“Bravest thing I’ve ever seen” Taj Burrow almost dies saving two drowning surfers in wild rescue 

"It was hideous. Crazy surges, whole ocean drying out on dry rocks. Looked like a tsunami was coming—12 foot easy."

As mentioned many times on these pages, the Western Australian Taj Burrow, a two-time runner-up to the world title and a man whose skin may be as leathery as a sow’s purse, is about as kind and balanced as a pro surfer might reasonably be expected.

His surfing, you might remember for it’s been a decade since he retired aged thirty six, an amalgam of Griffin Colapinto and Filipe Toledo, all rock and cock, leather straps, spanking, rimming, ass eating, drama and attitude. 

Well, we almost lost ol Tez, two years off turning fifty, recently after an open-ocean rescue almost went tragically wrong down there around Yallingup in south-west Oz.

In a ten-to-twelve-foot, sixteen-second period Indian Ocean swell Taj and his little pal Dino Adrian, were doin’ tow-ins at Supertubes there at Canal Rocks having decided against joining the crowd carnage at Gracetown’s North Point.

Then, above, a rescue chopper hovered and beckoned for ’em to follow with their ski to a joint called Bears, ten clicks north.

And, here, Taj takes up the story, and as recounted on the excelled Barrelled podcast.

About an hour into the session, a chopper buzzed right over us, the crew waving all sorts of hand signals out the door. We didn’t understand at first—thought shark?—but nah, they were giving us clear signals: follow us, tracking past with his hand pointing the direction.

We figured, alright, maybe we’re rescuing someone. Hoped it was just around the corner at Yallingup, but nah—right up to the Cape. “Fuck, are you kidding? Bears right now?”

Ten-kilometre ski ride through a solid 4-5 metre, 16-second swell. We went for it, realised it must be serious— we could save someone’s life. Put our heads down and powered all the way to where the chopper was hovering outside Bears.

There were three people clinging to a surfboard way out in the ocean. What the hell happened? One guy had broken his leg rope and got swept out to sea. The other guy surfing with him went as support, but it was humongous out there— the most treacherous rip I’ve ever seen next to this bombie. Then this chick jumped out of the chopper—don’t know why, made it more complicated, three in the water instead of two. Her radio wasn’t working, chopper buzzing above us, can’t communicate with them properly.

The girl in the water said the sea rescue boat is coming, everyone’s fine — I was, like, why do you need us? But one guy, Ben, looked stressed and pretty exhausted. He’d been battling the seas for a while, no surfboard, looking rattled. He wanted to get to the beach.

Me and Dino, and I had the sled thankfully, first time in years I’d put it on, whipped him in and dropped him on the beach.

I know the terrain super well there—whipped him in, got him on the beach, did a U-turn next to the shore.

It’s a very treacherous channel; I know where all the bombies are. Turned around… oh, we are fucked. Most savage-looking boulders and dry reef and rocks and ledges popping out everywhere. It was hideous—no way we’re ever getting back out. Crazy surges, whole ocean drying out on dry rocks. Looked like a tsunami was coming—12 foot easy. Really intense, doubling up, and how exposed those rocks and ledges were.

I found a little tight lagoon, cutting donuts in there. Huge whitewaters came through. Got the oldest ski, you have to lift the lever for reverse, trying to go forward in reverse—staying in this little pool, little zone deep enough for the ski. Getting pinballed on rocks, trying to stay in the deep bit, looking for a lull.

Trapped, surrounded by reef and rocks—no way to get back out.

I know this reef so well, but today was weird, the wildest I’ve ever seen it.

Anyway, by this time the cops were on the hill, chopper overhead, sea rescue boat, two sea rescue skis.

Why the fuck did I come in here? Everyone’s safe but me and Dino are stuck getting bashed around on the rocks. Everyone was fine except us with the ski.

We contemplated what to do. I kept getting pinballed on rocks. A big double-up set came. Ski wouldn’t turn left, not turning at all. Couldn’t turn to nose into the whitewater—hit us side-on, knocked us both off, threw us on the rocks and sand.

Grabbed the ski, manhandled it over to the one sandy patch there was. Thinking, fuck, we’re in a very bad position here—probably going to lose my ski.

I was contemplating trying to push the ski back in the water, looking for a little bit of depth, get a run-up and shoot the ski up the beach high and dry as I could. Fuck-all sand at this spot, tide coming up, swell pumping—ski wouldn’t have lasted the night.

I got back in the ski and started riding it again—realised it’s not fucking turning left at all. Got under it: the circular steering bit at the back had shattered, all the bolts snapped off. So I was like, fuck, we’re going to have to beach this thing—even if I don’t see it tomorrow.

Lining up my runway—go shoot up on the sand.

But! Then! One of the first lulls we had: fucking go! Whole time, I had been thinking, should it be me and Dino both go? Do we ditch the surfboards. Fucking scary—didn’t want to do it by myself. But the ski would be so much lighter and easier to manoeuvre. Scary without surfboards, no vest, no flippers, nothing. If I fucked up, I’d be pretty fucked—so big and so gnarly.

Jumped on by myself, fucking went for it. Sucked me down in the reef, it went under, popped up, had to dodge a bit of rock. Started driving, real gnarly—gnarliest thing I’ve done, never come close to anything like this in my life.

Pedal to the metal.

Once I got over that ledge, fast as the ski could go—shot all the way out. Huge closeout set. I had a death grip on the throttle— then at the last minute realised I had to back off the throttle or I’d be launched to oblivion.

I punched over this big set, out the back. So grateful.

If that thing had broken—if I had to turn—fuck. Committed to going straight, went at it as fast as I could.

What we dealt with was off its head—no way you’re getting anything through that.

Pinned it back to the boat ramp. Dino got dropped in the chopper at the carpark, threw the ski back on, and that was our day.

Epic story, yes?