Carissa is the Best (and she just won)

With a neon-pink board under her arm, Carissa climbs down the cliff to the base of Honolua Bay. Despite the howling wind and rain, she is impossible to miss. All eyes are on Carissa. Is she going to show out? Is she finally going to take her title back? Compared to the double-overhead sets rolling through, Carissa should look small. But she doesn’t. Her aura is huge (maybe it’s just the yellow jersey). She looks coiled– ready to strike. Carissa dominates. The big surf suits her. Despite a slow start, Carissa catches the two biggest waves of the heat and tears them apart. Her pink board cuts into the end bowl like a knife, or maybe an axe. All of our questions are answered. The surf is too gnarly and Carissa is too good to lose (yes, I know Steph beats her in the semi’s. Literally who cares?). The best surfer wins the World Title and balance is finally restored back to the universe.

As is the case in all sports, the best person or best team does not always win. It is often the underdog, or the one that gets hot at the right time, that steals titles and championships. It’s admit-ably entertaining to watch these upsets go down. But this year, the surfing world let out a sigh of relief as Tyler Wright knocked out Lakey Peterson in the Quarter Finals, thus crowing Carissa Moore as World Champion for the fourth time in her career. So why do we feel this way, when the favorite does what she needs to do and wins? Would we feel similar if the fin-busting Lakey won her first Title? What if Caroline Marks became the youngest Champion ever? Would we feel this same itch of excitement? The same uprising of stoke? I’m not sure we would– at least not to the same extent.

So why Carissa is so darn like-able? Off the top of my head, there are a few reasons I can think of: her bubbly personality, her wide smile, her smooth style, her barrel riding ability, her on-camera relatability, her humility. While all of these things are true, I believe that there is something more. Perhaps it isn’t even that deep (unlike this barrel at Cloudbreak). Maybe it’s a bit more simple. Maybe we all just understand that Carissa is the best surfer on tour, and we naturally feel a sense of relief when the best is recognized for being such. In a world where first-time politicians can be elected as President of the most powerful nation in the world, and where parents can buy their children into “elite” universities, it feels good to know that people are still rewarded for working hard and being the best.

For the twelve years since her groundbreaking feature on Quiksilver’s Young Guns 3, Carissa has been labeled by many as the face of Women’s Surfing and she has not let us down. There is something to say about this. With the early onset stardom and the curse of constantly exceeding expectations, Hawai`i (and soon the world), would look onto Carissa with hungry eyes, like proud parents of an academically successful child. It is easy to imagine how one could slip into an anxiety-ridden state. Or, even worse, not reach the ever-raising bar set by those around them. From barrels at Kaiser Bowls to Pipeline, airs at Kewalo Rights to the Surf Ranch, Town to Jaws, Carissa continues to reach the unattainable bar and, in turn, raise it a bit higher.

The last time I shared a lineup with Carissa was a two winters ago. I was surfing Kaiko’s off of Black Point, the protruding rocks in the south-east corner of Diamond Head caught a wide-swinging west swell, turning the normally out-of-season spot into a head-high playground. For about 30 minutes it was just me and a few close buddies. Then someone pointed towards the black rocks at the shore. It was Carissa with her bright, multi-colored surfboard, accompanied by her coach, jumping into the water. Shortly following a World Title loss to Tyler Wright, Carissa and her coach were running practice heats. It was my first time in the water with her for a few years and she was absolutely ripping, sending spray fifteen feet out the back of every section she hit. Carissa was grinding. The mood quickly changed. Our lively banter quieted down and my friends and I stopped back-paddling each other. We took the backseat and watch Carissa go to work. We picked off in-between sets when we got the chance.

This is a side of Carissa that is often overlooked. The side outside of competitions, interviews, and social media. This was Carissa in her zone. Sprinting out to the lineup after every wave, cussing after falling on the inside, not saying a word to anybody in the lineup. It’s easy to write off the success of people, particularly those who are women, as luck or genetics. But Carissa challenges this idea with grit and tenacity only found in the most elite athletes. Anyone who has ever surfed with Carissa understands her dedication to the craft. You don’t need to be close to see her honed-in focus as her bottom turn transitions into a lip-demolishing snap. It’s nearly impossible to miss the churning white-water than follows behind her kicking feet as she sprints back out to the lineup. Onlookers can do nothing but give respect, which leads to admiration, which turns into support, which evolves into un-wavering fandom.

When Carissa wins, we all win. She is Lebron James if he never went to Miami. She is Barry Bonds if steroids were still cool. She is Megan Rapinoe without the– well, actually, I guess Carissa is a lot like Megan Rapinoe. She reminds us that the best get rewarded for being the best. And that we, human beings trudging aimlessly through our lives towards something distant, may also be rewarded too. We just have to be the best.

Congratulations, Carissa. We are so stoked for you. And for the first time in a long time, the world feels fair for the moment.