Kelly Slater sends son of poor Brazilian fisherman the ultimate compliment, “One of the gnarliest things I’ve ever seen done on a wave!”

"Absurd," says Yago Dora.

It’s been four years, roughly, since I picked my way through a maze of serviced apartments in Margaret River, six o’clock of a cool May evening it was, for the honour of spending two days with Italo Ferreira. 

As clear as if it was yesterday, I recalled the way his mango-sized deltoids popped as he squeezed his hands together. I remember, also, Italo showing me the Instagram post from his then-girlfriend Mari which he’d examined prior to their first meeting and that made him fall in love with her.

Mari sits astride a chair in white bikini bottoms. Her yellow hair waterfalls over brown skin and a red brassiere. Both eyes are closed and Mari’s tongue laps at an imaginary milk bowl in the sky.

History, of course, tells us that Italo, the son of a penniless Brazilian fisherman, won the world title that year, putting Medina on the end of his boot at Pipeline. Two years later, he became surfing’s first gold medal Olympian although no longer with Mari at his hip.

A likeable man with good intentions and as flashing and as relentless as a rapier. But for a knee-injury at J-Bay it’s likely his volcanic energy would be all over Lower Trestles, doom for Filipe etc. 

Out of the game and with no contests for almost six months, Italo has been showering his almost three-million fans with posts, the latest a barrel to boogie-dodge to the gala performance of a frontside 540. 

Kelly Slater, fifty-one and a pioneer of aerial drama, describes it thus. 

“First off, this is one of the gnarliest things I’ve ever seen done on a wave. And I’m baffled that Italo Ferreira could do a year on Tour and not make the Top 5.

 

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