In less than a week I fly back to San Francisco after four full months on O‘ahu. The last time I lived this long at home I was eighteen years old. My angst and homesickness boiling together like the most confusing and disgusting soup. I was itching to leave but dreading to go. Exactly six years later and I’m leaving again. But this time, my emotions are far less acute. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that I’m just numb to it by now. But I know this is not the case. This time I’m leaving with noticeably more confidence and an overwhelming gratitude.
For most of this past week, I’ve focused on tying up loose ends before the journey back to the bay. From hosting a bbq with my local high school homies to going spearfishing with an old friend, I’ve put a conscious effort into creating special moments to ease into this long-awaited goodbye. There is a peace of mind that comes with prioritizing good friends and good memories when time marches forward a bit too fast.
But while I’ve emphasized my friendships, I’ve equally focused on the waves. Well, one wave in particular. For the past four months, I’ve surfed Ma‘ili Point just about every day. Starting with a massive, early season south swell in March, to the back to back bombing late-season norths, to the consistent summertime waves, Ma‘ili has been truly epic. In danger of shining too much light on an (only relatively) under-the-radar spot, these past four months have been some of the best, most consistent surfing of my life.
The physical wave, of course, has something to do with this. But to be honest, there is something more here. This spot grips me on a personal level. I learned to surf at Ma‘ili. I learned to read waves at Ma‘ili. I learned to predict surf with swell direction and tides at Ma‘ili. The best wave of my life was at Ma‘ili and so was my worst wipeout. My entire identity as a surfer was molded by my relation to this left point break (and quick, hollow right). I remember as a child, my dad pushing me onto tiny inside waves on high tide. Now we split peaks on the outer bowl. I used to sit in the channel, catching the softer swinging sets. Now I’m back-dooring sections over the reef.
I’ve just thrown up so many random examples, but the point I’m trying to make is that my life as a surfer is inseparable from Ma‘ili. So as I go about saying my goodbyes, it would be downright impossible to ignore the most influential and meaningful place in my world.
It was Sunday morning and a fading south swell snuggled up along the point and pushed into the bay. There was a smaller crowd than usual, thanks to the widespread 4th of July hangover that seemed to float above the whole island like a wet cloud. The sets peaked around shoulder-high and the morning offshore wind combed crisp spray out the back, sprinkled with mini-rainbows. Another morning at Ma‘ili.
Digging through the back storage room, I pulled out my dusty 8’4 Ben Aipa mid-length surfboard. Not only was this board perfect for the playful point in front of me, but it was also the board I learned to surf on; seemingly made to connect this wave to my body.
Once in the lineup I said my hello’s to the crew. Quinten, Kawika, Uncle Robbert. We traded sets and small talk. And I told them that I would be heading back to San Francisco for a while. It was strange saying goodbye to people with whom my only relationship involved sharing waves. But nonetheless, it needed to be done.
Like clockwork, the mid-morning seabreeze began to overpower the trades, and the offshore wind was replaced with those onshore. This helped thin the crowd out even more, until at last it was just me, my board, and these crumbling little lefts. I caught wave after wave after wave. The childhood stoke of an empty lineup (despite the poor conditions) ran through my bones. The Waianae Valley cracked and sprawled across the coastline while the cloud-scattered blue sky sat quietly above. The simplicity of the moment was overwhelming. Riding my home break, on my first surfboard, alone.
It’s hard to leave a place like this without leaving a bit of you behind. But this last little surf was the nudge I needed to move back to the city with both love and confidence.
On the short paddle in I felt nothing but a deep thankfulness and an unmoving connection. Two signs of a beautiful and well-intentioned goodbye.
BAMBOOBLISTER 
Leave a comment