Honolulu’s own Duke Paoa Kahinu Mokoe Hulikohola Kahanamoku is recognized as the Father of Surfing and during his life gained worldwide popularity as an Olympic swimmer, all round waterman and humble philosopher. Many popular quotes track back to him during his 77 years and maybe the most famous is “Never turn your back on the ocean”.
The late, great Eric Soares was a spectacular modern-day waterman in his own right. Co-founder and Commander of the Tsunami Rangers he and his crew introduced the world to a gonzo sea kayaking discipline that is called Rock Gardening. While Eric departed this plane in 2012, he left us with his Ten Commandments of Sea Kayaking. Knowing a good idea when he heard it he borrowed from Duke and his First Commandment is “Never turn your back on the sea”.
In the early 2000’s my trip partner, Dave, was
studying under the tutelage of Leon Sommé and Shawna Franklin, BCU Coaches and co-owners
of Body Boat Blade International. Their
teachings resonated with him and reflect in his paddling today. One of the things that really stuck was them
saying “Never turn your back on the sea” and that became a part of Dave’s
psyche and a bit of a mantra.
Fast forward to 2023
In August we were feeling our way south along the BC coastline in thick fog making towards Indian Cove. Visibility was less than 100 yards. Scary stuff, as far as I was concerned, as we were paddling by chart and sound alone hoping that we were interpreting the sounds of surf correctly. The too-close sounds of Milthrop Point brought us out of our compass-focused state and we shifted to Squint-and-Listen mode. Feeling our way along that convoluted shoreline was nerve wracking as we tried to stay close enough that we had some hope of visual reference yet far enough out that we wouldn’t enter a trap. For over an hour and a half we poked and prodded our way along, straining to see and hoping that we were interpreting the sounds of crashing waves accurately. Bumping into the Neck Ness complex was a scary godsend as it forced a 90 degree course change amid boomers, both seen and only heard, but located our position with an absoluteness that we had been longing for. After that it was a matter of clearing “the Neck” and searching for the entrance to Indian Cove, which was the next nut to crack.
Once we were, audibly, past the Neck Ness weirdness we angled back in and started squinting really hard. A slightly darker grey shape began to emerge out of the grey background where we reckoned the entrance to Indian Cove should be. It was only slightly darker than the fog so detail couldn’t be discerned, nor could I judge the distance or scale. It looked like it might have the right shape and be guarded by the same rocky guardians that showed on our charts. Creeping closer we could see large swell crashing on rocks that restricted entry. Sound intensified. We were pretty sure it was the entrance to Indian Cove but it didn’t look friendly. Swells to 2 meters crashed against the rocks and pushed us forward. At the crest of the swells we could see a mess of clapotis and white water but not much more. We both felt that this had to be it.
Google Earth
Recalling Leon and Shawna’s advice, Dave squinted over his shoulder at the approaching waves. Sensing a lull, he went first disappearing in the troughs and then emerging on the crests but, visibly blending with the grey background until disappearing altogether.
My turn. While the entrance was about 50 yards wide it looked to me like much less than half of that was viable. I watched as three kings in a set passed and took off on the back of the third. Pretty invigorating stuff that required some technical paddling. Lots of ups, downs, sideways, forwards and backs. The white water stretched about 100 yards towards the beach. It amazes me what capable little craft we paddle.
Once past the weirdness I was able to make out Dave’s yellow
drysuit near the shore. As I approached,
I saw that he was standing in knee-deep water hanging on to the stern toggle of
his boat to keep the surge from taking it into the scattered rocks. His other hand was occupied with the business
of urinating. Standing there with his
relief zipper open and both hands holding precious possessions he didn’t notice
the larger waves approaching.
Dave doesn’t swear but when he suddenly experienced a couple
of gallons of cold sea water in his drysuit he loudly expressed his
displeasure.
All I could say was “Never turn your back on the sea,
Dave”.
