Since he retired, surfing is Captain Cal’s job.
First thing every morning, he’s at the railing on the sea wall at Makalei Beach Park, sipping from his commuter mug and gazing out to the horizon as if from the deck of a ship.
If it’s good, “Well, I guess I gotta go to the office,” he’ll say.
If the waves are sketchy, he’ll keep checking throughout the day, riding back and forth on his vintage bike, shirtless and deeply tanned, his long white hair rippling like a flag.
If the waves are blown out but the wind’s from the right direction, he’ll bike up to Cliffs off Diamond Head, towing his windsurfing board and sail.
If it’s hopeless, he takes a brisk jog around Kapiolani Park and works on home renovation projects in his garage.
The only times you won’t see the Captain doing his surf check are when he’s on one of his regular trips: riding his motorcycle or snowboarding in the western mountain states, and touring Italy with his wife, Penelope.
It’s an enviable life to us “worker bees,” as he calls the surfers who paddle in at 8 a.m. sharp.
And he’s more than earned it after sailing the world’s oceans on a Matson container ship, spending months at a time away from home — and surf.
I work at my surfing, too, although I haven’t got much time for it. There’s always room for improvement, not to mention the need to stave off decline.
But just as with my day job, I have to step back when surfing threatens to take over the rest of my life.
For instance, late the other night, with work — not surf — scheduled for the next morning, I was lying in bed with my laptop, studying videos of how to paddle like Kelly Slater (dream on).
The pros inhabit a whole different galaxy, to paraphrase one contest video host; for them, surfing is work, battling for sponsorships and prize money.
A couple of weeks ago, Slater and fellow Pipeline paragon John John Florence failed to make the final in the Volcom Pipe Pro in which young upstart Aussie Soli Bailey defeated other former champs, including local legend Bruce Irons.
Since the Hawaiians invented surfing, it’s had its competitive side, but during an off day for the Volcom, from the beach at nearby Ehukai, I watched the other side: free surfing in the pure spirit of play.
A couple of groms from Japan were all smiles and stoke as they flew down double-overhead faces (yeah, they were short, but still) and tucked into tubes.
One of them got barreled in a low-riding, half-kneeling stance, knee to chin, that reminded me of Captain Cal.
The captain gets a haunted look in May when he leaves for Italy, just as the spring swells start releasing their frothy energy along the South Shore, charging the air with negative ions deep into the long, roseate twilights.
Last year, when I commiserated on the eve of his departure, he surprised me by saying that Italy was more important than surf.
It had never occurred to me that he might think so.
When I mentioned it to Penelope, she blinked.
“He said that? I guess he’s finally growing up.”
Still, on those times when I’ve been away during the enchanted swells of autumn, he always makes sure to let me know what I’ve missed.
“It was perfect for you, just the way you like it, 3 to 4 feet and glassy all last week,” he says when I return to the sight of a flat, windblown sea.
Thanks, Cap!
Yet you gotta love the Captain when you see him pop into his trademark squat, tucking his okole into the wave and rolling down the line — “the bowling ball,” as his grown son, now a Matson captain, affectionately describes him.
He keeps his face cool, expressionless, but in the set of his shoulders and his grab on the rail, the raptor’s focus in his eyes and the thrust of his jaw, with his long hair flying back, you can see a young kid’s awestruck joy.
Cal’s got a 2-year-old grandson, and I look forward to watching the kid learn the ropes in Gromdad’s wake.
“In the Lineup” features Hawaii’s oceangoers and their regular hangouts, from the beach to the deep blue sea. Reach Mindy Pennybacker at mpennybacker@staradvertiser.com or call 529-4772.
