Eddie Vedder recalls some of his favorite moments shared with his multifaceted friend and surf legend
Words by EDDIE VEDDER
Documented by TODD GLASER
Kelly Slater…A lot has been said. Kelly this. Kelly that. Surf films, magazines. Life-size posters in every surf shop. Eleven-time world champ, the ultimate GOAT. Thirty-plus years of being the most visible icon in the history of the sacred sport. And with all that…the press and admiration, the impact and inspiration, the titles and trophies…he is still underrated.
To quantify his influence, it’s been said that he is the Michael Jordan of surfing. No offense to M.J., but looking at Slater’s level of dominance throughout his career, it’s unparalleled. Michael Jordan is actually the Kelly Slater of basketball.
Here’s the thing — Kelly is different…bit of a freak. I’m not speaking derogatorily. Everyone who knows him has thought it, said it, been marveled by it. And just when you may think for a second that he is actually pretty normal, he will astound you with some act of freakishness. It’s just the way he is. He’s a freak. Superfreak. A freak of nature… And, even more poignant, a freak with nature.
Ninety seconds left in the heat, he’s down by seven or more points. There has been a lull, not a wave in sight. Thirty seconds left and suddenly a bit of corduroy shows itself upon the horizon. Ten seconds left, a peak begins to form, and just before the horn blows, K. takes off on a late take-off wave that came from absolutely nowhere.
And just when you think you’re witnessing a miracle, this wall jacks up and closes out on him, and way too deep, he disappears… And as you’re watching the seemingly unridden wave work towards shore, bouncing fifteen-foot whitewash towards the sky and thinking about what could have been…he comes shooting out of the barrel with the speed of a human cannonball. The roar on the beach erupts out of shock and dismay, minds having just been blown like the spit out of the doggy-door behind him. Luck, coincidence, wave-whisperer? The fact that this drama has played out on more than a few occasions, you’d have to give some credit to some internal knowledge, a connection with the ocean and even a certain break. Or some insane karma. Or…that he’s a freak.
I have said many a time, if only I could surf as well as he plays and sings, I would be ripping.
eddie vedder
A couple stories…His competitive nature. There was a time when Kelly would make an annual visit to this secret spot I used to hide out in, a little-known corner of the planet. If you were feeling reclusive, this place was an isolated dream. A perfect spot to surf, write, play, drink, go deep in conversation, or do nothing at all. During one of my stays in this beachside shack, I would take breaks from the writing and throw some darts. I got pretty good. At some point in Kelly’s visit, I asked if he was up for a game. It became apparent rather quickly that this dartboard thing was perhaps the one thing he had no talent for. I was drilling the board quite proficiently and getting some big numbers, and he was sending more darts into the siding than the cork. I started feeling kind of terrible. Here’s my friend, traveled to get here, and now I’m pretty much crushing him…So I back off a bit, and he gets a few in. At least it’s not embarrassing. We get to his last turn, and he’s got three more darts…and I’m up by eleven. The guy who just started hitting the board is gonna have to hit three bullseyes to win. Not really possible. Ain’t happening. But oddly the first one goes in. It was definitely a surprise — highly unlikely. And obviously lucky. But then the second throw. Another bulls. WTF? How does that happen? I’m, like, too stunned to say anything smart-ass as he aims his final dart into a tiny piece of crowded real estate and, of course, shockingly threads the needle, lands three bulls, twelve points, takes the game. I think his understated quote, delivered with wide eyes and ever so slight a smile, was, “Wow, crazy.” Um, yeah…crazy. He’s a freak.
Another time, Pipeline, semi-final. My daughter Olivia and I are with Kelly in his kitchen as the Pipe Masters coverage is playing on the small screen behind us. As the heats go by, the stakes are becoming more intense, but our man K. seems calm and oblivious. He’s up next, and I’m thinking now must be the time he’s gonna get moving towards the contest flags up the beach. This thought is confirmed by the TV broadcast showing the other competitor with his singlet on, walking towards the water. As I’m about to “casually” mention this, he asks Miss Olivia if she’d like a smoothie. (?!) He starts explaining the ingredients as he starts slowly and deliberately grabbing various greens, scoops of fruits and powders, and filling the blender. A horn goes off just as he hits the button on the loud mixer… Did he hear the siren? With his finger not on the pulse, but the pulse “button,” is he gonna miss the start of the heat? A semis heat, at that. Pipe Masters, for God’s sake! Now I’m pacing, barely managing my nerves…He pours the contents (a magnificent, work of art frigging smoothie, by the way) into a jar for Oli, and I reach out to grab the blender…“Hey, man, let me rinse that out for you.” He says, “No, man, it’s cool. I got it.” Inside, I’m panicking, more than a little… “AAAGH…!! GET YOUR BOARD, BROTHER!”
He turns off the faucet, sweetly gives my protein-shake-sipping girl a hug, then glides to the back porch. Grabs his board, checks the fins, scratches at the wax, then literally jumps through the hedge onto the sand and heads up the beach. The crowd on the shore converges on him and then separates as he gets closer because he’s running and ain’t stopping ’til he hits the water. As he paddled out through the big surf just as the starting air horn blasted, I remember praying that he would win that heat. Which he did. I was so grateful. I didn’t want it to be the smoothie’s fault.
[Kelly Slater] surfer, visionary, ambassador, inventor, friend. A true global citizen.
eddie vedder
Every surfer draws waves. We drew them in English, history, and biology class when thinking about what was important to us. And everyone has their own unique style of illustrating on a notebook page the vision that is in their head. In the early nineties, I wanted to test this theory and started asking all my surf friends to draw “their” waves in my composition book. Rob Machado’s was smooth and liquid, perfectly groovy. An exact representation of what you would expect from his pure-stoke approach. Ross Williams, Taylor Knox, Kalani Robb, etc., all contributed, turning a college-ruled notebook into a gallery of the masters. I remember Kelly going off into a corner and getting really focused on it. I didn’t see his interpretation until the next day. It was not what I was expecting.
It was dark. Made of pencil stabs and dashes. Jagged lines and sharp edges. And where all the angular lines would meet up and intersect, it gave off a sense of something heavy and foreboding. There was nothing inviting or groovy about this one at all. I asked him about it. He noted the dark spots on the wave. These are the power points of the wave. Where many of us see a swell, a peak, and a curl, his brain was almost digitizing it into angles and lines, and the concentration of the lines were where the energy of the wave was gathered. An offering he would exploit. If this was common practice among the surf gods of yore, or his other peers, it was certainly not something I had been presented that way before. Elucidated perfectly with the detailed sketch of dark matter. (I couldn’t locate the original image, but I’ve attempted a mini-version of it for reference.) But yeah, he sees things different. Slightly different dimension. Freakish.
Surfer, visionary, ambassador, inventor, friend. A true global citizen. Musician. I have said many a time, if only I could surf as well as he plays and sings, I would be fucking ripping. But that’s not gonna happen. ’Cause he’s a freak.
If you revered nature as religion and worshipped at the feet of our planet, being inside the barrel would be an audience with the Pope. I’m guessing K. S. has spent more time in the green room than most musical legends have been on stage.
And looking down his own barrel, the barrel of his camera lens, is another legend in Todd Glaser. A true friend. Compadre. Collaborator. Capturer. Custodian. Knowing that Kelly has had such an original crewmate and travel partner, artistically documenting this extraordinary existence, is truly something to be grateful for. A parallel visionary and a sometimes singular witness. Catching the moments like rare waves. Photos they can share. From which we may learn. Either awaken our stoke or increase it, most definitely. Inspired by images. Because some of this shit you wouldn’t believe.
And, for the record, all I have written here is true. Enjoy.
Excerpted from Kelly Slater: A Life of Waves (Rizzoli, $55).
LUCAS BRAVO wears POLO RALPH LAUREN x NAIOMI GLASSES.
Feature image: South Pacific, 2017.
This story originally appeared in the Fall Men’s Edition 2024 issue of C Magazine.
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