art and science

Later in life, I think I'll publish a book called, "Experiencing a Wave: 1001 ways to befriend the surf." Or something cheesy like that.

There's a Kona beach I go to everyday for a long swim. It's truly a beach among beaches. Without question, the most glorious swimming beach I've ever known.

So listen: once upon a time, I was a water-baby. Had to be dragged out of pools, forced to resume life as a land-mammal. I still remember absent-mindedly chewing the permanently-chlorinated tips of my braids, the taste and feel of the brittle bristley ends of my long hair. My body remembers those days, now slowly paddling through forward and backward somersaults and floating quietly over the swells. I think maybe I would relate to porpoises better than humans.

The waves bring a throng of tourist body-surfers everyday. They line up, standing impatiently with their boards, speculating loudly. "It's gonna be the next one. Here it comes - yeah baby, here it comes! This is it." You've gotta watch out for these guys. Gotta make sure you're ahead of their line and not behind it. Because a wave won't hurt you - but a wave full of men on boogie boards will. It looks like a dull sport to me... just standing in the shallows, goading the ocean.

The thing is, every wave has a different M.O. and a different personality. I've made a game out of investigating them, checking them out from every angle. For example: you can wait til the wave is right on top of you, about to break, and then dive through the centre and out the top, which swings and launches you like a catapult. Or you can dive under, hugging the sandy bottom, and watch the sand quake and roll as the wave breaks over it, a volcano of foam rising all around you. Sometimes you can jump up and over the wave, and tumble into the valley behind it. Or you can jump backwards, and see the people in the shallows, far below you, faces tense and braced for impact. Even better, if you're positioned just right, you can let the wave pick you up and launch you forward in a huge flying sideways kung-fu kick. Or you can swim underwater until you feel the pull of a wave, and turn on your back to see the surface rip above you, or if your timing is perfect, shoot upwards to explode out the top of the wave as it breaks. For pure visual glory, it's best to stand facing the shore, duck under the wave cap and emerge as the water crashes before you with a roar, leaving the water behind it stretched out smooth like a taut piece of silk. A spray of mist rises up in rainbows, and everything is still for one long second. Then of course, you can also lie prone on your back, trust to God that the waves will lift you and not break on top of you, and just see what happens. And if you start to get too relaxed, there's always the nasal douche: move into the wavebreak like a common tourist, panic, get pummelled in the face and rolled over like a thrashing beetle. The nasal douche has the advantage of disorienting you completely: the undertow that follows nearly rips off your bathing suit, and while you're trying to find the unfastened strap in the foam, 2nd and 3rd waves come along to force any remaining air out of ears and nose, fill all crevices with sand, and give you a little whiplash to remind you of who's boss.

The sun is up now, and it's Saturday, so it's time to head outside and continue my investigations. I want to catch some more whale-singing today. Guess I haven't mentioned that yet... Well, it's true that if you hold yourself underwater and silence your body, you can hear the humpback whales singing their creaking songs. It's very strange and awe-inspiring to be inside that sphere, to hear and feel that incredible sonar communication. No time to lose!

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