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It was February 2012, and I had just graduated college when I flew to Australia to film the Nike surf team as they kicked off their competitive season. I was staying with Dusty Payne, who was in the prime of his career—it was a dream trip. A few days in, Dusty mentioned we’d be getting dinner with Andy Irons. Three-time world champ. The Andy Irons. Over dinner, plans were made to head down the coast the next day to hunt for waves. I had grown up watching every video part of Andy’s and couldn’t believe I was going to get the chance to shoot him. We spent hours driving through little coastal towns, checking spots. We weren’t finding much, but I didn’t care. I was along for the ride, soaking it in, listening to the guys swap stories and laughing as Andy skipped every song on his iPod halfway through. After a gas station lunch of meat pies and Bundabergs, we finally found a fun little beach break. A few waves in, Andy and Dusty traded boards, which meant nothing I shot would be usable for sponsors or mags. But I had to laugh, at least I was there. Years after Andy’s passing, I went looking for the photos and footage from that day. Heartbreakingly, the photo above is the only one I found. I still have a stack of old hard drives that don’t boot, and I’m holding out hope that one day they will and one will have this day on it.
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