Even though I was born in Honolulu and moved to Southern California at the end of high school, I did most of my schooling in the Midwest so never learned to surf.  My father body surfed in Hawaii, so I did that, and both my brothers grew up surfing, so sometimes they’d drag me along, but I didn’t start hitting the waves with any consistency until I was grounded in Huntington Beach during the pandemic, already in my fifties.  That’s a shame, because I probably could’ve gotten pretty good if I’d started earlier.  As it goes, I miss more waves than I catch.

The hostel I was staying at had longboards for rent.  I’d been caught up playing ukelele and studying mythology, but was leaving for the Big Island the next day and couldn’t move on without paddling out at Waikiki even once.  I grabbed a ten-foot board and walked down to the Waikiki Wall where it wasn’t very crowded.  The break on the left side of the wall is called Publics.  It was a long paddle to get out there and there were some areas where the reef jutted above the surface of the water.  What made it more dangerous was that it was predominantly locals surfing out there and I didn’t want to get in their way.

Looking down into the water as I paddled, I could see a movement of tropical fish flickering in the sunlight.  The fourth god of the Big Four when it comes to the Hawaiian Tiki gods is Kanaloa, the god of the sea.  Kane and Kanaloa are often mentioned in the same breath.  They complete each other.  Kanaloa is often depicted as being the Devil to Kane’s God.  Kanaloa leads a band of rebellious spirits who are cast out of heaven to rule the underworld.  Both Kane and Kanaloa make the figure of a man.  Kane’s lives.  Kanaloa’s remains stone.  He becomes jealous and seduces the wife of the first man, cursing them both to die, similar overtones, once again, to the origins story of the Bible.

Kane is stocky, with dark, curly hair, and Kanaloa is taller and pale.  They are both awa drinkers and water finders, who came traveling on the surface of the sea, causing plants to grow.  Awa, or kava, is their main food and they must find water to mix it with.  The Awa-iku are good spirits that ward off evil and help to manage the wind and the rain.  Kane and Kanaloa roam across the land, finding springs of clean water and opening fish ponds.

Now I was in the domain of Kanaloa, the evil-smelling squid, looking down at the underworld that is the sea.  I would need protection, that was for sure, as some of the jagged coral tops were sharp enough to cut paper with.  The waves were not big, two to three feet tops, and they broke in a gentle manner, but I had problems judging them when I got out there, either paddling too early or too late to be in the sweet spot when they broke.

There was a French girl working at the hostel that I shared a room with.  She stayed on the other side of the lockers and had constructed a canopy out of a bottom bunk.  We’d talked just a little, not enough that she would know me in the water.  A few local guys were giving her tips and all of them were getting a lot of rides.  No one was overly hostile when I came paddling out, but they didn’t go out of their way to welcome me either.  I drifted into a spot that was hardly breaking, and just got to my feet a few times.  Finally, a larger set came in and I went left on the first wave.  I went skimming over the surface of the sea, the reef only a few inches below.  When I wiped out, I was lucky not to be cut to shreds.  That was as good as the day would get.

That night the guy keeping the PBR twelve pack in his locker, the one who’d been taking pictures at the top of Diamond Head, staked a claim on a bed at the foot of mine.  He took off his shoes and the room immediately reeked.  Meanwhile, Jerry was up in his bed, sunk into his mattress like a flounder buried in the sand. 

If Kane, Ku, and Lono were a triumvirate to be reckoned with, we were one to be avoided, three old men with nothing better to do once it got dark than go to bed.  It hadn’t always been this way.  Once I’d been a great consumer of awa and romancer of women, waking up in a new bed every morning.  Now I clung to my rented bunk, like my life depended on it.  Time humbles all of us, some more than others.