When the announcement was made that Medina had one the world title, the beach went wild. It was utter pandemonium. Amid the cheers, tears and congratulations, Medina was chaired up the beach through the chaotic crowd. Security struggled to maintain order as the Medina camp slowly made their way to the competitors area. Gabriel eventually climbed onto a raised platform where he gave an interview on the live broadcast feed. Meanwhile, 20 yards away, I spotted a jersey-clad Josh Kerr struggling to navigate through the hordes of fans in order to reach the water. Kerzy might as well have been an anonymous tourist – the crowd simply wouldn’t budge to let him start his heat. The entire beach had apparently forgot about the fact that the Pipe Masters contest was still going on. Even more bizarre, Medina was actually supposed to be surfing in a heat at that exact moment. As the heat clock continued to wind down, Medina casually made his way back to the water where one lone competitor was sitting in the lineup. Despite missing the majority of his heat, Medina still posted a solid score, defeated the other surfer, and advanced to the next round, I can’t decide whether his decision to celebrate and give interviews during a live heat was cavalier and completely reckless, or if it was the most gangster thing I’ve ever witnessed in a surf contest.

The entire surf community mourned the passing of Buttons in 2013. He was a true original and a style master. The day I took this photo, I had just spent the afternoon shooting with him at Sunset. We ended up back at his house for some lunch. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Buttons appeared with a huge grin wearing this pink wig. I snagged one frame and then he disappeared back inside his living room. It was no secret that Buttons had battled with substance abuse and had endured some legal problems in the past. But he had managed to put those issues behind him and he seemed to be in a very content and positive place in life. At one point I found myself alone with him in his kitchen. Out of the blue, he looked at me very contemplatively while he candidly confessed, ‘even with all of the trouble that I got myself into, I never did anything bad to anyone else…. I only hurt myself.” Later that afternoon I found myself singing karaoke in his living room with his wife Hiriata and legendary shaper Reno Abellira. It was a very surreal day. I particularly love this picture because it perfectly captures the warm spirit that Buttons always radiated whenever I got to shoot with him.

Brock Little was one of the very first people that I met on the North Shore. I had been given his phone number from Pat O’Connel at Hurley. I explained to him that I was shooting a documentary project and that I would love to take some pictures of him. He was very gracious and welcoming. He told me to meet him at Foodland at 7am. I had no idea what to expect. I ended up driving into the hills above his house to spend the morning with him cutting down his Christmas tree. I watched as he scaled a massive tree, cut the top of it with a chainsaw, and then drug it back up a steep ravine to his truck. The morning Hawaiian sun was intense, and the legality of what we were doing was questionable. It felt rugged, illicit, and exhilarating. This was my first 48 hours on the North Shore. I remember thinking to myself how lucky I was to be experiencing such an authentic North Shore adventure.

Tourists don’t get to see this perspective often. Being in the lineup at Pipeline while looking back at the beach is something that only the initiated are privy to. It’s even more uncommon to get to experience it with only two other people in the water. I had the privilege of shooting photos from the water-patrol craft during the final round of The PipeMasters. The entire lineup was closed to the public except for two competitors. At one point I looked over and saw this lone girl swimming in the lineup while causally blowing bubbles. It felt like a dream. Just moments later, I nearly lost my camera when we had a harrowing encounter with a rogue wave. Capturing this photo was a surreal isolated moment in an otherwise nerve-wracking afternoon.

John John Florence had just won the Triple Crown – his second in three years. But judging from the look on his face, he viewed this win as a Pyrrhic victory. John John’s coveted Pipeline Masters win had been snatched away from him by Kelly Slater in the waning moments of their heat. His dramatic last-minute upset is something that we’ve witnessed Kelly execute against countless competitors, sometimes with seemingly sadistic timing. But this heat had felt different. For a brief moment, it appeared that John might actually be able to trounce the master and steal the pebble from Kelly’s hand. Not this time.

John John stood on the manicured lawn above Pipeline. His hand-carved Triple Crown trophy was at his feet and a vibrant wreath of victory flowers rested in his hair. He was flanked by friends, family and sponsors. He deserved to be proud. He deserved to be reveling in his illustrious performance. He wasn’t. It was a bittersweet moment.

Just minutes earlier, Mark Cunningham as one of the first people to greet Kelly at the water’s edge when he won the Pipe title. The bottle of champagne that Kelly chugged was actually handed to him by Mark. Despite this, Mark is one of the few people that had the credibility, the history and the warmth of spirit to be able to toggle between the Slater and Florence camps so quickly and effortlessly after such a potentially divisive heat. He strolled up to John and gave him a heartfelt and compassionate hug. His embrace conveyed an untold measure of empathy and kindness. An unmistakably elated grin appeared on John John’s face, but only for a brief moment.