Kakaako closure boots bodysurfers from exclusive spot

After the announcement that Kakaako Waterfront Park would be closed to the public for an indefinite period in order to evict homeless campers and repair damage, I went to Point Panic a couple of days before the Oct. 8 closure.

The loss of access to this bodysurfing-only spot, which breaks at the park’s Diamond Head end, would be hard but bearable if there were a time frame for reopening. The prospect of an indefinite closure made me, well, panic.

The Hawaii Community Development Authority, which manages the area, could at least have waited until after October, when the waves at Point Panic and Kewalo Basin Park (also closed) die down for the winter.

After all, what’s the rush? They let the situation deteriorate for a year after closing Waterfront Park for a month in 2016 to fix broken light poles. Since then, the park’s homeless population has swelled, and trash and filth, loose dogs, exposed wiring and broken lights, pipes and bathroom fixtures make it unsafe, according to HCDA’s Oct. 3 announcement.

By daylight on Oct. 6, a Friday, I didn’t feel unsafe. While tents loomed along the waterfront promenade, there weren’t any in the immediate Point Panic area. Nor did I see any exposed wires or leaking pipes. Bodysurfers were coming and going.

It seemed to me that HCDA’s exclusion of the law-abiding, taxpaying public — not just surfers but joggers, walkers, fishermen and picnickers — wasn’t a responsible or practical solution. It would diminish the quality of life for a local urban population that needs recreation and shoreline open space.

The bodysurfers I spoke with in the water at Panics had similar thoughts.

“They closed it last year and now it’s so many times worse!” said Kealii Lovell, who lives on Piikoi Street and swims at Panics after work. “First, they should take care of the problem, which is the homeless.”

“This is home,” said Sean Murakami of Kalihi Valley. “I come here every day. Keeps me in shape.” He smiled. “Keeps me out of trouble.”

Just then, an anguished cry drifted from shore.

“They took my lava-lava! My car keys was in it!” shouted a man by the showers.

“I saw! It was that homeless kid on the bicycle!” a bodysurfer shouted back.

When I missed a wave, a guy named John — he didn’t give his last name — volunteered tips. Now 50, he’s been coming to Panics since he was 6.

“When the big waves came, my brothers yelled at me, ‘Stay here, don’t swim out!’”

As an outside wave approached, I waited beside John until he said, “Go! Kick hard and swim for the corner.”

It worked, but despite these nice moments, I can’t get sentimental over Panics. It’s a gritty urban break, with some pretty rough characters at times, and the water tastes like oil from the engines of the boats in the harbor channel. But Panics is the only exclusive bodysurfing reserve we’ve got. (Surfboards are banned during lifeguard surveillance hours at Makapuu and Sandys, but bodyboards are allowed.)

That’s why Jad Markland, 30, was visiting from Brisbane, Australia.

“Back home, I have to fight for waves with board surfers everywhere. When I saw videos of these perfect big waves at Panics with only bodysurfers, it became my dream.”

He was shocked to learn that Panics would be off-limits to everyone in two days.

Some were hopeful, though. That morning, Lovell said, a group of Panics regulars had met with Jesse Souki, executive director of the HCDA. They came away with the impression Souki would try, following a brief period of complete closure, to let bodysurfers get to Panics by bicycle or foot.

“That was their ask,” said HCDA spokesman Garrett Kamemoto when I called to confirm. “Jesse didn’t make any commitment other than to look into it.”

I’d like to be hopeful, but given the government’s record of inaction and neglect at these parks, I’m not.