The Country

Photo: Steve Wilkings

No one said North Shore in the early 1970s. The Country was what we called North O’ahu. It was a sleepy, quiet place where the roosters crowed at first light and the roads were always empty. I can remember trying to hitchhike one time and standing out on Kam Highway for about an hour without a single car coming by in either direction. Finally, the public bus came, and I paid my quarter for the long ride back to Town. That’s what we called Honolulu.

Craig Sugihara got the name for his surf shop, Town & Country Surf Designs, by combining the two because he was in Pearl City, midway between town and the country. He was kind of an inland surf shop in our way of thinking back then, although how that could be on a small island like O’ahu shows how provincial we were. Actually, he was in the best place—close to ‘Ewa Beach, not far from the south shore, a little farther to Makaha, and a lot closer than our shop was to the Country. And there were a lot of surfers around there who wanted surfboards. Craig made a good business, which he still has today.

Maybe the distance made it seem more idyllic, but everything in life seemed to slow down once you got to the Country. At first we were always driving out through Pearl City since we lived in town, but later on Wayne Santos and I got a great house in Kahalu’u, just past Kane’ohe. From there we would drive the back way around the east side, through Hau’ula and La’ie, and approach the Country from the other end. The countdown would begin every time we passed through Kahuku. Going by Kawela Bay, we would hold our breath until we got our first glimpse of the day’s surf. If the waves weren’t too big, our first check would be down the old dairy road to Velzyland. We never knew who owned that property, but they apparently didn’t mind that we parked there.

The parking lot—if the hau bush clearing at the end of the winding dirt road could be called that—offered an outstanding view of the lefts. If the tide was high enough and the surf inviting, we could paddle straight out from there. If not, we would walk down the beach to paddle out the channel by the rights. We spent a lot of time surfing Velzyland.

If V-land wasn’t doing it, we would go right to Sunset, which was the main spot back then. BK was the man there, so if we saw his car, we didn’t have to check anything else; we’d just take our boards off the racks and paddle out. If ‘Big Roy’ Mesker was with us, he would insist we go check Hale’iwa. I didn’t mind that because we could stop at the Pipeline for a look on the way. Santos was regular foot and hated the place, but goofy-foot Roy would paddle out with me if it looked good, but only after we took the long drive down to Hale’iwa first. Checking the surf was a big part of the program.

If the Pipe was good, Hale’iwa was usually good too; both worked on a west swell. So we would get a quick surf there since all of us loved Hale’iwa’s great rights and fun lefts.

After surfing we would make a quick stop at the IGA supermarket for some food and head back up the coast. I would have to badger Wayne and Roy to stop again at the Pipeline; it was a ritual with us. They both wanted Sunset and I wanted Pipe, but because we were eating by then, there was no rush, so we would pull over and park on the side of Kam Highway. This was long before the hau bushes were cleared and the Sunset Elementary School built. There was no traffic so we could park where we liked. We would go by Billy Hamilton’s house; he would usually be working on a surfboard under the banyan tree. He would ask about the surf we had seen, we would talk story for a bit, and if he wasn’t too busy, together we would walk out to the beach to look at the waves.

Rory came in farther down the beach from us but didn’t see his board anywhere toward the beach park where normally a lost board would wash in.

There was a coconut tree grove on the slope in front of his yard that made a shady spot to check the surf. Billy was renting from old man Nonaka, who used to come out once in a while and talk to us about the old days. He owned another place a few doors down but lived in town. Years later, after Billy had gone to Kaua’i, I would buy the property from Mr. Nonaka, but that would be in the distant future.

The Pipeline is seldom picture perfect. Those days are rare. More often there were some pretty good-looking waves mixed in with a lot of rough ones. That was what I looked for. Billy, because he lived there, also had the same eye for Pipe. We weren’t looking at the whole picture, just the few waves we wanted to see. Big Roy and ‘Wayne the Pain’ never saw it that way; they only had Sunset on their minds.

Overall, Sunset would usually be better, just because there would be more rideable waves and bigger sets. But I liked the Pipeline. More times than not, I would lose out and we would surf Sunset. Sometimes, if I knew the swell was going to be west for a few days, I would stay out there with friends. Then I could hit the Pipeline early in the morning.

One morning at Pipeline there were good waves and not a lot of guys in the lineup. Rory came out. He was always happy and loud, but he was a pig when it came to waves. With those long arms and big hands, he was a strong paddler who could and would take off in front of anyone.

We tried to ride the tube together, but he always rode a little too low on the wave so there wasn’t much room. I seemed to be able to ride a little higher on the wall, so when I was in front, we would often both make it. But he was usually in front of me—as was just about everyone else—so more times than not, I would get snuffed by the lip. That’s what happened this time, and I had to swim in after my board. I caught a pretty good bodysurf wave all the way in to shore.

I saw a little towheaded kid running after my board as it washed up the beach. I knew who it was right away. It was Billy’s stepson. Although they might not have shared the same blood, the boy was Billy’s son in every other way there was. I guess you could say this kid was rambunctious, but I generally preferred another term: brat. His name was Laird and he must have been about five or six years old then.

Laird saw me coming in and dragged my board back and gave it to me. “What’s happening?” I asked.

“Oh nothing, just playing on the beach,” he answered.

As we walked back down the beach, I noticed he had excavated a pretty big hole in the sand. “What’s that for?” I asked him.

“Oh nothing, just a hole I dug,” he said, but I noticed a little glint of mischief in his eyes.

Laird has the most unusual eyes—they are a cat-like gold and very expressive. I knew he was up to something and being in no rush, I decided to sit down with him and enjoy whatever he had in mind. We lay in that beautiful Pipeline sand, lobbing sand balls into the waves with Laird still industriously digging his hole deeper.

Rory took off late, ate it, and lost his board. I was watching the board bounce in the whitewater when I sensed Laird’s eyes on me. I turned to him. He had a questioning look on his face but didn’t say a word. I looked at the big hole he had dug, looked back at the board washing in, and it dawned on me. I smiled and vaguely nodded.

That was all he was waiting for. Laird exploded out of that hole, ran down the beach, grabbed Rory’s board as it washed up, and dragged it back to his hole. I jumped right in and helped him bury the board.

The boy was smart; he had dug his hole just high enough on the beach where only the biggest surges reached. Right after we got the board covered, a wave washed in and smoothed out the digging marks in the sand. No one could even tell it was there. We both sat down, put innocent expressions on our faces, and waited for Rory to swim to the beach.

Rory came in farther down the beach from us but didn’t see his board anywhere toward the beach park where normally a lost board would wash in. Assuming it must have come straight in, he started walking back toward us. Looking toward Off the Wall, he didn’t see anything in that direction either.

“Hey, did you guys see my surfboard?” he asked us. Laird had his face buried in the sand, but I could see he was trembling with laughter.

“What color is it?” I asked trying to keep a straight face.

“It’s a brand-new red one,” said Rory.

There was absolutely no one else on the entire beach except us, but I nudged Laird, saying, “Didn’t we see some scruffy, hippie-looking guy with a red board down by Off the Wall?”

Top Photo: Jeff Divine

I am hanging by a prayer and the slightest pressure on my inside rail on a beautiful, trade-wind-combed face. Photo: Steve Wilkings

Laird put his head up long enough to nod affirmatively, then plunged back down. His whole body was shaking, but he was trying not to laugh out loud. I thought Rory had to notice something, but he had this look of anguish on his face and immediately started screaming, “That fu@#er just stole my board, where did you see him?”

“I thought I saw him running up toward the right of way down there,” I pointed toward Off the Wall.

Rory took off running, his long legs churning the sand. Laird pulled his face out of the sand, and we both started cracking up.

“Look at him go,” I giggled.

We watched Rory run all the way to the right of way, a good distance in the soft sand. We watched him frantically run up the path and disappear toward Ke Nui road. A few moments later he reappeared and ran down the beach, literally running in circles. Next he ran back toward us. His face was bright red and he was huffing and puffing. He was literally running around in circles.

“You sure you saw him over there?” he gasped, “God, Shipley is going to kill me if I lose that new board. I just got it yesterday.”

“Maybe he was by the beach park. Jeez, we weren’t really paying attention,” I said.

“By the park, you sure?” Rory was panting hard.

“Yeah, maybe over there,” I pointed vaguely toward the park.

Rory took off running in that direction. We were about to bust a gut. Rory was running around in more circles up in the park. There was no one to ask about his lost board. Finally, we saw him slowly heading back down the beach, his head hung low in total desolation. If I knew Rory, he was probably crying by then.

“Uh-oh, Laird, look at that,” I pointed to where the wave action had uncovered one end of the board we had buried. “I think we better get out of here,” I told him.

Laird scampered off toward his house and I picked up my board. Rory was getting closer as I jumped back in the water and paddled out. About halfway out, I heard a loud, “YOU FU@#ERS!”

I knew Rory had found his board. I guess he was too tired from all that running around to paddle back out. I told the guys in the lineup what Laird and I had done to ‘Bonzo Doggy-Hoggy-Froggy.’ Everyone had a good laugh, and then we enjoyed a great session without Rory hogging the waves.