Andy Irons, a Hawaiian patriot and a true champion of surfing, died Nov. 2. He had dengue fever and tried to get home to seek treatment and see his pregnant wife. The three-time world champion only made it as far as his Texas hotel room, where he was waiting for a flight back home.
I grew up amidst a serious and often competitive surfing culture in Hawaii. Irons was my hero throughout high school. His drive and nature of constant competition translated into consecutive world titles and knocked the Hawaii-wide despised Kelly Slater from his god-like pedestal, from which he dominated the surfing world for most of my life. My friends and I always lamented that the title of the Triple Crown of Surfing on the North Shore of Oahu, the jewel of the professional surfing circuit, was held by a former Baywatch cast member from Florida.
Then came Irons, and Hawaii once again was on top of the sport it had created and nurtured. Not only that, but the poster child of Hawaiian surfing was relatable to me; a scrappy, blue-eyed, white kid from Kauai’s North Shore. He soon grew into a handsome, athletic young man of infinite potential.
There was little not to like about him. Even his attitude that reeked of token local bitterness and a need to prove himself on a global scale, came off as a lovable middle finger to the commercialized surfing scene. My mom adored him. She has a signed poster from him hanging in her house and fondly remembers meeting him.
After his first world title, I bought his “Rising Sun” board-shorts and wore them for their prestige when the waves were big in the winter surf season. I watched highlights from his meets throughout the season and when he came back to the islands each winter, I was there to see his fluid style and acts of bravery in the face of Pipeline monsters. The last time they had the Eddie Aikau big wave contest at Waimea Bay, I watched him fearlessly drop 25-foot waves and pit himself deep in the bone-breaking shore-break.
His great style wasn’t exclusive to Hawaii breaks, though. He could surf just about anything and his versatility in the water actualized in wins all over the world. His small wave capabilities accented his youthful style and showed his appeal to all the youngsters not yet ready to charge the big waves.
At the same time, he could go to places like Tahiti and epitomize grace under pressure in waves twice as large as most people would ever think to dare. There was nothing quite like watching Irons shrug his shoulders in contempt inside a barrel big enough to drive a bus through. He didn’t just do it, he did it well.
All the while as he shocked the surfing world, his ambition always met his ability. It wasn’t just good enough to be great, he had to be the best. His rivalry with Slater was legendary and spoke volumes about his work ethic and desire. He ruthlessly went after the guy at the top and it broke him when he lost. It was the nature of his upbringing and his character.
We were given the privilege to bear witness to the fruits of his tortures. Each amazing display of surfing we got from Irons had tons of personal desire and strife fueling it. We see the airs, the impossible tube rides, the hair raising late drops and we have only a slight understanding of what spurred it.
But now the world will be without these feats. The surfer who had the power to throw large fans of spray, the agility to twist and tweak his body high in the air and the iron character to maintain perfect calm and composure in the mouth of cavernous barrels is no longer with us. He is in the great beyond now, and we can only pray that his journey be always over head high and glassy.