It all started with a voice mail from Shane Desmond Tuesday evening screaming some ridiculous buoy numbers into my phone. I called him back and got the word. It was on. It being MAVS. I knew the drill. Up at 4AM, out the door by 5. I woke up at 3am and immediately heard the thunder from the beaches, more than a mile away. It was WAY louder than I had heard it in a long time. There would be no more sleeping for me after that. I was amped. Checked the Half Moon Bay buoy -- 22’ @ 20 seconds. Bombing. SE wind on the buoy wasn’t a good sign though. Called Desy at 5 and he was already on the road. The drive began. It’s always a trippy drive up to Mavs in the dark. Crack the windows and hear and smell the ocean without being able to see anything, the andrenaline the only indicator to back up what you know is out there.

Got up to the launch ramp just as the sun was starting to come up. An epic sunrise to start the day. You could see white wash out at Mavs from down at the ramp. It wasn’t as crowded as it should have been. Hmmm? It was an almost all Santa Cruz crew with the exception of Chris Brown and Nate Fletcher. The usual suspects; Flea and Barney, Desy and Ruffo, Pete Mel and Tasi, Broggie and Rich Schmidt, Loya, Zack Wormhoudt and more. I was hoping to poach a space on a ski, which normally isn’t a problem, but with a smaller crew and a punishing season taking its toll on some skis already this year, it wasn’t in the cards. Off to the cliff.

The cliff was mostly empty. After an sketchy, yet entertaining, hike up a saturated, muddy slope that was slippery as hell I got the first real peek of the swell. It was macking -- some serious monsters rolling through. Mavs still had a bit of a SE wind on it, but there were some insane waves coming through. Set up my gear fast and the first bomb set comes through. A few gems ridden with someone going down for the count in a harsh manner. Shortly after, Mike Brummet gets dropped off on the beach yelling at the cliff to call 911. Richard Schmidt had apparently been sliced open, a bad one, on the thigh, and was bleeding heavily. The initial word was that he cut an artery. Everyone with a cell was trying to get 911 on the line. Someone finally got through. It’s all like a cartoon out there with guys tearing up 50+ faces like it’s a head high day. You’re looking at it thinking “That looks doable”. Then you get that reminder that it can get real serious out there in a hurry. Schmidt, one of the most notorious Santa Cruz hellmen ever, getting sliced up shook me back to reality. It was a heavy way to start the day.

There were probably only a total of 6-8 teams out at any time during the day and everyone was getting their share of insanity. The winds died down and it was on. Flea took the prize for deep barrels today. Pulling into sections from hell and getting spit out when it looked like all hope was lost. I can only image the view from the channel, watching enviously on the cliff. All the boys were getting the waves of their lives while putting on an insane spectacle for everyone lucky enough to watch. Even though it was a fairly minor crowd on the cliff, the buzz was huge. With every wave ridden there were hoots for sick rides and moans when someone went down. There are quite a few moments from the day that are burned into my mind forever—none more scalding than Flea’s emergence from a ridiculous tube, if you could call it that—more like a tomb. I know that all the surfers out that day got waves they will never forget. It was all smiles back at the ramp when the teams started filtering back to the harbor. Just another day at the office for a select few freaks that like to super size it. After a long, rainy winter up here so far it was that much more sweet. Tomorrow (Thursday, Jan. 5) is looking like it’s going to be another good day. Maybe a little drop in size so us mere mortals can get our share. – Steve Wasylko