By Vicki
Levin, author of Just Keep Your Panties On: A Playful Book about Food
and Erotica for the Bedside Table
For the non-surfer this phrase may mean nothing.
But add in the concepts of warm tropical waters, masses of turtles and a
rainbow—well, I’ve just described surfing Ho’okipa on a typically sloppy summer
swell.
The phone rings at 5 a.m. Still too dark to
consider tea or coffee, I try not to whine as my BFF cheerily tosses
out a ‘rise and shine’ over the phone at me. I grunt my assent and the plod
begins.
I wander the dark house in a daze, trying to
remember if I have a suit in the car, is my board loaded or sitting in the rain
and is there anything I can grab to eat post-surf when I will be ravishingly
hungry? The answers float around my head—no suit in the car, did manage to load
boards last night, nothing in the fridge to grab. Damn. Why won't my eyes
focus?
The tea steeps and I barely get my teeth brushed
when the 30 minutes prep time has passed. If I don’t get on the road this very
instant, Lil will decide without me whether we surf Ho’okipa or go to Baldwin
Beach for a walk and swim. This running late has a downside—if she likes the
size of the surf and the wind conditions and is suiting up before I arrive, I’m
stuck—i.e. whatever the conditions are, that’s what I am surfing. Whereas, if I
arrive early or on time, we negotiate a bit. If it is too big or too rough,
sometimes she’ll acquiesce for the beach walk/swim option instead. But today,
there’s no chance. She’ll be there, waxing her board when I pull in. The light
will just begin to play across the water at this hour.
I always feel so righteous when I walk down the
beach in the early morning light, surveying the waves. I know I am taking care
of myself both physically and mentally with this early morning commitment. As
is my ritual, I stretch very lightly and wrap my leash to my leg (I am a
regular-foot, not goofy). I take in the headland to my right where the sun is
starting to peek over, noticing the amount of breakwater on the rocks and how
shallow the water is. I begin a Hawaiian Oli, my entrance chant that has me
asking permission to enter the ocean and learn what I can. I gaze at the cliffs
of Kahakaloa and the West Maui mountains, so lushly green and elegant while I
chant. I wait after my Oli is complete until I feel at ease with permission to
enter Mother Ocean, not injure myself and enjoy the ride or rides if I am lucky
today.
The ocean is a bit rough this morning. A good
paddle out for me is to have dry hair upon arrival into the line-up, where all
the surfers are jockeying for position. A set rolls through and I stay to the
outer edge of the breaking waves as I continue to move further offshore.
As I sit up to stretch a bit and gather my wits
about me, I notice three turtle heads popping up nearby. This is a popular
feeding ground for them and we often feel we are dodging turtle shells as we
take off on waves. Such problems we have on Maui. I recall once being launched
off the front of my board when my back fin hit a large turtle, thereby stopping
my board in mid-drop down a wave face.
After managing to pick off a couple of small
waves, it began to rain. Not a mist as is often the case, but giant pelting
drops hitting the water—the sun shimmering through the rain as I faced East
towards the now fully rising sun—blessed with a field of diamonds. The rain
bouncing off the surface tension of the ocean with the sun streaming through
each droplet—beyond beautiful. We sat laughing at this surprisingly stunning
rain shower and the sparkling gems of light.
Of course, looking west to Kahakaloa once more,
the full double rainbow smiled at us, as she is no stranger to this lovely
rainforest East side of Maui. www.vickilevin.com
Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com
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