Riding Waves and Developing Ohana

Anini Reef last day in September

When the full rainbow appeared over Hanalei Bay today, I knew that I would ride my next wave both here and then again in Santa Cruz in a couple of days.

Those of us in the lineup at Pavilions smiled and took a moment to enjoy the rainbow’s full arc. Perhaps, one could project, it represented the same arc that MLK was referring to: the arc of time and how justice and love will prevail.

Dreaming again. Never turn your back on the ocean, I reminded myself. The bay water was clear like glass and temperately warm, the tropical heat suffocatingly fragrant.

This would be my final surf session before returning home and leaving this blessed island. Seven weeks flew by but not without a few crashes.

Paradise has its troubles, too.

On the downside our daughter who resides here was involved in an automobile accident with her two little ones in the car as well. They survived physically unscathed. Mama was emotionally shook up, the car was ruined and life goes on.

Barbara received a call telling her that one of her best friends since childhood had died.  Should she fly to Manhattan Beach for a memorial with her friend’s ohana ("family" in Hawaiian) which she is definitely a part of?

She struggled with the decision but ultimately made a pact with a mutual friend who also knew Nancy and would be at the family memorial. Barbara put pen to paper and jotted down memories of the three friends when they worked together and ran off to Mexico for much needed r&r and an adventure they would never forget. The story would add levity to the ohana "celebration."

On the upside our island time afforded sweet visits with our two grandchildren, Viva, 8, and Mystiko, 1. I love holding the little guy in my arm as if he is a badge of honor: my honor to be a grandpa. His bare skin is always warm.

Mystiko and I at Anahola Beach

Viva runs like a deer and at the park I asked if I could time her with my stopwatch, a nifty addition to my iPone, something I remember doing with my daughters in our backyard. "Run out to that soccer goal, around it and back, and I'll see how fast you go."

"You do it first," said Viva.

So grandpa slipped off his slippahs and ran the route barefoot across the grass. I hadn't run at any pace in years, now I was actually running half-speed. Quite a sight, I'm sure. Barbara and Viva laughed out loud, and I had a-mile-wide grin on my face keeping a steady stride, feeling the soft grass underfoot that evoked pleasant memories of my youth.

Viva and her friend Zenaida were so encouraged they followed my example, beating my time by a full five seconds.

Barbara’s 94-year-old mother, Bettelu, flew over to join us, as well as two of Barbara’s nieces, Ariel and Brooke, and her lovely sister-in-law Jennifer. Bettelu's helper, Lily, also joined the party. She has an eye for setting up photos. She snapped the family pic on this page.

I really enjoyed having Brooke around. At age 23, she knows her way around an iPhone. 

“Brooke,” I announced, “I am designating you as my technology guru.”

She deigned a smile my way, and seemed to accept the role without objection. Her laughter alone was enough. Jennifer and Ariel were also stellar guests, way cool.

Bettelu is everything I could ask for in a mother-in-law. We get along best when we’re drinking martinis. At other times she loves treating me as her beautiful daughter’s space-cadet husband. I get it.

Left to right from bottom: Viva, Bettelu, Mystiko, Brooke, Kevin, Barbara, Jennifer and Isabel

Also on the positive, we did not encounter one centipede. Despite their minimal size, they are considered the most dangerous animal in the islands. And the smaller ones have the worst toxic sting. The reference to predatory animals does not include sharks. But they’re in the water looking for surfers.

We did have fun hunting down flying cockroaches, some as big as bats. They co-exist with da locals, the wild chickens, nene (Hawaiian geese) and numerous island birds. The Golden Plover arrive after a mating frenzy in Alaska to spend winter months in Hawaii.

We continue to make friends on the island, from our neighborhood -- such as our dear friends Rick Carroll and soul partner Marcie Carroll -- and through the yoga and tai chi classes we attend at the Princeville Community Center. I am one of the few men to practice yoga here. Note to single men who want to meet women: Take a yoga class. The other man who attends yoga classes is named Curly.

Tai Chi group gathers around Curly at Hanalei Bay

He has lived on the island since the beginning, almost. He took time off to attend Stanford University in the Fifties where he was All America on the football team. He likes to regale me with stories of surfing Steamer Lane in Santa Cruz during that period, before wetsuits and stairs on the cliffs.

“One time,” he tells me, “My hands were so cold I couldn’t hold the rope to climb back up the cliff. I had to surf in through that baby break… what do they call it?”

“Cowells,” I said, attempting to explain that "when the sandbars are formed, it is a great longboard wave.” I could tell, he wouldn’t have it. I didn’t want to add that it is my favorite break.

Curly also attends our group tai chi sessions. Our Grand Master Skip defers to Curly as our real Grand Master. If there is ever a question about island flora, fauna or tai chi, we ask Curly.

“Where did you learn tai chi?” I asked him. 

“On a barge on the Yangtze River,” he answered in his gruff baritone. Presumably from the Exceptionally Great Grand Master of All China. 

We also spend time with our friends who have relocated here from Santa Cruz -- Maureen Neihaus and her husband Carl, once known as BC (Big Carl) in the Santa Cruz surf community. 

So here I am on my last morning sitting on a surfboard on Hanalei Bay at a break called Pavilions, where there has been a nice sandbar all summer. I know I’m the oldest person in the lineup. Curly doesn’t surf any longer. He uses a walker to get around, I think, due to years of hardcore living. When the Princeville Rodeo was an annual event, before the highway came through, Curly was a calf-roping poniolo (Hawaiian for cowboy).

Floating on the gentle rises of the ocean between sets, I reflect on these things about the island, including yesterday at the Kauai Folk Fest at the Grove Farm in Lihue. It was a local scene with an eclectic lineup that featured island musicians as well as name artists like bluegrass legend Peter Rowan and the irrepressible Taj Mahal who supposedly has a home on Kauai.

Taj Mahal tunes up his ukulele

The Grove, an historic plantation home setting, sits in the middle of Lihue and I swear only those who’ve been on the island for years even know it’s there. It’s surrounded by lush flora. You cannot see it from the roads. It’s actually a stone’s throw from CostCo and everybody knows where CostCo is.

The thing about Kauai, its best secrets and finest places are in the most unlikely locations, or right in front of you but you don't know it, like the Anahola Market and smoky hamburger stand, and the Mission House in Hanalei. Tourists rush by to the understandably famous spots — like Ke’e Beach at end of the road and Waimea Canyon and the Na Pali Coast. 

The perfect rainbow over the bay this morning was here and gone. Just like the good and the bad times. Just like the waves that roll through, some of which we get to ride. They come and go and you know they will continue to do so. I am confident that the recent swell here in Hawaii from the north, way up near the Aleutian Islands, will pass through Santa Cruz this coming week. And I want to be there waiting for it. I want to tell everyone that I rode that same wave on Sunday on Kauai.

From Silence of the Oranges ©2019 Kevin Samson, a working title memoir