The Surfboard Whisperer

The beautiful board that caught my attention

Traveling is exhilarating. It's a lot like surfing. The feeling of freedom and the energy buzz that I get. They’re one in the same. So, during a recent trip to Hawaii, when we wound up island-hopping (Maui to Honolulu) to get to our final destination of Kauai, that was just fine with me.

It was after two days of traveling, sitting in airports, hailing shuttles and booking hotel rooms online that I wound up on a beautiful stretch of beach in Waikiki, Honolulu. My energy buzz was finally replaced by a familiar sense of Pacific peace. One that tastes like salty, tropical air served up with a Mai Tai on the side. It’s in this place, digging my feet into the coarse sand watching the sun fade, that I felt called to.

I was busy soaking up the warmth of Hawaii, storing away the sights, the smells and the sounds that I would surely retrieve much later – when I was wrapped in a cold gray, winter day that I felt a calling of sorts. Reflexively, I turned and looked over my shoulder and down the beach. About 25 yards away, half-under and half-out of a multi-colored umbrella, my eyes came to rest on an upside down surfboard with a surfer-boy lounging next to it.

At a glance, I could see the board was old. As I continued to gaze at it, something compelled me to get a closer look. “I’m gonna walk down and get a picture of that surfboard,” I mumbled to my husband before setting off toward the half-upright umbrella.

Oddly, the closer I got, the more beautiful that old board became. I was so completely focused on it that before I knew what I was doing, I was touching it momentarily, forgetting about surfer dude who sat watching me quizzically.

“W’sup,” he said sleepily.

“Oh, I um, wondered if I could take a picture of your board?” I said. I could see the question mark on his face. . . “W’sup with this lady who wants to take a picture of the board…”

“Sure thing, he said. It’s pretty special. Usually I get people who want to take a picture of me with the board,” he went on.

“Yeah, no offense," I said without thinking. "I’ve seen a lot of surfers, but I’ve never quite seen a board like this one. It’s beautiful.” Wow. That’s what I get for not thinking. Totally insulting surfer dude without even trying to.

The sun set as I started snapping shots with my small point-and-shoot digital camera. As I continued to search for the perfect angle, letting my eyes and heart lead the way, the surfer offered up the story of the board:

Another special board in Kaua'i
for the late Andy Irons

“lt’s pretty special," he said."My friend Alfred surfs on it. He got it from a friend of his who is a native Hawaiian. The Hawaiian’s brother used to ride it all the time. And he died surfing. So it hung in a garage for a long, long, time. And then the Hawaiian gave it to my friend Alfred. He’s just starting to surf. Pretty awesome, huh?” surfer guy said.

“Yeah, awe some,” I exhaled between shots, thinking about how ironic it was that the Hawaiian gave the board to a newbie surfer. Was this his way of perpetuating the memory of his late brother? A perfect representation of the circle of life. From the little I knew about the Hawaiian culture, it made sense.

The board glowed as the sun set. I kept snapping until the shadows got long – all the while thinking about the energy and memories that it held. The moment passed and I thanked my laid-back friend and headed back down the beach.

But the board stayed with me. All the way back to Michigan – where it was at least 30 degrees colder, with a north wind. “What was it exactly that made me want to photograph that surfboard?” I kept thinking.

Today, as I shared the story with a friend, I realized that there are surfboards all around us. The challenge is to hear them. I’m pretty sure that on daily basis I am surrounded by moments like the one I had on that beach half-a-world away. The challenge is: noticing and moving toward them. Not being afraid to listen. Even when it’s a surfboard on the other end of the line, calling.