I didn't eat the heart shaped fruit the coffee lady gave me. Just couldn't. It was slowly rotting by my bed this morning so in the half light I went and buried it under a breadfruit tree with a silent prayer like it was an old faithful dog.

The surf had been thundering away all night but it was hard to see what exactly was going on until the boat got in the line-up. It looked gloomy and ragged with black squalls lined up to windward. The first sets stood up black and square and both Jeremy and Heiarii wanted nothing to do with them.

From close range the mind can't help imagine paddling into one of the sets. Yet when the reality of one of those square sucking beast becomes apparent a cold rush of heart pumping adrenaline flows through the body like electricity.

Jeremy held his ground as one of those black monsters reared on the shallowest knuckle of reef. People in the boats held their breath as he took off under the lip, time itself slowed to a crawl as he got in under a huge guillotine lip, pumped once in the cavern and deep-throated the heaviest wave I've ever seen paddled into. Flores was swallowed by that beast but that wave will now define his career trajectory.

Heiarii had been tormented by the spectre of these death-draining sets, and then seen Jeremy huck into the wave of the year. His body language was inconclusive, you got a clear sense he was out of his body, in some strange realm of fear where his body was refusing to obey his brain. The next set appeared, rearing on the knuckle and it was if the whole pride and blood language of Polynesia roared in Heiarii's soul: "Go! You must go!"

Heiarii took three paddles but the beast picked him and smote him from his board, pitching him from crest to trough with a sickening fury. He disappeared for what seemed an eternity before his head appeared in a maelstrom of roiling whitewater. Skis rushed in to pick him up and as they whisked him past me I saw his face clearly. He wore a death mask: eyes rolled back, mouth agape gasping for sweet and life-giving oxygen.

The water patrol and his team worked on him frantically, trying to coax some life-force back into him like a prize-fighter given a standing count on the bell. They were calling his name, "Heiarii! Heiarii!" But he was gone. Gone.

Somehow he managed to paddle back to the line-up under his own steam, but he caught no further waves. I've got no idea how a man could regather his nerve to surf Teahupoo again after a pounding like that. A malevolent Teahupoo devoured one of its native-born children in the opening heat of the day.

Our boat pulled past Mick Fanning and someone yelled, "Hey Mick, you win your first round heat?"

"Yeah, I'd fucken hate to be out there right now," he said with a grimace and not a trace of sarcasm. Amen brother.

Ricardo Dos Santos showed a tonne of both old school mettle and advanced goofy-foot technique. Your correspondent has seen plenty of Santos in the freesurf sessions. He's mild mannered on land but one of the guys showing true desire in the water when the thick ones come. I haven't seen Taj surf out here, he stays a fair way from Chopes and seems to surf it seldomly. Freesurf sessions are crucial in figuring out the complex matrix of wave shapes, directions and where they will hit the reef. More importantly the freesurf sessions act as a constant confidence barometer. A single session, a single wave will see confidence rising or falling. Constantly rising confidence or the ability to get the barometer moving in the right direction again quickly after a confidence drop is paramount to success. Taj seemed uninterested in the sets and Santos advanced easily. He will be a threat to Slater in solid conditions.

Ace is one guy whose confidence barometer has been well in the black this campaign. He seemed utterly unfazed by the Flores/Williams heat which had seemed to send shockwaves of disbelief and fear through the channel. With perfect composure, and the kind of take-off positioning that can only come with time on the mat here at Chopes, Ace put on a clinic. He stabbed one monster right through the heart with a perfect entry that made it look so, so easy. That scored a 9.93 and despite a fair effort from Gabe Kling demonstrated with brutal clarity the reality of the post-Andy Irons epoch. Early 2000's Teahupoo effectively culled the field of true contenders to a handful and only Kelly could challenge Andy in Tahiti. This contest will do the same and those who are unable to meet the challenge will suffer the same fate as the also-rans of the early 2000's. Owen Wright will not be one of the ones left behind. Melling may be. Kerrzy will not be...but we'll get to that in a sec.

All eyes were on Parko vs. Simpson. Parko was having a go, charging some mid-sized bombs but struggling to find an exit. Twice he went around the long way on a ski after getting dry-docked in the lagoon. Simpo took the smaller waves but made his waves. Then a bomb reared deep and dark on the knuckle. Parko turned under the axe and sketched one of the heaviest drops of the day. From my perspective, it seemed that there was a micro-second of internal hesitation where he seemed he wouldn't make the drop, and this caused a slight bobble at the bottom and loss of board speed. He recovered to pull into a thick, deep one but failed to emerge. In an instant the thought rushed in: Andy would've made that. Then almost immediately the consequences of that thought: That was a World Title wave. It may or may be, not but when the year is tallied up that wave will need to be accounted for. Please inspect it on the heat analyser.

Josh Kerr illustrated a Teahupoo truism which had been outlined by Slater at the opening press conference when I asked him if he intended to ride small boards on the big days. "Well", he said "there's only a tiny spot you can take-off on out there so it doesn't make much difference".

Kerr told me after his emphatic win against Bede that he felt he could ride the 6'2" he rode in 15 foot surf. Josh obliterated in one glorious day of deep tube-riding and super late drops his rep as a small wave air guy. His heat against a rampaging Julian Wilson who stands on the right side of the new historical divide was sublime. Both traded super late drops and technical tube-riding in a building swell that saw some solid 8-10ft surf.

Flores showed his ability to absorb punishment and maintain bravery and composure in heavy water is rock solid in his victory over Cory Lopez. Lopez had a wave of a lifetime opportunity but a behind the foamball ride ended in wipeout. Flores was magnificent today.

My boy Wilko distinguished himself in his heat against Alejo Muniz taking a heavy reef hit before eyeballing and snaring a deep one. "Man," he said "I pin-dropped and thought I'd got away with it then - boom! I smashed the reef. I thought I was opened right up and when I saw the damage I thought: fuck it, I've got to get barrelled now." Wilko is bruised and cut a little worse than first thought.

By the last heat of the day the long period energy was drawing so much water off the reef there were waves that were borderline unpaddleable. Kai Otton showed his mastery of the heavy left with an opening ten point ride and ended the contest for Ace, who deserved better and will maintain his World Tour momentum. The Tahitian Navy had called a Code Red and were stalking the harbour ready to clear the water. Tomorrow will present some interesting possibilities as glory hungry tow surfers run up against French-based red tape. Expect some angry confrontations in the channel.

It was the epic day that Pro Surfing had waited a long time for. A cleaver of a day that will define the reality of the next epoch. Whether that becomes a New Age Of Slater or some other, as yet undiscovered beginning remains an unanswered question. Hats off to the ASP for staring down the small days to wait for this. Surf fans of the world salute you.

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