Chapter 5
Shawn dropped Drake off at his digs near Princeville, then jumped back on the Kuhio Highway taking him through Hanalei to his home near Tunnels — Kauai’s north shore beach where a vicious tiger shark attack bit off the left arm of young surfer Bethany Hamilton. Great waves, he thought, but he knew he was never paddling out there! It was also the reason surfers, as a rule, never ate shark meat. “Brah, no good comes from eating a creature that can eat you!” These were wise words to live by, considering how much time surfers spent in the water.
As he came to the small bridge which crossed the Hanalei River, he remembered the last time he was home. “Eh Brah, get choke rain in river!” he was advised by a Hawaiian neighbor. Torrential downpours had flooded or “choked” the river, closing off the route to his home. During one day alone that rainy season, over twenty-five inches of rainfall drenched Kauai’s North Shore. Not able to cross a small bridge, he was forced to stay over with Drake. His memories of two nights of partying were shrouded in a marijuana haze. After that, Shawn promised himself if the bridge ever closed again, next time he would get a hotel.
Although one of the most beautiful places on earth, Kauai wasn’t the first place on Shawn’s list of places to live. The North Shore of Kauai held the prized distinction of having one of the highest per capita drug addiction rates in the United States. At first, this mattered little to Shawn, who as a rule practiced moderation after seeing so many of his friends’ lives crumble in decay, but it soon became a royal pain in the ass because everyone knew Shawn was an elite photographer and that he hauled around thousands of dollars of photographic equipment. The first few months on the island he was terrified of being robbed, but his worries amounted to nothing. Most addicts limited their clumsy pilfering to stealing iPhones, lifting catalytic converters or the direct approach, welfare fraud and bartering food stamps, to fund their highs.
What Shawn also came to understand was Hanalei Bay’s surf community barely rose above the behavior of the addict. The locals supported a vigorous practice of territorialism, as well as “no photo zone” restrictions warning pro and amateur photographers alike: no surf pictures, nada. Shawn was told on his first encounter with surfing locals, “Eh brah, no camera, we keep da kine to ourselves. You take photos; you find your truck bus up.”
But hell, thought Shawn, you would think the Hawaiians would cut them a break, but no go. Stand out with your tripod anywhere along the surf zones and return to slashed tires, broken windows, graffiti spray-painted across your hood and more. As the locals expressed, crush the publicity and keep the haoles and the gapers away. But it was because of this privacy, Drake loved surfing here, unburdened and unpressured to deliver sellable maneuvers. Hanalei Bay delivered the recuperative powers of surfing to Drake — simply for his soul, simply to surf.
One other aspect of island life Shawn had learned to expect was the prevalent atmosphere of reverse discrimination. This was the Hawaiians’ homeland and they never let you forget it. On Shawn’s first visit to the grocery store, glares of dominance drove him to the back of the line and he couldn’t count on two hands the number of times a group of Hawaiians would go silent upon his approach. Nope, regardless of dark tan and reputation, he was still a malihini, mainlander, and a Texas-slang-spewing Puerto Rican at that.
Well, it was still home and they both needed a good rest, so he was glad to hole up for a few days. Shawn pulled into his secluded driveway, entered his modified Quonset hut and booted up his computer to check the surf forecast. Damn, just come in the door to relax and we have a swell alert.
Bold yellow text ran across his screen warning all north coastal residents of a dangerous swell event. A powerful Bering Sea storm thousands of miles north radiated monster waves reaching three stories high, barreling towards and preparing to smash into the Hawaiian Islands by the next morning. H-Bay was at the epicenter and with waves of this magnitude, he and Drake were about to brush aside the “no photo rule.”
With a quick text from Shawn, Drake was soon in the water cranking his powerful arms towards the point and covering the mile across the bay in record time. Shawn selected two essential lenses and jammed them into a chewed-up duffle hoping to camouflage his intentions when he strolled casually down towards the end of the famous concrete pier. Reaching the end, he selected a spot, glad to be partially hidden by the drooping corrugated roof. Even in this position the take-off point was still a good distance from his perch.
Grabbing a camera body he needed a lens, and for today’s purpose, he chose his old Canon 800mm f4.5, a favorite used by Nat Geo photographers. The new 1200mm f2.8 Deep Surf just shipped him would have been better, but it was too big to fit in the duffle. So he made do with the 800mm and when he set up, he still strained to distinguish Drake amongst the some of the most daring surfers on the island, from more than a half mile away..
The largest of the today’s wave sets were predicted to arrive around noon. Then precisely 12:02 p.m., a dark shadow trimmed the horizon across the mouth of the bay. Shawn watched as all the surfers but one paddled frantically out towards the watery walls of daunting energy. They all knew if they got caught inside, in front of the breaking waves, they could be crushed or drowned with little hope of rescue. Shawn remembered one surfer who was nailed when a thirty-foot wave broke directly down upon him. When surf rescue finally reached his ragdoll body, the leash around his ankle was attached to an eight-inch remnant of his board. The dead surfer had surfed this point for twelve years, but took the ocean for granted and paid the ultimate price.
Shawn turned back his attention to the lone surfer who recklessly moved west in a line parallel to the incoming swells and contrary to the direction of the others who obeyed their self-preservation instincts. Shawn knew this had to be Drake as only Drake would invite, intercept and attempt to ride such a colossal wave. As the first upsurge came over the reef, its face lifted in height from thirty to forty feet and Drake chose that moment to whip around and charge down into the powerful darkness now enveloping his board and body. Shawn immediately began to shoot and was soon immersed in the moment. Drake met, conquered and then paddled back out for another.
As the waves grew larger by the hour, the locals left, and only Drake remained in the water. Drake drove hard all afternoon and continued to burrow deeper and more aggressively into every wave. Drake became, and was, the Show — all the more fortunate for Shawn who remained undetected on the pier as all eyes were on the world’s best!
By four o’clock the waves started to taper and Shawn decided not to push his luck, stopped shooting and slipped back from the pier’s edge. He had all the images he needed and would have to spend even more time in the editing room tagging them with fake GPS coordinates to disguise the fact they were taken at here in Kauai.
Like most of the world’s best photographers, Shawn maintained a 360-degree field of view and practiced acute situational awareness, so he made one final sweep of the bay and beach and opted to take advantage of this rare chance to photograph at Hanalei Bay. He followed the pro photographer’s axiom: show up to shoot some surf, walk away with an award-winning image of two ospreys fighting in midair over a tasty mahi mahi. You just never knew what might be happening alongside you beyond your peripheral vision.
Before shooting, he had switched to a 70-200mm f2.8, a smaller lens he liked as his favorite when he took casual photographs. Looking straight down the pier towards the parking lot filled with four-wheel drives he noticed a motley assembly of middle-aged Hawaiians in traditional island gowns and Aloha shirts and each adorned with beautiful orchid leis. Once together, they formed a procession and headed for the pier, slowly walking in his direction. It was then Shawn heard music, The Hawaiian Wedding Song, coming from the shoulder of a huge, black man, with giant white teeth, grinning ear to ear.
When the wedding procession reached his platform, it came to a stop very close to Shawn and when the group parted they revealed a local woman, apparently the bride, and a pocked-f
ace groom dressed respectfully in a white shirt and black pants, one third the weight and girth of his soon-to-be wife. Shawn also noticed while the bride was hardly a “looker,” her face glowed as any girl’s did on her wedding day.
The wedding party queued up along the water’s edge and a small kahuna pule, or priest, opened a leather-bound collection of local prayers, searching for his chosen passages. Shawn was shocked to realize the only cameras they all had were cell phones and with that, his heart dropped to his sandals.
“Brah,” Shawn whispered to the boom box fellow. “This is wrong in so many ways. Would you ask the bride if I’d be permitted to act as her wedding photographer? Tell her it would be an honor to contribute to her day of love.”
The big guy shifted over, whispered into her ear, and then nodded approval to Shawn, with the chubby bride beaming alongside. She motioned to Shawn to stand before her, placed a lei around his neck and said with an embrace, “God bless you for your giving heart.”
With his back to the sea, the solemn kahuna pule opened his palms above the couple, announcing to all, “With this sacred Ti leaf, and the cleansing water of the ocean, where all life begins and ends, you wash away your past and prepare for a new life together.”
Shawn smiled to himself behind the camera when his free left eye spotted Drake out in the surf executing a spirited aerial. Oh well, I guess I missed one, he thought.
As the service started Shawn moved silently around the perimeter treating this photo session as the most important assignment he had ever undertaken. He sought every flattering angle, dipped low to soften the light upon their faces, and was very happy to be providing unconditional service for a special moment in the couple’s life.
The kahuna resumed, “Your old lives join the ancestors in the great ocean as your new life together begins. You may now kiss the bride.”
The celebrant winked to the boom box holder who then raised a ceremonial conch shell to his lips. With one powerful breath into the small opening of the shell, the big man sounded the Hawaiian announcement of joy and love. As the couple kissed, the guests cheered and clapped for the newlyweds.
The kahuna again raised his arms and continued, “A lei is love and should never be thrown away unless it is cast into the ocean to be carried to your beloved deceased. Those who wish may do so now.”
First one, then several, made their way down the stairs to the water’s edge and tossed their leis into the surging white water flowing over the landing. Shawn was hypnotized as he snapped away when his lei brushed his hand. Sure, why not, he thought. I’ll send this to my grandfather who gave me so many gifts in his life.
Shawn strode down to the water, lifted the lei from his neck, and threw it like a hula hoop where it landing softly on the curve of a wave. But his lei, rather than drift off like the others, was snatched up by the crest of the wave and thrust back at the landing where it became tangled around his ankles in the surf.
Amused, Shawn picked it back up to toss once again, but the priest raised his arm and uttered, “Keep it. A loved one has sent it back. Aloha, the breath of life from the other side. It is a powerful sign.”
“Of what padre, what ‘other side’ do you mean?” Shawn asked.
“There is more you are aware of than you are allowing yourself to see. You will know when you know.”
Shawn looked at the soggy lei he held in his hand as sea foam swirled over his feet. In his life he had always sensed there was much within the light and color around him. What was he missing?