Maverick’s. To some, it is the epitome of adventure. A challenge for challenge’s sake. A dare to the forces — of god, if you believe in that, or of nature, which you won’t really need to believe in because it will make its presence known by body-slamming you into the darkest corner of the Pacific anyway. It is “kill me dead” or “let me live in glory” — speaking of which, anybody know how to find glory?
But to Josh and Damo, Maverick’s is somehow less than that. To them, it’s still the wave that killed Mark Foo and Sion Milosky, but it isn’t the Everest of the ocean. It isn’t a bullfight to them — it’s just a horned beast, a red cape and a dance they know quite well.
Josh, fresh off a win at the Big Wave World Tour stop at Todos Santos; and Damo, fresh off a lifetime of calculated fearlessness, both suited up with a relaxed, although focused, demeanor.
It was the day of the year — you could hyperbolize further, toy around with the time frame if you’d like — and the most recognizable faces in big-wave surfing bobbed around in the lineup, waiting for the stars to align and hoping they’d have the courage to notice. The channel and cliff were even more crowded, with lenses and lookers alike. It felt like the whole world was watching.