1/17/01
O'ahu - North Shore
At about noon today Neal was writing that the Mike Stewart International
Pipeline Pro was canceled; I was just pulling into Ehukai parking lot,
excited about my chance to see the last day of the contest. As I walked onto
the beach, I tried to estimate just how big the waves were. They were big.
There was no one out ... strange to see the Pipeline with no riders.
Lifeguards had spiked the sand with 'beach closed' signs and yellow tape was
strung out to mark the line not to be crossed. No one looked eager to cross.
I had rushed to get to the north shore -- even if I didn't get to see the
meet, I was hoping I might be able to surf myself -- now I just sat and
watched the waves.
The beach was narrow -- and steeper than usual; the waves were dragging out
the sand. The huge area inside the first break -- all white water -- looked
like a frothy field of snow, from the break to the sand. The sets came, one
after another -- no down time. Often there would be huge explosions and
flumes of white as the break hit the hidden reef. Three breaks out -- far
beyond where I had ever seen anyone surf -- white tips of roiling water slid
over the peaks of dark shadowed lines. I sat for a while, then knew that I
needed to see this from a different perspective.
Someone just the other night had told me to go up to the heiau to watch the
big surf. I headed up, breathing in the eucalyptus and cool air on the way
up the mountain. Puu O Mahuka is hard to define. It is a place that makes my
heart beat slower; makes me walk more slowly; makes me feel sounds through
the soles of my feet. It is only a couple of fields with rock walls. I was
glad I had come alone -- and that there was no one else walking on the trail
at the moment. I passed the heiau slowly, lifted my head, and then moved on
down the trail to find the lookout. I reached the survey 'bunker' that is
just above Waimea Bay. I had the place to myself and sat on the hot cement
to drink in the vast panorama of the north shore.
From this point (you probably have all seen this view in films/pics) you can
see beyond Sunset to the left, down to Waimea, over to Pupukea, and to the
right is Log Cabins, and Pipeline. Out in front is the horizon and the vast
ocean - moving, undulating, with all the mixes of blues, greens, indigo. The
sun was hot with few clouds. I wondered at that -- how we had what would be
seen as 'storm surf' in any other setting, and here we were, hot, sunny,
enjoying a light breeze. From this height I could still hear the explosions
of waves. There was even the dull background roar that never stopped, like
airplanes approaching in the distance. Once in a while the breeze would
bring up the crackling voice of the lifeguard's loudspeaker on the beach
below. Idiots would be trying to wade. Not a great day for the lifeguards.
My eyes focused on Waimea's outside break. There were the surfers. I could
see about 10-15, including some spongers. They rolled over the swells,
looking oh so fragile as the lines moved in. It seemed that they backed off
the waves over and over. I was anxious to see someone actually take one.
Finally, one moved from the group ... into a wave. He appeared to pause at
the lip, then he speared his board straight down, and then swept into a
dramatic angle ... just a breath ahead of the massive, thundering foam that
was far, far higher than his minature figure. He suddenly looked much
smaller than he had sitting in the lineup. As I gasped, I realized others
had joined me. This spot is well known by surfers.
The men who appeared were focused on the waves outside, talking in what I
could only guess was Portuguese. One wanted to leave, "The swell is down";
the other was hypnotized. I began some small talk with the one speaking
English; he was remarking on the spongers who had just caught a wave
(looking more like a swarm of three bugs than surfers). I asked him if he
was in town for the Mike Stewart contest; he said he was a judge. We chatted
about the great showing of the Brazilian girls in the contest. I had been
hearing about their fearless maneuvers all week. He noted that bodyboarding
has become very popular among girls in Brazil and that they have sandy
shorebreaks to learn on, unlike the reef breaks in Hawai'i. Later in the
afternoon I was chatting with a young woman from the north shore (she had
climbed out to the lookout to watch her dad taking the big waves below,
"He's the goofy foot who has this wide armed stance." she demonstrated
comically - and proudly ... lol!). I told her what the Brazilian man has
said, and she agreed. Even though she surfed, she said she remembers being
terrified of the reefs and rocks when she was little. She didn't think there
were very many world class women surfers who had grown up on the north
shore.
Shortly after the Brazilians left I was sharing my perch with a bunch of
chattering grom. At first they pretty much ignored me, which was fine, since
it gave me a chance to enjoy their effusive and completely unaffected boy
talk. "Whoa, sick! ... Look at that ... phat! ... here comes the death rows
... OH! F**K ... he's switching ... and back ... that looks like lines on a
notebook out there ... heh! college ruled ..." I was smiling as they went
on. Made me think all surf videos should have candid grom voice overs!
Near the end of the day I had my last conversation on the lookout with an
older Hawaiian man. He stood quiet for the longest time, just staring out.
He was in uniform, probably on work break. He seemed restrained -- not able
to completely relax into the timelessness of the moment. Out at the break, a
surfer on the shoulder of the wave nearly went over the top. He slid back
and his board spun vertically like a twirling fishing lure above the wave. I
noticed the man breathe deeply. I asked him if he surfed. "Not anymore ...
years ago ... long time ago ... ". I thought ... how sad.
I waited til he left, until I was alone again, before hiking back out past
the heiau. The low sun glinted through the feathery tops of the weeds; the
rocks mutely watched me pass. The distant thundering of the waves seemed to
quiet for a moment. As I drove back to town I knew I had to write to you
folks ... the ones who make me laugh when you chatter on like grom, the ones
who know how it feels to gasp from a cliff top lookout, or how it feels to
walk past a heiau, the ones who make me see the white ribbons of waves, ...
you, alt.surfing ... the ones who still surf.
Aloha me ke pumehana,
Süs
