean, a phobia which manifested
itself in the requirement that his son always wear a life
vest, a rule which he enforced until Dave was 15.
“Yeah,” Wassel says. “I got picked on quite a bit as
a kid. My neighbors were fi sherman and so in tune with the
water, and my family, not so much. But I always wanted to
go that route, even though they’d take me out in their boats
and the kids would throw me off to see if the life jacket
actually worked. And then they’d drive in circles and throw
chum at me.”
Wassel quickly realized that the only way to avoid
parental restrictions was do his thing out of sight, leaving
the onshore chop of the East Side for the wild north.
“I remember my fi rst trip to the North Shore with
the Moncriefs and Kimo Hollinger. These guys were crazy
watermen. They’d go to Kawela Bay, surfi ng until dark,
and one night, of course, they left me out there. This was
the place where, the night before, all our fi shing rods got
annihilated by sharks. And I didn’t know my way in. And
I remember just being left out there and getting washed over
the rocks and coming in crying. Literally crying. It probably
wasn’t big, but at 13 years old, double overhead is plenty.
“And I was thinking, ‘How do these guys do this? How
do they maintain their composure in this environment.’ So
that was probably my biggest hurdle at a young age. Like,
‘Okay. I gotta be able to fend for myself. I gotta be able to
do this.’ And that was one of those moments. ‘Your parents
let you go, your friends let you go, and now you’re fucking
out here by yourself. What are you gonna do?’ And I
realized that, yeah, the only way to get in was to look for
a channel. But in the dark that was impossible. So I just
went straight in and got blown right up the rocks.”
With the fi re lit and his mind on more challenging
surf, Wassel looked to local heroes for inspiration. “Initially
there was Kimo Hollinger,” he says. “He was basically the
fi rst lifeguard on the North Shore. He’s a fi reman who was
so in tune with the water that he’d bring his surfboard to
work and now, to this day, all those rescue trucks around
the island have a surfboard on top, because of him.
“My next influence would be Roger Erickson. I
wanted to be those guys—someone who could dive down
a hundred feet, or do whatever it was to be comfortable in
that environment. I guess it’s the whole package, right?
Just being a man. It’s something probably every kid can
relate to. You’re trying to fi nd yourself, trying to blend in, so
what do you do? My father was my god but he also wasn’t
a surfer. And to me, at that time, and still to this day,
that’s what I wanted.
“So I pulled Roger aside when I grew older and felt
comfortable enough to talk to him. And I said, ‘What’s
going through your mind? How do you do this?’ And he’s
like, ‘You know, when I started, I’d just come back from
Vietnam. I’d done a few tours, and to tell you the truth,
anything’s better than getting shot at.’
“But looking at pictures in the magazines, and
watching Roger Erickson lance boils on this 10-foot board,
to this day those visual pictures, and what Kimo Hollinger
would write about, and relate to me, are seared into my
memory. Those two guys really helped me get where
I wanted to go. I also wanted to prove to my dad that I could
swim without a life jacket.”
Wassels professional surf career, and his lifelong
affi liation with his sponsor, Volcom, can be
traced to a relationship born of a small pro/am
contest he entered at 17. At the time, his Kailua shorebreak
peers were making their mark on the surf world: Jason Bogle
had recently scored the cover of Surfer, Jun Jo snagged
page one of Surfi ng, and the Miller twins were making a
name for themselves as hot sh!t Eastside rippers.
Wassel stayed up all night before the comp “doing
what kids do,” eventually dropping his then-girlfriend off at
her home and making his way to the beach. There, he met
long time Hawaiian Volcom sales rep Clint Moncata, and
formed a relationship that would shape the rest of his life.
“He came up to me and said, ‘What’s your story?
What’s going on here?’ And I said, ‘I’m just gonna do this
contest.’ And he goes, ‘Tell you what. You win this event, and
I’ll give you a sponsorship.’ At the end of the thing, I was
riding for Volcom.
“I went to the mainland, met all those guys, and it
was a really good deal. I did my fi rst international surf trip
to Puerto Escondido and it was like, ‘Wow, this could go
somewhere. You know, this is something I’ve always wanted.
But realistically, I need a college education.’”
In a startling mature decision, Wassel chose to pursue
a marketing degree at Chaminade University on Oahu in
order to remain near the safety net provided by his friends
and family. He struggled to fi nd a balance between fulltime
college enrollment and a fulltime construction job over the
next fi ve and a half years, while also continuing to chase
his dream of being a professional surfer.
“So I went to school, didn’t surf much, and would
talk to Volcom on the phone and they’d be like, basically,
‘Being out of sight and out of mind—it’s just not going to
work for you.’ So I did whatever I could to really manage my
time, to maybe get a picture with somebody at Backdoor,
or what not. I learned to really focus.
“Growing up in Kailua, I’d already learned about the
weather because you’re surfi ng onshore sh!t your whole
childhood, and you kinda want to surf on either a high tide
or a Kona wind, and neither of them lasts very long. So I’d
focus on those weather events and it got me away from my
job and school just long enough to go surfi ng for a little bit,
to maximize that. I was able to really target my surf sessions
and be able to produce just enough to stay on their good
side. Clint was the guy behind me and he said, ‘You’re gonna
lose your sponsorship unless you stand out. So why don’t
we try to focus on your strong points? You like to surf in
adverse conditions. Let’s work on going up 2 feet every year.’
“In ’93 it was 10 foot Pipeline. Fast-forward 20 years
to 2013 and I’m out at Jaws and I’ve caught a 53-foot wave.
Supposedly somebody measured it. I don’t know how, but
it was 53 feet, and it happened to be the biggest wave that
anybody rode under paddle power that year. So I guess I’m
on the right track. It’s just little baby steps. I’m not trying to
kill myself, just doing the baby steps. It’s been 24 years that
I’ve been with my sponsor. And that’s rare. And it could
disappear in a second. But I’ve been fortunate. Million dollar
memories, that’s for sure.”
Wassel has supplemented his income by serving
as a parttime lifeguard during Oahu’s winter
since 2005. The arrangement provides a muchneeded
infusion of cash, while also allowing a certain
amount of fl exibility should he choose to chase a
looming swell.
“To be a lifeguard on the North Shore means that
you’ve proven to your peers you can handle adverse
conditions,” he says. “And it’s defi nitely not a one-man job.
Eddie Aikau is credited with saving hundreds of lives and
never losing one, basically doing it by himself. But in the
past four years we’ve gone up to almost eight million annual
visitors to Hawaii, and they’re not coming here for the
shopping. So I have great partners and I can depend on
them to actually race me into the worst possible situation.
And that is probably the best thing I get out of being a
lifeguard: great backup. And at the end of the day, when
somebody pulls through, it’s important.
“When Dorian got his fi rst XXL wave at Jaws, that
giant barrel where he puts his hands up in the air, I didn’t
go for that swell. I was scheduled to work. And I’m thinking
to myself, ‘What am I gonna do? Am I gonna work or go surf?
And I said, ‘Okay, well, I need the job.’ So I went in and my
partner and I hear a cry for help and rescue a lady trying
to take pictures of her kid at Ke Iki.
“We pull the two of them out with the help of
bystanders and it’s a sh!t show. She’s cyanotic. Her skin is
gray, her eyelids and lips are blue. I set her down, and I’m
putting on gloves, getting out the O2, and I open up her eyes
to see her pupils and they’re just filled with sand. And for
whatever reason, just as we’re about to start compressions,
she vomits and starts breathing on her own. So we roll her
on her side. She’s alive. Her kid’s alive. And while Dorian
won the XXL, I’m thinking, ‘I made the right choice to come
in to work today because I contributed to this situation.’
“You can’t imagine how big Ke Iki was. And I believe
I was there with my partners, at the right place and right
time, because I was supposed to be there, because I was not
supposed to be at Jaws.”
An incremental approach to big wave surfing,
coupled with a chosen profession that finds
Wassel risking his life for the benefit of others,
found its culmination in 2012 as a mega swell hammered
Cloudbreak during the Volcom Fiji Pro, forcing contest
organizers to put the event on hold.
“Dave and I were commentating when the waves
started to pulse,” recalls editor and writer Chris Cote. “It was
getting bigger by the second and then the fi rst real big set
came through and it was huge. So Dave keeps talking,
getting a bit more serious. The heat in the water gets
critical, Raoni Monteiro eats sh!t, Kai Otton gets blasted,
and the waves keep getting bigger. And Dave’s face changes
from smiling and happy to serious, focused. Then he gets
up out of the chair and disappears.
“And the next thing I know, he’s jumped off the boat
and gets a proper 40 footer at Cloudbreak. He catches the
wave of the day, gets back on the boat, and is somehow
sitting right next to me again, back to joking around,
smiling ear to ear, like he just got away with a bank robbery.
I could feel this crazy energy fi eld around him, and it was
amazing how he was so happy initially that morning, joking
and cheerful, and then when sh!t got serious how he
switched it on and went into full Terminator mode. And
that’s what makes him like Superman in lifeguard trunks.
He senses trouble and there’s no hesitation with him.”
“I’m terrified of heights,” Wassel admits. “Every one
of the biggest waves I’ve ever ridden, I can’t remember the
drop. From the top to the bottom it’s just blank. I remember
getting hit by lips, spending lots of time in the water, but for
the whole free fall part, my mind is just blanked out. I don’t
know if that’s good or bad. And the barrel that I got during
that big Cloudbreak swell? I have no idea what happened.
I caught one wave, I kicked out. I’d only been in the water
for two or three minutes, but Kai Garcia picks me up and
says, ‘You’re outta here. You’re done.’ And I was like, ‘What
are you talking about? I want to keep surfi ng.’ And he goes,
‘You’re never gonna top what you just did. Trust me’
“So he drops me back at the boat, where all the guys
are packed, and they’re popping beers and someone asks
me about the wave. And I just tell him, ‘I took off and got
a cover up.’ And that was that. I was just a kid in the Kailua
shore break, no idea what was going on around me, in the
moment. I just wish I could remember it.”
Wassel’s mechanisms for coping with fear have
varied throughout the years, from partying like
the next day might be his last during his youth
to, nowadays, living a life in which every one of his pursuits,
from hunting to diving to trail running, could be considered
part of a 24-hour training regimen. But everyone has a limit.
And while his has yet to be reached, it has been glimpsed.
“When I was at Cortes Bank a few years ago,” he says,
“the day that Greg Long almost died, that evening we were
going over probably 45 footers and passing those up because
they were the small ones. And then these 55 foot, 60 footers
would come and break and we’d be out of position. We were
throwing our boards and swimming through ’em.
“Going under the surface three feet and having a
50-foot wave roll over you—well you’re 53 feet down. You
feel that much pressure. Ears pop, things hurt. It’s radical.
And the lights go out. That’s the fi rst thing. The lights go
out and it’s so loud it sounds like a jet engine is taking off
right next to your head. And your limbs want to rip off .
Broken eardrums are a dime a dozen.
“Anyway, I remember sitting there with Pete Mel and
Jamie Mitchell. And we go over one and the next wave
breaks and we throw our boards and all of a sudden it’s
just Pete and I out in the lineup and Jamie has gotten sucked
away. And Pete’s like, ‘Holy sh!t! Where’d he go?’ And I say,
‘I don’t know but the guys on the ski will be looking for him.’
And Pete looks at me and asks, ‘At what point are we going
to say enough is enough?’ And I look at him and say, ‘I’m
pretty damn close to calling it right now.’
“And that was a turning point for me—being a
hundred miles off shore and getting picked off like a fl ea.
Forty-fi ve minutes later, we see Jamie again and he asks
how we got through it. And it was really just dumb luck.
And that’s how it is. Just dumb luck that we’re still here.”
Which is not to say, necessarily, that Wassel has
mellowed. As a father and husband, his priorities have
shifted though, leading to a decision (perhaps counter
intuitively) to chase only the biggest swells on the maps.
“I don’t want to waste my time,” he says. “I just passed
up going to Tahiti. The conditions looked dreamy, maybe
12-foot sets, but I said I didn’t think I could go. ‘I’ve got
a baby party for this guy. I’ve got all this family stuff .’ So I sat
down with my wife and she says, ‘Is it gonna be 20 feet?’
And I tell her no and she just says, ‘Then why bother?’ And
it’s that simple. It’s that rational. At this stage, sure it’d be
fun, but it’s not gonna grant me the wave of my life.”
Despite being an invitee to the Eddie, the Titans
of Mavericks, and having a wildcard slot for the Big Wave
World Tour’s Jaws event, Wassel also sees an eventual
end to his big wave escapades. And it’s coming sooner,
rather than later.
“I give myself three more years,” he says. “Three more
years of seriously doing it and by then I’d like to pass the
torch. And the thing is, I don’t even know if I have to pass it.
There’re so many people who are onto this lifestyle
nowadays. The lineups are crowded. But I’d like it to be
people doing it for the right intent, who are safety-minded.
You see guys without a vest and they go, ‘Well you didn’t
wear one for 20 years.’ And yeah, but that’s because they
weren’t invented yet. And if someone fucks up, going
after them is gonna put my life in danger. I’m not trying
to tell people what to do, but we’re all out here to have
fun, and if somebody doesn’t make it back in that’s when
the fun ends.”
were there any articles on wardo there that you could put up for us bros ?
good job anyway.
:wink2:
good job anyway.
:wink2: