‘Flea’ Makes the Biggest Waves in Big-Wave Spectacle

When the fog finally lifted about noon Wednesday, the thunderous breakers this city has become famous for could be seen as well as heard.

And Maverick’s went on display like never before.

Boats carrying reporters and photographers started jockeying for position. Rescue crews on Jet-Skis took their position just beyond the impact zone. Helicopters with more reporters and photographers started buzzing overhead.

And when the chaos was finally over, as the sun began to sink into the Pacific, a little man called Flea had made history in a big way.

Darryl “Flea” Virostko, so nicknamed because he looks like one while flying down the faces of the gargantuan waves he rides, had won the first contest held at Maverick’s: Quiksilver’s Men Who Ride Mountains event.

By pulling off the victory--mostly on the merits of two spectacular performances that culminated in breathtaking tube rides--Virostko and a few of his close friends had accomplished another goal as well.

They showed the world that the nearby community of Santa Cruz is home to some of the top big-wave riders in the world. Five of the top six finishers in the contest live in or near the rural coastal city just south of here.

Granted, the event was staged to showcase the notorious break and the local talent. But also in the lineup Wednesday were such big-wave riders as Brock Little and Ken Bradshaw from Hawaii, Ross Clarke-Jones and Tony Ray from Australia and Evan Slater from La Jolla.

“So little credit has been given to Flea over the years it’s almost silly,” said Grant Washburn, 31, another local product and a Maverick’s veteran. “He has such confidence in his abilities and goes where no one else wants to try.”

A diminutive fellow with his hair dyed to look like the coat of a leopard, Virostko is also somewhat modest.

“We were really pushing each other out there,” he said. “I was just as stoked watching everyone else. Watching others take off is almost as exciting as taking off yourself.”

It’s much safer too, as any of the few hundred spectators would attest.

The waves at Maverick’s reach heights of 35 feet from the backs and have much bigger faces. The break, a well-kept secret until the early 1990s, was thrust into the spotlight in 1994 when Mark Foo, a noted Hawaiian big-wave rider, came to give the waves a try and died as a result of a wipeout on a 20-footer.

Foo, perhaps knocked unconscious by his board, was held under by the force of the wave and his body and broken board weren’t discovered until two hours later near the mouth of a nearby harbor.

So powerful are the waves at Maverick’s--because of the quickly rising contour of the ocean floor--that surfers have been held under for as many as three waves before being able to surface. Being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time can also result in one being swept into a series of rocky protrusions.

The rocks claimed the life of a kayaker last winter, perhaps an indication that kayakers don’t have any business in such large and tricky surf.

Most surfers don’t either.

Maverick’s is more daunting than even Waimea Bay on the North Shore of Oahu, many say, because of its remote location--nearly half a mile offshore beyond Pillar Point--and the bone-chilling conditions usually associated with a surf session here.

Surfing-related deaths aren’t commonplace only because the sheer size and power of the waves are enough to scare off most of those who don’t belong.

But Maverick’s is evolving as a surf spot and with increased media exposure comes increased participation.

Last year’s K2 Big Wave Challenge, offering $50,000 to the surfer who rode the biggest wave anywhere, enticed several novices to give Maverick’s a try.

Many didn’t have the nerve to take off after paddling out. Some who did suffered blown-out eardrums, wrenched knees and assorted other injuries.

“Even a small wave at Maverick’s is more challenging than a big wave anywhere else,” said Jeff Clark, 41, the man who surfed the break alone for 15 years before leaking his secret to others. “I wanted to let people know what a special place we have up here,” he explained.

Clark was contest director for the Quiksilver event, the waiting period for which began last Nov. 1. He invited the top Maverick’s regulars and threw in a handful of big-name surfers from around the world to give it some credibility.

“I feel honored to be here,” said Bradshaw, 46, surfing’s man of steel who once was towed into a wave that measured more than 60 feet from crest to trough at one of Hawaii’s offshore reefs. “I think it was important for me to show. This event is for the Northern California gang, but I’m honored to be surfing along with all of them.”

Along with many of the competitors, at contest headquarters aboard a local fishing boat, Wild Wave, were a team of judges and a handful of journalists, some more savvy than others when it comes to knowledge of this fairly basic sport.

The man in charge of the photo crew for Esquire magazine, for example, saw one of the surfers unwrapping a bar of wax and asked him what kind of cheese it was, guessing it to be a brie.

The surfer politely told the man that it was only wax, rubbed on the board to give him footing.

When the fog finally lifted and the vessel began the short run to the break, the thought of food was the last thing in the Esquire photographer’s mind. He and his two helpers became terribly seasick and demanded to be taxied back to land, leaving the Esquire reporter without a camera crew and shaking his head in disbelief.

The photographer would eventually return for his equipment in the middle of the contest, having hired the services of an old wooden cabin cruiser resembling the S.S. Minnow.

To this one of the surfers would respond, “Hey, that Esquire guy’s back. What’s he on now, a three-hour tour?”

But the seeds of seasickness had long been planted and even a few of the surfers had become queasy and were no longer laughing.

Josh Loya, another local product who would finish fifth, was told he should wear a green jersey during his heat because it would match the color of his face. Instead he wore red.

Little was wearing green and it was a pretty good match.

Men who ride mountains, it had become clear, are just like anyone else when they’re not on their surfboards.

But to watch these guys at work is something else.

Giant waves are something to behold from afar. But up close from a boat, you can actually feel them break and hear them roar as they rush toward shore.

It wasn’t Maverick’s at its biggest or its best on Wednesday. The waves were averaging 15 to 18 feet with a few pushing 20. The wind was up and the ocean was bumpy.

But it was still huge by most surfers’ standards. And with more than $50,000 offered in prize money, nobody was complaining that the contest had been reduced from eight five-man heats to four because of the fog delay.

The surfers were judged on their top three waves during the hourlong heats.

Those in the first heat, including Peter Mel, regarded by many as the top surfer at Maverick’s and one of the best big-wave riders in the world, were at an unfair advantage because the tide was high and the waves a little mushy.

Mel still managed a fourth-place finish after negotiating several dramatic drop-ins.

The tide dropped as the contest progressed, however, resulting in much steeper and hollower waves, and the inevitable--dramatic wipeouts.

Zach Wormhoudt, 29, got pitched on one wave during Heat 2 and surfaced in the middle of the impact zone, only to find that another wall of water was closing fast, and another one was behind that. Luckily, one of the rescue crew on a Jet-Ski, with a sled in tow, sped in to pull Wormhoudt from harm’s way, barely escaping the oncoming mass of whitewater.

Washburn, competing in the same heat, cartwheeled down the face of one of the larger waves and after climbing back on his board, was swept through the rocks, somehow managing to avoid striking any of them.

Those in the third and fourth heats had the upper hand. The waves were bigger and steeper, and Virostko took full advantage, negotiating incredible drops from deep behind the section and staying in position for when the wave reformed on the inside bowl.

In two instances he was able to accomplish something rarely accomplished at Maverick’s: tucking into one of these enormous, churning barrels and coming out still standing.

This basically clinched victory for the 27-year-old surfer, although he was nearly upstaged by the late-day dramatics of Richard Schmidt, his pal from Santa Cruz, who finished second.

The victory earned Virostko $15,000 and might lead to more in the way of endorsements and sponsorships.

But it was a bittersweet triumph. After the contest and immediately before the awards ceremony, Virostko learned that one of his best friends had died of an apparent aneurysm while taking a shower earlier in the day.

Trying his best to smile, he accepted his prize and graciously gave a brief acceptance speech, without letting on what had happened.

He then stepped down and asked the Quiksilver big-wigs if he could be excused. “I guess I’m blessed to have been able to get all those great waves,” he said before leaving, fighting back tears. “But it’s weird how things work out sometimes.”

Sadly enough, a day to remember turned out to be one “Flea” probably wishes he could forget.