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Outside magazine, June 2001 Page: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

AFTER FIVE DAYS, competition has finally begun, and the tubes are totally slabular. The Mentawais may not receive the freakish, skyscraper-size waves of northern California or Hawaii, but, unlike shifting sand breaks, their unflinching reefs rarely fail to send up crisp sets. Surfers rave about glassy, six-foot barrels that they can ride for as long as 15 seconds.

The judges, watching from a nearby dinghy or with binoculars from the wheelhouse of the Indies Trader II, have thrown away the original rules drawn up by Matt George. It seems the pros didn't care for a stipulation that certain heats would be judged on a maximum of 20 rides, including flubs. Instead, they wanted every wave in their heats to be considered, and the judges relented. "For the contestants to change the rules like that is akin to football players showing up at the Super Bowl saying, 'OK, there'll be eight quarters and fumbles don't count,'" says a bemused George.

The contest takes place over ten days. The men surf in four two-hour heats; the women surf three. The boats pull close to the bobbing lineup of surfers waiting to take their turns. The show is dramatic. Everyone leans over the rails, gasping as Beachley breaks two boards on two consecutive waves. Curran notches an amazing 11-second tube ride. Bruce Irons's aerials blow the group's collective brainpan. "It's like Brucie's from another planet," raves Paul Taublieb, "and he's trying to launch off the wave and rocket home."

Despite Irons's otherwordly flights, he loses the competition by one point to Mark Occhilupo, who is in the midst of one of pro surfing's greatest comebacks after dropping from 245 to 170 pounds on a diet of smoothies. Occhilupo surfs so powerfully at this event that he repeatedly snaps his board's fins. In the women's division, Beachley is upset by Ballard, who catches barrel after thundering barrel. "Rochelle just went for it," says contest director Bernie Baker. "She didn't have a bad heat."

As it happens, the awards ceremony falls on Occhilupo's 34th birthday. Standing in front of the vanquished lounging and drinking on the deck of the Mangalui, he and Ballard join hands and announce that they're going to divvy up their $102,500 purse with the other eight contestants. The men hoot and drain their Bintangs. The women burst into tears and hug each other, looking, says Taublieb, "like sorority girls when a sister gets pinned."

The ensuing party keeps dinghies shuttling off to fetch booze from other boats late into the night. As Serena Brooke later explains, "The whole BTC was like a glorified pool party—hanging out in the tropics in sarongs and bare feet, people doing backflips off the boat. We all were having such a good time that we didn't want this weird competitive vibe spoiling it." So all agreed days before the finals to split the proceeds.

The old seeker dudes huddled around the bonfires would be proud.

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