SURF REPORT
20 September 2009
Surfing is a refreshing reward for six hours of carney-barker retail action on hot asphalt. $740 dollars in ones later at the end of another farmers market, most of the melons and tomatoes are gone. We sold 100 ears of corn. This market will never absorb more than one third of what I could bring to it. Maybe even one tenth if I bothered to saddle up. Olivia and I are happy to do it though and lucky because we know a lot of people do not have even this to fall back on. Phaneuf heads off early to climb in Tuolomne and forgets his last watermelon. Pisser is raring to go douse off in whatever ankleslapper reverie avails. The DIP sort of sucks, being a 1.4 from the 165 at 11, the pulse from Tropical Storm Marty, now spent, lightly twirling 540 miles west of lower Baja California. There is also a 3.8 from the 305 at 14. Some North/Northwest Alaskan action. We blow up the DIP on the iphone. We could see how that 305 is feebly wrapping into Rincon, indicating some energy is in the channel from the west. Rincon has an undersea canyon in front of it that will focus swell that will show on the DIP. The camera on C Street shows a lot of small lines in the cove, mostly from TS Marty, the usual crowd, modest wind, and a lowering tide. We’re going.
After we unload the truck. Pisser is already down at the store gathering kitchen refuse for his chickens. The store is in the middle of the afternoon change. K-Li and Kwinn are prepping for the dinner. I sit in the kitchen and tease them as I eat a leftover sandwich from the day before that is not the best thing to eat but its noble. Kwinn is bright and tan from his farm adventures at Mano. K-Li’s boyfriend went ex on her, but she doesn’t have to care that much. Greg and I escape with a modicum of management intercession in his Golf.
We detour to the Shell Shop on Santa Clara. I didn’t buy enough vacation gifts for my employees. When I came back into the store on Friday, Kenny the Guatemalan cook looked fondly at the shell lei I was wearing-the one I got from the Time Share presentation in Wailua, Kauai. I gave it to her on the spot and claimed to the other girls that I had more necklaces but they were buried in my suitcase. In Ventura, I buy 16 two dollar shell necklaces from the Philippines to engender the Aloha. The ones in Hawaii are all from the Philippines too, so what the hell. What counts is the aloha, not the provenance of the necklace.
Five people are out in the cove, where it’s a lot less windy. The tide is so low we walk way out on the eel grass and sand. There is enough wind for 8 kites to be skimming around on the Point. Stables is foaming along but cut up by the westerly. The crowd grows. It is the common mix of hot kids taking off fin-first, including the next Larry Bertleman, motley geezers, blonde honeys, a tubby guy in dreads, two stocky Asian girls, a Latin teenager, some struggling short boarders and anyone else who can’t care less about the NFL. Sets are waist high. The best waves are from TS Marty, which can get lined up for quite a ways down in front of the stairs at the condos. The 305 is bigger on the takeoff but grinds into mush rather shortly, but it does provide two peaks.
Eventually a mob starts beating on congas in the park near shore, and the drumming carries out onto the water. I am a bit giddy from some rides, so I begin a monologue out in the water about “ the primordial drums of Ventukong Island.” I don’t know where the King Kong reference came from. Maybe it is the blonde wahine with golden legs stylishly walking around on her orange cruiser as the congas pound. Maybe its because I recently saw the canyon where the latest Kong was shot on Kauai-with Naomi Watts, Jack Black, Adrian Brody and far too many horrible beasts. The many drums are loudly pounded competently ashore. Beat change! The blonde fox is too young to remind one of Naomi Watts, or Jessica Lange, but no matter, “all of us will protect the golden beauty from the vile islanders or the vicious Kong, should he appear,” I say to the bewildered Pisser. But then we are surprised to discover that we are not brave crewman of the Venture, searching for Kong Island but instead stealthy islanders who paddle together way outside to steal by far the wave of the day. A head high rogue! The next Larry Bertleman, maybe fourteen years old, surfing in his trunks, is riding far behind us as the wave folds over, but Greg and I are so far in front he is probably not even aware of us.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Aboard the Kahanu
SURF REPORT
15 September 2009
Up at six and down to Port Allen to catch the Kahanu to the Na Pali Coast. The Kahanu is a forty foot power catamaran with twin 250 outboard Yamahas on it. Kahanu is also the name of our captain. If an episode of the Simpsons is ever conceived with such a boat in the script, Captain Kahanu is definitely in it, and maybe even his mate, Kainalu. Both of them have Niihau blood in them, so they are powerdog Hawaiian on their game and for the most part very entertaining but still slight caricatures. Kainalu is a master of exaggeration. I never call him on any of it so he feels free to aggrandize even more. The sixty pound pigs he shot up mauka in the Pali and packed-out over his shoulder have become two-hunrit-poundahs. He says he rides forty foot surf, but even if its twenty that’s praiseworthy enough. In other ways, its obvious modern social sentiments have had no effect on him. Eighteen other tourists are aboard the Kahanu as we plow northwestward toward the steep northern cliffs of Kauai. Niihau and little Lehua are off to our left.
The key feature of my trip is the surf information that Kainalu is willing to divulge. Mile after mile (17 miles) he points out break after break by name and provides folkloricgems including point of entry secrets about some of them. His lack of circumspection is appalling. He obviously doesn’t know I write a famous surf blog.
“ The Robinsons didn’t like everybody going through their cattle pasture to surf Pikalas. They told their cowboys to warn people once, and then if they caught ‘em again to just tie them by the heels and drag them back to the road. Well, after awhile this was not popular with the authorities. So the Robinsons, they stuck some bulls in the pasture. That kept people out for awhile. But then somebody got hurt by a bull so they gave up and now people can go through the pasture. Its not too crowded because its too far out of town.”
“There you got Intersections, First Ditch, Last Ditch. Family Housings.” Nobody is riding any of this and its still shoulder high. On the way out of the harbor, two decent A frames are working in front of the jetty. I ask why they are not ridden (like hidden volcanic outcrop or some other menace).
“ Not beeg enough.”
We snorkel in the murky water on the north shore west of Haena, made cloudy by the now-declining north swell that was hitting for the past four days. The cliffs are steep. The caves are awesome, even if Mary J. Blige borrowed one for an MTV video and 007 flew a chopper through another. Somehow these commercializations diminish their grandeur-all of a sudden I am in Anaheim. Kainalu just got through telling us that only the queen could swim in these caverns and that the kings are buried nearby, but now we got vodka ads shot here.
On the way back, Captain Kahanu takes a long beachward jog inside at Point Mana, and you can see that those southern lefts, which are already makeable at waist high, should be pretty amusing walls with just a bit more size. Its probably a one hundred yard break, more if you can hook up the sections.
For the past three days the tradewinds have ceased to blow. I could have surfed the windward side, especially the far side of Anahola Bay at Unreals. Nobody was out and I didn’t want to to paddle all the way out there by myself. It might be the same at Family Housing. Nobody is out because nobody is out. Its not like I never surfed by myself at some spooky place. I solo’d out at Goat I sland a few times, and Poles plenty. But now its different. I would have gone out at Unreals or Graveyards if I was not by myself. How can you surf graveyards by yourself, after all?
Late this afternoon I paddled out at Hanalei for a farewell. A squadron of SUP masters out squashing the leftovers on the point, and some wahines on the bowl. It was a privilege to ride behind them.
15 September 2009
Up at six and down to Port Allen to catch the Kahanu to the Na Pali Coast. The Kahanu is a forty foot power catamaran with twin 250 outboard Yamahas on it. Kahanu is also the name of our captain. If an episode of the Simpsons is ever conceived with such a boat in the script, Captain Kahanu is definitely in it, and maybe even his mate, Kainalu. Both of them have Niihau blood in them, so they are powerdog Hawaiian on their game and for the most part very entertaining but still slight caricatures. Kainalu is a master of exaggeration. I never call him on any of it so he feels free to aggrandize even more. The sixty pound pigs he shot up mauka in the Pali and packed-out over his shoulder have become two-hunrit-poundahs. He says he rides forty foot surf, but even if its twenty that’s praiseworthy enough. In other ways, its obvious modern social sentiments have had no effect on him. Eighteen other tourists are aboard the Kahanu as we plow northwestward toward the steep northern cliffs of Kauai. Niihau and little Lehua are off to our left.
The key feature of my trip is the surf information that Kainalu is willing to divulge. Mile after mile (17 miles) he points out break after break by name and provides folkloricgems including point of entry secrets about some of them. His lack of circumspection is appalling. He obviously doesn’t know I write a famous surf blog.
“ The Robinsons didn’t like everybody going through their cattle pasture to surf Pikalas. They told their cowboys to warn people once, and then if they caught ‘em again to just tie them by the heels and drag them back to the road. Well, after awhile this was not popular with the authorities. So the Robinsons, they stuck some bulls in the pasture. That kept people out for awhile. But then somebody got hurt by a bull so they gave up and now people can go through the pasture. Its not too crowded because its too far out of town.”
“There you got Intersections, First Ditch, Last Ditch. Family Housings.” Nobody is riding any of this and its still shoulder high. On the way out of the harbor, two decent A frames are working in front of the jetty. I ask why they are not ridden (like hidden volcanic outcrop or some other menace).
“ Not beeg enough.”
We snorkel in the murky water on the north shore west of Haena, made cloudy by the now-declining north swell that was hitting for the past four days. The cliffs are steep. The caves are awesome, even if Mary J. Blige borrowed one for an MTV video and 007 flew a chopper through another. Somehow these commercializations diminish their grandeur-all of a sudden I am in Anaheim. Kainalu just got through telling us that only the queen could swim in these caverns and that the kings are buried nearby, but now we got vodka ads shot here.
On the way back, Captain Kahanu takes a long beachward jog inside at Point Mana, and you can see that those southern lefts, which are already makeable at waist high, should be pretty amusing walls with just a bit more size. Its probably a one hundred yard break, more if you can hook up the sections.
For the past three days the tradewinds have ceased to blow. I could have surfed the windward side, especially the far side of Anahola Bay at Unreals. Nobody was out and I didn’t want to to paddle all the way out there by myself. It might be the same at Family Housing. Nobody is out because nobody is out. Its not like I never surfed by myself at some spooky place. I solo’d out at Goat I sland a few times, and Poles plenty. But now its different. I would have gone out at Unreals or Graveyards if I was not by myself. How can you surf graveyards by yourself, after all?
Late this afternoon I paddled out at Hanalei for a farewell. A squadron of SUP masters out squashing the leftovers on the point, and some wahines on the bowl. It was a privilege to ride behind them.
Poipu
SURF REPORT
14 September 2009
We are going down to Poipu, but its hard to get Hanalei out of my head. But Poipu is on the rise and the north shore is going down. First we needed to attend the time share orientation in Waipouli we agreed upon in order to get a $165.00 reduction on our Na Pali Coast dive tour tomorrow. We checked the tour prices before and after: they did not run it up to set it back down to what people normally pay. Bruce the kiosk salesman said it would take ninety minutes. That was not the only lie we heard, but it was the only one that affected us.
We got a quick qualification run through from our personal salesgirl Kanae, a runner-up to some Miss Hawaii pageant a modest number of years ago, then we were ushered into a conference room for a power point lead by mainland-transplant saleswiz Jerry before a captive crowd of 44. The pitch was so deplorable that it is not required to provide much detail, other than that the script ended with Jerry’s last personal anecdote about his father dying of cancer before he could come to Hawaii. Hanky-time on the Hookilau. Someone should have been ready to shell out $27,000 at that point to honor Jerry’s dad. Maybe it would be one of the shill’s in the audience who already were members of Shell Vacations International. Time is slipping away, slipping away from all of us! ( I am not kidding, they named their shell game Shell!)
Jerry turned us loose and Kanae tried to close. She smiled massively and drew wondrous interlocking circles and made it all blatantly clear that they were giving us money. We tried to explain how we were not a good fit for their program. Wait! They even had rustic options! If they could only see the Lemke’s fish shack at Anahola, then they would see what we mean by rustic. Later we learn that the same time-share program is on the resale market for $9K, a swift reduction of eighteen thousand dollars. Denise, the ultimate blonde closer, knew before hand that she was dealing with a dirtbag. It said so on my questionnaire. Imagine I am sitting in front of the actress Kathleen Turner in her prime.
“ How was the presentation? Not too hard-sell?” (You mean, did we gag on the cancer story?)
“ Not really. I am in retail. I sell vegetables, and they rot a lot faster than condos.”
I thought maybe the thought crossed Denise’s mind to quip something like “ not so sure about that.” But she let the moment pass. There was a definite eyebrow raise and then an umpire’s look-off.
“ Do you grow the vegetables?”
“ Yeah.”
She knew then she was up against a guy who hangs onto his quarters. But she tried the money-back-guarantee gambit anyway. ( Nein, fraulein) Her final glance was sharp, but not spiteful. The down payment on her program was exactly the amount we had saved on our Na Pali tour. Whaddayaknow?
Poipu was calmer than two days earlier. Much less wind, but nothing like the glass on the windward side. We elected to go down there because the snorkeling was superior to Hanalei. Surf was running a little over head and pretty consistent. I paddled out at a boil called Left-Lefts that gave way to a fast wall. Two Hawaiian local girls were sitting on it like a bus stop. Every time the sets came through each one got a thick slab boulder-roil take-off and then one of the four haole onlookers could scramble for the left overs. Three sets of this and I paddled over to Waichai, which was mostly a left but occasionally broke both ways. I’ll call it Retirement Reef. No one out under forty. Such a ghostly gang of geezers you ever did see, all painted up with zinky sunscreen and cruising their logs. The good thing was that of the 11 people out only five were really riding. It was not big but the southern power coming out of deep water was way tumbly if you found yourself captive in the white water, and wondering about that coral inside. My abiding impression over the past few days had been to commit early in my mind to these things, and this tactic no doubt saved me from much grief. To one of the bigger walls I just said; “What the hell.” Did I mention yet how fast these waves are?
“
14 September 2009
We are going down to Poipu, but its hard to get Hanalei out of my head. But Poipu is on the rise and the north shore is going down. First we needed to attend the time share orientation in Waipouli we agreed upon in order to get a $165.00 reduction on our Na Pali Coast dive tour tomorrow. We checked the tour prices before and after: they did not run it up to set it back down to what people normally pay. Bruce the kiosk salesman said it would take ninety minutes. That was not the only lie we heard, but it was the only one that affected us.
We got a quick qualification run through from our personal salesgirl Kanae, a runner-up to some Miss Hawaii pageant a modest number of years ago, then we were ushered into a conference room for a power point lead by mainland-transplant saleswiz Jerry before a captive crowd of 44. The pitch was so deplorable that it is not required to provide much detail, other than that the script ended with Jerry’s last personal anecdote about his father dying of cancer before he could come to Hawaii. Hanky-time on the Hookilau. Someone should have been ready to shell out $27,000 at that point to honor Jerry’s dad. Maybe it would be one of the shill’s in the audience who already were members of Shell Vacations International. Time is slipping away, slipping away from all of us! ( I am not kidding, they named their shell game Shell!)
Jerry turned us loose and Kanae tried to close. She smiled massively and drew wondrous interlocking circles and made it all blatantly clear that they were giving us money. We tried to explain how we were not a good fit for their program. Wait! They even had rustic options! If they could only see the Lemke’s fish shack at Anahola, then they would see what we mean by rustic. Later we learn that the same time-share program is on the resale market for $9K, a swift reduction of eighteen thousand dollars. Denise, the ultimate blonde closer, knew before hand that she was dealing with a dirtbag. It said so on my questionnaire. Imagine I am sitting in front of the actress Kathleen Turner in her prime.
“ How was the presentation? Not too hard-sell?” (You mean, did we gag on the cancer story?)
“ Not really. I am in retail. I sell vegetables, and they rot a lot faster than condos.”
I thought maybe the thought crossed Denise’s mind to quip something like “ not so sure about that.” But she let the moment pass. There was a definite eyebrow raise and then an umpire’s look-off.
“ Do you grow the vegetables?”
“ Yeah.”
She knew then she was up against a guy who hangs onto his quarters. But she tried the money-back-guarantee gambit anyway. ( Nein, fraulein) Her final glance was sharp, but not spiteful. The down payment on her program was exactly the amount we had saved on our Na Pali tour. Whaddayaknow?
Poipu was calmer than two days earlier. Much less wind, but nothing like the glass on the windward side. We elected to go down there because the snorkeling was superior to Hanalei. Surf was running a little over head and pretty consistent. I paddled out at a boil called Left-Lefts that gave way to a fast wall. Two Hawaiian local girls were sitting on it like a bus stop. Every time the sets came through each one got a thick slab boulder-roil take-off and then one of the four haole onlookers could scramble for the left overs. Three sets of this and I paddled over to Waichai, which was mostly a left but occasionally broke both ways. I’ll call it Retirement Reef. No one out under forty. Such a ghostly gang of geezers you ever did see, all painted up with zinky sunscreen and cruising their logs. The good thing was that of the 11 people out only five were really riding. It was not big but the southern power coming out of deep water was way tumbly if you found yourself captive in the white water, and wondering about that coral inside. My abiding impression over the past few days had been to commit early in my mind to these things, and this tactic no doubt saved me from much grief. To one of the bigger walls I just said; “What the hell.” Did I mention yet how fast these waves are?
“
Ten Foot Hanalei
SURF REPORT
13 September 2009
A stay home day. Bea and Manu and Wayne, Manu’s husband, are coming for a barbeque at The Love Shack at Anahola. But I still have a two hour surf window. The wind is nearly dead so I go down toward Kapaa where I saw some people surfing earlier, but they are just hurtling around on the shorebreak. I go back towards Hanalei, stop on the cliffs at Anini, which has a sideshore wind on it. An outer break still has a left on it five hundred yards away that must be 10 to 12 feet, ( HI). I was going to look at Kalihiwai, but decide to skip it.
The bowl at Hanalei has fifteen people on it, few chargers, four women, five groms inside and a motley pack of mostly locals. There is a guy inside on a big paddle board with a sixty pound golden retriever on the nose.
“ From the beach I could not tell if your dog was a suitcase or the world’s biggest water housing.”
He laughs: “ That’s a good one. Never heard that before. I was writing to MacGillivray earlier. I’ll have to tell him that one.”
I guess he figures I am old enough that he can last-name Greg MacGillivray on me and I will know he is talking about one of the original the surf-film makers. This guy might be one too for all I know, but I don’t need his autograph.
There are a lot of waves so I get some. I know now why Rick Vogel loved to surf San Augustine- its just like Hanalei, except on a less grand scale. Ricky had a house here years and years ago. It’s the easiest big wave I have ever been on. If these things were breaking at Pitas there would be a twenty knot current running. It’s a fun 8-10m foot ( HI) wave with an obvious take-off, which swings around into the trade winds blowing offshore. If you are right on it you are going to get it and good. There is no waiting around so anyone can have whatever they paddle for. Plenty of aloha-etiquette.
I last surfed here in 1976 so I have to take some time to figure out what’s happening, who’s the what and where’s the which. Note that in 1976 it was head-high. The biggest set waves are double overhead, but even when you get caught inside its not that big a deal. There’s a modest amount of rolling about, but soon enough I am free and have ample time to get back paddling and clear the next one. Only a few people really want the big bowl, but its not life-threatening. Once you get down them they are the same as the smaller waves, no faster or intimidating. You do want to trim out a little more smartly, is all. In the end its more like an honor to be able to surf a place like that. Eight out of ten waves are perfect and the other two are better than Ventura Point ever gets. Hanalei is probably perfect 100 days a year. Its been firing for four days straight, and now that the swell is going down and the weekend is over I plan on paddling out there a few more times.
South Shore is still head high too.
I
13 September 2009
A stay home day. Bea and Manu and Wayne, Manu’s husband, are coming for a barbeque at The Love Shack at Anahola. But I still have a two hour surf window. The wind is nearly dead so I go down toward Kapaa where I saw some people surfing earlier, but they are just hurtling around on the shorebreak. I go back towards Hanalei, stop on the cliffs at Anini, which has a sideshore wind on it. An outer break still has a left on it five hundred yards away that must be 10 to 12 feet, ( HI). I was going to look at Kalihiwai, but decide to skip it.
The bowl at Hanalei has fifteen people on it, few chargers, four women, five groms inside and a motley pack of mostly locals. There is a guy inside on a big paddle board with a sixty pound golden retriever on the nose.
“ From the beach I could not tell if your dog was a suitcase or the world’s biggest water housing.”
He laughs: “ That’s a good one. Never heard that before. I was writing to MacGillivray earlier. I’ll have to tell him that one.”
I guess he figures I am old enough that he can last-name Greg MacGillivray on me and I will know he is talking about one of the original the surf-film makers. This guy might be one too for all I know, but I don’t need his autograph.
There are a lot of waves so I get some. I know now why Rick Vogel loved to surf San Augustine- its just like Hanalei, except on a less grand scale. Ricky had a house here years and years ago. It’s the easiest big wave I have ever been on. If these things were breaking at Pitas there would be a twenty knot current running. It’s a fun 8-10m foot ( HI) wave with an obvious take-off, which swings around into the trade winds blowing offshore. If you are right on it you are going to get it and good. There is no waiting around so anyone can have whatever they paddle for. Plenty of aloha-etiquette.
I last surfed here in 1976 so I have to take some time to figure out what’s happening, who’s the what and where’s the which. Note that in 1976 it was head-high. The biggest set waves are double overhead, but even when you get caught inside its not that big a deal. There’s a modest amount of rolling about, but soon enough I am free and have ample time to get back paddling and clear the next one. Only a few people really want the big bowl, but its not life-threatening. Once you get down them they are the same as the smaller waves, no faster or intimidating. You do want to trim out a little more smartly, is all. In the end its more like an honor to be able to surf a place like that. Eight out of ten waves are perfect and the other two are better than Ventura Point ever gets. Hanalei is probably perfect 100 days a year. Its been firing for four days straight, and now that the swell is going down and the weekend is over I plan on paddling out there a few more times.
South Shore is still head high too.
I
From Kalalau to Anahola
SURF REPORT
12 September 2009
Swell from the north is peaking. We went to Haena and hiked for a few hours on the Kalalau Trail. After observing dozens of muddy survivors returning from their fun-filled ordeal, florid and staring, some bleeding, Olivia suggested that we turn around. We had observed many fabulous views from the daring switchbacks on the Pali. Waves from the northwest bore down on the cliffs, foamed on hidden rocks below the surface and then rumbled ashore. At one point I had a corrugated moment, observing a sea so filled with large waves that there was no use determining where sets began. Twenty to forty big-uns were marching onto Kauai from the 335 at one time, curving this way and that as they felt the volcanic bottom, pitching suddenly to the east in a big horseshoe, or closing mercilessly on the void. You could hear the rumble when the wind stopped.
Going down the trail is harder than going up of course. At a point of subtle danger I lost my footing and fell headfirst into the lava boulders, ripping a good gash on the heel of my hand, a light contuded scrape on the upper left shin and eventually the most worrisome, a good rising bump on the right knee. This presented itself as a potential bummer later that evening when it swelled nicely and was painful to lie upon. The injury put a bit of doubt on the next day’s potential for surf, which already had been a bit delayed because of the thundering size of the swell. I applied a bit of the Neosporin on the angry open places on my skin and fell into reading more of Paul Theroux’s book about the Mediterranean which inspires more detailed reporting on Hawaii.
We are staying at Bea and Manu’s little place in Anahola. The locale of the cottage is truly fabulous, right on the reef, on the north side of Anahola Bay. Bea and Manu are second cousins by marriage. Their front yard has been erased year by year because a neighbor was allowed to construct a private seawall up the coast, and up current. They have lost a depth of one hundred feet or so, which is also known as over a million dollars worth of real estate. The money is one thing, the nuisance and unnecessary intrusion is another. The wall was permitted, surveyed, EIR’d and approved by those in the know-or the almost know, in 1981. That is a rather late date to be undertaking such foolish activity on the seacoast. Twenty years before the permit was written, the risk of altering the littoral, even modestly, by means of concrete, invites the peculiar action of the sea, when the littoral is modestly altered. The futility of such construction has been commonly acknowledged broadly. People have been complaining of the uselessness, and paradox, of jetties for decades, so what this error proves is a mystery.
12 September 2009
Swell from the north is peaking. We went to Haena and hiked for a few hours on the Kalalau Trail. After observing dozens of muddy survivors returning from their fun-filled ordeal, florid and staring, some bleeding, Olivia suggested that we turn around. We had observed many fabulous views from the daring switchbacks on the Pali. Waves from the northwest bore down on the cliffs, foamed on hidden rocks below the surface and then rumbled ashore. At one point I had a corrugated moment, observing a sea so filled with large waves that there was no use determining where sets began. Twenty to forty big-uns were marching onto Kauai from the 335 at one time, curving this way and that as they felt the volcanic bottom, pitching suddenly to the east in a big horseshoe, or closing mercilessly on the void. You could hear the rumble when the wind stopped.
Going down the trail is harder than going up of course. At a point of subtle danger I lost my footing and fell headfirst into the lava boulders, ripping a good gash on the heel of my hand, a light contuded scrape on the upper left shin and eventually the most worrisome, a good rising bump on the right knee. This presented itself as a potential bummer later that evening when it swelled nicely and was painful to lie upon. The injury put a bit of doubt on the next day’s potential for surf, which already had been a bit delayed because of the thundering size of the swell. I applied a bit of the Neosporin on the angry open places on my skin and fell into reading more of Paul Theroux’s book about the Mediterranean which inspires more detailed reporting on Hawaii.
We are staying at Bea and Manu’s little place in Anahola. The locale of the cottage is truly fabulous, right on the reef, on the north side of Anahola Bay. Bea and Manu are second cousins by marriage. Their front yard has been erased year by year because a neighbor was allowed to construct a private seawall up the coast, and up current. They have lost a depth of one hundred feet or so, which is also known as over a million dollars worth of real estate. The money is one thing, the nuisance and unnecessary intrusion is another. The wall was permitted, surveyed, EIR’d and approved by those in the know-or the almost know, in 1981. That is a rather late date to be undertaking such foolish activity on the seacoast. Twenty years before the permit was written, the risk of altering the littoral, even modestly, by means of concrete, invites the peculiar action of the sea, when the littoral is modestly altered. The futility of such construction has been commonly acknowledged broadly. People have been complaining of the uselessness, and paradox, of jetties for decades, so what this error proves is a mystery.
Friday, August 13, 2010
11 September 2009
SURF REPORT
11 September 2009
The volume on Kauai is way down from the thrum of Honolulu. Even in the country on Oahu, Honolulu is so potential that Kaaawa is not really far enough way. What is missing on Kauai is urgency. The driven sense of commerce, frantic fulfillment, response in haste, is revealed by noise. And even though that is coming, as it does everywhere, commercial captivity is delayed by the water surrounding the island. Now we are in Anahola and have nomadic chickens in the yard, but there were chickens wandering carelessly through the two acre parking lot in Kapaa where we stopped for a burrito at Verde. A chicken flew at our car for a hundred feet up at Haena yesterday, then at the last second the fearless red and black bird veered into the bushes and ran through a small opening that I figured it had targeted when it began its daring flight.
A northwest swell began Thursday, when we arrived in the afternoon. The swell is a little early in the season but not unheard of. It’s the second of the season in fact, underscoring all the El Nino babble. It was forecast to be eight feet from the 335, very north of west. Friday, in no rush, we went north towards Hanalei and observed the ocean. At Anini a long stretch of reefs close to shore held head high surf and a few surfers were on it. We poked into Hanalei town, loaded with vehicles bearing boards, parking near the beach was very hard to accomplish. We observed well overhead sets on the point break at Hanalei, lefts way over at Waikoko’s, rideable surf at Pinetrees and a nervous lifeguard wondering when to call a halt to the surf school scrambling in a suddenly serious shorebreak at Bathrooms. Getting caught inside should be part of the course of instruction, however, drowning is frowned upon.
I began to feel confusion and a multi-faceted reluctance about getting out there. I had no gear, and my last rental experience had been in Waikiki a long time ago, where a merciless kanaka rented me one and then another ( supposed replacement) waterlogged monster. Basically I was unfamiliar with dependence. In time I would overcome this challenge. The nice fellows even gave me free racks with the rental board, an epoxy Yater, and said I could trade up or down as often as I wanted to. They had 50 boards to choose from, and no clunkers.
From what I could see the crowd at Hanalei was more dense than my fickle taste and the surf was already at my limit, being 8 foot on the Hawaii scale, which means twelve foot faces. Besides height, which implies power, speed is an infrequently noted attribute to waves striking the north shores of the Hawaiian Islands. I was going to have to look for a peculiar spot to surf. Olivia and Dylan were interested in going for a dive, so we went up to Tunnels, famous for its reef fish, and a place I vaguely remembered surfing with Larry Craig in 1976.
Kauai County police do a brisk and continual business ticketing illegally parked cars on the narrow road through Haena. Lifeguards already have the BEACH CLOSED signs up at 150-200 foot intervals. Tunnels is ten feet ( double overhead) and an ominous outer break is also going off, but nobody is riding it. We sit on the sand observing the beautiful kapu shorepound. Eight foot faces racing across the rocky outcrop.
We elect to go rent a board in Hanalei then go down to Poipu on the south shore where there will be less surf and better diving. Poipu is nearly as big as Hanalei. Double overhead on the sets, frequent closeouts but when rideable Heroin and Acid Drop look really fun-if you surfed it all the time and you were 22 years old.
Those are not my drugs. We were able to look at many beautiful fish in Keiki Cove, who were having a merry time eating all the debris kicked up by the surf pounding the reef in front of their lagoon. Surf is forecast to be bigger tomorrow so we will go hike.
11 September 2009
The volume on Kauai is way down from the thrum of Honolulu. Even in the country on Oahu, Honolulu is so potential that Kaaawa is not really far enough way. What is missing on Kauai is urgency. The driven sense of commerce, frantic fulfillment, response in haste, is revealed by noise. And even though that is coming, as it does everywhere, commercial captivity is delayed by the water surrounding the island. Now we are in Anahola and have nomadic chickens in the yard, but there were chickens wandering carelessly through the two acre parking lot in Kapaa where we stopped for a burrito at Verde. A chicken flew at our car for a hundred feet up at Haena yesterday, then at the last second the fearless red and black bird veered into the bushes and ran through a small opening that I figured it had targeted when it began its daring flight.
A northwest swell began Thursday, when we arrived in the afternoon. The swell is a little early in the season but not unheard of. It’s the second of the season in fact, underscoring all the El Nino babble. It was forecast to be eight feet from the 335, very north of west. Friday, in no rush, we went north towards Hanalei and observed the ocean. At Anini a long stretch of reefs close to shore held head high surf and a few surfers were on it. We poked into Hanalei town, loaded with vehicles bearing boards, parking near the beach was very hard to accomplish. We observed well overhead sets on the point break at Hanalei, lefts way over at Waikoko’s, rideable surf at Pinetrees and a nervous lifeguard wondering when to call a halt to the surf school scrambling in a suddenly serious shorebreak at Bathrooms. Getting caught inside should be part of the course of instruction, however, drowning is frowned upon.
I began to feel confusion and a multi-faceted reluctance about getting out there. I had no gear, and my last rental experience had been in Waikiki a long time ago, where a merciless kanaka rented me one and then another ( supposed replacement) waterlogged monster. Basically I was unfamiliar with dependence. In time I would overcome this challenge. The nice fellows even gave me free racks with the rental board, an epoxy Yater, and said I could trade up or down as often as I wanted to. They had 50 boards to choose from, and no clunkers.
From what I could see the crowd at Hanalei was more dense than my fickle taste and the surf was already at my limit, being 8 foot on the Hawaii scale, which means twelve foot faces. Besides height, which implies power, speed is an infrequently noted attribute to waves striking the north shores of the Hawaiian Islands. I was going to have to look for a peculiar spot to surf. Olivia and Dylan were interested in going for a dive, so we went up to Tunnels, famous for its reef fish, and a place I vaguely remembered surfing with Larry Craig in 1976.
Kauai County police do a brisk and continual business ticketing illegally parked cars on the narrow road through Haena. Lifeguards already have the BEACH CLOSED signs up at 150-200 foot intervals. Tunnels is ten feet ( double overhead) and an ominous outer break is also going off, but nobody is riding it. We sit on the sand observing the beautiful kapu shorepound. Eight foot faces racing across the rocky outcrop.
We elect to go rent a board in Hanalei then go down to Poipu on the south shore where there will be less surf and better diving. Poipu is nearly as big as Hanalei. Double overhead on the sets, frequent closeouts but when rideable Heroin and Acid Drop look really fun-if you surfed it all the time and you were 22 years old.
Those are not my drugs. We were able to look at many beautiful fish in Keiki Cove, who were having a merry time eating all the debris kicked up by the surf pounding the reef in front of their lagoon. Surf is forecast to be bigger tomorrow so we will go hike.
10 September 2009
SURF REPORT
10 September 2009
There were waves on the reef at Queens, especially when the tide dropped, but my back was still a bit too burned to go out. Anyway, I know those reefs at Waikiki, and they are pure treachery on small days. You can see the staphylococcus clinging to the razor coral as you glide by. Later I went to Go Bananas on Kapahulu and got a 30 SPF longsleever as I had promised myself two weeks before I left but never got around to it. Actually I was a in a mental rut, all because I did not want to give any more money to everyone’s favorite surfstore in Ventura. Years ago they ripped me off rather brazenly on some expensive racks once-wrong model and parts. Insisted I had to return them to the manufacturer in Washington, fuck that. But such efforts at revenge are so twisted.
I have a melon-back guarantee on all my products. I need my customers. I went to another outlet in Ventura, but they are a small store and they did not have my size. Then I thought I would buy the shirt on the internet, and I was so full of certainty at the time that I completely dropped the ball. I actually convinced myself while paddling out that I had obtained enough of a tan in California to go out for an hour or two in cloudy Kaaawa with no problem. If the surf had been irresistible I would not have resisted, but waist high Waikiki folding over Staflokoki Reef, as noted, could be ignored. Bad things happen in small surf. You probably won’t drown, but everything you don’t want to touch when you are moving fast is so much closer to you in shallow water.
Kauilani and Eric got married at the Outrigger on Waikiki on the 9th. I was a last minute draftee to be the Master of Ceremonies for Niece Number Two’s wedding. A hundred and fifty people came. The family minister from Seattle was lost in a maelstrom of untidy, pointless memories and stained the event with a miserable anecdote about him and the groom being bad boys in some speeding dinghies. Such bad boys, bishop. I can see why you have a hard time forgiving yourself. And the bastard made the ultimate unforgivable error, which he had been trained to not do, by mispronouncing the bride’s name.
The pot should not call the kettle black though. As MC I felt required to crash course the protocols. How do we wed the people? The urge to share on the internet is an admirable trait among the humans: I was trained in a nano. Getting people to turn off their cell phones pleasantly was easy enough. I was congratulated on my gravitas and the commanding but not tedious sense of authority I brought to the occasion. But I silently caved when the moment came to allow my nephew, Travis, time for his little roast-toast in honor of the bride, his twin sister. With the late hour suddenly an issue it was mutually decided to stick to a shorter list. And he had even practiced the speech to me previously. As his father said later, “ You know, he is always the boy who never got picked for the little league teams. He’s used to it.”
During the aftermath breakfast surfside at the Outrigger, with many repentant heads not ready for public apologies due to alcohol ( but not mine), I gave Travis his due anyway. I’ll never know if he appreciated the gesture or not. After being left on the sidelines so often, he has probably learned to keep his disappointment to himself. He is an FBI agent now, which we think explains things, but probably not as neatly as we think.
10 September 2009
There were waves on the reef at Queens, especially when the tide dropped, but my back was still a bit too burned to go out. Anyway, I know those reefs at Waikiki, and they are pure treachery on small days. You can see the staphylococcus clinging to the razor coral as you glide by. Later I went to Go Bananas on Kapahulu and got a 30 SPF longsleever as I had promised myself two weeks before I left but never got around to it. Actually I was a in a mental rut, all because I did not want to give any more money to everyone’s favorite surfstore in Ventura. Years ago they ripped me off rather brazenly on some expensive racks once-wrong model and parts. Insisted I had to return them to the manufacturer in Washington, fuck that. But such efforts at revenge are so twisted.
I have a melon-back guarantee on all my products. I need my customers. I went to another outlet in Ventura, but they are a small store and they did not have my size. Then I thought I would buy the shirt on the internet, and I was so full of certainty at the time that I completely dropped the ball. I actually convinced myself while paddling out that I had obtained enough of a tan in California to go out for an hour or two in cloudy Kaaawa with no problem. If the surf had been irresistible I would not have resisted, but waist high Waikiki folding over Staflokoki Reef, as noted, could be ignored. Bad things happen in small surf. You probably won’t drown, but everything you don’t want to touch when you are moving fast is so much closer to you in shallow water.
Kauilani and Eric got married at the Outrigger on Waikiki on the 9th. I was a last minute draftee to be the Master of Ceremonies for Niece Number Two’s wedding. A hundred and fifty people came. The family minister from Seattle was lost in a maelstrom of untidy, pointless memories and stained the event with a miserable anecdote about him and the groom being bad boys in some speeding dinghies. Such bad boys, bishop. I can see why you have a hard time forgiving yourself. And the bastard made the ultimate unforgivable error, which he had been trained to not do, by mispronouncing the bride’s name.
The pot should not call the kettle black though. As MC I felt required to crash course the protocols. How do we wed the people? The urge to share on the internet is an admirable trait among the humans: I was trained in a nano. Getting people to turn off their cell phones pleasantly was easy enough. I was congratulated on my gravitas and the commanding but not tedious sense of authority I brought to the occasion. But I silently caved when the moment came to allow my nephew, Travis, time for his little roast-toast in honor of the bride, his twin sister. With the late hour suddenly an issue it was mutually decided to stick to a shorter list. And he had even practiced the speech to me previously. As his father said later, “ You know, he is always the boy who never got picked for the little league teams. He’s used to it.”
During the aftermath breakfast surfside at the Outrigger, with many repentant heads not ready for public apologies due to alcohol ( but not mine), I gave Travis his due anyway. I’ll never know if he appreciated the gesture or not. After being left on the sidelines so often, he has probably learned to keep his disappointment to himself. He is an FBI agent now, which we think explains things, but probably not as neatly as we think.
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