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Surf & Destroy (Cont.) SHARP WASN'T EXAGGERATING much when he promoted the Chile trip as "the first expedition to what could be the most important big-wave coastline in the world." Surfers have long regarded Chile as the promised land of undiscovered mackers. Look at a map: The country has 4,000 miles of coast, all of it hammered by the South Pacific swell parade. Only about half of that has been surveyed by surfers; the rest lacks road access. "You can't tell me there isn't another Jaws down there," Sharp said before we left. "Chile, to me, is the end of the rainbow." Articulate and salty, Sharp has the wizened red face of a lifelong sailor and the enthusiasm of a grom. He will work until midnight packaging his latest big-wave promotion, then paddle out before light the next morning when a ten-foot south swell lights up the sandbars near his home in Newport Beach. "He's confident, arrogant, cocky, and shrewd," says Parsons, the Odyssey's marquee surfer. "But at the same time, he does an insane job." Sharp's Chile expedition started several weeks ahead of time, at the MapCargo freight depot in Redondo Beach, California. There he packed a shipping container full of tow-in gear (four WaveRunners, two trailers) and a manifest that ran long with items Moondoggie never stashed in his woody: life vests, waterproof radios, anchors, cables, carabiners, spark plugs, and tools. It took more than four weeks for the container to reach Iquique, a Chilean port about 150 miles south of Arica. Leading the team was Sharp's most reliable twosome, Parsons, 39, and Gerlach, 37, both former World Tour workhorses who've rejuvenated their careers with big-wave feats. Barracuda-thin, Parsons is more technician than artist, while the muscular Gerlach has the grace of a ballet dancer. Parsons and Gerlach were the centerpiece surfers when the Odyssey assaulted Cyclops, its most memorable discovery. The wave broke beside an uninhabited island along Australia's southern coast. Sharp found it while surveying the region by plane. The swell wasn't giant on the day the Odyssey was there, but the spot broke with such mesmerizing power and in such shallow water that two of the four surfers on hand—Ken Bradshaw, the 51-year-old Sgt. Rock of big-wave surfing, and six-time women's world champ Layne Beachley, 31—refused to ride it. "There are really very few waves in the world where a wipeout is guaranteed to fuck you up," Sharp says. "This was one of them." That day at Cyclops, Parsons and Gerlach rode only a few waves each, starting away from the bone-crushing tube and venturing closer to the kill zone with each ride. In the end, they backed off. In Arica, more than a year later, both told me they were still angry at themselves for not jabbing the beast in the eye. The two other tow teams who'd come to Chile were also first-rate. Collins, 36, and Replogle, 32, are Santa Cruz hecklers who learned to tow-surf the hard way—at Maverick's. Collins is one of those rare surfers who looks more comfortable riding 50-footers than five-footers. Replogle was good to have around in several ways: He's an accomplished watercraft pilot, a powerful surfer given to long carves, and a gearhead who knows how to unclog an impeller. The final pair—Hawaiian Shane Dorian and Australian Brenden Margieson, both 31—were on a blind date, having never towed together. Dorian was still a World Tour regular and probably the best all-around surfer on the trip. Margieson, unflappably mellow, had only recently learned to tow-surf, but his easy, big-boned style was well suited to high-speed, motor-assisted arcs. Add to that team two cameramen, Sharp, a Billabong rep, me, and a half-dozen Chilean journalists and gofers—and you had one long caravan anytime the surfers set out to look for waves. Sharp's initial plan was to establish a beachhead on the desolate Mejillones Peninsula and motor the WaveRunners up and down the coast looking for new spots. But shortly after he arrived in Chile, he hooked up with Matias Lopez, publisher of Chile's lone surf magazine, Marejada ("Swell"). Lopez and other locals told him about the consistent and reliable El Buey, so he diverted the troops north to Arica and waited. It wasn't what you'd call a grueling bivouac. The crew stayed at the upscale Hotel Arica Panamericana for ten days straight after Sharp decided there was no need to go exploring. El Buey broke directly in front of the hotel pool. The surfers could hit the local casino at night, eat a buffet breakfast, and zoom from the beach to the lineup in three minutes flat. "We were prepared to camp at the edge of the abyss," Sharp said near the end of the trip, almost apologetically. "It just wasn't necessary. Besides, knowing there's a hot shower 200 yards away doesn't dull the pain when you're being beaten by a 20-foot set."
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