When I returned to Suis after a California trip in mid-October, I was hailed by a euphoric Boogie Pete.
“There’ve been more waves in October than we had all summer!” he cried.
But his ankles hurt, Pete added. Was it from his fin straps, I asked, after kicking into so many waves?
He shook his head.
“It’s from all the picketing,” he said. “It’s hard work and the paycheck sucks, but,” his eyes crinkled in a grin as he looked around at the sea in the morning light, “sometimes there’s a silver lining.”
If there are waves, surfers know how to enjoy a little extra time off, and Pete, a bartender, had been on strike with fellow members of the hotel workers’ union since Oct. 8, when negotiations with hotel owner Kyo-ya stalemated.
I could tell he was worried about finances, though. To cheer him up, I pointed out he’d caught a week of nice, glassy waves that I’d missed while traveling.
“It was too crowded most of the time,” Pete grumbled. “How was your trip?”
Instead of warm Oahu waves, I had a chilly swim in Northern California’s Russian River, I said. But it was a beautiful kingfisher blue, winding through the green-gold hills and vineyards of Sonoma County where we saw my husband Don’s 91-year-old aunt for the first time in five years.
We also spent time with my college writing teacher, who groused about being old, the couple who introduced Don and me, and my brother, who’d recently been diagnosed with inoperable cancer.
Pete gave me a long, sad look.
“Last October, I didn’t want to go on a trip to California, but my wife forced me to. We saw close friends. He was fine, he was caring for her, but they both died within eight months after we visited.”
“How lucky you saw them.”
“I’m so glad my wife made me go. You’ve got to do it,” Pete said.
MONDAY AFTER his surf sesh, Pete rinsed his fins and boogie board in the park shower before heading off to picket.
“Six hours a day: It’s tiring!” he said.
But he looked healthy, I said.
He shrugged.
“I guess maybe I’m getting a tan.”
Over the weekend, a big south swell had drawn Waikiki-size crowds to Suis and Diamond Head, with weekend warriors of a certain age — and girth — boasting about their “sick” rides, and all the people you’ve never seen before snaking through the lineup.
Monday morning, with the waves still firing, I faced a smaller group: the Suis elite.
They caught wave after wave and paddled for everything, even waves they couldn’t make.
“Cal just got the wave of the day!” said the Silver Surfer. Now in his early 70s, the Captain’s surfing better than ever, making steep drops and traversing the sections with aplomb.
Grizzled Dad complimented Silver Surfer’s own recent ride, but the latter humbly mocked his “old-man stance.”
“Don’t say that! I’ve got 11 years on you,” said Grizzled Dad.
“That gives me something to look forward to!”
What’s scary is, I’ve got 11 years on Grizzled Dad.
While cheering one another on, this band of brothers never gives me any waves. Sitting deeper in the peak, they have priority: Why share? Like an outcast bird, I hop at the periphery and pick up the occasional crumb. But hey, I’m used to it already. And sometimes, like Jack’s beanstalk seeds, the crumbs sprout into tall, airy waves that are the closest thing I know to flight.
SUNDAY EVENING I went for a run to keep the old legs primed for the next day’s surf. But the traffic! The grassy median by Kapiolani Park, I later told Don, felt like the Midtown Tunnel in New York.
“Yeah, and HTA says we can get 12 million tourists a year,” Don said. In 2017, Hawaii had 1.4 million residents and 9.3 million visitors.
Along with climate change that brings more El Nino currents and big waves, we’re witnessing the demise of off-seasons, those quiet times when the islands used to revert back to locals, giving people and other species space to recoup and breathe.
I miss the Russian River: just the two of us, and some waterbirds.
“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.
