| 
 Who
knows what goes on inside the head of Robert Kelly Slater. He's certainly not
letting on. But I wonder if, with six minutes to go in the Pipe Masters final,
he might have been crafting a graceful and generous farewell to give from the
Pipe Masters podium.
It would have been, after all,
the perfect moment. Here, at the high altar of surfing, the sun setting gently
over Keana Point, surrounded by an appreciative mob of peers and fans, trophy
in hand, and with every mountain well and truly climbed - it would have been complete. It
has been, even by Kelly's very lofty standards, an amazing year. The greatest
surfer in history somehow found yet another gear, and dominated this year with
emphatic ease, with his worst result in competition a fifth. And now, in a four
man Pipe Masters final compromising two great Pipe goofyfooters - Rob Machado
and Corey Lopez - along with Andy Irons, the man that has been the grain of sand
in Kelly's oyster, Slater was dominating once again.  Focussing
as he does most years on Backdoor, Kelly opened with a beautiful barrel that he
exited after the spit, and backed that up with a throaty one that let him out
stylishly under the tiniest gap in the curtain. Supremely in control, he had this
distinguished group well and truly comboed.
The goofies and
Andy meanwhile went left, to little effect. It wasn't until around ten minutes
to go that Andy, by now frustrated and mouthing off, wobbled his way into nasty
Pipe pit for a score that put him merely a near perfect score off the win. While
Kelly had every right to feel safe, the door was ever so slightly ajar. Andy Irons
does not need to be asked twice.  And
so it was that with six minutes to go that AI scratched his way late and deep
into a large and sectiony left, sat on and behind the foamball for a while, then
wrestled his way to daylight. Finishing with a floater over the mutant sandbar
closeout, it was, in the judges' eyes, the barest whisker away from perfection.
Needing
a 9.3 to grab back his formerly unassailable lead, Slater's late heat drive through
yet another round and thick right looked like it might be enough. But before the
scores had even been tabulated, Andy found his first decent backdoor wave of the
heat. Taking off so deep he was on the shoulder of the left, Andy, low and pushing
with every sinew, was swallowed whole. Three or four seconds later, as most were
giving up hope, he emerged, his arms already outstretched, and already turning
to face the beach, the judges, the world. Where the odd miserly judge had refrained
from punching in "10" on Andy's left, this one was unequivocally, undeniably
flawless.  In
Kelly's perfect moment, at the end of Kelly's perfect year, here was Andy once
again disputing Kelly's indisputable supremacy. The two have surfed four finals
together, each of them an epic, and each of them greater than the one before.
This final was the greatest of them all… until, of course, the next one.
It is too much to hope that this majestic dance can continue for a year or two
more?
As stirring as this all was, there were plenty of minor
dramas in play, each in their own way as captivating as the main feature. All
them were different but all of them had the same suspenseful plot line - surfers
salvaging careers hanging by the barest of threads. Of all the requalification
hopefuls there were only a couple left in motion at the start of this day. Let's
start with the misses - somehow they're more gripping.  Hedgey
- magnificent Hedgey - kept himself alive with his round 4 miracle barrel, but
it was too much to hope for a repeat. Nathan is back to the benches - too young
to retire but too old to gracefully surf the four man tango in the WQS. He will
now, let us hope, dust himself off and start it all over again. We'll see him
again, I'm sure.
Jake Paterson's demise was simultaneously
stirring and tragic. In his final WCT, Jake left with no unasked questions. In
a blood stirring quarter final heat, Jake hurled himself with complete abandon
over every available edge . In the space of about eight crushing minutes, Jake
was pummelled viciously in the three worst wipeouts of the contest, any one of
which would have had a normal surfer in traction. Jake's career, a career dotted
liberally with significant achievements, was built more on will than on raw talent.
Jake just wants it so bad. He leaves the tour knowing that, from the very first
heat he competed in to this, his final curtain call, he could have done no more. But
of course it's not all noble tragedy. Vaulting gloriously from the bottom of the
table were Northern Beaches fashionista Luke Stedman and Californian wunderkind
Chris Ward. The surprising thing for Wardo is that he was
ever under threat, and he showed here that he is an accomplished heavy wave surfer
as well as an aerial wiz. Steds ascendency, however, did catch many unawares.
Steds has already dropped off the tour once before, and for his first few goes
around didn't really look like he belonged. But here, his future on the line in
some reasonably serious waves, Steds looked relaxed and comfortable. He was never
mind blowing, but he was solid and gutsy, and managed to find his way out of enough
decent pits navigate his way to safe harbour in the semis. A sterling effort from
a surfer who is slowly but surely growing in stature. His marriage into the North
Shore aristocracy (Steds is hitched to the beautiful and talented Malia Jones)
won't have hurt. And so, it's all over for another year.
We've got five Aussies exiting (Hedgey, O'Rafferty, Jake, Jarrad Howse and Toby
Martin) to be replaced by five new ones (Mick Campbell, Josh Kerr, Dayyan Neve,
Ben Dunn and Kai Otten), and there's a harmony in that, I suppose. In meantime,
the tour goes to sleep for a few months, resting and gathering its strength for
a new year filled with promise. Can't wait for the alarm clock to go off in March.
| 
