In the Eyes, the Soul is Mirrored

It was Saturday, July 17th 2010. The iconic Jeffrey's Bay was playing host to the Billabong Pro. Football fever gripped South Africa with the hosting of the 2010 FIFA World Cup, and that passion was spilling onto the packed beach and temporary grandstands that looked out over the iconic 'Supertubes', a right hand point break that ran over the reef like a steam train when the swell arrived.

Kelly Slater, the greatest of all time, was chasing a 10th world title, and he had set the competition alight in the early rounds. He had looked unbeatable, simply sublime. Slater had an almost mythical air about him, a presence that was difficult to explain. It could be seen in a small handful of sportsmen, men like the late Ayrton Senna, Muhammed Ali, Usain Bolt and Christiano Ronaldo. The crowds were drawn to them, and they found it difficult to move around freely in the public space without being the focus of attention from autograph hunters, photographers and 'selfie' seekers. Being aware of this, I had wanted to try and find a good candid shot of Slater, out of the water, but without getting into his personal space. It was not an easy call.

In Round 3, Slater was drawn to face local wildcard Sean Holmes. It was a dangerous matchup for Kelly. Sean knew the local conditions like the back of his hand, and was building a reputation as being a giant killer, but the way Slater had been surfing meant it would be hard to see him going down to a wildcard.

In building 2 meter waves, Slater gave Holmes the first wave of the heat, and right there, the script was written. Ironically, it was to be the best wave of the entire 30 minute heat, Holmes scored well, and mother nature showed her sense of humor by practically flicking the switch off at Supertubes, for almost the entire heat.

As the clock counted down, a surreal scene played out. Slater sat on his board, staring at the flat horizon, in a state of absolute disbelief. Occasionally, he cupped his hand and slapped the ocean in frustration, whilst on shore, the crescendo of cheers grew louder by the minute, as the South African fans started to sense that Holmes may have pulled off an upset. On the competitors pavilion, Kelly Slater's crew sat stone faced, staring at the backline as if willing an 8 foot set to roll in and give the 9 time world champion passage to the next round. But it didn't happen.

The commentators began to count down those final 10 seconds, and they were joined by a cacophony of vuvuzelas and drums, and like that, it was over. The beach erupted, the sporting gods that had brought the greatest football teams on the planet to South Africa had given a young South African wildcard the vision to bounce the world's greatest surfer out of the competition.

The crowds rushed towards where Sean would leave the water, and Kelly simply stayed at the backline, and began to paddle away from the competition site.

In 1988, on the streets of Monte Carlo,  Ayrton Senna crashed his McLaren at the Portier corner with an unassailable lead, to lose the Monaco Grand Prix. He was absolutely furious with himself, and he left the scene, trying to internalise and deal with the disbelief. These athlete's, mentally, are cut from a similar cloth, and kelly Slater paddled far away from the maddening crowds, to just exit the water. Much like Senna had done, I believe he just needed to internalise the defeat, and try to make sense of what had happened.

After the mayhem that had followed the hooter to end the heat, I had ignored Sean, having seen the potential for my image that could tell this story. I sensed what Slater's plan was, and with the other photographers either focused on the South African winner, or not up to running fast over thick sand with a large lens and a tripod, I put my head down and ran like the wind. It was far, and I barely made it, exhausted. Without being in Kelly's space, I got close enough just as he paddled the final meters, and stood up.

I focused immediately and pulled the trigger, before bringing my camera down, not wanting to be a paparazzi.

My image had told me the story. Kelly had literally just lifted his face from the ocean. J Bay was one of his favourite waves, and he had been unstoppable until the ocean turned its back on him.The salt water, waves and spray had burned those famous, piercing eyes, and his expression showed the disbelief of what had happened. He removed his leash, and stood there, oblivious to me. Angry, disappointed. I think he appreciated being left alone, and he spent a few solitary moments dealing with the emotion that needed dealing with.

Then he walked back slowly, and as he neared the competition area, the fans returned en masse. Photographs. Selfies. Autographs. And once again, Kelly smiled, posed,  signed, and smiled

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