Gavin Rudolf of Port Elizabeth had a good run as an international competitive surfer, beginning in late 1968 when he jetted off to the World Championships in Puerto Rico as a stoked-out 15-year-old grom on South Africa's Springbok team. He made the quarters and had himself a fine time in the tropics hanging out with Wayne and Nat and Corky and all the other hot new shortboard radicals. 

A year later, Rudolph won the first Gunston 500 (or the Durban 500, as it was called then), and a year after that it was Bells for the '70 world titles, and Gavin was once again rubbing shoulders with Wayne and Nat and Corky, and bunking down with 14-year-old teammate and superkid Shaun Tomson.

But 1971—that was the year. Gavin was just out of high school and doing his mandatory South African military service, in the navy barracks day in and day out, surfing a bit on weekends. Out of the blue he gets invited to the Smirnoff Pro-Am, the biggest and richest surf contest of the year, held on the North Shore. 

Gavin's never been to Hawaii. He's kinda out of shape, in fact, but never mind and hell yeah, talk to the CO, get a few weeks' leave, sign at the bottom, and send that Smirnoff invite back special delivery!

Rudolph pulls up at Sunset for the first time in his life the day before the Smirnoff, with a Randy Rarick-shaped 7' 10" pintail so new that he's breathing resin fumes on the paddle out. It's big, clean, scary west swell Sunset. Ten foot, 12 foot, 15 foot, the numbers are meaningless, it's Gavin's first time out there ("I was kakking myself, put it that way")—but he gets a set wave right off the bat, and it's off the races.

What Gavin did the next day, in slightly smaller, less organized surf, will be forever enshrined and pedestaled in the main room of the Surfing Dark Horse Hall of Fame. After sailing through the elimination rounds, and finds himself standing on the beach in a dark-blue Smirnoff jersey just prior to the eight-man final next to Jeff Hakman, Ben Aipa, the Aikau brothers, Owl Chapman, and Billy Hamilton. Nobody would have held it against Rudolph had he wilted in the presence of all that hardened North Shore firepower. Instead, he calmly put himself in the lead during the opening minutes of the heat, kept his nerve, and closed the door by calling Hamilton off the wave of the day and nailing a perfect score. As SURFER put it, "Gavin was one notch fuller-on than anyone else." (Rudolph himself explained it thus: "The other guys surfed Sunset like it should be surfed, where I sort of surfed it like it 

More competition highlights followed, including a start in the '72 world titles and a Top 16 WCT ranking. Gavin got his licks in. 

But if you really want to light Gavine up, change the subject to Jeffreys Bay. The pioneering years. Mid-'60s and early '70s. No crowds. A house-free shorefront filled with cactus, sand and rock, nothing else. Three or four pals in the water, a few bags of food stashed in the van, and long-period Indian Ocean waves unspooling like ribbons down a mile-long point. 

Yeah, Rudolph gladly put the contest trophies on his mantle and deposited the prize money checks. But the clip above, along with 500 more perfect afternoons at Supers and the Point, when Gavin was in his teens and early 20s—to this day, it remains the salty red beating heart of his surfing life.

JEFFREYS BAY IS THE SALTY-RED BEATING HEART OF GAVIN RUDOLF'S SURF LIFE

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