The Winter Of Giant Waves

By J. MADELEINE NASH

The first monster wave ate him up. Taylor Knox, a 26-year-old pro surfer, disappeared into the churning foam off Mexico's Todos Santos islands like a rag doll tossed into a washing machine. Then he got another chance. He spotted a second wave, even bigger than the first, and paddled straight for it. As he reached the crest, Knox smoothly swiveled, stood up on his board and started sliding down a slick expanse of water as steep as a cliff. Somehow he stayed in control, even though he flew 6 or 7 ft. through the air so that, for a split second, he was free-falling. Exclaimed Knox, who's from Carlsbad, Calif.: "It was like the best roller-coaster ride you could ever imagine."

Todos Santos is famous for big waves, which generally range between 25 and 35 ft. tall. This year, however, because of the storms ushered in by El Nino, the waves at Todos Santos have been epic. The official word isn't in yet, but the wave Knox rode may well have been more than 50 ft. high. If that's the case, Knox should win the K2 Big Wave Challenge, which at the end of this month will award a $50,000 prize to the surfer who caught the biggest wave of the season. And if he wins, he can thank Sean Collins, the sport's foremost practitioner of the science of surfcasting. Because of Collins and other surfseers, California's big-wave riders aren't wasting time chasing pikers anymore. They're hitching rides on waves the size of small apartment buildings.

More than anyone else, perhaps, Collins has helped fuel the growing popularity of the extreme trend in surfing known as big-wave charging. What has made it possible for dudes like Knox to take their death-defying rides is not some quantum leap in equipment design or surfing technique, but the improved ability of surfcasters to pinpoint exactly when and where a Godzilla-size swell is likely to sweep in from the sea. While there are others in the business, says Bill Sharp, director of the K2 Challenge, "Collins is the guru. He was the first to add it all up."

Collins, who completed only two years of college, knows as much about meteorology and oceanography as most scientists. But he started out as a surfer who kept on wondering why great waves were so hard to find. In the early '80s, while he and his buddies were roaming the sparsely populated beaches of the Baja Peninsula, Collins began spinning out his first crude forecasts, downloading satellite weather maps in the middle of the desert with the help of an antenna strung from a cactus, a short-wave radio and a portable fax machine. In 1985 he helped set up Surfline, a Huntington Beach, Calif., firm that distributes daily wave forecasts at a charge of $1.50 to those who call its 900-976-SURF hot line. So accurate are Collins' forecasts that two years ago, bodyboarding champ Mike Stewart used them to surf waves spawned by a single storm across a distance of 7,000 miles, from Tahiti to Alaska.

Knox and some two dozen other top surfers showed up at Todos Santos because Collins had predicted a spectacular swell at that particular time at that particular place. They brought with them their longest surfboards, because the longer the board, the faster it cuts through water. A 50-ft. wave, after all, travels at speeds in excess of 20 m.p.h., and anyone who's too slow at the approach risks being smashed. Every so often, in fact, a big-wave surfer dies. This year Jet Ski rescue teams provided backup, and there have been no fatalities.

Two weeks ago it wasn't clear if Knox would keep his big-wave record. For as the K2 Challenge entered the home stretch, it seemed possible that another giant swell off Hawaii might produce a new contender for the big prize. But when the contest ended early last week, it was clear that the waves that rolled into Waimea Bay did not come close to the monsters of Todos Santos.

What had to come together to produce such waves? The first ingredient, says Collins, is a powerful storm. Its winds blow across the surface of the ocean, creating little wavelets that grow into larger and larger waves. Eventually, a swarm of waves four or more feet high may sweep out from a storm in the far-western Pacific, say, and head toward the coast of North America. The trouble is, not all 4-ft. waves are created equal. One may turn into a wimpy 4-ft. breaker when it nears the shore, while another may shoot up to a height of 15 or more feet.

What accounts for the difference is a number of factors. The depth of the disturbance in the ocean, for one. A wave that's 4 ft. high but projects its energy several hundred feet deep is going to pack more of a punch than a wave whose power is confined to the surface. Another critical variable is the shape of the ocean bottom. Surfing hot spots, or "breaks," are usually places where there is a sudden transition between deep water and shallow. Thus, as waves roll in, they are forced to leap up and over an underwater barrier. For example, "Killers"--the name of the break that Knox surfed at Todos Santos--channels big ocean swells across a deep canyon onto a submerged reef. Result: waves sweep in at heights of 10 to 20 ft., then rear up, like bucking broncos, to much greater heights. "A wave is a moving mountain," says Collins, "and what happens after you go off the edge is that the whole mountain tries to fall down on top of you."

For Knox, it's the thrill of the ride, not the big cash prize, that's indelibly inscribed in his memory. "I caught the biggest wave of my life, so in my mind I've already won," he says. "You know, I've never seen a winter this big and this good--I hope El Nino comes back again next year!"