Mark Foo was born in Singapore, the son of a State Department intelligence officer—possibly a spy; Mark never knew for sure—and the family was always on the move. A couple of years in Hawaii when Mark was in grade school, then Maryland, then at 14 Mark more or less ran away to Florida's Gulf Coast, before returning to Hawaii where he finished high school. A fairly unmoored life to that point. But after graduating high school at age 16, it was fully focused, mission-driven, nonstop surfing. Mark was good at switching gears. He was nothing if not calculating, and figured out how to make a career riding waves even though, talent-wise, he was a step behind Oahu's post-Free Ride stars like Hans Hedemann and Buzzy Kerbox. Or put more bluntly, Foo's big-wave rebirth in the 1980s had a lot to do with the fact that he failed as a world tour pro—his best year-end rating was 66th, in 1979. But he was so good in heavy surf, so natural, that he would have gone in that direction eventually.

The things that upset people about Mark—that he was a media slut, a sell-out, always hustling—never bothered me. He was doing what he had to do to stay in the water full-time. It always seemed obvious to me that his love for surfing drove the whole show. The sponsor deals he cut, the photographers he cozied up to, the steady hum of self-promotion—Mark was buying hours of water-time, plain and simple. Maybe it depends on how you define "sell-out." He slapped a giant Michelob sticker on his board? Had a glossy four-color resume printed up? Shrug. As Tom Curren said, pretty much all of us are whoring the sport out to one degree or another. Surfing professionalism was still in its wobbly first stages when Foo got in the game, and it wasn't going back, and he played his hand well—better than a lot of top-ranked pros, in fact. I always took it as a point in Mark's favor, actually, that he had to work so hard to get what he had, and that he made no excuses for the way he pursued his livelihood.

Yesterday I dug out a hard copy of an interview Mark and I did in 1988, for an 

 Just of few quotes from the transcript made it to the article itself, and reading this for the first time in 25 years reminded me what a sharp, funny, slightly odd and highly self-aware person he was.

I'm a loner. I do everything by myself. Rarely do I go surfing with anyone else. In high school, I did all the time. But since surfing became my career, it's pretty much been just me alone. I mean, I know everyone, and everyone knows me, or they think they know me—but, yeah, I'm on my own.

Do you see a relationship between surfing and religion?

 my religion if you consider religion something we use to understand the incomprehensible. Or if it's something we use to comfort ourselves with the idea of death. That's a huge part of religion, right? People think, "Well, I can accept dying now, because I'm going to pass on to Heaven," or be reincarnated, or whatever they believe. They have comfort in dying. It's a scary thought, that you die and that's it. So, for me, I find comfort in the idea of death in that my life was already been so worthwhile. Surfing has made my life so good that I can accept dying. Or rather, I can accept dying while I'm surfing. Because if that's how it happens, then I'm in pursuit of the ultimate experience in life. And life has already been so good, I've been able to experience so much through surfing, that I can die happily. Riding waves has given me that comfort.

I hope so. If there is, I'm trying to live in such a way that my next incarnation will be better. In the meantime, though, just in case there 

 a next life, I'm trying to not miss out on anything in this one.

Sure. Nature is so awe-inspiring that is beyond words. The setting we get to play in—the ocean and sky, waves moving and breaking—to me this is the most obvious manifestation of God.

You've talked to me before about surfing being your destiny, in a way that also sounds kind of religious.

Being able to do what I do in big waves is so unlike me. That's where the whole "destiny" thing comes from. Surfing feels like too much of a calling for me to think that I just stumbled into it. There has to be some bigger purpose; God or the universe or whatever you want to call it.

What do you mean, that surfing big waves so unlike you?

I'm not brave, basically. I'm scared most of the time. I can't go up and say hello to a stranger. I'm scared of driving over 70. I'm scared of heights, or even just standing on top of my roof. In fact, I was scared of the ocean when I was young. I was never much of a swimmer, I was never big in athletics. And surfing big waves is combining all those things I'm scared of. Oh, and I don't gamble. People consider me a big gambler, doing what I do, but really I do it in a pretty conservative way. Also, I don’t get off at all on the macho side of big waves. Kenny [Bradshaw] loves that image; the super macho guy. Whereas I stay at home and kiss my cat and watch TV. I’m such a pansy.

 remember that Shaun [Tomson] dropped in on me on the very first wave I ever caught there. And I ate shit. But I was deeper than Shaun!

That one huge day at Waimea in 1985 kind of put you on the map; you've said that was destiny as well.

For sure. There's no way I would have been out there, in the position I was, if it wasn't for destiny. I'd been out of the water for ten days, sick with the flu. That morning I drove to Haleiwa to get the mail, drove back, and Waimea looked perfect. I went home and grabbed my board, thinking, "I'm sick, but no way I'm missing this." So I paddle out and within 15 minutes that whole thing happened [read 

]. Whereas Kenny [Bradshaw] was out the whole day, and he'd some gotten great, ridden huge sets, but . . . (voice trails off). The point is, had I gotten there 20 minutes later that whole deal would not have happened for me.

What I think is interesting, and I know this kind of pisses Ken off, is you only took off on one wave that day, and you ate it.

Well, that was one of the biggest waves ever attempted, you know?

Is there any possible way you could have made that wave?

No. That wave was not ridable. I did everything right. I was totally committed, got in early, I had a low stance, technically I was doing everything you're supposed to do. I was riding that thing, and it became an unrideable wave.

The magazine made it sound like I was claiming to have ridden the largest wave ever, but that's not what I said. I said I didn't think anybody had ridden a bigger one. I also said that those of us who were out there had faced the biggest wave ever faced by any surfers.

The big closeout set before you got your wave, you mean?

Ken, I think. Or at least he was the most pissed off of the guys I talked to. Ken's got a temper. I had to calm him down. I repeated exactly what I'd written, and we sort of came to an understanding.

Where do you think all the anger was really coming from?

It came from all those guys thinking I was moving in on their territory. I took off on that wave and wrote the article, and it ended up being a really big deal in the media. I mean, that day all by itself helped rekindle a new interest in big waves. And while I was the newcomer out there [at Waimea], I was getting all the attention. So I get it, from their point of view, you know?

How is your approach to surfing different from Ken's?

At Waimea, he just goes animal, I get super-excited, too. My blood boils and my head pounds and I'm jumping out of my skin to get down there. But when Ken's in a Waiea mood, he goes almost into a frenzy; like a shark, but waves instead of feeding. I know I catch my share, too, but I'll hold back a little bit.

That's right. He is. Ken will study it a lot more than I will. He'll watch it, he'll time the sets; he gets real analytical about the whole thing.

None of that. I walk over and see if it's breaking. If it is, I run back and get my board. I do the same stretch every time I surf, then paddle out. Then I'll come in, go home to eat, read the paper, make some phone calls, then run back down there and go out again.

How about the way you each approach big surf?

The thing both of us are trying to do at Waimea is to turn earlier and get an off-the-top in. That's the whole thing. And to do an off-the-top, you have to be able to turn mid-face. But the thing about turning early at Waimea is you're usually free-falling on at least part of the drop; you're just trying to get over that ledge. By the time you get it all together, you've kind of outraced your chance to get back to the top, so you just finish out the ride. It's a short wave, really. But if you can turn early, you can get back up there. Now, right away, I had an advantage here because I had more sophisticated equipment than Ken did. This eats him up when I say it, probably because he makes his own boards. But I took three fins out at Waimea before Ken did. Chris Lundy was first, then me, and my thought was to try and surf Waimea the way I'd surf Sunset. More turns, more performance. Ken had switched to tri-fins everywhere else but was still riding singles at Waimea. And those big single-fins really limited the lines you could draw.

But it's not just you riding different boards that bothers him.

No, no, of course not. Look, Ken has paid way more dues out there than I have. He's put in way more time. He started riding Waimea I think in 1974 or something, and I wasn't out there regularly until 1983. But the thing is, I was taking off on big ones almost right from the beginning. And I was turning.

So Ken and some of the other older guys felt you hadn't paid your dues?

[Shrugs] I guess, probably. But I just didn't see that I had to pay any dues, or at least not the way they might have seen it. I'd already built up to it. I'd already paid dues at Sunset and Pipeline. I was ready for Waimea. What really happened, I think, is it all just took Ken by surprise. I show up at Waimea and big things start happening. He'd been riding Waimea all those years, even when big-wave riding had sort of lost its sheen, and all of sudden I come along and things start happening. Now, some of that was luck. I was in the right place at the right time, for sure. But I also believe that I had a part in making those things happen. Anyway, just when Ken starts to get some real attention for what he's doing out there, now there's another guy out there too. And not just me, but Brock Little. And Brock and I are making more money, too! I know what kind of money Ken's sponsors pay.

Do you recall meeting Ken for the first time?

Of course. It was in the mid-'70s, and I'd heard about him already. He had a huge chip on his shoulder back then; he was a mad dog out at Sunset, punching guys, biting their boards, chasing them out of the water. He's totally mellowed out, since then. Completely. But anyway, around 1974 me and Bobby Owens starting surfing Sunday a lot, we figured out the lineup, and we're getting some good waves, and Ken didn't that. We were edging in on his turf. So the first thing I remember about Ken was him shooting us a lot of stink-eye.

But do you remember actually meeting him?

This is funny, how we actually met. It was in 1977, and the waves at Sunset were just perfect—big huge perfect tubes. By that afternoon, I'd broken two boards, one of mine and one of Bobby's. So I went in and was sitting in Bernie's yard, all bummed out. Kenny walked over and lent me one of his hoards. Even though he didn't like me, he let me use one of his boards! [Laughs] It wasn't one he particularly liked, this big, thick blue thing, but there you go. Even with the bad vibes, when it came down to it, he still did me a big favor.

I've always kind of thought you guys needed each other.

For sure. For sure. I think I've been good for Kenny, I've pushed him. The rest of the bearded guys, they're all straight-liners. They're doing the same thing now, riding the same way, as they did 10 or 15 years ago. Kenny has kept pushing forward, but the crew he surfs with are riding Waimea the way it's always been ridden.

You once said that Ken has a make-it-look-hard approach.

That's true. I got a lot of comments on that. Everybody was shocked I'd said it, but they all agreed that it was true.

Everything's just sort of tightened up, he's fighting it more. It's hard to describe, but it's there even in his facial expression. Brock can ride a huge wave, and—it might not look easy, exactly, but it can look really casual, even fun. It's never like that with Kenny.

I think, when I'm out there having a good day, that nobody surfs the place better than me. Waimea is my spot. I'm out there doing turns. Last winter I did a full roundhouse, up into the hook and brought it back around.

Ken does turns, too. Brock does, Booby Jones does, too.

Kenny's coming off the top, yes. And Kenny takes off just as late. But I don't think he connects his moves as well as I do.

I love surfing with Brock. He's got the attitude. He's like me in that he treats Waimea like any other wave. He wants to surf it the way he surfs Chun's or Haleiwa.

Ken puts Waimea in a special category, it seems like.

Yes, he really considers it a sacred thing.

Where are you and Ken at these days, in terms of getting along?

I've never been at odds with him. Those feelings all come from this side. Which I kind of get, because he felt it was his thing that was being taken. He was the big-wave guy. But I've never trying to take anything from anybody, ever. I'm just doing my thing. I'm not patient, I know that. But I'm not trying to steal anything from anybody, especially Ken. I mean, look, if I had to pick one person to go with me in huge surf, I'd pick Kenny. He has the most knowledge of anybody out there. He knows what to do for the two of us, in fact. I have total faith that if I eat it, he's gonna be watching to see if I come up. This winter I'll be looking to get into the heaviest situations of my life, and I want to go out with Kenny.

No, you're right, that's not really true. In my early days here on the North Shore, like the first time I went out at big Haleiwa or the first time I rode Sunset—yeah, I was afraid. What I mean is, I've never once been afraid to a point where I froze up. Never enough to hold back. Even when part of me is scared, another part is happy as a lark. And when you're really happy, it really takes the fear away.

Even when it's maximum size, closeout sets, that kind of thing?

I see these waves and I want to ride them. I'm supposed to be riding them.

Lots of things. So many. I'm kind of a pansy, actually. I'm really afraid of rejection from girls. I'm afraid of AIDS. I'm afraid of driving fast, or being in a car when somebody else is driving fast.

But no fear at all during a really bad wipeout?

I've flashed on dying, for sure, while I'm being held underwater. And that strikes a chord, yes. That's fear, I guess. But it happens so fast you almost don't really have time to be scared.

Getting that close to death—is that part of the attraction, do you think?

I have no desire to die. I never think about it while I'm getting ready on the beach, or while I'm paddling out. At that moment underwater, there's usually no buildup, you get there so fast and all of sudden you realize, "Wow, this might be it." But at the same time you're fighting for your life, so you don't really have time to think about it. You're surviving.

The main thing is to hold onto consciousness. If you go unconscious underwater, you don't have a chance. So the first warning is there are stars. A lot of people see stars. That can come from hitting your head really hard against the water, or just from the hold-down itself. That's real common, to see stars, it's almost basic, and I'm used to it at this stage. What's heavy when you start going away from the stars. The stars are all lit up and bright, and then it goes to grey, then brown, and as it gets darker and darker you're just trying to make sure you don't go to black. If it does, you're not there.

You grew up in a time when there was a lot of drug use.

I used to smoke pot, a long time ago, back in elementary school. Then later, it got too strong! No, I don't smoke now. I'm confused enough as it is.

About 30 grand from surfing, not counting all the reimbursed expenses, like travel and boards, phone bills and other things. Beach Towne pays for my clothes. Blue Hawaii even pays for my health insurance. All my overhead is covered by running the vacation-rental business.

But part of the money you get comes from the media stuff you do, not just surfing.

Yes. With Blue Hawaii, I direct their advertising campaign. For a radio ad, say, I'll write the copy then drive into town and tape the spot. For Beach Towne, I write their newsletters. I get $300 a month for writing my North Shore News column, my sponsors pay me for going on Wave Watch [a local cable TV show].

I don't draw any money from the rental thing. I do it for my family. Basically, it's supporting the whole family, but it's not supporting me. Do you know about the Chinese social security system?

The Chinese social security system is the kids take care of the parents. And ultimately my parents will be my responsibility. Normally, it's the first-born son, but my brother's a doctor, and at this point he's still way in debt and working his ass off. Meanwhile, I wanted to be a pro surfer. The hardest way in the world to make a living, right? But I knew that eventually I was going to have to take care of my parents and do so in a comfortable fashion. So I've to figure out a way to make it all work. I started the bed and breakfast eight or nine years ago, as now my sister and her husband have moved over to help out. So it's all going pretty well.

The business makes enough to support your parents?

Yeah. All the montages are paid for. I've been supporting my mother for the past year and a half.

Ha, even though she used to call you a "surf bum!"

MARK FOO INTERVIEW: "SURFING BIG WAVES IS COMBINING ALL THE THINGS I'M SCARED OF" (1988)

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