Incident at Eke Moku

When living on Maui and the summertime south swells rolled in, the only place i wanted to be was on the long left walls of La Perouse Bay. Photo: erik Aeder

My generation of surfers in Hawai’i grew up with two big fears about surfing. These fears were born of stories from the generation of surf pioneers before us. They were the first of the modern generation of surfers to challenge the big winter surf of the North Shore. There were ancient Hawaiian surfers before them, but no one was there to take pictures or to tell us the stories afterward.

The first, and biggest, fear came from a tragic incident involving Woody Brown and Dickie Cross. They paddled out late one afternoon in the early 1940s to surf Sunset Beach on a rising swell. There was no one else out—or even on the beach—to witness their go-out. The swell began to rise dramatically and before long they found themselves paddling rapidly out to sea to escape the crashing sets. Soon they were too far out to sea with the surf too big for them to attempt a return to the beach, and it was starting to get dark. They decided to paddle down to Waimea Bay several miles to the west in hopes that they might be able to get to shore in the deeper water there. They got to the bay in total darkness only to hear a giant set breaking outside of them. Woody made it to shore somehow, found himself face down in the sand, his surfboard and even his swim shorts gone. Dickie Cross was never seen again.

Twenty years of surfing the North Shore, as well as the big winter surf on all the other islands, gave me an understanding of the basic mechanics of how waves are created and how quickly a swell can rise and fall. A healthy respect for the surf—and Woody and Dickie’s terrifying plight lodged firmly in my memory—kept my senses attuned to changes in the surf conditions, with a ready escape plan back to the safety of the beach if necessary.

The other big fear that we all lived with was from the stories the older guys used to tell us, about being held down for two waves. A big wave has more than enough power to hold a person down for the fifteen- to twenty-second interval before the next wave of the set rolls in. I was careful not to get caught inside when I was out in big surf. We were all in pretty good swimming shape in the days before surfboard leashes. A half dozen swims in through the rip of big Sunset, chasing after your surfboard, were considered routine and didn’t bring even the onset of fatigue. But the chance of being held under for several waves was always in my mind. Breath-holding for long periods and the ability to relax during a wipeout were practices I took seriously.

Summer surf is usually playful surf, and I would often let my guard down then. The whole attitude changed when summer came. Girls, kids, sometimes even dogs jumped in the water, laughing and having a good time. On occasion a big south swell arrives, and the seriousness goes up a notch, but never to the level of the winter surf mentality. Big summer surf is still fun.

La Perouse Bay is one of the last frontiers of summertime surfing on Maui. Appropriately, it is found at the end of the road. This area saw a great deal of ancient Hawaiian activity. The King’s Trail begins at La Perouse, crosses the last lava flow from Haleakala Crater, and wanders through numerous house sites and stone corrals as it heads toward Kaupo. In 1786, the Comte de La Pérouse, a famous French navigator and the second European after Captain Cook to visit Hawai’i, found a safe anchorage in the small bay. Although he only stayed for a few hours before sailing away, the bay still bears his name. Its rugged lava shoreline is far less attractive than the beautiful white sand of nearby Big Beach Makena, but the pounding surf lures the surfers like a picnic lures ants. How long it will remain a frontier is anyone’s guess, but for the time being it stays preserved.

Before surf leashes, La Perouse was seldom surfed, as the sharp lava shoreline destroyed any lost boards. Yet its attraction was undeniable. The stark black lava shore flanks azure blue water. The wind-whipped ‘Alenuihaha Channel lies outside, and beyond that sits the Big Island of Hawai’i with the majestic summit of Mauna Kea in the far distance. Throw in some pounding surf with the blue-green waves marching in, cascading whitewater, and windblown ‘ehukai and it is a sight to behold.

On a south or southeast swell, La Perouse would produce waves twice the size of any other south shore surf spot in the rest of the island chain. There were numerous times when we would hear of a tiny south swell in Lahaina and take a chance on the long drive to La Perouse. There we would be rewarded with clean four- to six-foot waves and nobody else even thinking that this kind of surf could be happening.

On a sizeable summer swell, this bay could, and usually would, create surf of serious intensity. Beyond that, the place had what the Hawaiians call akua, or spirit power. There always seemed to be a strange presence around, a feeling that someone else was there even with no one else in sight. On many occasions, we would arrive to find the surf very small and crowded with a group of loud-mouthed surfers bitterly complaining of the long car ride and the lack of waves. Cursing the spot, they would pack up to leave. Once they turned their backs on the surf and started walking out the rough lava trail to where they had parked their cars, a nice set would roll in. As soon as they were gone, the surf would start pumping, and we would have a great session. This occurred too many times for it to be written off as a fluke. We actually came to rely on this happening whenever we arrived.

The area is what the Hawaiians called Eke Moku, meaning a place where everyone is equal, where there is no difference between ali’i and maka’ainana, royalty and commoner, where one cannot cast a spell, where no evil is. Eke Moku was the ancient Hawaiian name before La Perouse came. We treasured the place and were careful to show respect at every opportunity, cleaning up after ourselves and often after others who were sloppy with their trash. Eventually we would be at La Perouse for every single south swell, only going to Lahaina for the annual Kimo’s Longboard Contest at Mala Wharf.

This story begins with the excitement a good-sized south swell would stir up in our little La Perouse group. My brother Victor, Brad Lewis, Chris Vandervoort, Mark Anderson, and I all made plans to meet early the next day.

We got to La Perouse to find a big swell, clean trade winds, and a whole day ahead of us. Timing our jump off the jagged lava rocks, we paddled out to meet what the day would bring. When it’s working well, like it was that day, the wave starts way outside in a huge peak at the far left corner of the bay. It can be a short hollow right off that peak, but the better ride is the long, lined-up left that peels into the bay. A good wave will come all the way across from the outside peak to end right in front of our jump-off rock, a good 500 yards distance. It is a long ride in anyone’s book and critical all the way, forcing the surfer to drive hard to make the few sections that pop up over the shallow reefs inside. Each of these inside reefs is a takeoff and surf spot in itself, but the good ride is when we linked them all together from the peak outside.

The waves were great that day, the sets plentiful and the rides long and thrilling. As the tide started to go out, it seemed the sets were less consistent, but I noticed that they seemed a little bigger. The outside peak is difficult to line up, as it is so far out in the bay. The sets appear rather suddenly with little or no warning. During a long lull, we started talking and paying less attention to what was coming. Before we knew it, a set snuck up on our group. Everyone started paddling to the right toward the shoulder. I was sitting deepest and saw no chance in that direction. There seemed to be a small chance to get around the left side, so without hesitation, I headed that way. I managed to duck-dive through the peak and escape the pounding that the others took. The set swept them all the way inside, and I rode several waves while they made their way back to the lineup.

Brad Lewis, whom we affectionately called ‘Butt Jammer’ because of his unique surfing style, noticed this. He asked me how I had evaded the set and I told him that around the left side was an easy escape. Brad was one of the best surfers on the island and a longtime partner of Victor’s and mine in our pioneer adventures in big outer-reef waves on Maui’s north shores. Big-wave experience teaches a person to pay attention to any little thing that will help prevent one from getting caught inside.

When the next set loomed up, again we were too far inside. Brad and I went to the left. Jammer was a bit further out when the first wave stood up tall and pitched out and over. He was in a position to duck-dive, while I was right where the thick lip was going to land. I had no choice but to abandon ship.

I bailed off my board, expecting to let the leash take the punishment and dove for the bottom. Waiting for the wave to pull my board, I was ready when the leash went taut and rolled over on my back underwater, waiting for the wave to pass.

A surfboard leash is designed to keep a surfer from losing his board so it usually is an asset. Sometimes in bigger surf, it can become a liability. When the wave is strong enough to pull the board far away from its rider, the tension on the leash is tremendous. With the surfboard on the surface and the surfer underwater, the lateral pull of the leash keeps the surfer from being able to swim up to the surface. It’s as if he is anchored to the bottom.

It took me a few long moments to realize this was happening and that I wasn’t going to be able to get up before the next wave. Immediately I quit struggling and tried to relax, settling down to wait for the number two wave to go over me.

Holding your breath underwater when trapped has either a very calming effect or causes panic. If panic begins and the surfer is unlucky, he may drown. Surfing in big surf makes all surfers think a lot about situations like this. They know the stories about the guys being held down for two waves, and they know most of the guys in the stories end up having to be rescued. Guys who ride big surf figure out sooner or later that they are alone; no one can really help when a set crashes through the impact zone. The surfer trains himself to relax in these tense situations.

So I held on, tried to stay relaxed, conserving air and waiting for the next wave. I figured I would make my move as the next wave rolled over me.

When a wave goes overhead, from underwater it looks like a big carpet rolling up. The backside kind of rolls back toward the surface, and I thought I could use this energy and ride it up. From down on the bottom, I felt more than saw the next wave go over. I remember thinking, “Wow, that didn’t take long.” I tried to go up, but the tension from the leash was still too powerful. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Desperation started to creep in. I could see the surface above me. There was light shining up there, but it was dark where I was. I couldn’t get away from the bottom. I was swimming upward as hard as I could, but I was still being pulled sideways and could make no progress toward the surface. I knew I had been down a while and would need to breathe soon.

I imagined what happens in these situations is that the mouth opens underwater trying to suck air and then it’s all over. I kept my mouth clamped shut.

Finally, on the edge of despair, I clawed my way up and just managed to break the surface when the third wave broke over me. I can’t remember if I got a sip of air or not, but the exploding wave pushed me in and I felt that horrible tension on my leash slacken. I finally made it to the surface, sucked some air, and pulled in my surfboard. I got a grip on it just as the next wave hit me like a dump truck.

After what I had just been through, nothing was going to get my board away from me now. I held on fiercely. The set kept coming and I could feel myself being pushed in toward the jagged lava shore. Everything about me felt weak and I couldn’t find any power to paddle through the incoming waves. I knew the shoreline was getting closer, so I stole a glance behind me to see where I was.

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I was directly in front of a very narrow beach of smooth rocks, perhaps some remnant of the old King’s Trail, which had utilized smooth river stones to line the floor of the trail over the rough lava. It was no more than eight feet wide along a mile-long shoreline of sharp jagged lava. I was right in front of it when I needed it most.

Afterward when I had time to think about it, I would believe that it was just more akua or Hawaiian spirit power at work, taking care of those with respect for the manakai, or life of the sea.

It was the only smooth access into or out of the water on this whole side of the bay. I turned around and quickly scrambled ashore. I was sucking hard, filling my lungs with sweet air, thinking about how I had somehow managed to survive being held under for not just two waves but three. I was also thinking that despite the heavy breathing right then, it hadn’t been that bad. A feeling of lethargy seemed to weigh down my entire body, but I figured that was a result of having held my breath for so long. There also was a weird tension, a tightness inside my body that I felt was some manifestation of fear. I didn’t like it. I remembered stories of other surfers who had ended their surfing careers after a traumatic wipeout, and I began to understand why.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, Butt Jammer walked over and sat down next to me. He told me how he had successfully ducked under the first wave but got blasted by the second one, breaking his board in the process. He swam all the way into the bay, got out, put on his slippers, and walked all the way back out to find the other half of his broken board. This must have taken at least twenty minutes, maybe more, but it seemed like only moments to me.

We had a laugh about being caught inside, and he walked away to find another board to go back out. I knew I was stalling, worrying about being so freaked out by this heavy wipeout that it might affect my approach to surfing from there on out. I realized that I needed to get right back on the horse that threw me, or I might never again. I jumped back in and paddled out to the lineup to face my fears.

I had learned a great lesson. Hold on to the board at all costs; it is a surfer’s salvation. I had also learned that letting go of the desire to breathe allowed me to hold my breath much, much longer than I ever thought possible. I’m certain that the greater lesson was of letting go of desire in general.

My inner compass had steered me to that release point only for the time I was underwater. I am still working on that lesson of letting go, as it seems to hold the key to all possibilities. Surf realization has a way of sneaking up on you not only in the surf, but even more so in daily life. Pay attention, because the lessons are fleeting but the rewards of “getting it” are great indeed.