"In the Shadow of Giant Jeffreys," Derek Hynd, SURFER, Dec 1984

Mark Occhilupo had won the Country Feeling Surf Classic, defeating Tom Carroll, two sets to one, in the quarters; Richard Cram, two-nothing, in the semis; and Hans Hedemann two-zip in the final. He had posted his first ASP tour victory.

Occhilupo's second set comeback against Hedemann, in quality three-to-four foot Supertubes, had become an all too common facet of his surfing.

His win, however, is sure to fall into the shadow of the July 1984 J-Bay experience. J-Bay made South Africa’s July circuit, with conditions matching those of the vintage 1977 expedition.

Rented vans and chocked sedans were cruelly flattened during the ensuing Great Garden Route Chase from Cape Town to J-Bay. Frenzy, frenzy. White-line paranoia and radiator madness caged many a driver, slave to whipping cries of, “faster, faster, don’t stop, don’t stop!"

The swell had beaten us there, bad luck, as we rolled into the Jeffreys township in a distraught microbus in darkness. Those mundane enough to have caught a plane, thereby forfeiting any chance of the adventure of their decadent lives, had scored four-to-six foot Supertubes in late glass-off conditions.

Jeffreys Bay had changed. Even in one year. Sol Kerzner, that incredibly wealthy embodiment of South African corporate imperialism, was rumored to be interested in transforming the sleepy hollow into a mega-town. Condominiums had been erected on the sandy shores of wonderful Jeffrey's Bay, at mega-town prices. Land agent signs were in more corners than on the Jetson’s last trip to Jupiter. The Beach Hotel, a timeless community bastion and the scene of an Australian “Steve Biko Lives" rally in the smoky pool hall four years ago, was recognizable only by a raging wind tunnel through the ground floor corridor. Smith’s lodgings, the best value accommodation that a surfer ever had, whose dining room view of an adjacent, peeling righthander, led to the surf spot's naming as "Kitchen Windows," was gone. And nearby, the trusty board factory had gone and erected a “Surf and Sail" sign out the front.

Just like that, the township had become thoroughly modern.

Three-to-six foot surf broke on the lead-up day. Energy, loads of it, was evident. Three shifts worked the wave. A morning bay wind ruffled the surface until midday, and Super’s potential showed. There appeared to be more sand at the halfway point, allowing for a more hollow bowl section. Yet Impossibles, from the 300-yard mark, was closing down as it normally did, a fault that had me calling “hoax," not believing the tales of one endless long perfect J-Bay ride.

Carroll and Occhilupo stood out, with their vertical backhand blasts. Carroll’s with more panache, Occhilupo's with more grunt. Big Willy Morris showed up late in the day, without boards, and on Wes Laine's gun, showing no ill effects in the juice; the snap attack was still there.

No one was sure of anything that night. The swell was coming. The swell was going. But morning dawned with the vibrant sound of bigger waves on distant banks. Happiness.

Never before had the lure of a $50 entry fee been as worthwhile. Empty and building, four-to-eight foot waves broke all day. As contestants sat in the lineup, awaiting the start of their heats, a feeling of divine anticipation was present. It was as if one of the world's great amusement parks was calling a select group one at a time, wanting to make their day.

It was as memorable a contest surf as I have ever seen, surely rivaling the original 1977 Stubbies Pro swell. There were rides where five full snaps and two speed-trimming barrels scored less than full marks. Throughout the day, as the trial rounds were surfed off, performances kept improving. Length of ride became a spent criterion. It was taken for granted that every ridden wave would go the distance, and the problem became at what position, entering Impossibles, to halt the scoring. As the day wore on, riders had to pull more radical maneuvers to survive.

Piere Tostee, setting the standard early, rode two insane tubes in his first heat. The South African Junior Champion commenced with a six-second number, finishing in Impossibles, then pulling into a tube in which four sections passed over him before he emerged

By Round Two, the purist approach was scoring heaviest of all. Mitch Thorson utilized total speed in perfecting multiple roundhouse cutbacks on many of his set waves. Bryce Ellis used casual power torques, in snapping back time and again under the hook, with rapid speed corrections. Chris Frohoff played with speed lines, and constantly committed himself to the lip.

But Willy Morris said it all on one six-foot, double-up ledge, down around Impossibles. He was in form, had already wailed in his heat, and most pros knew what was impending. Morris had all the speed, yet, as he dropped into the double-up, he slowed to a crawl on the bottom, then waited. The boys started screaming, even before he arched his back and outstretched his arms to let a mammoth lip close over him. From a dead stop, he emerged, screaming down the line, in the same classic stance, seconds later. Move of the day.

The day’s events ended. And free-surf session which followed was ominous. On the first wave, an eight-foot monster, one chap on a 6'5" keel design pulled standard hooking cutbacks and speed trims through to Impossibles, then set his edge and made it through one back door, and then an even bigger second hole, before blazing on through to Albatross, on an endless wall to the sand.

The next day, cloudless as expected, was bigger. Some heats had wild closeouts, others had perfect waves at six-to-seven feet. The bay wind again played havoc with conditions until the later heats, in which performances again rose. Of the seeds, Ho, Anderson, Occhilupo and Carroll were blitzing. In upsets, Thorson defeated Lynch; Tostee defeated Potter; and Tomson was lucky to survive against Ellis.

In the late afternoon free session, five more waves were conquered to the shore. And the Carroll/Occhilupo ”go-behind’’ show stole the day. Both played the maniac, in a game of chicken that just didn’t stop.

The sixth of July came, and the four quarterfinal heats were settled in machine-like conditions. Throughout the dropping tide, contestants were often forced to commit to an extra three or four seconds in Impossible’s tubes, unable to pull out until the wave allowed.

The dusk waves that evening were better than I’d ever imagined at Jeffrey’s Bay. Standing below Impossibles in the fading light, I witnessed what could have been the ultimate uncut surf flick. From outside Supertubes surfers caned what is normally referred to as J-Bay, pulling off halfway through, completely satisfied; others jumped into the most horrendous double-up surge and pulled in, deeper than deep, then rocketing out behind the spit and driving into a totally different Albatross tail section.

At the turn of the tide, Stuart Cadden began to blow minds. Straying into a darkening nether realm, the Sydney goofyfooter found THE section, then embarked upon a full lay-forward backhand tube assault that was finesse at its best. His method was faultless. Few surfers could have mastered the situation with such ease.

J-Bay’s hollowest section had become as big as maxed-out Kirra, and was yearning for more size.

But no. As stoked pros took the long haul back from the beach, in folding darkness, after that “one last wave," the swell had already peaked.

Association of Surfing Professionals (ASP)

1984 Country Feeling Classic

Subscribe or Login

Encyclopedia of Surfing

History of Surfing

Interviews

Features

The Sunday Joint

Videos