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January 03, 2006
When the Beach is a Spectator Sport
No, we didn't hit the slopes in Hawaii.
Winter brings hefty swells to the North Shore. Twenty-five foot faces are a relatively common -- but still noteworthy and fondly-witnessed -- occasion. The day after Christmas, Noel, my brothers, and I piled into the minivan and drove up through central Oahu, between the Koolau and Waianae ranges, past the old pineapple and cane fields, and up the two-lane road that borders the coastline. We arrived at Waimea Bay by 9, but we were tardy amateurs compared to the rope of photographers, surfers, and area residents that lined the road leading down and past the bay. Some were peering through cameras with 18 inch-long lenses perched on sturdy tripods, looking like incongruous astronomers who had trained their telescopes on the sea.
After securing a serendipitous parking spot in the small, packed lot, we took our place among the hundred other tourists and locals, spreading out towels on the white sand behind the yellow "Caution" tape and "No Swimming" sign. And then, we watched.
About intrepid twenty surfers bobbed on their neon-colored boards at the outer break of the bay. Occasionally, they disappeared behind a heavy wave that would swell and build as it passed under them, rising, curling, and crashing. When they reappeared, most had spun themselves around to face the shore, already paddling swiftly to catch an as-yet invisible wave.
The water lurched back and piled quickly on top of itself, a smooth, blue wall. Those with the strongest shoulders or best position found themselves shooting down the twenty-five foot face, but only one or two managed to hop to their feet and slice a curving trail ahead of the rolling, crashing foam.
North Shore lifeguards in the winter are a quirky bunch. They know most of the surfers by name, ability, and reputation, and mix frustration with amusement when dealing with the less-esperienced and less-respected body boarders. While a lifesaving wave runner zipped about by the break, helping in surfers whose boards had been lost or broken, the guards in the tower offered commentary through their megaphone.
"Eh, body boarders. Do us a favor and watch the waves befoah you go in, 'kay? It's bigger than it looks."
"Hoooo! I tell you wot. I would not be surfin' today without health insurance, yeah?"
"'Kay, here comes one big set. Body boarders, this is right on top of you."
Those of us on the beach were fixated. Scattered cheers and a general murmur of approval greeted successful rides by the surfers. When a particular viscious wave collapsed on some hapless body boarders, the beach groaned in sympathetic unison. But we were an audience to the ocean, too. The rhythm of the waves was mesmerizing; the color was saturated; the sound was a constant roar and rumble.
When the beach becomes a spectator sport, there's hardly the drama and narrative build of watching a soccer or football game. But lets be honest. For all its repetition and risk, watching surfing sure beats NASCAR.
Hawaii | By elissa | 10:15 AM
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