Himalayas

A light dust is shaken from the rafters, Boom.. Boom. The ground shakes with ever more consistency as the night wears on. I find myself in a cycle of slowly falling asleep, then suddenly being shaken awake by another round of the incessant pounding. More dust is shaken loose. It feels as if the foundation is being tested by some sort of inevitable force. Which it is.

I peel away the floral printed quilt and get up from my sweat drenched bed. Walking down the wood paneled hallway into the living room. The house continues to shake with every booming thud, landing a little closer to last. I walk through the living room and slide open the double glass doors. Straining my eyes in the early morning the light. The sun hasn’t broken the horizon, but my senses still register the shapes. I take a deep breathe filling my lungs with the thick misty morning air which lays heavily, holding off first light. I slide the glass doors shut again, trying to block out whatever lays in the darkness. Booming incessantly. I make coffee clicking a Keurig cup into the machine. Listening to it click and suck and hum conveniently. I lean against the counter waiting patiently for the coffee as the houses foundation loosens, and the shoreline is eaten away. The sound of the machine depressurizing, “Shhkuuuu.” Notifies me that the machine has completed its task and my cup of coffee is ready for consumption. I take the coffee to the counter, with its bench seat. I sit there perched, waiting, staring out into the void. I check forecasting stations, nervously. The numbers do not matter, but the winds are low, and the swell is in the high teens, rising to the early twenties by midmorning. But the pressure in my ears and static running down my spine told me that hours ago.

The side door creaks, I whip my head in its direction as Kala steps in from the dark lanai.

“Ho sup Brada.” Kala says in a deep groggy voice. He pats me on the back and sits down next to me heavily. I see that his eyes are as wide as mine.

“How’s it looking?” Kala asks, as we lean against the counter squinting out towards the horizon.

I say, “Fuckin big, dead wind too.” Pulling up the NOAA forecasting site as a somewhat unnecessary courtesy. Kala looks at the screen for a moment then shifts his attention back out to the dark horizon. Waiting for the next boom to cut through the rumbling whitewater.

Hunter comes out next, immediately drawn into to the NOAA forecast, analyzing angles and pulling up his own excel model. Numbers, numbers, numbers. I sip my coffee with my eyes locked on the front window. First light begins filling in the void, slowly working through the thick grey mist out towards the source of the rumblings. I walk out the side door, checking the horizon over my shoulder nervously. Making my way through the grass, muddy, from a squall hitting the shore last night. I feel a “Boom” reverberate up out of the muddy yard into the soles of my feet. I wipe away the sticky brown mud on a doormat, then flick on the lights, stepping into the garage. Sliding the 11’2 Andrus out from its place on a mattress pushed against the back wall. Hefting it beneath my arm and stepping back out into the muddy yard. Setting the board down against the light green wall of naupaka. I check the leash, pulling on a finger thick clear cord. Uncoiling it. Checking the pull pin. Cinching down a 5-inch length of paracord until the knot melts into a tight fist, locked in place. Then I tie another, both connecting the leash to a fiberglass loop on the boards tail. I look out to the horizon again, from over the naupaka bush. I see that the morning light has cut most of the mist. The buzz of a jet ski sounds as the first team checks the 3rd ledge. Dark blue and white walls dwarf the ski as it retreats to the momentary safety of the channel.

A voice croaks from the lanai, “What..the..fuck”

Turning around I see Sam leaned up against the light beige 2 by 4 railing. A bit pale.

“Its on yeah.” I say as my heart begins to pound.

“Not for me Brah. Are you going out?” Sam asks nervously,

“I gotta watch for a while, but I’m out there.” I reply to Sam,

“Fuck.” Sam says,

I jog nervously back into the garage grabbing my impact suit and wax. Setting everything down behind the safety of the naupaka bush.

The crunch of gravel marks Jesses arrival. The old beat up minivan rolls to a stop on the side of the house. Jesse cracks the door peeking his head out, checking the horizon.

“Hoho sup Kuali’i, how’s it looking?” Jesse says, stepping out of the driver’s side door. He walks up to the wall of naupaka through the muddy yard.

I reply, “Best swell this winter, west is filling in too, building all morning. We’re out there.” Standing up to meet Jesse, clasping his hand in a heavy shake.

“Yessa, let me get my board ready.” Jesse says.

I start rubbing a fresh coat of wax onto the 11’2, building bumps in a circular motion. Hearing the bar of wax clatter like a stick being run along a chain link fence.

I slide into my impact suit. Feeling the foam plates press against my legs and ribs. Pulling the neoprene flap over my head and zipping it closed. A boom shakes the ground, followed by another shortly thereafter. I check the horizon to see the largest wall of the day colliding with the outermost edge of the 3rd reef. I click my crusty Timex and hear the beep as the stopwatch starts counting.

Back inside the house I see Hunter and Jesse. Talking. Sitting at the counter. Eyes flicking back and forth between the front window and the laptop screen. I grab a bottle of zinc oxide, spraying my face and arms until they are white.

I feel my eyes. my ears. my nose, pick up detail. Absorbing the moment, as instinct begins to take over. 18 minutes. I click my Timex and the stopwatch stops counting. Another set hits the reef. I start making my way along the wall of naupaka and down the stairs to the narrow beach. Tons of sand were sucked away overnight. Foam washes up into the neighbors’ yards, sloshing against sandbags. I jog up towards Papa’iloa through the wet loose sand. I attempt to get upstream of the current that pulls down to Pūpūkea. 200 yards up along the crescent shaped coastline is where I stop. I set down the 11’2 next to a pile of coconut husk and wood chips which clutter the distressed coastline. I snugly wrap the leash around my ankle. I take deep breathes. Feeling my body shake in nervous excitement. My jaw bears down into a knot and I land a couple good hits to check my chin.

I slide into the water, riding the current out into the channel. The mist burns off as the sun rises above the pastureland. The green meadows sit quietly in the backdrop.

“The valley cuts the channel.” I remember as I bob over swells sneaking through the shallows where sets have been closing out the channel. I relax slightly as I make it past the first ledge.

3/4 of a mile offshore I sit up to check my location, gaging distance between landmarks. The Pillbox. the Pine tree. the “V” of the ridge line. 2 or so fingers between the Pillbox and Pine tree mark where I sit in the channel.

A set begins grinding along the sea floor. Rising up in the dead winds. My pupils dilate and the rest of the world disappears. Fear, awe, love, mix as an enormous slab of deep blue water lunges out in front of the wall. An ecstatic display of power and brilliance. The slab lands with a booming crack. My eyes are having trouble registering the scale of what is happening. But the sound, like a massive bullwhip cracking through thick ocean air. The vibration. The static shooting up my spine into the base of my skull, tells the story.

The call of the void, I feel it pulling me as I stroke into the lineup. Boils churn in the impact zone. Another wall lunges forward landing with a crack, on the shelf 40 feet below. I feel heavy droplets fall on my face as I squint up into the pasture. 1 finger between the pine tree and the pillbox. I keep stroking deeper into the lineup. Some might think proximity to death is what compels me to go further. But it is the opposite. I check the pasture again to see the Pine tree standing above the Pillbox. The sound of rolling coral heads crackles up from the ocean floor. It’s all up front. That’s why I am drawn to this exact spot. There’s no context or narrative. There’s no time for choices. Everything must happen right now. The lizard in the back of my brain that tells me when to chase, and when to run, takes over. My Pu’uwai begins to hum as the gap between the moment and my reaction closes. Water draws from the ledge then refills with the next passing swell and a big glob of blue blocks the horizon, heading for me.