TEAHUPOO BLOG: Matt George On Outpost At Teahupoo

Donovan and Bruce loving their line of work.

Underwater, even the fish are scared. Imagine this: You slip off your board on a small day at Teahupoo. You lay on your back. The sky is ablaze, giant pink seashells scattered against space, backlit by the sun’s surrender.

You take a great breathe and you roll over and you dive down to check out the reef. You feel good down in the cooler silence. In control. You get cocky and swim a little, just inches above the colors. It’s a tropical fish store in front of you. Your hand lightly brushes the bottom and you are immediately bleeding. Suddenly the fish all line up and begin scattering out to sea.

That's when you realize that the reef is draining. You surface and clamber onto your board and realize that you are going to have to paddle downhill for the first time in your life. The wave of the day approaches. Tom Whitaker and Luke Munro are calling their friend into it. This guy, Jeff, a car dealer from Nowra, is windmilling himself into it. He is not moving, so strong is the suck. You paddle down into the pit. You are now about five feet off the reef and you begin your climb up the concave blue. The wave releases Jeff from its hold and he begins his drop just as you puncture a lip as thick as it is tall. You punch through into the light feeling the dread of the wave pulling on your ankles. At the last second, it lets you go too. A few quick paddles and then you turn your head toward shore to watch the evidence of Jeff from Nowra getting the ride of his life. Tom and Luke are cheering wildly.

All this and the wave was only 4 feet.

The bare minimum out here.

You imagine what the detonations must be like when it gets enormous God-like. You calculate the exponential horror.

You lick the blood off the side of your palm.

You cannot imagine it.

Two hours later you are onstage down at the Marina with Donovan Frankenreiter.

Fifteen hundred screaming fans, Tahitians and surf glitterati alike, sway to the smoky beat. Marco Luciano Occhilupo is on the mic, yowling a Van Morrison cover. Dave Rastovich on the bongo’s. Back up singers, Joel Parkinson, Bruce, Andy. Four year old Hendrix Frankenreiter on tandem drums, driving it home. A sweaty heaving mass brought together under the Tahitian moon. Between songs, Marco asks you if you surfed today. You answer yes. Sort of. He asks you what you think of the wave. And you smile and you answer “even the fish are scared”.

Marco howls, grabs a tambourine and swings back out on stage at the sound of Donovan’s first crunch chord. Bruce has Hendrix on his shoulders now, smacking drumsticks together in perfect time. Donovan laughs up at his son. The crowd surges.

There has never been a better time to be a pro surfer in history of mankind.

-Matt George, Teahupoo, O’Tahiti, 1305hrs, 11MAY08-