I call him the Wave Fairy. Maybe 5’8, orange as Arizona clay, sits on his board like he’s touching his toes in yoga while he paddles. He’s got earplugs in his ears, sun goggles on his eyes, and what looks like a pan pipe in his pocket that he brings out every now and then when he wants to give us a little diddy.
This soul surfer paddled out to the break at Sunset Beach and I watched him move seamlessly with the waves. I just couldn’t get over how he paddled so effortlessly while sitting up with his legs stretched out in front of him.
No one else seemed to notice him. I stayed to the back and outside of the group filled with groms and surf instructors—I was trying to get my sea legs as I do surfing in a new area. Trying to get the lay of the water, the line up, the vibe. But also, to be frank, partly afraid of making a move and getting heckled. My beach at home is a half mile long and, at least on the days I tend to go out, there’s waves enough and space enough for everyone.
That’s when the Wave Fairy looked at me. “The next left’s yours,” he said. “You’ve been waiting a long time.”
I looked at him, surprised, and nodded. I smiled. He was sending me just the karma and good vibes I needed, this guy who with one look I knew had surfed this break a thousand times.
A fluke wave came my way and didn’t seem to be curling left as all the others had He let out a hoot. “Go for this one!”
I paddled and paddled but no dice—wave had no push and curled left after all.
I got one nice ride in on that seshie but I took away so much from my mystical encounter, this kindness he shared with me. I wondered if that was his role—Wave Ref, Wave Ump, Wave Fairy whatever. Keeping it real, and fair. When he caught a ride, he pressed his back gingerly, as if it hurt, and it dawned on me why he might be sitting that way on his board. But he was still out there, playing a role, having a paddle, and helping a rookie like me feel more comfortable in a totally new place. Mahalo, Wave Fairy, mahalo.
*
I learned other, more painful lessons in O’ahu. Spending six months surfing in 6mm wetsuits under the gray New England winter sky does not prepare you for the scorching sun of Hawaii. I should have known this. This should have been the thought laced in with every other thought preparing for the trip.
The first day out in Waikiki with Dan, I spent four hours surfing Threes and Fours. About five minutes in, I saw what I’m almost positive was a white tip reef shark, turning and hightailing it out to sea. I was so convinced because I look at a lot of pictures of sharks and fish—growing up in New England who doesn’t?—and there were 1) no glinty scales and 2) the skin was that muddy river color that many sharks have. Despite the fact the creature was clearly not interested, I spent the rest of the seshie with my legs out of the water, knees to my board, versus sitting on my board with my legs in the water as I normally would. That, plus a long paddle out = deep-fried, second degree burns on the entire backs of my legs, from where my board shorts hit to my ankles.
It was a total rooky-kook move. I had worn long sleeves on my arms (thank you, Seea), so I was fine there, but my legs? Not so much. I spent the next few days with swollen ankles, troubling stomach “issues” and burnt skin pulled so tight I felt like a human sausage (a line I picked up from my lovely, expecting friend Kenz, who was describing how it feels to start outgrowing your body as your tiny human stakes a claim in your belly).
I immediately went to Hawaiian Island Creations and picked up not one, but two, pairs of surf pants (this pair, by Da Kine, saved my life. The other pair was by Hurley and just too tight over my burn but I can’t wait to wear as you can treat them as normal leggings too. Think: move from fun brunch seamlessly to surf sesh). I knew it would suck to pull the leggings on over the burn but there was no way I was missing out on surfing on the trip. We gave ourselves two days of rest (Dan got pretty toasted too) and then went back out there, this time on the North Shore by Sunset Beach. The break was filled with groms and surf schools and I hardly caught anything the first day but the second day was beautiful. A friend of the owner of the place we were staying gave us a tip to try out another section, and I had two great rides. An enormous turtle—the size of a kiddie pool—popped his head out of the water right in front of me and we both managed to completely terrify each other. I practically fell off my board and the turtle immediately dove back down into the water, and far away from me.
The other two lessons I learned on the trip, or rather, relearned for the millionth time, are that patience and position are everything in surf. Patience in the line-up, patience waiting for a set, patience, patience, patience. It’s a fundamental part of surfing, as important as any other piece. As for position—you can have patience for days but if you’re too far away to catch the wave, nothing ain’t happenin’. Learning to read the language of waves and getting yourself in the best position will go a long way to a great ride.
