I had just turned 19, when my division, the 25th infantry division, left Korea and settled in the luxurious confines of Scofield Barracks on the Island of Oahu, Hawaii. It was quite a change from life on the DMZ in Korea, to a comfortable cot in Paradise! But somebody had to do it, and so there we were. What an adjustment!
We had been in our new digs probably only about two months or so when my buddy, Bruce and I, another GI pooled our resources and bought 1947 four-door Chevy. It was perfect, except it had no reverse gear nor first gear, it did have a windshield but, as I recall, no other windows. It was perfect, for Hawaii when you’re 19.
On any given weekend, when we were free of duty, often times we would head to the north part of the Island to Waialua Base, a military beach which we called R & R Beach. For GIs it was a nice slice of paradise; good beach, a burgher, good beer, and at the end of the day, a cot for the night. Sadly, very few women, other than “fellow” GIs.
Oh, it had one other attraction, it had the finest surfing on the entire island. It was the configuration of the north-facing of the beach, the flow of the Kaua’l Channel, and the cluster of rock formations due west of the beach. The affect was great surfing waves, that seemed to beckon me, who had never surfed, to conquer the waves! Oh, foolish boy!
Through veterans there who were more than eager you give good advice to us rookies we learned all about surfing. This one Master Sgt. took Bruce and I aside and gave us a short course on surfing off this beach. One particular lecture was on the unique and peculiar way that waves flowed around the rock formations before they crashed on the beach. The surfer, on his board, if they catch the wave just right would seem to be flying right at those rocks! The feeling is panic and exhilaration, we were told. Then, as if by magic, suddenly the waves make a left turn, just missing the rocks and flowing all the way onto the beach. Safe. Magic!
There’s quite a difference between hearing a lecture, practicing on your board as it lay there on the sand, and being out there with the waves moving around you. There’s also a big difference between body surfing close to shore as you catch waves that have pretty much exhausted themselves. So, you crank up enough nerve, because you think you’re good, and paddle way out beyond the rock point then you turn toward shore and wait for the perfect wave.
For me, and I didn’t know this at the time, I was about to take my one and only surfing ride. I was excited because I knew I was ready and I could do this. My perfect wave came. I caught it just as I thought I would, easy, peasy. But, suddenly I was flying faster, then I ever imagined and, at first, I was thrilled until I looked up and there were those rocks coming at me like a speeding train. I didn’t know what to do. I forgot all about what was I was told. You know about “hang on for the thrill of your life” and I just had to get off the board or I would die on those rocks.
My heart was beating like crazy as I hit the water. I felt my body and my board being pulled, and I began to panic again until I realized the waves were pulling me around the rocks, just as I had been told. I felt a sense of relief like I had never felt before. I was still alive! I gathered myself, finally climbed back on my board and paddled my way onto the beach. I was asked what happened out there and I may have blurted out something about a shark or a whale or something, only to be laughed at.
My next surfing experience came many years later at Virginia Beach with the grandkids and the boogie boards. Oh, I told them all about the thrill of catching the giant waves, one after another. Each time I tell that story the waves gets bigger more ferocious, more dangerous, and yet I rode them all. I leave out the part about the panic, I leave out the part about being scared to death, and may have slipped in my courageous challenge of those giant rocks. Makes for a fun story told by grandpa.
Anyway, long ago, I was young, that beach was beautiful, the sand soft, the sun warm, the beer cold, a perfect setting to invent story. And I was there.
For What It’s Worth.
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