The Last Laugh

Some argue that snowboarding offers no tuberides, but flying through the air is almost as exciting. Photo: Kirk Devoll

We were pretty excited to be going down to Tavarua, Fiji, with our group for two wonderful weeks of just surfing. I mean that’s all there is to do there on that little island, but what could be better. We had Laird, Darrick, my brother Victor, Bill Boyum, a few other guys I can’t remember, and these two friends, Ken and Don, from Canada.

Ken Achenbach and Don Schwartz are two of the best snowboarders in the world for two reasons. First, they were born in the snow and have known it all their lives, and second, they got on snowboards when the snowboard first came out, so they have more time snowboarding than almost anyone else.

But what they wanted to do more than anything at this point in their lives was learn to surf. Oh, they had tried it lots of times, but they felt this trip would be their crowning glory because they had all of us there to get advice from. When they took off their shirts, they were so white from being in the mountains in Canada for such a long time that the first advice from everyone was to slather on tons of sunscreen.

We launched them out in the very inside break right in front of the island so they could work on their paddling and get the feel of their surfboards. ‘Schwarty’ is an extreme athlete no matter what sport, but Ken has had quite a bit more time on surfboards, so while both needed a lot of work on basic surfing technique, they were at about an even level. Their perseverance and natural skills paid off quickly, and in few days’ time we all agreed that they were ready to get out to Cloudbreak and get some real waves—which they were very eager to do.

It was some nice small Cloudbreak, maybe four to five feet, but with an occasional six-foot set. Nothing really life-threatening but even small, Cloudbreak is still a powerful wave breaking over a very shallow and sharp reef. Ken and Don sat in the boat for almost an hour getting up their nerve by watching us all have a great time in the clean waves.

Finally, they figured nothing from nothing leaves nothing, so why not get out there and give it a try. They carefully paddled over to the lineup, which is easy from a boat in the channel; there aren’t any breaking waves to paddle through. Once in the lineup, they felt more confident and started to paddle for waves. They each caught a few small ones and their confidence was growing in leaps and bounds.

Ken kept asking how big the waves were and we kept answering the same thing, “Small.”

“Yeah, well how big is small?” he asked.

Laird told him, “There aren’t any waves out here today that are over four feet.”

“Well, four feet is only this big,” said Ken spreading his hands about four feet apart. “You’re telling me that wave isn’t taller than this?” he asked, indicating his spread hands. A wave went by us that nobody wanted because it was so small, but it was definitely a lot taller than the spread of Ken’s hands.

“No, that wave was only two feet,” said Laird with a chuckle, and the rest of us all exchanged knowing looks.

“I can’t figure out what kind of measurement you guys use for waves; how can you say that wave is only two feet—this is two feet,” Ken said, bringing his hands in closer together.

A few minutes later a nice set rolled in, and Laird yelled for Ken to start paddling for one of the waves. Ken took a few moments to get into paddling position before he began to paddle. His arms were a blur as he paddled as hard as he could to get this wave that the Great Laird Hamilton had selected for him.

“How big is it, how big is it?” we heard Ken asking as he kept paddling. It was actually quite a nice wave and, surprisingly, quite a bit larger than any that had come in so far that day, maybe a good seven feet by our standards. But Laird wasn’t going to tell Ken that.

“It’s only four feet, keep paddling,” Laird yelled back with a devilish smile on his face.

The wave jacked up even more as we watched Ken get caught in the lip and pitched headlong over the falls. He took quite a beating from that wave and all the rest behind it, getting washed in to the very inside Shish Kabob reef. Humiliated and beaten, he finally made it back out, but went straight to the boat and would have no more of the waves that day.

All that evening, he kept asking, “Were you sure that wave was only four feet? Right before I got launched into space, I could see how far it was to the bottom and it looked more like ten or twelve feet.”

“Yes,” we all answered, “It was barely four feet, maybe only three.

“Do you guys measure waves from the back or what?” Ken just kept shaking his head in disbelief. No matter what we said nor how many times we said it, he just couldn’t believe that a four-foot wave could give him such a beating.

“Nobody in the world measures from the back,” Laird disdainfully told Ken.

The waves wouldn’t get any bigger for the rest of the trip, and just got smaller, much to our dismay. But that was just perfect for Ken and Don who continued to have a great time trying to improve their surfing skills without putting themselves in any scary situations. Here were these two mountain men, who had stood on top of the highest peaks, looked death in the face numerous times in severe avalanche conditions, gone down the steepest cliffs often in midair, and they were freaking out in four-foot surf. We teased them to no end.

Later that winter, we would all have the chance to meet again, but this time in a world more suited to the two Canadians. We met up at a place called Blue River in British Columbia, where Mike Wiegele runs the finest helicopter skiing operation in the world. With 3,000 square miles of mountainous terrain to ride in and some of the heaviest snowfall in North America, his operation is the biggest and most successful of any heli-ski operation.

Wiegele World caters to the very top end of skiing and snowboarding, with lavish accommodations, world-class gourmet dining, the most experienced mountain guides, and a fleet of first-class helicopters. Ken and Don are frequent visitors, and since that trip, Don has actually gone on to become one of Mike’s top mountain guides. But this time we were all guests, and the mountain boys were eager to show the surfer boys a grand time.

The operation is pretty slick; the helicopter drops the group on top of one of the thousands of runs, and after it lifts off, the guide gathers the group, gives a brief description of what will be encountered on the run, and yells, “Follow me.”

Each run is a new run over virgin, untracked snow, and down some of the best alpine terrain to be found anywhere. It’s like perfect surf with no one out except your best friends.

So all day long we were flying down these mountainsides, in and out of the pine trees, over jumps made by fallen trees under the snow, wind cornices, or sometimes even small cliffs. Soon we were all looking for the next jump, which the guy up front would spot and stop to call out to everyone above that a good jump was ahead.

On one jump, Ken stopped and yelled back uphill that there was a great drop right below him. From above, where we all gathered, we could see the drop-off but couldn’t see what was on the other side. It’s somewhat intimidating to not know what lies on the other side. Occasionally there are big cliffs or trees in the landing. Having someone spotting the jump and calling it is always a little better. Going off anything blind, even if someone says it’s OK, is always unnerving. But Ken was getting his camera out and telling us what a good jump this was. He threw snowballs about five feet apart and told us all to go together, me, Laird, and Darrick.

“Well, how big is it?” Laird asked.

“It’s small, it’s no sweat,” Ken yelled back as he got his camera ready.

“Look, you guys start where you are, come flying down together, and all jump at the same time; Gerry you go to the left, Laird you go straight off, and Darrick go slightly right. It will be a great shot. Don’t worry, it’s all deep, soft powder on the landing.”

“How far is the drop?” asked Darrick. I know he felt like I did about going off blind jumps.

“It’s only four feet so get all the speed you can; otherwise you won’t even get off the ground,” said Ken. “Come on, I’ll count back from three, then you guys start. OK?”

So we all looked at each other, and as Ken counted, we got ready.

“Three, two, one, go for it,” he yelled.

On the count of “one” we all took off, blazing down toward the edge we could see and whatever was on the other side. As one we all went off the edge together. And as one, I’m sure we were all equally shocked to find not a four-foot drop but a twenty-foot-plus drop. And we all realized at the same time that we were going way too fast. And that we had been had by Ken. Not expecting such a long fall, none of us made the landing, and all of us landed in a heap in the deep powder below.

As we were digging ourselves out, Laird a little pissed off, shouted up to Ken, “Hey, I thought you said it was only four feet!”

We could hear Ken cracking up as he yelled back down to us, “We measure from the back here in Canada.”

Prone paddleboarding was the first kind of surfboard riding that went worldwide as far back as the 1930s. Photo: Erik Aeder

f. GALLERY

Barry Kanaiaupuni, during the second Expression Session, charging the Pipeline in true BK style—this was the first time I ever saw him surf the break. Photo: Jeff Divine

Taking a break with Brian Seurat and Ricardo Pomar in the coolness of the cave at Uluwatu after the morning surf session. We would wait in the shade for the tide to change for the afternoon surf on the inside. Photo: Dana Edmunds

What one generally does at the Pipeline … is ride the tube. Photo: Jeff Hornbaker

The tree house at G-Land was Spartan accommodations, but we would have slept on the beach to ride the waves there. Photo: Art Brewer

Wayan, my board carrier at Uluwatu. Photo: Dana Edmunds

Laird Hamilton on a massive wave at Peahi that dwarfs his 6’1” to the point where he looks positively tiny. Photo: Tom Servias

Snowboarding is surfing without having to paddle–one turn after another, on waves of snow that hold still while you ride them. Photo: Andy Tullis

The Expression Session was designed for the Pipeline, but the first year there wasn’t any good Pipe to be had. The second year the Pipeline went off … maybe it was just making us pay our dues before giving us the goods. Photo: Jeff Divine