ghost wave The discovery of Cortes Bank and the biggest wave on Earth CHRIS DIXON A hundred miles off the California coastline, a fabled peak rises from the depths of the North Pacic, stopping just een feet short of the ocean’s surface. Legends and grave warnings surround this submerged mountain, known as Cortes Bank—rumors of lost ships, spinning compasses, of bus-size sharks and man-size lobsters. Yet, the most daring of big wave surfers head out to the Bank for one simple reason: it is home to the biggest rideable wave on the face of the Earth; a swell of massive proportions that surges in from out of nowhere like a monster. In this meticulously researched, salt-crusted adventure tale, journalist Chris Dixon hits the high seas to bring the secrets of Cortes Bank to the surface, drawing readers into the harrowing world of the most enigmatic rock in the sea and the tremendously dangerous big wave surng that occurs above it. He recounts stories from Greg Long, Brad Gerlach, Mike Parsons, and a cadre of divers, explorers, sailors, nation builders, and lunatics who have all tried their luck at Cortes Bank and barely lived to tell of their encounters. is astounding true story of the Everest of the sea will captivate anyone with a curiosity about, and respect for, the vast and unknowable ocean. DIXON GHOST THE TRUE STORY OF THE BIGGEST WAVE ON EARTH AND THE MEN WHO CONQUERED IT. “ Ghost Wave takes us to a place of almost mythic power and tells a story that unfolds like a long ride on a killer wave. I can’t imagine doing what those surfers are doing out there on Cortes Bank—and I can’t imagine a ner book about them. is is a beautifully researched and compellingly written book. I read it straight through from the rst page. Terrifying.” —SEBASTIAN JUNGER, author of The Perfect Storm “ A terric, deeply researched tale about a truly wild place. You couldn’t make up Cortes Bank or the characters who’ve tried to make it theirs. Chris Dixon takes us out there. He gets us amongst it.” —WILLIAM FINNEGAN, author of Cold New World “ Mystery shrouded, invisible from shore, riddled with hazards real and imagined, the Cortes Bank is a sort of Rubicon. Only a handful of surfers have crossed to the other side. In Ghost Wave, Chris Dixon traces the Bank’s maritime history, the fanciful civilization of Abalonia, and the absolute madmen who chase shiing peaks in the open ocean.” —SCOTT HULET, editor, The Surfer’s Journal “ Ghost Wave is a rst-rate account of an amazing phenomenon and the people who tried to conquer and exploit it. A great read.” —WINSTON GROOM, author of Forrest Gump “ Aer reading Chris’s most excellent account of the monstrous waves of the mysterious Cortes Bank— the Bermuda Triangle of the Pacic—I never thought I would ever consider riding a wave like this. But aer surviving a ve-foot, headrst fall from the stage earlier this year, I think I might be ready.” —JIMMY BUFFETT WAV E Chris Dixon’s work has appeared in the New York Times, the New York Times Magazine, Outside, Men’s Journal, Surfer, and the Surfer’s Journal. He lives in Charleston, South Carolina. Front cover: Grant “Twiggy” Baker on the biggest day ever documented anywhere. Cortes Bank, January 5, 2008. Photo: Robert Brown. Chronicle Books publishes distinctive books and gis. From award-winning children’s titles, best-selling cookbooks, and eclectic pop culture to acclaimed works of art and design, stationery, and journals, we cra publishing that’s instantly recognizable for its spirit and creativity. Enjoy our publishing and become part of our community at chroniclebooks.com. Jacket design by Jacob T. Gardner Manufactured in the United States of America www.chroniclebooks.com $24.95 u.s. Quinn Dixon ghos t wa ve GHOST WAVE THE DISCOVERY OF CORTES BANK AND THE BIGGEST WAV E ON EARTH BY CHRIS DIXON Text copyright © 2011 by Chris Dixon. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. Dixon, Chris, 1966- Ghost wave : the discovery of Cortes bank and the biggest wave on earth / by Chris Dixon. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-8118-7628-5 1. Surfing California. 2. Surfing Pacific Area. 3. Ocean waves California. 4. Ocean waves Pacific Area. I. Title. GV839.65.C2D59 2011 797.3209794 dc22 2011020302 Manufactured in the United States Designed by Jacob T. Gardner 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Chronicle Books LLC 680 Second Street San Francisco, California 94107 www.chroniclebooks.com CONTENTS Acknowledgments . . . 6 CHAPTER 1: The Ghost Wave . . . 8 CHAPTER 2: Once Upon an Island . . . 19 CHAPTER 3: Pawns to Bishop Rock . . . 29 CHAPTER 4: The Kings of Abalonia . . . 57 CHAPTER 5: Rogue Waves . . . 77 CHAPTER 6: Making the Call . . . 90 CHAPTER 7: At Arm’s Length . . . 99 CHAPTER 8: The Prisoners . . . 121 CHAPTER 9: On the Shoulders of Giants . . . 147 CHAPTER 10: Mutiny on the Bounty . . . 170 CHAPTER 11: Trifling with the Almighty . . . 200 Afterword . . . 233 Endnotes . . . 243 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book would not have been possible without the work, time, support, hospitality, and/or inspiration of the following people: Will Allison, Grant “Twiggy” Baker, Rex Bank, Steve Barilotti, Rob Bender, George Beronius, Warren Blier, Daniel Martin Bresler, John Broder, Bruce Brown, Dana Brown, Rob Brown, Jimmy Buffett, Jeff Campbell, Steve Casimiro, Mike Castillo, Alfy Cater, Jeff Clark, Gary Clisby, Annouschka Collins, Josh Collins, Ken “Skindog” Collins, Sean Collins, Charles Coxe, Chris Crolley, Pat and Mary Curren, Don Curry, Jake Davi, Brett Davis, James Deckard, Jeff Divine, Jean Louise Dixon, Quinn Deckard Dixon, Richard Jobie Dixon, Watts Dixon, Shane Dorian, Dorothea Benton Frank, Lawrence Downes, Harrison Ealey, Grant Ellis, Dr. John English, William Finnegan, Nick Fox, Arthur “Mitch” Fraas, Matt George, Sam George, Brad Gerlach, Joe Gerlach, Dr. Gary Greene, Nancy Whitemarsh Gregos, Angie Gregos-Swaroop, Greg Grivetto, Nicole Gull, Jeff Hall, Laird Hamilton, Christine Hanley, Neil Hanson, Ellis T. Hardy, Christopher Havern, Steve Hawk, Mark Healey, Marty Hoffman, Philip “Flippy” Hoffman, Scott Hulet, George Hulse, Paul Hutton, Tom Jolly, Sebastian Junger, Dave Kalama, Ilima Kalama, Brian Keaulana, Buffalo Keaulana, Momi Keaulana, James Allen Knechtman, Eric Kozen, Dr. Rikk Kvitek, Randy Laine, Larry Kirshbaum, Steve Lawson, Adm. Robert J. Leuschner Jr., Brett Lickle, Kenneth Lifshitz, Brock Little, Greg Long, Rusty Long, Steve Long, Kate Lovemore, Gena and John Lovett, Leanne Lusk, Dr. Terry Maas, Don Mackay, Hugh MacRae Jr., Hugh MacRae Sr., Nick Madigan, Sarah Malarkey, Ben Marcus, Chris Mauro, Lucia McLeod, Garrett McNamara, Clement Meighan, Capt. Scott Meisel, Peter Mel, Tara Mel, Candace Moore, Larry “Flame” Moore, Dr. Walter Munk, Mickey Muñoz, Jason Murray, Ramon Navarro, Greg Noll, Laura Noll, Jeff Novak, Collin O’Neill, Dr. Bill O’Reilly, Dave Parmenter, Rebecca Parmer, Bob Parsons, Mike Parsons, Tara Parsons, Joel Patterson, Nate Perez, Steve Pezman, Judith Porcasi, Paul Porcasi, Jodi Pritchart, Mike Ramos, Rush Randle, Louis Ribeiro, Charles and Victoria Ricks, Anthony Ruffo, Roy Salis, Marcus Saunders, Bill “Dr. Evil” Sharp, Evan Slater, Kelly Slater, John Slider, Shari Smiley, Sunshine Smith, Kelly Sorensen, Jason Stallman, Capt. Steve Stampley, Jamie Sterling, Jean Stroman, Gloria Ricks Taylor thanks mom!!!, Kimball Taylor, Roy Taylor, Beverly Tetterton, Albert “Skip” Theberge, Brendon Thomas, James Thompson, Megan Thompson, Randy Thompson, Michele Titus, Matt Walker, Philip L. Walker, Les Walker, John Walla, Matt Warshaw, Grant Washburn, Frances “Taffy” Wells, Gerry Wheaton, James Whitemarsh, Brad Wieners, Malcolm Gault-Williams, Ben Wolfe, Matt Wybenga, Andrew Yatsko, Dr. Marvin Zuckerman I would also like to thank: My grandparents, for teaching me the value of a fine southern family and a damn good story. My parents, for teaching me the difference between making a life and making a living. Quinn, for teaching me the meaning of love. Fritz and Lucy, for teaching me the meaning of life. My sincere apologies to anyone I might have left out. When foolhardiness would urge me to go and peep into some yawning chasm, my conscience would appear to say to me, “Stop! You are trifling with the Almighty!” —A description of the first view of the caldera of Mount Kilauea, Hilo, Hawaii, September 1847, by Lieutenant Archibald MacRae, United States Navy (September 21, 1820–November 17, 1855) In the predawn hours of a dead-still December morning in 1990, a Black Watch sportfisher, its deck loaded with provisions, thick wetsuits, and big wave surf- boards, motored out of Newport Harbor in Newport Beach, just south of Los Angeles. Clearing the lights at the end of the harbor’s long rock jetty, the skipper gave the boat’s twin Yanmars their first big huff of diesel and crackling dry Santa Ana air. He then pointed the bow toward an empty spot, a big blank patch of ocean a hundred miles offshore where a ghost wave was said to appear, a wave of massive proportions that came out of nowhere, rose like a monster, and then slid back into the depths without a sign of its passing. According to legend, several vessels had met disaster here and now lay on the bottom, and the few mariners who had been out there told the surfers they were crazy. Along their intended route, compasses were known to spin in random directions. It was a place where the impossible was postulated to be an occasional nightmare reality—a breaking wave 100 feet high. They were headed for the Cortes Bank. In addition to the captain, the boat contained four passengers: Surfing magazine editors Bill Sharp, Sam George, and Larry “Flame” Moore, along with a California pro surfer named George Hulse. Sharp, George, and Hulse were experienced big wave surfers, but in 1990, the world of monster swells was a far smaller and more mysterious place than it is today. The crucible of their sport still lay on Oahu at thundering tropical waves like Pipeline, Makaha, and Waimea Bay, and a relatively small group possessed the knowledge, skill, and guts to challenge them. Swell forecasting was still in its infancy; spots like Maverick’s, Jaws, and Teahupoo lay far off the radar. Only recently, these Chapter 1: THE GHOST WAV E It was the only time I ever wrote out a will before a surf trip. —Bill Sharp ghost wave 9 three surfers had tested themselves on the first bona fide big wave find on the North American mainland—an icy, kelp-ringed giant off northern Baja’s Todos Santos Island, appropriately named Killers. No one aboard had ever considered tying a water-ski rope to the stern of a Jet Ski and slingshotting a life-jacketed surfer onto a big wave —the pursuit today known as towsurfing. If you wanted to catch a big wave in 1990, you had to paddle like hell, pray, and never forget that if something went wrong, you were all alone. Indeed, the surfers had gone to great lengths to ensure they were alone. This exploratory encounter with what they believed to be an unsurfed leviathan was the culmination of several years of painstaking, almost pathologically secretive detective work. In December 1985, illuminated by the neon glow of a photographer’s light table, Larry Moore pointed a freckled finger at page L4 of the Chart Guide to Southern California. “What about this spot? There’s gotta be waves out there.” Beside him stood Sam George and Bill Sharp, the newly minted young edi- tors of Surfing magazine. They had been scouring the nooks and crannies on the map, looking for places where they might find surf. If there was one thing that George and Sharp had come to realize, it was that Flame was obsessive about everything he did. You didn’t get a grain of sand in his Ford pickup. You didn’t miss a 4 a.m. roll call for a photo shoot. You didn’t mess with any element atop his photo desk. And you sure as hell didn’t talk about surf spots you were scouting out. That was the great privilege and mad- dening frustration of the job. Larry possessed an obsessive need to know about the waves that broke along the Pacific Coast and to be the first to document them. Inclusion among his tight circle of explorers made you a very fortunate person, but you had to keep your mouth shut until Flame was ready to reveal a discovery—which might be never. Flame was a fairly seasoned sailor. He had pored over his chart guides, study- ing coast and bathymetry from Vancouver Island to Cabo San Lucas. The same set of features that might sink a ship could also indicate a hidden wave. Lately, he had set his sights toward Todos Santos and San Clemente Island and now this weird shoal called Cortes Bank. He saw danger and opportunity. In fact, a mere month earlier, the Los Angeles Times had carried a story about the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise actually colliding with an unnamed reef “100 miles off San Diego.” What other reef could it possibly be? “Here’s what it says,” Flame read to Sharp and George. “Cortes Bank is about twenty-five miles long west-northwest to east-southeast by seven miles wide, with Bishop Rock awash and buoyed. The rock was struck by the clipper [...]... good basic understanding of LORAN navigation systems (GPS was not yet commonplace), and he was wide awake, so everyone else bundled up and went to sleep The plan was to motor the twenty-nine-foot Black Watch for twenty miles out and around the southern end of Catalina Island They would then cross another thirty-two miles of ocean to the southern flank of San Clemente Island, a naval base and artillery... you’ve paddled according to the beach, duck diving, sitting on the outside because of a crowd—all the things you measure waves by—not one of those things was there,” says Hulse And you could not see the approaching waves very well—you had to use the top of the first wave just to see the second wave It just lifted up right in front of you And everything was in motion the boat and the buoys—everything I... around 11 a.m., the LORAN indicated that the Black Watch was approaching the shallow southern periphery of Cortes Bank “Something’s going on, ” Sharp told George “Look at the horizon.” Rather than the ruler-straight undulations of the previous several hours, the wave pulses suddenly steepened They approached from odd angles, wobbling and lurching toward the boat like punch-drunk ski moguls There was no... across the two-hundred-yard gap between the boat and the wave The freezing water seeped through the seams in their wetsuits, inducing an involuntary shudder, and the sounds of boat and buoy quickly faded into a strange, muffled silence so complete they seemed to have entered a cave That is, until the first wave of the next set blurred the horizon just ahead and its concussion split the air like an artillery... this A mile-long mutant Malibu was reeling off in the middle of the ocean Castillo dove low and flew alongside a wave from a height of around thirty feet Astonishingly, they appeared to be looking up at the wave s cascading lip “If anyone ever tries to surf out there,” Castillo said, “they’d better take the fucking Pope along to pray for them.” A few days later, Flame showed photos of Cortes Bank to Sam... and one rolled through, we were like—whoa, that’s a rideable wave! ” The breaking waves were glacier blue Silhouetted against the sky, the mist in their wake lit up like a million tiny shards of rainbow ice Most of the waves weren’t terribly steep, but they carried a great quantity of watery energy and seemed to approach the Bank at a terrific speed They rolled, warbled, and peeled for a while and then... reputation at Todos Santos and at a mutant neck-breaker of a wave in Newport Beach called the Wedge Sharp was the son of a hard-charging Air Force fighter pilot He had studied business at San Diego State University, where he founded the school’s surf team Hulse and George went on to compete in the ASP World Tour, a championship series of contests run by the nascent Association of Surfing Professionals... sky a pinkish purple In the island’s lee, a whisper of Santa Ana breeze carried the scent of chaparral and decaying bull kelp Rising and falling over the butter smooth ghost wave 11 Pacific, Sharp uneasily pondered the last-minute nature of this mission Despite seeing photos, the surfers were essentially flying blind Once the Black Watch cleared the shadow of San Clemente Island, the swell would become... water and a trip to the bottom Cortes Bank wasn’t just a secret big wave spot It was a big wave spot that only broke at a minimum of 15 feet The surfers were left to speculate about the maximum wave height Cortes Bank could generate If the photos Flame took in January were any indication, this might be the biggest wave on Earth “You know, even at that relatively small size, it was beyond any scale of. .. or four more midsize sets offered up a few more rides in the ensuing twenty or so minutes, and then the conveyor belt simply, inexplicably shut down The most likely explanation was that the tide had risen too high for the swell to break Sharp and Hulse returned to the boat in silence while the truth sunk in They had surfed the Cortes Bank on the smallest wave it was capable of producing If a swell was . ghost wave The discovery of Cortes Bank and the biggest wave on Earth CHRIS DIXON A hundred miles off the California coastline,. respect for, the vast and unknowable ocean. DIXON GHOST THE TRUE STORY OF THE BIGGEST WAVE ON EARTH AND THE MEN WHO CONQUERED IT. “ Ghost Wave takes us