In 1969, an
18-year-old man and some friends set
sail from Mozambique on a small
catamaran. They had with them a handheld
compass, some aeronautical charts and
almost no sailing experience. Their
destination was a tiny island 800 miles
off the African coast that showed as
nothing more than a speck of dust on
their wrinkled map. Lee McGregor had
worked his whole life to earn a spot on
South Africa’s Olympic swimming team,
only to watch his dream vanish when
South Africa was banned from the 1968
Olympic competition due to apartheid.
For him, the vast Indian Ocean with all
her dangers and uncertainties somehow
seemed more stable and honest than the
world that had stolen his dreams.
Unsteady but hopeful, the boys wrestled
their sails and disappeared into the
horizon. Lee and his crew were not seen
for 8 months. When their bony bodies and
battered boat washed ashore with the
tide in mid-1970, rumors of the voyage
and their discovery shot through the
South African surfing community. On a
scratched and damaged roll of super
eight film only several images survived.
Two days later Martin Daly sat
slack-jawed as Lee McGregor, now almost
50 humbly recalled his eight-month
voyage and the mythical wave they had
encountered. The footage seemed surreal,
like a UFO sighting or a sasquatch
footprint. Still, it compelled
Quiksilver to launch the most
complicated surf trip in history.
Logistically, the island was as remote
as any place on earth, but very
attainable for someone of Daly's ilk.
However, further research did produce
data stating that the island was in fact
a French Garrison and that permission to
explore that area for surf had never
been granted. |
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Daly and Quiksilver saw it as a
challenge they could not refuse. Within
two months, through Quiksilver's
European office based in the south-west
of France and the Crossing's mission
control at Quiksilver International in
Sydney, Australia, they had negotiated a
deal with the French Government to give
them a seven-day window (later extended
to 14) to explore the area as long as
they took two marine biologists with
them. The Reef Check monitoring program
was already a major part of the
Crossing's mission statement, so the
USA-based program provided the
scientific personnel. The scientists
would chart the island reef life for the
first time, as well as monitor their
activities.
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Next was the talk of assembling the
surfing talent. Kelly Slater expressed
major interest, so Quiksilver let him
pick the rest of the crew. Kelly's
musician buddy, Hawaii's Jack Johnson,
was keen for some R&R from an
increasingly hectic international
concert schedule. Australian Luke Munro
and Californians Hans Hagen and myself
didn't need any convincing. We all flew
in to Durban, South Africa, where we
boarded chartered planes to the island,
being met on the runway by gun-wielding
soldiers. We were then escorted to the
Indies Trader, which sat 300 yards off
the reef. What took Lee McGregor eight
months of sailing, and Quiksilver and
Daly two months of planning was there in
front of us - and lapping on the reef
steadily at six inches. |
We had succeeded in amassing possibly
the most decadent surf trip in history.
However, an ultra-outfitted mother ship,
government-appointed scientists and
personal jets cannot change the mood of
the sea and she proceeded to lay silent
for 12 and a half days. We dove the
reef, marveling at its abundant wildlife
and absolute perfect tube-making
symmetry. Jack worked on new melodies,
while Kelly worked on a sore hip and
Luke held a 24-hour catch and release
program off the bow. The scientists
would circumnavigate the tiny island
daily and sometimes we would come along
to watch them chart its topography.
Every evening, thousands of tiny baby
turtles would emerge from the white sand
beaches. They would waddle 20 yards into
the water, through the tiny surf and out
to sea. Hundreds of sea birds and tuna
would swarm, turning the beach into the
opening scene of Saving Private Ryan.
The scientists said that only one in a
thousand survive the first hour. We
tried to let nature take its course but
couldn't help baby-sitting on occasion.
On the twelfth morning, Kelly, Luke and
Jack packed their gear. Kelly and Luke
had no time left because of competitions
and Jack had 8,000 fans waiting for him
at a concert back in Seattle. The swell
charts on the Internet showed no hope,
but Hans and I opted to stay aboard to
the end. As their jets disappeared
toward South Africa, we decided to
explore the one chunk of reef to the
south that we had not yet seen. Martin
and Mick, the cook, left first in the
dinghy while we loaded our dive gear
onto the Jet Ski. Within 10 minutes, we
could hear Martin yelling to get our
boards ready. Apparently, a 4-foot swell
had wrapped all the way around the reef
causing a punchy, 5-foot right to break
along its edge.
We surfed until our arms turned to
spaghetti, laughing at the irony the
whole time. It was almost as if the
Great Spirit of Exploration had stepped
in to remind us that the true joy of
travel was not money and technology, but
the magic of uncertainly and the joy of
taking your time.
Two days later in Mozambique, Martin met
with Lee McGregor. Lee is now Olympic
swimming coach for South Africa and he
was headed overseas for a meeting. The
men compared notes and experiences. In a
way, they were disappointed in the low
yield of "the most elaborate surf
trip in history." In another way, I
think they were both happy knowing that
the magic of the island may be left
alone for another 30 years. Or at least
until another crew of grommets is
willing to go the distance. |
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