Surf Is Where You Find It (Revised and Expanded)

This surfboard was state of the art in 1968-69, but in short order its limitations were revealed. The shapes and designs evolved dramatically from one board to the next. Photo: Art Brewer

One morning Carlos Andrade, the best surfer on Kaua’i, came by to take my brother Victor, Howard Fukushima, and me to a surf spot in Ha’ena. When I asked him about it, he just told me that it would be a spot I’d like. The year was 1968 and I was living in Hanapepe town working as a shaper for Dick Brewer at Hanapepe Surfboards.

All of my mother’s family were from Kaua’i, so Victor and I had spent a lot of time all over the island beginning when we were kids. We were very familiar with the area near the dry cave in Ha’ena, having camped there with our Uncle Sab many times over the years. The diving was exceptional during the summer months when the surf was small.

The reef Carlos had in mind—as well as Tunnels on the opposite point of the bay that over the next few years would become a frequently ridden spot—were my uncle’s lobster grounds. I had spent many days being bag boy while Uncle Sab and his friends pulled lobsters out of the holes in the reef and filled the bucket in the center of a float tube I held for them. Any thoughts of waves or surfing in the area were absent from my young mind then.

On that morning when Carlos offered to show us a new break, I was eager to jump in the car with him. After the long drive from Hanapepe, through Hanalei to Ha’ena, we finally reached our destination. As Carlos pulled his car over to the side of the road, he pointed out a perfect-looking left that peeled along the edge of the reef. We were just a little way past Ha’ena Beach Park and the dry cave where Uncle Sab used to bring us. Here the road starts to go back uphill, winding along the Na Pali cliffs for a few more miles before it comes to where the End of the Road meets the beginning of the hiking trail into Kalalau Valley.

“I call it Cannons,” he answered with a smile, pointing toward a handsome wave that broke with a loud boom spitting a spray of mist out the mouth of the tube. It did seem like a cannon firing.

“What’s it like? Do guys surf here a lot?” I asked. I was very much intrigued by this new surf spot.

“Nobody comes out here,” Carlos said, but I noticed a small twinkle in his eye and knew that he had probably surfed it.

“How big is it?” I wanted to know. My first impression was that I liked this wave, a clean, hollow left. But from our lookout point up on the road above, it was hard to tell the size. “It looks like it’s about four feet, huh?” I continued.

“Paddle out there and find out; I think you’ll like it,” answered Carlos, but the bigger smile and mischievous twinkle failed to register with me.

I needed no other prompting as I grabbed my board and ran down the little hill toward the beach. The sand was white and sparkling out to the dry reef. The air was still and the sky, blue and clear. On my head was a coconut leaf hat I had made. The waves didn’t appear to be too big, and back then in the days before sunscreen, the hat was some protection from the hot sun.

I picked my way across the rugged coral to the edge where it dropped off into the blue-green water. After waiting for the next surge, I jumped in and rode the surge back out as the wave receded. I was safely off the jagged reef and into the deep water. I paddled out during a long lull and reached a point where I thought the waves were breaking. I glanced back at the car and waved with my coconut hat to the guys. They waved back and pointed toward the outside.

As the next set approached, I jammed my hat down firmly on my head and began to paddle out. I paddled over the first couple of waves, keeping a sharp eye out for any big waves. Although brimming with the confidence of surfing in front of my friends, I kept in mind that this was a new and unfamiliar lineup. As I paddled over the second wave, it seemed as though the water level behind it had sunk. Instead of facing another four-foot wave like the ones before, I was suddenly looking at a ten-foot monster that was going to break on my head.

I paddled furiously, knowing already that I was caught. As the wave threw out, I turned turtle and hung on tight. The wave exploded on me, tossing me around like a wet leaf. My surfboard was ripped away instantly. When I surfaced, the next wave was bearing down. My surfboard was to one side of me, and my coconut hat floating on the other. I had a moment to decide which to grab. I chose the surfboard and somehow managed to hang onto it through the next wave. But my coconut hat was gone.

There was a lull after that wave, and I paddled farther outside to be ready for the next set. Looking back at the boys, I could see Carlos standing still and silent, while Howard and my brother were rolling on the ground laughing. My big idea about showing off for my friends had ended with a huge lesson in humility. I stayed out for about an hour and managed to catch some waves. Those guys never came out; they just watched and waited until I finally lost my board and came in.

I loved that wave. During the rest of that winter season I went there at every opportunity. Cannons became the wave that showed us how poorly our surfboards worked in the tube.

In 1968-69, all surfboards had a round belly in the nose. We thought it made them looser and easier to turn. Soon we would try a flat-bottom nose, but we still had round, turned up rails in front. This design tended to push water, and once pitted in the deep barrels of Cannons, the board would slow or stop dead, causing us to wipeout.

It was a frustrating period in the evolution of wave riding and surfboard development. We had the uncrowded, pristine tubes of Cannons to ride, but we were getting our butts kicked. Finally, Mike Hynson let us try his boards that had hard-edged, turned-down rails from tail to nose. Although his designs used a round-bottom belly in the nose to compensate for the sharp, low rails, this was the breakthrough we had been seeking. We incorporated the turned-down rails with flat bottoms and that was the ticket. The tuberides of our dreams finally became a reality.

Carlos showing us Cannons was the key to a particularly difficult period in surfboard evolution. Carlos Andrade went on to become a noted professor of Hawaiian history. He still surfs with the same style and grace. And he still has the same big smile and wonderful twinkle in his eye.