Two Sessions at Hanalei
I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on Hanalei Bay. After rounding one last corner on the hour long drive from the south end of the island, the trees revealed a landscape that defies just description. A crescent shaped bay with shimmering turquoise water, surrounded by towering, bright green mountains whose peaks were shrouded by storm clouds that never seemed to move. An awe inspiring vista like nothing else I had seen.
As we descended into the valley and made our way to the beach, I noticed a reeling right point break with no one out in the north side of the bay. It was the middle of the summer, and by all online accounts, there wouldn’t be waves in the bay this time of year. To my Californian eyes, the 2-3 foot waves peeling into the bay were well worth my time, even if the locals disagreed. I made the 500 ish yard paddle out into the lineup, finding it to be completely empty, an eerie feeling for someone who had only started surfing a year previous. The session went about as well as I could’ve expected: some long, slow rides straight towards the giant green mountains, before a few reef cuts had me spooked about sharks. At that time, it was the best surf session I had ever had, feeling like a milestone to paddle out at a famous Hawaiian break, regardless of the size.
That session had never been far from my mind in the four years between my two trips to Kauai. In those four years, surfing had become my life. I obsessed over getting better, spending virtually all my time not in school or work in the water. California’s rugged central coast consistently provided swell that was well beyond my means, and overtime I began growing more comfortable in bigger conditions. All the while, Hanalei Bay would pop in my head, always in the same way. I wonder what it would be like on a bigger swell.
In late November, when the Aleutian storm systems had already been stirred from their slumber, I accompanied my friends to Kauai once again with one goal in mind: to catch that wave at the bay, the one I had been zoning out in class about for the past 4 years. The peeling, deep blue right that bends into the cove with equal parts ferocity and approachability. To make the drop could mean to ride it for hundreds of yards, an impossible feat where I was used to surfing.
When we finally rounded the final bend of the drive and got our first view of Hanalei Bay, I could tell that everything was different this time around. Even from way up high on the road, I could see the swells bending into the lineup from the open ocean, stacking up in perfect unison to the horizon. Whitewater feathered hundreds of yards further out than when I had last surfed it, and I could see the visible speed that the waves were running down the reef. I could already tell I might be in over my head.
After renting a 6 '10 mid length, we drove to take a look at the conditions. There isn’t any easy viewing point to check the waves apart from the parking lot, which is about a quarter mile from the end of the break. In spite of the distance, it was clear that it was pumping. Howling offshore winds and surfers that were barely visible on the deep blue of the open face. By my estimations, it was 6-8 feet.
With a friend this time, I waxed up my board and embarked on the long paddle out towards the break. The water was cool and murky from the rain the previous day, and at times I felt a little exposed cruising along the surface through the deeper sections. As I grew closer to the lineup, I could tell that I had underestimated the size. Further up towards the main Hanalei Bowl, 10-12 foot faces stood tall before exploding onto the reef and running down the line. It quickly became clear that the swell was pretty much nonstop; surfing the point breaks of Santa Cruz had me used to long stretches between sets. On this day, wave after wave seemed to stack up with nothing resembling a lull, only slightly larger ones would occasionally mix in as the true “sets.”
As expected, the locals also had a better intimidation factor than I was used to. In addition to being great surfers, a few of them gave me a side eye as they paddled by, probably daydreaming about practicing some MMA moves on me after the session. Overall though, the vibe was welcoming enough for me to sit at the end of the point and wait for something to swing wide. I’ve found it's easy to stay out of trouble if you don’t storm to the top of the point and start jockeying for the best waves.
Already, I understood the famous Hawaiian power more than I had in the parking lot. Everything about this session put me right on the edge of my comfort zone- or a little beyond it. At first, it was the sound. The truly constant low roar of water on the reef just sounded scary. The dark blue of the water made it seem like the open ocean, and again, there were large scary locals on most of the good waves. But I was finally here in the thick of it, exactly where I had always wanted to be. So naturally, I would have to give it a go at some point.
For the first 15 minutes, I tried to work up the courage to even consider paddling for a wave. I was too busy worrying about getting caught by the sets that seemed to be on me with little warning. The next 15 were spent figuring out my positioning, finally pushing inside enough to be actually having a surf session. For the next 30 minutes, I tried and failed. I was constantly out of position, or a local would turn and go at the last second right when I was about to. I was getting discouraged.
After finally almost catching a wave, I turned to find that I had paddled in too far. The wave behind it was already about to break; what looked like a 10 foot, angry face had popped up out of nowhere. I dove deep and waited for the punch. Instead of a punch, I was lifted vertically back up over the wave before getting thrown violently over the falls. After an intense beating, I popped up surprisingly quick, and was back to frantically paddling wide to avoid incoming sets. After paddling over one wave, I saw a perfect, 8 foot peak pop up halfway down the reef, inside of the main pack and coming straight towards me. Other locals had caught the few waves previous, and I paddled alongside the local Hawaiian who seemed like he glared at me earlier. He was yet to catch a wave in the set, and I was sure he was going to paddle underneath me and take the wave as he had already done to me earlier. Instead, I heard him yell “Go brother!”
Obviously, I had to try. With my heart in my mouth, I whipped my board around and, with only time for a few paddles, was hoisted up the face before being thrown towards the bottom. I rushed to my feet and was suddenly on the wide open, deep blue Hawaiian face. Full speed down the line, I managed to do a few probably ugly backside turns that felt like the greatest thing I had ever done. 200 yards later, I kicked out of the wave at the bottom of the reef, overcome with adrenaline. “ That was the wave of my life. That was the wave of my life-” Was all I could say.
The rest of the session I spent paddling around, avoiding sets and not catching anything. I had already done what I set out to do; to catch one real set wave on a bigger day at Hanalei. I finally made the long paddle back in, still buzzing with adrenaline. It all felt a bit surreal; that a wave that good actually came to me, that a local made my day by letting me paddle for it, and that I actually managed to ride it.
It all felt so perfect that I convinced myself to paddle back out in the evening. I was peacefully sitting in the lineup and feeling like I had the place figured out when a massive wave swung way out wide, breaking far outside my position with little warning. I had time to catch a good breath before an avalanche of whitewater ran me over. I immediately entered the washing machine before being pushed down deep, at times feeling like the reef was only feet away. I forced myself not to panic, but panic eventually came. At several points it felt time to resurface, but the whitewater dragged me down deeper. Finally, I felt the water release me from its grip. I resurfaced with a huge breath, finding myself tangled with another surfers board. She had been at least 50 yards away from me when I first submerged.
Without catching a wave, I resurfaced and immediately bolted back to shore. I didn’t belong out there that evening, or maybe even in the morning when I caught my wave. Even so, I was thrilled that I got to feel that Hawaiian power, and to be a part of it for a moment in time. Those two sessions that November day in Hanalei will always be some of the most memorable of my life. Until next time, Kauai.
