It's a lay day.

Papa comes into the house with fresh baguettes. He is ageless, built like a bull, as handsome as a young Charles Bronson. He doesn't say much, speaks with smiling eyes. That is enough. There is too much unecessary talk in this world. Not enough Papas handing you a Hinano at twilight with smiling eyes.

Your correspondent was surprised they elected not to run yesterday. The surf was head-high. In the afternoon I took a very long paddle out to the next pass down from Teahupoo. It's called Small Pass. Even from the shore we could see massive rooster tails shooting up into the tradewinds. It must've been close to a nautical mile, paddling into a crippling side-shore chop, all the while watching these huge chunks of water being thrown skywards.

It was Jordy. The wave is a wrapping, sometimes running left, funky and warbly with the tradewinds. Fun as hell and well overhead. A million different hues of blue in the breaking wave. A rainbow drifting across the mountain and Jordy hunting around the lineup, merciless, throwing so much spray a small rainbow lingers after every turn. On the inside section a huge, lusty backside full rote, so high bru. Somewhere up in the mau'a.

He catches anything, everything. He is omnipresent like a force of nature.

He's discovered something; a small fact you might say, but important nonetheless for sports fans. There is such an insatiable void in the minds of the judges that can only be filled with the visual spectacle of Jordy's surfing. It means he can catch any wave and be rewarded; for Jordy the usual rules of having to catch the best waves to win a heat have been thrown away. Exhibit A: his semi-final win against Bede in J-Bay, riding a one foot wave.

Competitors will be forced to accept this new reality, which is a natural evolution of the Slater Doctrine.

A few skis showed up and middle-aged men started doing laps, getting dropped off on the inside and taking everything. It was rude bru. But what are you gunna do. It's Tahiti.

So we paddled back to shore. It was a hella long way.

And Papa was there, shirtless, with smiling eyes which said everything necessary. You clink bottles with him.

Cheers Papa.

Now if I was a betting man I'd say the contest will run Friday, on a long range pulse which might hold through the weekend. Careers will be decided by split second decisions in conditions marked by incredible inconsistency. Contest director Egan will be acutely aware of this. Emotions will run high in conditions more playful than threatening. Such is life.

It's morning now in Tahiti, in the village of Teahupoo. Your correspondent can see the miti is glassy. There are waves on the reefs, headhigh and glassy. Waves you'd cut a limb off to surf at home.

The graceful aerial pirate of the high seas, the o'a, is circling terns in the lagoon, harassing them to drop their food. There is a lesson to be learned from the o'a, but is there a pro surfer astute enough to learn it?

We will find out soon enough.

Mau'a : mountains. Miti : Ocean O'a : Magnificent Frigate Bird. Steals food from other seabirds.