The Islands (36 page)

‘A regular coffee. I never drank coffee much till I came here. So what are you doing with yourself?' asked Catherine.

‘I'm actually heading back to California. Either Ojai or Big Sur. Then to India. Or I might go to India first. See what the maharishi and TM is all about.'

‘TM? Remind me again?'

‘Transcendental meditation. A technique to relax, attain inner happiness and fulfilment,' Sadie explained. ‘No drugs, no alcohol, no religion. Seven simple steps. Sounds good to me. I'm ready to travel again.'

‘On your own?'

‘My journeys start out that way. I make friends as I go. What about you?'

‘I'm not travelling for some time. I'm staying here, my husband is at sea. But I like Hawaii. And I have a part-time job.'

‘Ah, the photography. How'd your Kauai pictures come out?'

‘Good. I have some cute ones of Ziggy and Pink. Do you have an address for Summer and Ginger?'

‘Sure. And the guys. They float a bit, but they generally go back to
Nirvana
between surfing safaris.'

Catherine avoided eye contact as she fished in her bag for a notepad. She'd send a set of prints to Summer and ask her to share them round.

Sadie hadn't once mentioned PJ but she asked Catherine a couple of awkward questions.

‘So, you're happy? Marriage all it's cracked up to be? Holding onto your independence?'

Catherine adopted Sadie's flippant tone. ‘Yep. Husband away for weeks, maybe months, I'm doing my own thing. Ditched the boring navy wives. Really trying to scratch below the surface of postcard Hawaii.'

‘Great for you, honey.' Sadie dropped her bantering tone, leant across the table and put her hand over Catherine's. ‘Try everything. Never be afraid, never have regrets. The guy I adored was killed in Vietnam but that hasn't stopped me doing all the things we dreamt of doing, loving whomever I want. I love and walk away. Whatever it takes to get you through the nights, babe. There are guys that are safe and there are guys that drive you wild. For now, I'm choosing to walk on the wild side. Like John Lennon said, “Life isn't a dress rehearsal.”' Sadie smiled, but Catherine thought there was a shadow of sadness behind the bravado.

Driving back to her apartment after the long and stimulating conversation with Sadie, Catherine started to feel a bit trapped. She was tied to Bradley's life. She couldn't go to India or start to learn about so many things that were out there. Sadie believed the world was changing, this truly was a new dawn, old barriers, conventions, were crumbling.

Catherine arrived home and for once the magic of Hawaii couldn't cheer her.

 

Extract from The Biography of

THE WATERMAN

The first wave is never forgotten. In between swimming events and bit parts in movies, the young man still worked as a lifeguard and swimming instructor now at a swank swim club further south of the city. The strip of beach was frequented by film industry people and wealthy families. One morning at the beach he uncovered a discarded surfboard – a beaten-up redwood plank – which he took out into the surf and tried to ride with no success. In fact his topsy-turvy pearl dive pummelling that pushed him deep underwater scared him and he vowed to stick to swimming.

But a few days later he tried again when two-foot waves were rolling in. Suddenly he caught a wave, jumped to his feet and found himself riding across the ocean. The board ploughed ahead of the wave, on and on, and it seemed forever to the elated young man. He was doing what he'd always dreamed of since seeing the newsreel of the Waikiki board riders.

He was now in the grip of a passion more intense than any he would ever know. The time had come. A brief stint on another movie and then he spent his money on a steamship ticket to the Islands.

The days at sea passed pleasantly. The young man became known for the amount of food he ate at every meal. Food had always seemed in short supply in his life so he made the most of the voyage, building himself up for whatever lay ahead. He strode the decks, breathing deeply the clear sea air.

In Honolulu he headed straight to Waikiki, a village removed from the port and downtown's bright lights. He found a perfect strip of beach near two hotels – one of them, the Moana, seemed very glamorous – and some buildings under haphazard construction between the palms, pandanus, ohia and hau trees. The glittering water washed over the coral reef where perfect waves glided endlessly to the fine white sand. A few surfers and beach boys idled on the sand. And standing guard, protecting their playground, rose the stern sphinx of Diamond Head.

He hung around the Outrigger Canoe Club and he met one of Duke's brothers, also a swimming champion who was quick to introduce the young man with the impressive swimming record to the other surfers. He was taken out tandem surf riding and spent time with the beach boys who made a few dollars from tourists showing them how to surf. This was their career, their way of life – surfing.

Like them, the young man had found his vocation. He now lived to surf. The friendship, the sharing, the bond was like coming home. And home for this young man became the constant sun, the softness of the tradewinds, the cleanness of the colours . . . water so blue, clouds so white, foliage as green as emeralds, the hypnotic sway of palm trees and always, the call of the surf.

He lived simply. Food was in abundance in the garden of the house he shared with other surfers – avocados, mangoes, papayas, bananas. It was healthy, simple and quiet. He had no need of drugs or alcohol or noisy company. Everywhere he looked he saw beauty. From flowers, ferns and stately palms, to the mischievous dark eyes of the wahines, the friendly smiles of the native Hawaiians.

And it was his association, his easy friendship, with Duke and his family, the beach boys and the locals that awakened in him a curiosity about the origins and history of the island people. His work in the film industry had given him an interest in photography and now his camera captured the true Hawaii. Its unspoiled, uncrowded beaches, traditional hula dancers, barefoot boys scaling coconut palms, the outriggers cleaving through the waves bringing home a catch of fish, and always, the surfboard riders, waiting and watching for the next wave.

As he spent more and more time with the local Hawaiians and learnt something of the history of their ancient art of surfboard riding, his intellectual interest grew and he started to study Hawaiian customs and culture in the library and the museum.

The young man was intrigued by the stories of the ancient chiefs, the kings and queens, the royal lineage of the Islands. In the museum he found, hanging on a stone outer wall, two old Hawaiian olo boards, used by the chiefs. It was a tradition hundreds of years old. These were the first kings of the surf who, accompanied by their naked women surfing beside them, played at beaches reserved for them alone. Then came the missionaries who banned the activity until the kapu was finally lifted and the surf became a world for all.

The young man asked if he could study the old boards and was directed to the bowels of the museum where some of the earliest boards were stacked, forgotten. He examined the boards, under their layers of paint and caulking, and realised that these boards were quite ancient.

The young man formed a plan: he was determined to recreate the boards and discover how these massive pieces of wood rode in the waves, how they could be adapted and changed. Suddenly his passion had a new edge and a thousand ideas began to bubble in his head. At night he sketched, measured and drew up plans. He became a familiar sight working on boards beneath the palm trees of Waikiki. By day he was in the water, trying out his innovative boards, catching waves, learning the moods, the flow of the water through channels behind the jagged coral reefs exposed at low tide. He watched how the swells built up and began to understand the waters of Waikiki. He continued to learn more about the waves, the tides, the swells, the weather patterns of the Islands.

But the greatest knowledge was that he had found the art of life – a way to live his life doing what inspired and moved him most – surfing.

11

C
ATHERINE AND LESTER STROLLED
slowly along Kalakaua Avenue enjoying the morning air. Lester had one arm linked through Catherine's, his hand leaning lightly on his walking stick. He looked quite rakish with a fresh hibiscus tucked in his straw hat, dark glasses and an open aloha shirt over a favourite T-shirt.

‘Let's go into the Moana Hotel courtyard, under the banyan tree,' suggested Catherine. ‘It was Bradley's and my favourite spot when I first came here.'

‘When you were courting. It is a romantic spot. I might have stolen a kiss or two under that banyan myself,' he smiled.

‘You old devil, Lester. You never talk about your girlfriends,' said Catherine. It was a subject he evaded and again he quickly changed the topic.

‘Ah, it was for publicity pictures, that sort of thing. They were always dragging a pretty girl off the beach to pose with me and a board,' he said modestly.

Lester ordered juice. ‘I've had my caffeine hit for the day.' He settled himself so he faced the beach. Lester wanted to talk about Kauai, as he had fond memories of surfing that island's north shore and knew Beatrice's home, although it was then the plantation manager's house.

‘I don't think I'd ever seen any place as beautiful as Kauai. They haven't ruined it like this island, have they?'

‘Not at all, though Eleanor tells me there are plans for some new big resorts. But there aren't the high rises and big community developments like here in Honolulu, thank goodness.'

‘Not enough people on Kauai, I guess,' said Lester. Catherine sipped her cappuccino and suddenly Lester waved. ‘Hey!'

Catherine looked across at the beach to see PJ, in swim shorts, strolling across the sand carrying a board, a woman in a sarong beside him.

‘Hey, PJ!' called Lester and PJ turned and grinned, giving them a wave.

PJ spoke to the woman who smiled and walked away. Resting his board against a spreading pandanus tree at the edge of the Moana courtyard, PJ joined them.

Lester got to his feet and went to shake his hand. ‘Good to see you, buddy. What're doing here?'

‘Teaching tourists.' PJ spotted Catherine hovering at the table. He lifted his hand. ‘Catherine. Good to see you.'

She tried to act calmly despite feeling anything but. ‘Hi, PJ. What brings you to Oahu?'

‘Work. This time of year I try to make enough money for the rest of the year.' He gave a disarming smile. ‘How did your photos turn out?'

‘Really well, thanks.'

‘So what's with the shorty?' Lester indicated the short board.

‘As well as surf lessons and taking tourists out in the outrigger and kayaks, I've started to do a bit of shaping.'

‘Mmm. Cutting down long boards?' asked Lester with interest.

‘Yep. Making a few guns. Trying a few new ideas. Like a lot of the good shapers around – Diffenderfer, Curren, Downing, Ben Apia.'

‘They're great surfers who became really good board shapers. Guns are boards for big waves,' Lester explained to Catherine. ‘Who's riding for you?'

‘I have one of the Bronzed Aussie team. But I also try the boards out of course. Those Aussie boys are ripping into the local scene. There's been some heavy vibes about them.'

‘So I've heard. So where are you doing your shaping?'

Catherine kept quiet as the two surfers talked. Lester was rubbing the blunt nose of the board and was intensely interested in what PJ had to say.

PJ nodded behind them. ‘Over the back, got a shed in a place on Lewers, near Seaside. Come over and have a look sometime. I'd like your feedback. You were pretty radical in your day with your designs.'

‘Yeah, probably ahead of my time,' replied Lester. ‘Say, come and have something to drink with us.'

‘Thanks, Lester, better get on. Besides, don't feel dressed for coffee with a lady.' He smiled at Catherine, acknowledging her properly for the first time.

As they made direct eye contact, Catherine suddenly felt so embarrassed that she had to look away.

‘But listen, Lester, you come and see me. Bring him over, Catherine.' PJ turned and picked up his board, gave a wave and trotted back along the beach.

Lester turned his attention to Catherine and downed the remains of his juice. ‘Well, that'll be good. I'm keen to see what he's doing. He's got the feel for it.'

Catherine didn't ask what that meant. She was suddenly wondering why she was expected to take Lester to see PJ. Why couldn't PJ pick up Lester himself? For an instant she thought, does he want to see me and Lester is just an excuse? Then she decided no, it's easier for everyone if I bring Lester to the workshop. Just the same she was feeling quite confused. She stood up.