In 2005 Kelly Slater was on his way to his seventh world title at the QuikSilver pro France 2005.
I’m not usually a fan of big crowds, especially when it comes to the joys of surfing, or hanging around in the middle of 10000 dumb chicks and raging alpha males, but it happened that day that the surf was too stormy for average Joe and contestable enough for the pros. So I went to this contest to have a look.
I remember an epic heat against Jeremy Flores, seventeen years old at that time on the picture below, and Andy Irons charging unpredictable big lefts. Check it out.
Interesting story about behind the scenes from Slater’s perspective:
Four am at the Safari Club. A Friday night, well Saturday morning now, and a bumping little joint in otherwise sleepy Le Penon, France, is off the hook.
Kelly Slater breezes past the door guy and heads down the stairs towards the thumping techno. Normally he’s not the type that likes to hang out in smoky nightclubs, but it’s been a long, difficult day and he’s in the mood for something different.
In the afternoon he surfed one of the worst heats of his career against Damien Hobgood, which blew a chance to clinch his long sought 7th world title. Making matters worse, he then had watch Andy Irons win the Quiksilver Pro France contest to make it a two horse race again.
But now, with all of the day’s angst and frustration behind him, he’s ready for an adventure. He’s going to just roll with it – see where the night takes him.
And besides, just getting here was full on mission. After a quiet dinner with friends, Kelly decided to head into the belly of the beast – Hossegor’s beachfront square where thousands of pro surfers and fans had gathered to drunkenly celebrate the end of the contest. It was exactly the kind scene he’d been trying to avoid all week – too many people wanting a chat, an autograph or a photo. He’d had a few beers in the Hotel du Plage, gave golf tips to Bruce Irons. He even met some people from the Canary Islands with whom he could practice speaking Spanish. But when the bar closed and he walked into the square, the inevitable happened.
Drunk Guy: Can I get a photo with you?
Kelly: Look, if I do one, then everyone here will see the flash and want one.
Drunk Guy: But it’s just one photo I…
Kelly: …I know, but if I do one with you, then I’ll have to do one with everyone.
Drunk Guy (getting pissed): C’mon man, it’s one fucking photo.
Kelly (finger in the guy’s face): You’re not listening to me, if I do one then I…
Drunk Guy: C’mon, just for me.
Kelly: Fuck, dude! I’m so sick of this shit; you’re not listening to me!
The conversation went in circles for another five minutes or so to the consternation of everyone in earshot. Finally, Kelly just threw up his hands and walked away. He headed to a tiny French car where he piled in the back seat with me and four other people he had just met. The driver, an affable local, then threw a surfboard on top and strapped it precariously to the car’s roof with only his leash. Then he fired up the mini Yugo or whatever it was, and we slowly made our way ten miles north to the after-hours Safari Club.
http://beachgrit.com/2015/09/long-read-kelly-slater-in-france/
