For years, catching good Ehukai was an impossible dream — work and less-than-ideal surf conditions got in the way.

But on the last Friday in January, the day before my son and daughter-in-law moved back to the mainland, the dream came true.

The morning started out drizzly with light, almost breathless wind. The waves were glassy, 3 to 4 feet with some plus sets, in a lull between two big North Shore swells.

The beach was empty. Kaitlin sat with her long legs tucked up under her hooded sweatshirt as we watched Rory swim out. Positioning himself deep, the way he’d learned from his dad, he was the lone bodysurfer among 20 surfers and bodyboarders. I’ve seen it worse.

A cerulean wall jacked up outside, and Rory swam fast, outracing the boards. Turning, he hurled himself onto the peak and flew down the blue face with his determined look.

White water spouted, splashed and crashed everywhere, upholding the place’s name: sea spray.

The sandbar, the shifty, elusive ingredient that makes Ehukai special, was there in all its pale glory, stretching at least 30 yards offshore and visible through the clear water.

From the beach you could hear even the smallest waves hit the sandbar with a boom.

It was silent once I got in the water, diving constantly under breaking waves. As I cut through the rip current, my body rejoiced in the chill, gelatinous feel of that clean sea.

“Mom, stay out here,” Rory said when I reached him, knowing my preference to pick off smaller inside waves. “That way you won’t get caught by the sets.”

I floated alongside him for a while, but I felt intimidated by the surfers and unable to catch a wave.

Then a young woman with long black hair and blue eyes paddled up to me with a smile. We were the only two women in the lineup. Feeling welcomed, I smiled back.

Her name was Jazzmin.

“I usually surf the inside when it’s crowded, like today,” she said. “I line up straight off from the lifeguard tower.”

“Oh, yeah, now I remember, thanks!”

“Or if you’re on the other peak, you line up with the palm tree, you know?”

I didn’t.

“See that long house with the front yard? I line up with the little palm tree in between the two tall ones.”

“Hey, Mom, that’s like your palm tree lineup off Suis,” said Rory, overhearing.

“I was telling your mom she should try inside,” Jazzmin said.

“Go for it, Mom!”

Lining up with the tower, I caught a right-breaking barrel and free-fell from top to bottom.

No worries: At Ehukai, like no place else, the foam pillows your landing.

Swimming out, I saw Jazzmin swooping under the lip of another right.

“I’m from town,” I told her in the channel.

“I’m from Pupukea,” she said. “I used to surf Rocky Point before it got too … you know. I just surf to have fun.”

I knew. Rocky Point can get too gnarly and competitive, whereas Ehukai is the closest I’ve come to pure play since I was a child.

After wiggling down the face of another right, I caught a left and ended up well down-current and unable to swim back out through a cleanup set. Realizing I was tired, I went in.

On the sand I gave Kaitlin one of the tiny white shells, unique to this beach, that we used to call cat’s eyes.

“Thank you!” she said, her sea-blue eyes lighting up.

An extreme skier who grew up in Colorado, Kaitlin kept her distance from Hawaii waves. But she embraced everything else: local food from poi to bubu-arare-crusted onaga; hikes, swims and sunrises at Makapuu with their golden retriever, Thor; diving with sharks without a cage; jumping into the ocean from the Big Island’s southernmost point.

They were here 13 months. And time ran out, grain by grain, drop by drop.

I’d been feeling pretty gloomy, but as the sun — and a rainbow — brightened the sky, my spirits lifted. I realized that after relaxing with these youngsters, I felt different. Not rejuvenated; in truth, I felt my age. I felt restored to myself.

After they were gone, I found some Ehukai sand in the bottom of my bag. They’ll probably find some in their suitcases, too, when they unpack.

The dream stays with you.

“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.