Page 91 of Catch a Wave

And hit, they did.

I wake before the alarm I had set so I could surf dawn patrol here on Oahu. My phone lights with the image of my buddy Makani, or Mak as we like to call him. He’s built like a Mack truck, so the name fits. I tap my screen to answer his call as I roll over and sit up on the edge of my bed.

“What time is it, dude?” I wipe the sleep out of my eyes.

“Bro. It’s time.” Mak’s deep voice bellows through the phone.

“Yeah? What time?”

“Time. Jaws is popping off. We’re on. Get your stuff and meet me at the muni airport in thirty.”

Mak’s words sink in and adrenaline starts to pump through me. The sky outside the back house I share with Kai is still black as night. I don’t even know what time it is, but I don’t care. If you’ve ever watched a fireman change when the bell rings at the station, that’s me right now. It probably takes five minutes between the moment I groggily answered my cell until I’m seated in my truck, backing down the driveway that runs past Kai’s uncle’s house at the front of the property. Then I’m on the main road, calling Mavs on my way to the airport. I loaded my wetsuit, board and inflation vest. Then I threw my pre-packed rucksack in the back. It all feels like I’m still half-asleep, but also more awake than I’ve ever been.

Mavs answers on the first ring, before I even realize I’m calling her at an ungodly hour. She’s just getting over a head cold, so she’s not surfing with us this trip.

“Bodhi?” Her voice is scratchy from sleep. Adorable. Man, I love that girl.

“Yeah. Sorry. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, babe. It’s better than okay. Mak just called and we’re heading to Maui. Jaws is going off!” My excitement overtakes me.

“Really?” She’s still got that sleep-saturated tone to her voice.

“Yeah. Go to sleep. I’ll check in later. I love you.”

“I love you too. Always, Bo.”

“Always.”

We hang up and I’m smiling into the darkness. I’m a month away from my goal of asking her. I’ve got the ring. I’ve got Kai’s blessing and his dad’s. I don’t know which means more to me. Nah. That’s a lie. Getting Kai to finally approve of me being with Mavs is everything. He actually said,If she’s going to be withanyone, I’d want it to be someone like you. Be good to her.Being good to Mavs happens to be my life’s mission, so he has nothing to worry about. First, I’m going to ask Mavs to marry me, and then I’m going to keep saving so I can buy a place for the two of us here on the North Shore.

Riding a record-breaking set at Jaws is something I’ve dreamt of doing forever. The timing hasn’t been right. Every time this level of waves hit in the past year, Mavs and I were somewhere else, surfing contests or hitting other swells on our bucket list.

The way we ride at Jaws is unique. We’re not towing in, we’re paddling. The jet skis will be there in the water, but only for rescues if needed. Our riding over the next few days is all prep for two future contests at Jaws and it’s a test of a different sort of surfing skill.

It’s not normal to paddle into waves this massive—well, surfing waves this massive isn’t normal, but it’s our normal. And on waves over twenty-five or thirty feet, it’s customary to get a tow in. Not at Jaws. Here, we paddle. I’ve been training my upper body and lungs for this day for months—running underwater holding boulders, doing intense arm workouts, and preparing my joints through virtual physical therapy sessions with this physiotherapist I met in Bali.

The top names in surfing will flock to Maui over the next few days. And many tourists and locals will line the cliffs, hoping to experience the power of the ocean when waves are this high. They’re also trekking all the way out to Pe’ahi for a chance at watching us—the few humans skilled, courageous and slightly insane enough to take on waves of up to fifty feet or more.

Mak is already standing next to the six-seater, single-engine plane when I park my truck. I stride over to him and greet our pilot and the two other guys on board. Once all our stuff is loaded, we taxi and then it’s less than an hour before we’redescending into Maui. Our friend, Griff, meets us at the airport in a 4x4 Jeep. The road out to Jaws is rugged. It’s a few miles long, and dirt all the way. If conditions are good you can traverse it without too much trouble, but if it rains, all bets are off. Thankfully, today we haven’t had any rain so far.

We head straight to Pe’ahi and gather with a bunch of other surfers. Some are Hawaiian natives or haole transplants like me. Others are already representing the people who are coming from all over the world to surf this break under these conditions. The energy among us is electric as we suit up and board boats or ride tandem on the back of jet skis and head out to where we’ll paddle in.

They haven’t invented words to describe the force of these waves. Even before I start paddling, this heady cocktail of reverence and awe bubbles through my veins. Between the anticipation and energy of the surfers here in the water, I’m pretty sure I’m literally buzzing as if someone set off a transmitter just beneath my skin.

We whoop and call out to one another. Everyone’s amped up. This is our version of Christmas morning. We wait for days like this one—for the chance to gather and ride, to show our skills, to master something insurmountable, to share this thrill with other surfers we respect.

The surfing community is my ohana: my family.

We paddle up the sheer face of the waves in well-spaced clusters of four surfers at a time. I’d estimate the average wave being thirty-five to forty feet high, but some are coming in at fifty or higher. We can only estimate, but since our boards are ten-footers, we have a gauge.

My arms burn. My mind narrows in on each stroke of my hand into the water, the force of the current beneath me, and the sensations telling me when to stand. I pop up and catch this wave and ride it like I’m sliding down glass. They saywe speed at around fifty miles an hour on waves like this. Everything diminishes except the rush of wind and spray of water surrounding me. And then I hit the tube and I’m sucked backwards so all I see is the clear, blue-green, glassy water to my right and the foamy wall to my left. When I exit the greenroom, I shoot out, whooping at the top of my lungs, coming to the end of my ride at a spot not far from the cluster of jet skis at the base of the waves, sitting on high-alert off to the south of the main break.

When my next turn comes to face down another set, I paddle up the face like before. But, the wave takes an unexpected turn and starts to fold before I expected it, signaling another wall of water is coming right behind it. It’s a creeper set, changing the dynamic of my ride without notice. I shoot down the face of the wave, wobbling a little. I try to maintain my stance, but my knee compresses as I pivot. When I release the pressure in a snap, something pings behind my knee. A sharp pain follows. I’m thrown from my board about halfway down the face, and now I’m in the churn. My board shot overhead, I lost it. Before I can get my bearings the board lands, hitting the side of my skull with a thunk. I clamber for it, but it’s ripped away, sloshed and thrown in this turbulent swell of water.

Mavs.

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