History In Tow

Then and now, jet skis exist outside the rules of surfing. I’ve always been willing to try anything to take surfing to a new level. I’d learn what could be done from the best, soak it up, and move on, adding my twist. I knew what I was doing, trying to get it out there. I wasn’t taking a step back for anyone. I finally took a jet ski to Maui in 1981. Sailboarders like Matt Schweitzer, Mike Waltze, and Fred Haywood were already using sail power to catch giant waves. They liked the adventure. Waltze turned me on to Jaws in 1980 while I was making Wave Warriors I. It was called Domes then because there was a dome house there that eventually burnt down. Mike wanted to sail the spot. He’s crazy mad for riding waves, and he put Hookipa on the map. I knew him and that scene from living in Haiku in the summer of ’68. I went by Hookipa every day to surf Lahaina. The place was windy with dust blowing everywhere—perfect for sailing. At the time, I was already riding giant Pipe and Outside Logs on a jet ski that was all engine, ride plate, and handlebars—nothing but speed. I shipped my ski to the North Shore where I had a house at Pipeline. “Too big” Pipe with no one out, those were the days to rock! I towed Christian into some small surf, but what I wanted to do was tow someone into big waves.

I’d been trying to convince the gang that hung out at the Pipe house to let me tow them in. Finally, after about three years of talking about it, Martin Potter goes, “Yeah! Let’s do it.” I put the towrope on the stand-up ski and went out on my knees until I was comfortable, then I stood up. After towing Pottz for a while, Kong wanted a go, then Tommy Carroll. Those guys were into it once they saw it happen. Jet skis go in and out of the surf fast. There was a lot of controversy over the use of skis in the surf. Surfers didn’t get it. To ride the outer reefs you need a motor to get around where it’s breaking depending on direction, size, and number of waves per set. You can’t paddle into them.

It’s rewarding to watch the evolution of surfing over time, especially when you feel like you’ve had a hand in it. I always wanted to tow Laird when he lived at the Pipe house. I knew he had it in big waves in terms of power and style. I love his cutback—it’s just like his dad’s. When he and the rest of the gang got involved, it went to a higher level in a hurry. Laird, Dave Kalama, and all the guys of today are pushing the limits each time the surf gets huge. Kids are always going to change surfing. I’m excited to see what comes next. This is just the start along the path to a new reality in wave riding, like a trip to another planet.

Right now they’re perfecting surviving the wipeout. When I was first riding big waves in the ’60s, we thought about using small air tanks and inflatable floatation devices. In the ’80s, I tried a life vest on a water shoot for Splash magazine and took a heavy wipeout on a heavy wave at outside OTW. That was it! I could handle it. Now there was no wave too big! These days, all tow-in riders are wearing life vests. They come up 200 yards inside after two-wave hold-downs and live to tell about it. Amazing! The speed they are experiencing on these waves is unbelievable. Big-wave tricks are next. A mix of ever-improving technology, along with nature’s energy, and our own imagination is at play here—for a surfer, it’s the ultimate journey. The youngest tow-in guy, Makua Rothman, won the biggest-wave contest—the kids, man!


How’s this? I’m surfing Pipeline this winter for my 40th year, photographing it when it’s too big or when the new guys are out. Anyway, rumor has it that this is going to be the biggest swell in years. I’m trembling in my Astrodeck sandals because I know what this means: it means it’s going to move giant boulders, it means waves that could crush your bones and rip your limbs off. I give Laird a call. He’s buzzing, saying, “Come on! It’s going to happen!” He’s been on me about Jaws for years, trying to get me there. I’ve watched him grow up. He’s always been around heavy surf. A Surfer Magazine photographer, Jason Kenworthy, has an open spot on his boat. “Be on the road at 5:30 AM,” he tells me, “and we’ll pick you up on the way to the harbor.” So there I am, camera bags, water housing, towel, food, and drink, ready for a long day. When we get to the harbor, I can hear waves breaking, a perfect right and left. I’ve been here plenty of times—my Vietnam draft board (1967) was Local Board #10, Wailuku. There’s lots of PWCs and boats jockeying for position to get on the ramp and into the water. Some teams were heading to other reefs. It was all guys I know: Allen Cadiz, a windsurfer; filmmaker Yuri Farrant; still shooter Tom Servais; Keith Baxter, a sail and kite maker; with photographers Erik Aeder and Darrell Wong. Keith wants me to drive his PWC. I’ll be beat up by the time I get there. He laughs. I look at the Sun Crater, Haleakala—no clouds—then over at Moon Crater—no clouds—and no wind. This is very unusual. Maui usually has rain and north winds.

We finally get our turn to drop in the water. It’s on! Fuck! Only one engine starts. Not good. If that one goes, you’re fucked. Here comes another boat off the ramp. I’m jumping ship. “Hey, can I get a ride with you guys?” “Hop on, yeah!” We’re on our way now, cruising up the coast. It’s hard to tell how big it’s going to be. The coastline is covered in heavy mist that makes it difficult to tell where we are. Like something from a pirate movie, an ancient-looking boat appears with a dragon-like paint job; it’s an old NASA spacecraft-recovery boat. As we get closer to our destination, the waves come into sight and I suddenly feel weak in the legs. Then I catch the smell of PWC exhaust. Yes! I love that smell! I’m getting it now. There are over 40 PWCs, four or five boats, and five helicopters buzzing everywhere. The sound is like a nest of motorcycles going off all around you, or like a WWII dogfight. I start taking pictures of everything: quivers tied up, riders hanging on, watching, waiting their turn while the Jaws gang backdoor the right. It’s crazy—riders on every wave and getting picked up fast. Every single wave has someone on it. There’s a definite pecking order in effect. The boards are so fine-tuned that when they get whipped in they don’t lose speed. The riders are able to generate the speed they need to make the wave. Some of the guys have enough experience and talent to make their rides look fluid and casual.

There are lots of younger guys out that I’ve known for a long time, from either diving for big fish, or from surfing spots that shouldn’t be mentioned. They start coming by the boat, reaching out to high-five me, telling me, “Hey, Herb, look what you’ve started! Ain’t it great? Look at it!” There is action on all sides. It’s mad. After a while, Keith Baxter drives up on his Yamaha SUV, the four seater, and asks me to hop on and cruise with him to take pictures. Off we go to front and center at the 50-yard line, in tight and up front. Laird starts going left because the right is so crowded. I ask Keith about shooting from the left side. No one is sitting over there, that I can see. We head out and around the corner, over to the left side. It’s beautiful from that angle. The reflected light changes, the water color becomes more blue, and the red cliffs, topped with crowds and trees, form a contrast background. The right looks like 30-foot inside Velzyland with PWCs and boats going up and over the swells as riders drop in. Shooting them from behind shows the whole wall—their long trails behind—and where they’re headed. What a day! It’s going places I’d never dreamed it could.

Originally published as “Gasoline Alley” in The Surfer’s Journal, Summer 2005.