Traveling to Hawaii was a big deal. Not only because we had to cover the entire continental U.S and then a quarter of the Pacific Ocean there, but it a big deal because Hawaii was the said to be the birth place of surfing.
Our first drop in to celebrate our arrival to this surf mecca was Waikiki and no better place to stay than the "The Pink Palace of the Pacific" or the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. This picturesque establishment with a Spanish/Moorish styled architecture, a ninety plus history that has played host to the big names of music and sport but more importantly was the door step to the infamous waves of Waikiki. It was here back in 1917 that supposedly the great Duke Kahanamoku caught a wave at an area known as Castle’s and surfed for more than a mile on a skegless 16 foot long-board. Its said that he surfed the wave through to Queen's and then to the edge of Canoes, where beach boys gave tourists rides in outrigger canoes. Basically right where we were staying.
By evening we were sitting seaside sipping on a ceremonial Mai Thai while soaking in the nostalgic melodic saturation coupled with swinging hula hips dancing among the fiery Tiki torches. Pink sky born hues intertwined within the idyllic sounds of old songs of Hawaii’s yesteryear, helped showcase the timeless act of “He'e Nalu”. Single surfers, tandem surfers, surfers in canoes, and surfing dogs all frolicked atop the wispy breakers that seemed to be filling in with the tide.
As I drifted back to the memories of me scanning across the pages of surf magazines where vintage art Deco illustrates of old travel celebrating carnival time in the Pacific. Titles such as Honolulu mid-pacific carnival February 1914 illustrating the young Duke K . surfing Waikiki. Other titles such as “Play grounds of the Pacific with painted back drops of a single surfer gliding casually across sea and clouds with the always present monument that is Diamond-head creator in the back ground. All these impressions gave the viewer a warm feeling. A feeling and desire to one day be of witness to such fine scenery.
We tasted what waves were on offer and while neither we nor anyone since had most likely caught a wave like the Duke, we did join in to the comradery of just being present and surfing the waves on the cities edge. But it was October and an early intense storm off Aleutian Alaska was scheduled to be arriving by the next evening. Surf was expected to build in heights of upwards to forty feet. This being the case, it was time to face reality in that, Pops and I resided in the third tier when it came to riding waves. It was an addictive past time and one that we had no place out in what was now descending south upon the islands.
The witnessed oceans energy could have given light to good portion of the planet if the technology was on offer. Beyond huge bands of energy relentlessly slammed into the shore line known as the “seven mile miracle”. Puena Point off Haleiva , cranked out unruly hammering right handers, while local fisherman cast their luck in hunt for the giant Ulua. Waimea Bay on occasion roared to life and gave great views of the brave men charging “The Bay”. But it was Pipeline that I wanted to see. Large third reef wash overs kept the pod of daredevil’s on guard, letting an occasional wave of consequence be ridden by these soldiers of the sea. The drama and all the energy wrapped in it was enough for even the bystander to be left buzzing for days.
We promised to return again someday, and perhaps be better equipped to deal with the North Shore on some sane level. Until that time, it was back to chasing waves in heights more to our comprehension.
