Winter’s almost here: On a nearly windless morning this month with a touch of chill in the air, I walked down to check the surf wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt. Still in slippers, but next month it’ll be fleece-lined slippers.

Captain Cal was already at the water’s edge in his usual tank top and cargo shorts, standing at the railing on the sea wall as if commanding the bridge of his former Matson cargo ship.

The sun was bright, if weaker than in October, and the waves, while small, were bigger than the day before and glassy, with that look of clear Jell-O. This is November, when any waves on the South Shore are dessert.

“Going out?” I asked Cal.

“Nah. Can you wait till afternoon when the tide goes down?”

“I have to work. At least it’s not crowded.”

There was only one surfer out at Suis: a rare gift.

OVERCROWDING is today’s norm. As our islands shrink due to sea level rise, more people pile on and overuse our limited natural resources, including our surf spots. I admit I’m part of the problem, part of the crowd. But as permanent residents try to reduce our impact on Hawaii’s ecosystems, we’re outnumbered by visitors, almost 7 to 1.

Most people in our neighborhoods and surf spots outside resort areas used to be Hawaii residents. That’s changing since the 1995 founding of Home Away, the home swapping service that grew into Vacation Rental By Owner (VRBO), followed in 2009 by Airbnb. Every day in my neighborhood, residents and regulars at nearby surf spots find curbside parking spaces taken by strangers lodging in illegal, temporary vacation rentals.

The crassness of this situation is underscored by the longest-running Hawaii hotel strike in nearly three decades. Workers are demanding a livable wage, and have also recently picketed City Hall, pressing for more affordable rental units in proposed residential towers. Meanwhile, illegal vacation rental landlords don’t pay taxes or provide salaries and benefits, much less year-round housing for local folks.

Surf, wouldn’t you know it, has become part of Airbnb’s marketing handle in Hawaii. In June, the company partnered with the World Surf League to provide Airbnb-branded activities, and last week WSL announced a couple of Oahu opportunities:

“Learn to Surf with the North Shore Beach Boyz,” featuring local surfer Kalani Chapman, and “The Waikiki Surf Experience with Moniz Family Surf.”

Airbnb’s slogan is that their customers are entitled to belong anywhere. It’ll be interesting to see if WSL can broker Airbnb experiences at such local, expert-level breaks as Kewalos and Ala Moana Bowls.

“THAT guy just paddled out,” the Captain said, meaning I should have company for a while. He doesn’t like anyone to surf alone.

As I paddled out, I saw it was actually a girl, and she went in soon after.

I was alone. But out in the clear water, through which I saw a striped manini, a swimming eel and a big old honu, with enough waves to keep me busy, I was too busy to worry.

Alone, the sound of the waves breaking seemed louder to me, with different, musical cadences in different waves.

I heard no human voices save the occasional scrap of conversation drifting out from shore. No leaf blowers, edgers or lawnmowers. No boat or personal watercraft engines. Only one plane, briefly.

The Captain lingered on the beach, throwing the Frisbee for his swimming dog and gazing out at Suis. I knew he was partly keeping an eye on me. Autumn and winter are Hawaii’s shark-bite seasons.

Decades of being out to sea far from his family and friends for months at a time have made him appreciate that there can be too much solitude.