I get to the beach, it is still dim light and the water is already peppered with surfers. The young man renting the boards is tanned, blond, he spends his days on the beach. For ten dollars he sets me up with a board. He tells me to get out there an kick some ass. I tell him, I can go out there and have fun, but I definitely won't be kicking any ass.
I slip into the warm water and start to paddle. The water is so refreshing and the whole experience of being out, early morning, new place, ocean is delightful. Now, lets be clear. I am not a good surfer. In fact, I would not even call myself a surfer despite having done it a lot, and I mean a lot, so technically, I should be a surfer, but, well, heck, we all can't be good at everything. But I come from the ocean and there is nothing more healing and refreshing than warm salt water.
The waves are long and gentle. Quite a contrast to my first attempt at surfing in Costa Rica where I was literally thrashed for over an hour. Having swallowed gallons of cold salt water, broken the leash, and my friend breaking his board in half we resigned for the day. Here in the Hawaiian waters, the waves a strong enough for a good long ride, but not so strong they wreck you. I am smiling, paddling. Looking at the clear ocean, gazing at the volcanic hills to the mountains that frame the beach, watching the sun rise and embracing the morning. After a long paddle I straddle the board and enjoy the view while waiting for the waves. I watch tall, skinny, large, young and old Hawaiians catch waves leisurely. They do it with ease, like walking or sipping a cold drink, effortless and graceful. Dancing on the waves. After a few attempts I find my self in a wave, standing, riding. I am laughing, saying yahoo. By myself on a long ride, enjoying the morning, enjoying the moment, enjoying life.
Surfer statue in Waikiki.
