97/98 is also the El Nino I have engrained in my mind.
There are mysto spots I saw breaking that February for weeks on end, which I've never seen break again. There were sandbars where I've never seen sandbars. I remember all the surfers in the office I worked for in SLO, we would drive to Shell, Avila, or PIsmo on our lunch hour just to see the massive waves.
I remember my buddy and I, along with a few others trying to paddle out at double-o Shell beach on a nasty day. It was wrapping and connecting into a cove way down the line, like a mile long ride if you could get into it and race it. Getting out was brutal. By the time we got out, I remember saying HOLY sh!t because I looked over, and were basically inline with Bird Rock which waves were trying to cap off of. We were way the fuck out there.
Only three of us made it out. And each of us only rode one wave.
My buddy took off first and caught the wave of the day. He said he dropped in, and pumped it as hard as he could. He rode it so far, he needed a ride back to the parking lot because he walked up at another beach a mile away.
Then I took off. I totally got caught behind the lip on mine as it pitched on my bottom turn. I got destroyed in the flats. There were no reef to walk up on so I spent time trying to not die along the cliff edge as the water bashed me good.
The third guy also screwed up and got smashed and ragdolled into where I was. I watched him get pummeled as I was getting beat down in 3' of water next to the cliffs. Full on whitewater rinse party. Me and that guy also ended up coming in at another spot because we had no chance making it back to the usual entry/exit spot. Every time I tried to paddle sideways along the cliff, the current just kept pushing me down the line.
I'll never forget the things I saw that winter. And every time El Nino comes up, it's all I have to compare it to.