Love Hate

The setting, Waikiki. The time, 6:30pm. The surf conditions, consistent 2-4ft, light to no wind, and a bright ass full moon. Forget the towering hotels, the eloquently dressed tourists in their matching $7.00 aloha shirt and surf shorts, the jamming sounds of Fiji under a 35 foot movie screen and completely forget the cash cow of the State of Hawaii. Tonight, it was all about the surf. Night surf. People think I’m crazy that I announce to go night surfing. But those who’ve experienced the “surfing blind” or to “surf using the Force” method, knows at
times it can rival a solid mid-day session.

Sometimes you’ll find yourself in a situation, wishing you had a camera. I would have gave my left nut for a waterproof one that had night vision video capability. Of course, I would process the images and video then ask for my left nut back. Sorry, I’m stingy with my nuts. But I’ll do my best, to paint a picture with words. Be cautious with my random brush strokes. You might lose a nut.

I recruited many. Only one made it. And she’s a six foot ninja. I tell her, we’ll be surfing blind tonight.  Then I’ll surf with both my eyes closed, she says.  Completely fearless.  I could utter condition quality all day. But non-ocean people wouldn’t understand. Here is my best attempt. Factor in wind speed, tide height, wave size, consistency, ambient city and moon lighting, and crowd numbers. When all of these are “in tune” and working in your favor, you’ve got a condition surfers call “EPIC”. This is the Love.

There is a universal law of balance, although undesirable, that stands as a necessity so that karma can still have a 9 to 5. I refer to the overcrowded beach breaks. The artificial “Aloha Spirit”, that is so artificial, quotation marks are a must. The over commercialized one mile stretch of touristy deals that suit your fancy and high priced after sun aloe lotion. The random repugnant piss smell, thanks to the houseless inhabitants. Finally, a beach that screams “If you don’t replace my sand every five years, I’m going to fucking disappear.” Sure, acknowledgement of my opinionated statements are by choice. They are definitely pessimistic. But there’s is a fine line between turning a blind eye, and seeing what something is for what it is. And it is what it is.

Waikiki. Hawaii’s bankroll, sitting on crying ‘aina that delivers virtuous recreation in it’s tranquil overcrowded waters. Love hate.