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Session No.: 35
I had thoughts of not surfing before leaving, but on such a short trip you have to go for it and capitalize
on every opportunity. The theme of challenge again. Can you pack up most of your stuff the night before you leave,
move it into the car early a.m., drive 30 miles away from the airport, get a surf in and get your waves,
pack the surfboard in the grassy area at the bay, stuff it all into the car, make it to the airport,
drop the car off, take the shuttle to the terminal, check everything in, go through security, go through
the ag screening and make it to the gate on time to come home? Maybe have a little lunch plate
before you leave? It's always a challenge. I've done it four times before. Make it five.
I had a set time I had to leave the water. It lead to having more energy and feeling a little rushed or time
constrained, but when I saw the surf had come down a bit, I just relaxed and paddled out because I had three
hours to surf and get back in and get DP packed up and head to the airport. The paddle out in the early morning
light with the sun not yet clearing the mountains to the west ws really nice. It was a bit chilly, had rained overnight, and
we still had trades, but light at this time of day. It was very uncrowded. I didn't check the surf, there
was no time or desire to do that, but also, for another reason.
It just seems like the wave looks perfect from the view/vantage point above it, no matter what. And it is an inaccurate
way of checking the surf conditons, really. And also, you can not really tell what the surf is doing
from the beach/park area, because it is so far out. It is very difficult to know what it is going to be like,
unless you've been watching or surfing it for years. So to a person like me, or maybe even you,
one has to paddle out and see what you are going to get. So I paddled out into the morning of my last
day on Kauai.
And found some pretty decent leftover surf and not very many people. Early morning seems to be very uncrowded,
most of the time when I surfed early a.m. the number of people were less than in the afternoons. I am happy to have
found the right "paddling" vest before my departure. My chest hasn't hurt at all during this trip, and a vest
is a must for me in warm water. Plus there's also that added protection against the reef, if it does find you.
It wasn't the first time I had a lot of space to work with at Flat Rock. I almost had to pinch myself when I arrived
after the lengthy paddle and was able to find so much space to work with alone. One gets somewhat reflective on
the last day of a trip, and I sat there and took in the surroundings of the bay, the views, the landmarks,
the Princeville Resort, the set up markers, the sun coming over the mountains (or volcano, however you want to say it).
It was peaceful. I thought about Jazz, and looked to the highest point I could see to the northwest and was very
happy with what I had done on Tuesday. Yeah, some tears came to my eyes, but they were more like tears of joy
than anything else, which is what I was looking for, instead of sadness. I think I might have found that here
on Kauai with her.
There were fun waves. I couldn't really see the reef because everything was churned up from the last couple
of days, and I was sitting outside of where I had surfed days ago, but not as far as yesterday. I was aware
of the reef, but could not see it. Caught a couple of waves quite easily with DP. I wanted him to be in the water with
me again, last session on the island and I had to get him wet along with me. He was made to be here. I fought
with the decision on what board to ride today overnight, and the Rocket was the better choise because I knew
the surf would be much smaller today (and it was), but it was DP and me all the way. I rode each board
about equally over the six days. I was happy that the trades weren't all over it yet, however there was still
a stiff offshore coming in, but not blinding as in days and afternoons past. It was easier and more
pleasent to get into.
My first wave was the best of the morning, I was high intensity, in good position, no one around, it was glassy,
and I chose a good one that went all the way through the section and past the bowl area with no problems. It was
a great way to start the day. Later on there were still a few left to scramble over with size. It wasn't breaking
out at point, but the bigger waves swung wide of Flat Rock to the north and I could not get a handle
on when they would arrive with the watch (a trip-wide theme), it was very random. Just all of a sudden two waves would pop up
and I was always too far inside. I set up outside for 30 minutes waiting for a shot at getting the larger
ones, but they never came, and I was on a deadline, so it was back inside a little more for a few more rides.
The whole trip was focused on - the reef, the bottom, whatever. Today I put on my reef walkers because the whole
time I've been waiting for number to come up as far as "touching down" on the bottom. I was a bit paranoid about
this the whole time, and when you see guys in the parking lots and around town with reef cuts and bad scars
and stuff, the thought process is inescapable - "when will I hit bottom?"
That question did not go un-answered, as much as I would have liked it to be that way. On my second to last
wave, I rode it to the bowl section and kicked out, or tried to. A shortboard has more speed and is smaller,
but DP going out the back just kind of goes over the wave and kinda stops. This happened, and we started to get
sucked back over and I was like, "oh shit" in an instant, backwards and kind of on my stomach, trying to hold on
to DP to stay at surface level. I don't think anything mattered regarding this, because when we went down with the
whitewater, my feet penetrated the water kind of sideways at an angle, and immediately hit reef. Instantly.
It might have been two feet of water, maybe knee deep. And me feet bounced around on whatever was under there,
I let go of DP, but got dragged a little bit more, and my right knee and shin were taking a couple
of hits. "This is not good," I said, but I kept using the walkers to keep track of where the bottom was
and to stand on it and straighten up a bit to try and stop moving. That worked really well, and when the
whitewater was gone I was basically standing on the reef. I hauled DP over very quickly and got on him
and paddled out of that area at a 90 degree angle to the deeper water of the channel and got there
about as fast as one possibly could. Which was pretty damn fast.
Yeah, something was stinging big time. Didn't matter, you have to keep paddling to get out of the way.
Got back to Flat Rock and settled in a bit and raised the feet up on the board - thank GOD for the
reef walkers. You just never know. But blood was coming from three places - near my kneecap was a nice
hanging chunk of skin, and those bear claw type of swipe scratches on my right shin, maybe
three nice, big, long scrapes that looked more like knifecuts than anything else. Did I say it
was stinging? So I put that leg up on the board and used the sleeve of my rashguard to put pressure
on the areas and try and stop the bleeding. It was not profuse, but it was enough for me to not want
blood going into the water. Afterall, it was time for breakfast, if you know what I mean. Managed to stop
the bleeding for the most part, but it was still kind of oozy. Not a really good thing to have going
on in the ocean in this area. So I made the decision that this event completed my trip completely,
with a smile across my face. A battle scar! Time for the last wave in. Wasn't a fantastic wave, except
for the part that DP helped me ride it past the middle of the inside reef and eliminated a lot of
paddling.
I was about as reflective on the whole trip paddling in as the sparkles on the water of the bay,
and realized that I was paddling in too fast to enjoy these last moments, so I slowed down, felt
some cold water from the rivermouth pass over my hands paddling, then got to the sand covered
part of the reef and just laid on DP again, head down and to the side, looking up at those
mountains high to the north again, the sun now completely out. There were not very many people
around, not many surfers, so it was almost pretty private, getting out of the water, floating DP
next to me. Right before I picked him up, I splashed water playfully over the nose area, rocker
pointing up, just to give him a last feel of Hawaiian warm water running over it's deck. When you travel
alone, your surfboards are your only companions, and I treat them as such. I take care of them
and they take care of me.
DP got hurt on the reef, too, unfortunately. Packing him up on the grass my hands found two areas
on the right rail (my right foot and leg too the brunt of the damage, too) that were badly damaged. It's hard
to describe - like the rail impacted the reef, and the meat of the rail was intact, however, above the rail
and below the rail had deep cuts about an inch above and below the point of impact, with dark matter
in these large cracks, like someone had taken an exacto knife and cut into the top and bottom of the upper
and lower rail below the impact zone. This happened in two places, one up by the nose, and one
about mid-board. DP suffered a second beating at the hands of Aloha Airlines, which broke the
rear fin off the board transporting it back to the mainland. That hurts. Nothing you can do about
glass ons, however. I had them very well-protected. Some people suggest that this is done on purpose,
as many, many surfers have said their boards arrive in the islands intact, and arrive home
broken. A token of appreciation for your visit, we all assume.
The single encouter with the reef brings to light something we all already know. That it only takes
one wave for something to happen, whether it's hitting the reef, getting a fin slash, suffering a sinus
infection, busting an ear drum, ripping ligaments and tendons, even breaking a neck or drowning. I was always
uniquely aware of the reef and its dangers on this trip and it was an integral part of the surfing
experience that I have not had before. I've never been so aware or weary of the bottom before
in my life, really. And the decision to wear the reef walkers today was somewhat unbelievably
lucky. It was my last session so I just said, dude, wear them this once. If I had not been wearing them,
I might very well have missed my flight and would have had a very difficult time walking because I guarantee
my feet would have been shredded hamburger had I not been wearing them, because I was STANDING on and pushing off that
reef and not just bouncing around over it. I was dancin'.
Anyone one who wants to go barefoot all the time go right
ahead. And anyone who wants to make fun of me for wearing booties or walkers wherever and whenever I surf - go right
ahead. It won't bother me in the least anymore after today. Even if I'm at the Cliffs or Windansea or
Lowers or Blacks or wherever I might be, no matter what the water temp or the bottom, I'll be happy
to protect my feet. If they kook me out 99 times and save me once, I'm totally down on that.
Sitting in seat A of row 12 (window), we jetted down the runway at 175 mph and took off for home, the landing
gear retracting with that familiar jolt. I make it a point
to watch the boards get on and off-loaded on every flight I take with them, which is why I say we. I looked to the
east coast where I stayed, and we entered some clouds that intermittantly obscured the view, but still allowed
glimpeses of the disappearing coastline, ringed by whitewater and blue, warm water. I strained looking out that
window more and more, trying to see the land for as long as I possibly could as we rapidly flew away.
Realizing that I had brought many things with me, left something very special behind, and was taking home memories
of another successful trip to the islands, I felt that I had met the challenge that was laid before me as a surfer
and as a person, traveling solo. I thought of Sunset Beach, Laniakea, Ehukai, Ala Moana, Honolua, Hanalei, Hookipa,
Waikiki - of all the sights and places and waves I had been a part of on three islands in 16 months.
And as a surfer I felt like I had proven myself in many different
types of surf in Hawaii. It's just a couple of nothces and far from being an accomplished rider
in such a place. But nonetheless, as a surfer I felt - wonderful.
As the last sliver of land was visible miles and miles and miles away between the clouds, I tried to see Kauai
as long as possible, angling up into the sky more and more until the cloud cover made it impossible to see the land anymore.
And when the last bit of the island disappeared, I turned my head forward again never to look back,
and my last thoughts were left at Kalalau Lookout. And for that, I am very grateful.
- Cliff
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