THE SEARCH FOR THE
SURFING UTOPIA
Every surfer,
if he or she sticks with the sport for a while, will reach a point where certain
questions will start coming out. They may not acknowledge them at first, but
they will be there and they will need answering sooner or later, usually later
for most of us. It’s part of the process of becoming a surfer, of finding
oneself.
Usually one of
the first ones is what is surfing? It is not just going to the beach with a
surfboard, paddling out, catching the first wave and standing up. That is just
the technical part. Surfing is much more than that, much more than just a water
sport. It is a lifestyle, a healthy lifestyle. Granted, we all see and hear the
young surfers getting drunk and doing drugs, but are they really true surfers?
They can surf, but are they surfers? I have my doubts. So then the question
begs to be asked: what is a true surfer?
A true surfer doesn’t necessarily have to be a world-class athlete and
professional quality surfer. He or she doesn’t have to have all the “right”
moves and doesn’t have to act flashy and eccentric out of the water. The
trendiest boards with the proper decals are not needed. I have seen some of the
best surfing done on boards that are so old and ragged that King Kamehameha probably
used them
So what then
is a true surfer? To answer this question correctly we must start at the
beginning of surfing, the Mecca, the alpha of surfing…Hawai’i. We must
understand the roots of the sport, thus the culture that started it. Surfing started
in the Islands centuries ago as the sport of kings. Even though anyone could
surf, there was a definitive hierarchy in the line-up. This hierarchy involved
the royalty order of the surfers; it involved the social order of those
involved and also the age of those brave enough to dare the waves. There were
even surfing beaches reserved for the ali’i, the royalty. Caught surfing there
if you were not ali’i, probably meant certain death for breaking a kapu, a
royal decree or order.
Surfing
nowadays in Hawai’i is pretty much the same as before, except there are no
death sentences for surfing the wrong break. But to be able to observe that,
one has to be of open mind and heart and definitely live in Hawai’i Ne for an
extended period of time, not just a surfing season of October to March. One has
to immerse oneself in the culture and lifestyle of Hawai’i. Having lived in
Oahu and Maui for years and having associated myself with true Hawaiians, I
have experienced the true surfing, the surfing of the kings, and the surfing
lifestyle in its true form.
So what is the
modern hierarchy in the line-up? It is an unwritten rule that one must learn
and follow as soon as possible if one wants to surf in Hawai’i, and in most
parts of the world for that matter. One cannot just paddle out and catch the
first wave that comes along, ahead of people already there, no. One must first
sit in the line-up and observe who is who and who is doing what. The only
exception to this is if you are an exceptionally good surfer. Then you can jump
on the first one and let it rip. The problem with this is if you do that and
wipeout on the first one, then you can expect not to be afforded any respect,
and that means waves, from then on. Having learned this rule at a very early
age, it saddened me, and sometimes made me laugh, when I saw a J.O.J. (Just Off
the Jet) haole enter the lineup and immediately drop in on the first wave, wipe
out and then sit the rest of his session on his board because he was not
allowed any more waves. That was the best-case scenario. If the infraction
occurred at places like the west side of Oahu, he was given a serious lesson;
but if the sin was committed at the North Shore the haole would sometimes loose
his or her life in the treacherous big waves.
At most spots
I have surfed over the years I have always noticed that there is a group of
people considered locals. These locals have the right of way on the waves,
after all, it is their spot. Now, whether one believes in localism or not it is
inconsequential. I am not talking about the bad localism, the kind that if you
don’t belong they will slash your tires at best or beat you up at worst. I am
talking about the kind where you were born at or near the spot and it is your
home break. Within this group there is also another order: the old-timers. They
have the right of way over everybody else. And that is out of respect. What
gives them this respect, one might ask? Their time in the water, their
knowledge of the ocean and their respect for it, gives them that respect.
That is the
essence of being a true surfer. One must spent time in the water, essentially
“pay your dues”. By spending time in the line-up, one learns all its
intricacies, all its different moods, for every break is different. Every swell
is different; no two waves are the same. So understanding the break is a must.
One must also know the ocean in general, and that can only be achieved by being
out there, by observing the ocean and learning all her moods. Above every thing
else, one must respect Mother Ocean. She is a very fickle and temperamental
Lady. That does not mean one should be afraid of Her, just give Her the respect
She deserves. The ocean can be as calm and flat as a lake one minute and in the
matter of hours she can be a violent woman spitting anyone out that dares to
intrude in her domain. I know, I have seen it, I have been spat out.
These
“old-timers” have done all of this. Not only that but they live a healthy
lifestyle. They have been surfing most of their lives, probably since they learned
to walk. They are in excellent shape and take care of their bodies. They are
Watermen. Not only can they surf but also when there are no waves, one can find
them in or near the water. Whether they are in an outrigger canoe paddling for
the local club or diving for fish, or paddling to stay in shape, or just
hanging out at the beach, these men are in or near the water, still paying
their dues and learning about Mother Ocean; for Ocean Education is never
ending. Mother Ocean always has something to teach us.
I started
surfing at an old age, by Hawaiian standards, of 16. These things I had to
learn the hard way. There are no guidebooks, no “Surfing for Dummies” manual.
No web site on the Internet can teach you these things. I just paid my dues and
was always respectful of the locals and “old-timers” and listened when someone
tried to teach me something. I started when the short board revolution was
barely in its infancy, therefore my brother and I jumped right on it. For two
decades I searched for that ultimate surfing utopia: being a true surfer. I
lived in Hawai’i during my time in the Navy. Every year gone by, every birthday
celebrated, I thought I had achieved my goal. However, the more I thought I had
reached I, the more I realized that I hadn’t even begun to understand it.
So what was
this quest for the holy grail of surfdom I was searching for? What was driving
me? And more importantly why? In the early summer of ‘94 I was posted back to
Oahu, after nine years of forced absence from my adopted and beloved Islands.
The previous four years had been very crucial in my life, from going to war and
becoming a man, to having lost a child. Certainly defining moments in my life.
And so I reached Oahu on April 1st, 1994, April’s Fools Day, with a
new and different outlook on life and myself. I was still inwardly searching
for surfing utopia. I arrived without boards, without even a decent pair of
surf trunks, decided on finding my surfing roots. That’s it, my surfing roots.
But how to go about it? Very shortly after arrival I was at a military beach,
watching an incredible south swell, the first one of the year as I recall, when
this wahine approached me and asked me if I knew how to surf. I told her I did
but was board-less. Without batting an eye she offered me hers. I couldn’t
believe my ears, since I wouldn’t even let my brother use my board, let alone a
total haole boy J.O.J. Anyway, I took her up on it and picked up her 8’6”
mini-tanker and hit the waves. I don’t know what happened next but something did.
I felt transformed, something in me told me I was on the right path. I had not
been on anything bigger than a 6’6” in years. My surfing roots had taken a hold
of me, I knew, I felt it. I immediately set out to buy a long board, and after
that it was a long slow process of learning to surf again. Yes, learn all over
again. I had to forget the flashy, snappy, aggressive short board moves and
learn to become fluid. I had to learn from the Masters. No, not Dora and
Edwards and the likes (although certainly they are masters), but from the local
boys, from the watermen doing this for decades upon decades. I had to learn to
walk the board, to hang five (and eventually ten), to soul arch and I had to
learn how to become a surfer.
The last four
years in the Navy I spent them surfing, or so it seemed. I was in the water at
every opportunity; every excuse I could muster was used to get my okole wet. I
went thru many boards. I even had my first custom board made to my
specifications. Part of the process. One has to learn your instrument, in our
case, the surfboard. So I spent hours on end talking to the braddahs on the
beach about surfboard design and what would work for me. I was growing, I was finding myself. I
joined the West Oahu Surf Club, where I made many friends and was one of the
few accepted haoles. Also met legends like Aunty Rell Sunn and Ben Aipa. I
wouldn’t consider them as close friends, but I had the fortune and privilege to
have met them and spent time with both of them. In Rell’s presence you cannot help but feel the great aloha
she had for surfing and her people and the keikis. It was a sad day when she
passed away at such a young age, when she had such a bright future ahead of
her. I met Ben because a friend was getting a board shaped by him. And through
some chats I found out that we had another bond, he was part Puertorican, small
world. Ben is a big man, a barrel of man, not to be messed with in or outside
of the water. But inside the façade of bad boy, he is full of aloha also. I
really liked him from the moment we met.
And so I left
military life to start civilian life. I got a job clearing the island of
Kaho’olawe of unexploded ordnance, so I moved the family to Maui. And that’s
where my real surfing education took off. Before, I felt like I was under a
protective blanket of the military. Now here I was on my own, and if I got
myself in trouble in the water, the Navy would not be there to rescue me. I
really had to be careful. Although Oahu is where the entire surfing circus goes
to during the winter, I considered Maui the big leagues for me. Do or die, make
you or break you.
In Kaho’olawe
I worked mostly with Hawaiians, which I really loved because it gave me a
chance to learn more about the culture and the language, but only because I
asked, not because they came out and asked me to learn. The braddahs took me
everywhere and I went with them. Maui has many world-class surf spots, but
there are three that will define you and establish you as a surfer. That is
right, you have to establish yourself to be accepted by the “Boys”. In no
particular order they are Honolua Bay, Ma’alaea Harbor and Ho’okipa, with the
latter also being the windsurfing capital of the world. Ma’alaea has the
distinction of being one of the fastest, if not the fastest wave in the world.
Honolua is known for its size and unforgiveness. When it’s big, it’s one of the
spots that send shivers down my spine, and many a days I have stayed on the
shore and watched the big boys go out, and the stupid ones that think it is like
any other spot. These poor souls soon find out that it is not, simply because
they are not even able to paddle out. These are the three spots one must surf
and be seen surfing to establish oneself. I did out of fear of not being
recognized by my peers.
And surfed
them I did, every chance I got. I fell in love with Honolua, tolerated Ho’okipa
and just barely surfed Ma’alaea. Yes, it was fast, very fast. And then
something happened. Something I was not expecting or looking for. First, I got
some respect. Local surfing friends introduced me to their friends as someone
that charged: “Eh Brah, dis haole can charge, he get’em, he’s da kine!” Doesn’t
get any better than that for any surfer. It was music to my ears. The second
thing that happened was that I felt peace with my surfing world. I didn’t feel
the need to search anymore. Had I found the Surfing Utopia? Had I found the
Surfing Holy Grail? Honestly, I don’t know, all I know is that I didn’t feel
the need to search, I had peace. If I had found it, what was it then? The
recognition? The peace? I don’t know.
After Maui I
took up another job, one that takes me traveling all over the world, usually in
landlocked countries, far away from surfing and far away from the Islands. I
have now been surf-less for many years. I miss the Islands, the surfing
lifestyle and the water. I miss the smell of wax in the morning, and the
swallowing of a bit of salt water after a wipeout. I miss the fear you get when
you round the bend and see that Honolua is huge and you may not be able to
paddle out. But I am at peace, and when the time comes for me to surf again, I
will be there. I will be ready. I will be back in my surfing utopia.
