August 28, 2020

When I park, the moon, just over half full, is hanging in the sky blue sky over the sea green sea and the tide is rising to over 2 feet by 1:35. I left my classroom today, after a 504 meeting with a mom who kept saying her son didn’t know how to “viral in,” so she would make sure he could “viral in” to all his classes by Monday. I left by 12:30, that phrase echoing in my mind. It was the middle of the last day of this week, and though everyone I saw at school made the same tired “Glad itʻs Friday” comments, I canʻt seem to see the weeks as having beginnings or ends. Students are home again and I am talking into my computer screen, trying to stay in touch, to share some challenging ideas that might still grow. But today I left and paddled into the sea green ocean towards the eponymous anchor, the moon hiding its point under the drapes of the salt water.

The wind is light, the waves small, but once again they carry much more speed and power than might be expected out here across from the boat channel. I found fun rights and lefts in equal measure today, a few running for a long way, out across the shallows. I kept thinking about tides and that cliche that goes around education conferences and I wondered, while peopleʻs boats are being lifted by the tides, many students are drowning because they aren’t in the boats.

My mind didn’t quiet much in the water today. I surfed and paddled until my arms were tired, finding fun curves and bends, sliding the tail out a few times, stalling to get back into the pocket of a particularly nice left. On the way in, I made my usual pass near the other anchor then paddled back toward the breakwater where kids fish and swim. As I floated in the near shore shallows, taking off my leash and resting a bit, a woman walked out of the water in front of me, up the sand, her floral bottoms riding high between her cheeks and her yellow top barely holding her other curves. I self-consciously watched the sand as I walked past her to the car.

August 29, 2020

I planned to try Anchors again since the wind was still light, but no luck. By the time I made it to the parking lot, the breeze was blowing across the break, scrambling it up to the point that it wasn’t worth the paddle. I headed for Makaʻiwa, not thinking I’d find much, expecting more wind chop and tiny swell, but I could at least paddle around a bit, maybe sit and read.

I was surprised to see two people in the water when I walked up as the conditions matched my expectations; that is, the waves were no good. I immediately began to worry about the two guys in the water, one on a Wavestorm and the other floating nearby on a shortboard. First, they were way inside. Second, they were floating in front of the rocks below the heiau. Third, the Wavestorm guy should not have been anywhere near the water. He could barely paddle one arm in front of the other without tipping off of his board. When he did manage two or three strokes in a row, he made no forward progress. In fact, both of them were quickly drifting west, across the super shallow inside reef, in front of the rocks, towards Lae Nani.

I watched them closely and I followed as they drifted around the rocks to the other side. I took my board with me as I watched, hoping I didn’t have to paddle out to help, as I have done in the past. Eventually, the guy on the Wavestorm put his head down, too tired to paddle, and kept drifting. He got dumped by another wave and barely clambered back on his board. The other guy smiled and waved at me, trying to look casual, I think. They eventually made their way to sand and I headed back to my backpack, shaking my head.

By the time I paddled out, it was about 8:00, an hour after low tide. Makaʻiwa, here in front of the hotel, is a difficult wave, especially on a low tide, but it is also a fun wave, fast, ledgy, hollow, especially on a low tide. I figured I would find some fun little runners in between the chop, but I was surprised by a beautiful session. The water turned from translucent greens to opaque silvers and blues as the sun came out and the waves glassed off. That calming was just enough to coax out some beautiful shoulder high waves, with bright and wide open barrels. I was lucky enough to find a few, ducking under the lip at take off or ducking under the second section when the bottom drops again.

I surfed for almost three hours, until the wind picked back up and the tide lifted the water too far off the ledges. Before I paddled in, I was visited by a tiny green ray of light, hanging vertically in the water, just next to my right arm. It first looked like an inchworm, but still, hanging like a tiny green hook, and then it was a long thread of iridescent green light, then maybe a bright and glowing leaf or strand of limu. I reached out my hand and the green strand of light and water snapped horizontal and it was a tiny fish, maybe a just born wrasse with its greens and reds, and it swam away from me, this tiny thing, a half inch of twitching glowing muscle and nerve fighting against the rising tide and the swell and the current and it look to be standing still and moving faster than any wave at the same time.

August 22, 2020

High tide was around 6:30 this morning and the moon was a thin crescent, something I did not notice until I took a shower this evening. That night, during my shower, the sky was clear and dark and the moon was hanging low in the western sky. I watched a few thin clouds move past it, turning silver and orange as a star shot across the sky from the north east. Before all that though, the day was long. I left in the early afternoon to get away from the kids complaining, knowing there wasn’t much surf nearby.

I checked Unreals, Kealia, and Anchors and all were not working. I decided to head out to Makaʻiwa in front of the hotel, hoping the shallow slabs of reef would be tipping the waves over. The water was clear and light green, bright, the line up empty. I paddled out, enjoying the temperature and the light winds, just happy to be away from the house for a while. I surfed alone for the first hour, mostly catching waves that either fizzled out immediately after the drop or were just fast close out barrels. A few runners came through but turns were rare today. The last hour, I was inundated by a group of eight or nine people, SK leading the way, followed by a few beautiful and friendly women in thongs, and a handful of young guys. They spread out, some drifting all the way to the heiau. SK talked story a bit and I headed in after one last long ride.

August 23, 2020

The tides and swell were the same as yesterday, basically, but the wind was even lighter. I again had hopes for Anchors but still nothing. I checked Kitchens, which is overrun by a homeless camp now, making it basically impossible to drive down to the surf break. Playgrounds wasn’t working either, so I headed back to Makaʻiwa, just hoping for some paddling time.

I noticed that tiny crescent moon as I paddled out, hanging over the southern sky, its points tipped down to the sea. Later, while I showered, I noticed what I guess should be obvious, that the moon seemed to be upside down now, the tips of its crescent pointing away from the land and the sea as it slid low in the west.

The waves were about the same size as yesterday but much more fun. Immediately I found three waves in a row that just ran all the way down the line, leaving room for pumping and cutbacks. A few sets from the background south swell even snuck in, giving me one or two clean barrels. The tiny shift in direction of the swell made a big difference in the rides, letting me find lots of face for turns and a ramp or two to launch some airs (that went unlanded today).

A two wave run near the end of my session stands out. I paddled for a head high right, popped up right under the lip and just glided down the line for a while, my cheek inches from the wave face, one hand trailing in the water, everything quiet. Then I was out of the pit making a perfect cutback and then another. As I paddled back to the lineup, a left came in over the far shallow section. I turned and went, not expecting much. The bottom dropped out as I knew it would, but it didn’t close out. I made it back up the face and the bottom dropped again, then shot me full speed into the oncoming barreling right. I again launched up off the lip and didn’t even try to stay with my board as I flew out and landed in the nothingness of the lip of a wave exploding off the reef.

A few waves later, I was tired enough to head in. Tired from paddling, from surfing, from popping up as quickly as possible to stay with the lightening fast waves here, tired from school, from going up and down a ladder, from building fences and gates, from talking and listening and helping teachers not fuck up. So I headed in, happy and tired, and I just laid down in the shade for a while, listening to the waves, to nothing.

August 15, 2020

The moon is almost gone again, a tiny crescent when it rises. Low tide was near 6:00 this morning, just above zero feet. M– wanted to meet early, so I left the house at 5:45 to meet him on the south side. We checked Mahaʻulepu but decided to head to Acid Drops instead, checking other spots along the way.

The winds were light, the skies clear, and the water salty, so we enjoyed ourselves despite the lack of swell. There is a spot here on the long paddle out where I always have this sudden feeling that I am paddling nowhere. Just as I pass the exposed edge of the reef to the left, near the end of Centers, something about the sight lines and the way the water moves off the shallows, gives me a feeling of paddling without making any forward progress but still with that feeling of movement, or like I’m paddling at the same speed that the earth is spinning under me. 

We spent most of our time talking about families and schools, falling apart and staying together, and the excuses humans use. Waves sporadically interrupted us, forcing bursts of paddling. Even on a small and mellow day like today, the wave at Acid Drops is tricky. It stands up high and the bottom drops out, all while you should be popping up, making even todayʻs soft shoulder high swells entertaining and difficult.

I found a few very fun rides, steep and smooth. After one decent set, M– commented on the temptation to duck under the lip today. I eventually caught one that tipped over my head just enough as I hugged the face and glided down the line, one of those not quite barrels; still fun.

August 8, 2020

I left the house early today to have some alone time before we met C– and his kids down at Waiohai to celebrate K–. She had spent the night last night, on her actual birthday, so I left before anyone was awake. I headed for Mahaʻulepu, making it there on the rising side of the low tide, and I was in the water by 7:00.

The ocean was full absent humans and the waves were fun. For years, I have made half-hearted attempts at 360s out in the flats at the ends of rides here. I usually make it more than halfway around, facing back towards the white water and the house. At the end of my first ride today, I surprised myself by spinning all the way around and continuing to glide as the wave faded off.

I caught many more waves over the next few hours. The current was present but light and the rides were fun, as usual. I spent most of my mental energy thinking about how I had to get the fence ready for the dog, which, surprise, is coming home today instead of next Friday. I spent last weekend and a few afternoons this week after work, building the fence, but I thought I had 6 more days to get it ready. Looks like I will be spending all day tomorrow finishing it, instead.

“Today is the first day of August. It is hot, steamy, and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But…after a heavy rainfall, poems titled ‘Rain’ pour in from across the nation.” -S Plath

This used to be the sixth month, un-creatively called sextilis in the later Roman calendar. Naming the unnamed winter months January and February rendered the number-named months meaningless, recklessly incorrect (examine Sept, Oct, Nov, and Dec). Quintilis became July in honor of Caesar, and Sextilis became August, named for the other, more venerable Caesar.

August: noble, majestic, perhaps from the Latin avis and garrire, birds talking or singing as they fly over our lives. The old English word for this time of year means weed month, coming after early mildness and later mildness, which I suppose leads to weeds in the gardens of England. Here in the Pacific, August finds us two months deep into hurricane season, usually hot, steamy, and wet. And maybe full of poetry and waves.

August 2, 2020

M– texted about meeting early on the southside. He checked the usual spots but we ended up meeting at Mahaʻulepu at 7:00. The water was blue and white, like the sky, and the waves looked fun. Low tide was at 8:03 a.m., dropping to -0.12 feet and the moon will be full tomorrow, Hoku, but today it is Akua, the first night of fullness.

We saw O– fishing in front of the house as we walked. He pulled up a fat oama just as we passed and said hello. A good day for fishing and a good day for planting root plants like uala and kalo. M– gave some side eye to the tent farther down the beach as we walked across the reef. Too many people think they can just play adventure and camp or walk wherever they want without actually knowing where they are. I know where I am when I can hear the sea or paddle in it, so we paddled and talked and surfed. Conversation today settled on the pandemic and the asinine decisions being made regarding schools. 

I took my new board out, the Seaside, and it was beyond fun. So loose and fast but I felt completely in control, enough to push my turns and snaps harder than usual. Wave after wave, I seemed to just be in the perfect spot, tight to the face, right under the lip, snapping the tail through the tops on my come backs. M– paddled in around 9:15 and I stayed a while longer, paddling in as I noticed a couple walking their boards down the hill, startling the nude sunbather near the house.

This week, last year, I did not surf.

July 12, 2020

The moon is half full today and the tides are similar to yesterday, low in the early morning than basically high tide all day. I met M— down at Mahaʻulepu and we were in the water by 8:00. Two of the doctors were out, but they didn’t stay long. A skinny lady on a rasta colored wavestorm paddled out from the new makeshift camp we had seen on shore. She got stuck on the other side of the current, catching little inside lefts over and over again. Once she headed in, her friend paddled out on a white wavestorm outfitted with a fishing pole. He sat just beyond us, jigging his line up a down, and was gone in a matter of minutes, having drifted with the current almost to the cliffs.

M— and I talked story about the mess that this world is, particularly as school is set to “open.” We talked about other messes too, in his typical dry fashion. We paddled against the current, as one does in life, and took turns finding extremely fun waves, also a feature of living. Most waves today were strong, bowling at the peak, and running all the way in to the shallows. I found a few that tipped just over my back as I popped up, a few that turned into ramps for airs at the ends. At one point, the skies opened, just after the winds picked up, and it rained hard for five or ten minutes. It was that kind of rain on the ocean that splashes up so much salt water, everything starts to smooth out. Waves look like hills in an OʻKeefe painting and everything is quieter behind the sound of the rain beating the ocean, the water that is being rain becoming the water that is being an ocean, a series of waves.

***

In the afternoon, I took the girls down to Lae Nani to meet C— and his kids. We sat and talked, again about these fucked up plans to force us back to school buildings and classrooms, while the kids played in the saltwater river. A couple, a meathead and a skinny woman in a thong, walked by us with their huge pitbull loping behind. The dog not only was off leash but had on no collar. The couple went in the water to snorkel right next to where the kids were playing and off course the dog tried to follow them, scaring the kids. I asked the guy if the dog was his and he said “Yes, sheʻs fine.” I asked if he could tie her up and he said “What the fuck for? Why?” After explaining that he canʻt have a loose dog at the beach, he just stared at me. After saying the kids were scared (they had run away by this point), he said “Oh, really…?” The question of the narcissist.

They got out in a huff and walked themselves and their dog as close to me and C— as possible without saying anything. Shortly thereafter, the skies opened again and C— and I tried our best to hide towels and bags from the rain. The kids kept playing in the river.

Once the rain let up, we spent the rest of the time bodyboarding and body surfing the sweet little waves peeling across the sand bar, pitbull free now.

July 13, 2020

Today Erin and I had hours and hours of online workshops and meetings, my first at 7:00 a.m. The kids had their 1:00 online summer class and Erin still had two more hours of virtual meetings to attend to. I took the kids out of the house a little after 2:00, to go play at the river. I knew the water would be high with rain but I just needed to get us all out.

When we pulled across the bridge at the far end of Hauaʻala, I could see that the river was running high but it wasn’t muddy. When we got down the bank, through the 10ʻ high buffalo grass, I saw that the pebbly shore that usually allowed us to walk to the little falls was totally covered. I also immediately saw a little, perfect river wave where the water gets deep and narrow. 

We were able to play and have fun, building dams and ponds and catching little fish. Eventually the girls floated around in the shallow eddies away from the swift water in the middle. I kept looking back at that little wave and eventually pulled off my shorts and took the beater board out there, in just my black boxer briefs. I had a hard time getting into the wave at first but eventually figured it out on the third attempt and body boarded for a while, drifting back and forth staying in the moving pocket. Shortly after I got out, the wave disintegrated. Maybe a rock shifted or the water level changed just enough, but it was fun while it lasted.

July 16, 2020

The moon is on its way to new, to renewal. I was talking to Erin about that word today. The connotation is one of returning to former newness, or former quality, but literally, to re new is to become new again, not the same. I like that the moon becomes new when it is not visible and that it is remaking itself into a different celestial light as it grows through the sky each month.

The low tide today was at 0.0 feet, just before 6:00 a.m. High tide was somewhere around 2:00 in the afternoon. The girls went to hang with M–, Erin went on a hike and then worked on her next essay for Merwin, and I headed back to Mahaʻulepu. There was almost no one there when I arrived. Just one spear fisherman headed up the cliff as I headed down. The morning sun, shielded by large white clouds, turned the water into silver and black. As the sun peaked out, the outside sets started to glow turquoise, like they were lit from inside. The waves were fine, topping out at chest or head high, and mostly slow and soft. A few bombs rolled through with nice ramp sections, and some of the smaller ones let me ride all the way in up onto the almost dry reef. Eventually a woman paddled out, getting in the water in front of the house and then paddling straight across the shallows. She sat way inside most of the time, near where M— or C— end their waves, but she found some decent insiders. We chatted eventually, about the day, the waves, the crowd, why Mahaʻulepu is special, and then I found one last wave and headed in.

I cracked my right big toe pretty bad on my way up the hill, the same toe I broke 15 years ago at Shipwrecks. I am certain it will just always be sore.

July 17, 2020

When I have something, a tool, a door hinge, a bolt, that is stuck, I have one method for fixing it. Spray it with lubricant and then open and close, open and close, by force, until everything moves smoothly again. Sometimes I use the same philosophy on weird noises in a vehicle or other gas powered devices…rev it it hard and then see if it works. Sometimes I use this thought process on bodily injuries, too, with a strained finger or twisted ankle, just move it through the pain to see if it goes better. Anyway, I decided to put my very sore toe to the test this morning. I had planned on not surfing for at least a few days, with how difficult it was to walk all day yesterday but the winds were just too perfect to ignore Anchors.

I paddled out around 7:30 in the morning, about an hour after the negative low tide, but the tide is always low at Anchors. I figured I would mostly paddle around, find a few small waves, and just test my foot. I ended up having a very fun session catching mostly rights. I was able to get in early, before the air drop, setting myself up for making the second section and ducking under the lip as the wave bowled and bent. I am now always prepared for this wave to be fast, powerful beyond its size, but I still marvel at the power and speed, these waves rushing in out of open ocean unslowed by any reef or sea floor until they hit the shallow reef outside the Kapaʻa Public Library.

Towards the end of the session, a light wind came up, so light I could barely sense it on my skin, but it changed the glassy, hollow rights into lightly folded swells that were much less predictable. The last two waves I caught started as rights but both urged me to cut back left after my bottom turn. My last wave was great, challenging, fun. I took the steep drop, bottom turned to take the right, ducking a bit as the wall tipped over my back and then I cut it back left, hard. I saw the left running out down the line, the bottom dropping out even as I made my turn. For a moment I thought I might not make it, but I pumped down the secondary drop and everything lined up for a brilliant, long, fast left, all the way to the edge of the slab on the inside, where the eponymous anchor lay half buried in the island.

I paddled in, tired and happy. As I hopped off my board in the shallows and my feet hit the sand, I saw something bright blue rolling in the shore break. I reached down and pulled up a cool little cobalt blue bottle that once held milk of magnesia, medicine for people long since dead. What will someone pull from the sand 90 years from now that we once used to heal ourselves?