Tag Archives: surfing the big island

ADAM’S FAMILY big island VACATION

Posted on by under real surfers, surf addiction, surf adventures, surf stories, surf trips, surfing blogs, surfing stories, surfing the strait of juan de fuca

If you rely on the waves on the Strait of Juan de Fuca to provide you with all the surfing satisfaction you can reasonably handle… well… There is a reason surfers who can go elsewhere do… go elsewhere. Of the loosely bundled group that might or might not be considered the Jefferson County CREW (as differentiated from if not opposed to the Clallam County or, heavens, the crews from King or Thurston or any other county) one is in New Zealand, another in Mexico, and two local rippers are planning a brief escape to, perhaps, Panama.

So, ADAM JAMES, who does actually live in Mason County, but, by virtue of his wide travels pushing HAMA HAMA OYSTERS to the known world, and who seems to be welcomed everywhere he goes, figured out a way to get to the BIG ISLAND, AND, AND, and to include his family: Andrea and their two sons, EMMETT and CALVIN (aka BOOMER), whose names I include because I keep having to ask Adam, AND because it is important to know more about our surf friends than whether or not they are goofy foot. Adam- no; regular foot but known to use a parallel stance on occasion.

OKAY, and I know it’s annoying, here is, after some further babbling, the photo array:

YOU DON’T get the full ADAM WIPOUT storytelling advantage here. I did. It was great. Next time Adam is backpaddling you, ask him about shooting the boar, or who this guy is, or pretty much anything. IT does look like this board was pretty far along before this Big Island breakage. I don’t believe this surfer was identified by name.

That’s Mikel “SQUINTZ” Cumiskey in the second shot. He seems to move, frequently, from Florida to Port Townsend to the Big Island. Mike and Adam met up, hit some of the spots. YES, Adam dropped names (Pine Trees, Banyons, secret spots with names I already forgot), had to include that the locals welcomed him graciously, AND that, by luck, he discovered a spot by the hotel they were staying at.

NOW, I have done some work for the Hama Hama Oyster Company, so I should include that the one photo is of Nate, the hatchery manager for JAMESTOWN SEAFOOD. The hatchery is owned by the Jamestown/s’klallam tribe. Nate is holding a few thousand 2-3 mm Kumamoto Oyster seed. They are sent from the hatchery to East Sequim Bay to grow to 12mm, at which point they are shipped to farms such as the Hama Hama tideflats on the Hood Canal. Nate is based out of Kona and, with his wife, Melissa, took Adam and Emmett out on their boat.

THERE WERE other photos, more waves, but I should also mention the boar was shot, by Adam. The way Adam told me, “So, Brian tells me, ‘the boar’s gonna charge you, but he’ll stop short. When he does, you have to shoot him right between the eyes. One shot. These guys eat twenty-two bullets like candy.’ It did… stop. I shot. Boom.”

BRIAN works for HAWAIIAN SHELLFISH on the Hilo side. Hama Hama also buys seed from them.

If I got any of this wrong, sorry.

MEANWHILE, look for waves when you can, and, if you find them, surf them. I am totally planning on restoring my HOBIE, which I did purchase from Adam Wipeout, like six or seven years ago, and, no Adam, I did pay it off.

Here’s something I got as a comment from someone who identified as FRANK LEE DARLING: “Those Cristians (sic) who can’t seem to not follow the sunburned turd should realize there not part of the flock, they’re part of the mob. Hope you get what I’m saying, Dude.” Not political, Frank, not sure if you’re talking about ALEX KNOST. No need to write back to explain.

IF YOU’RE CRUISING up or down SURF ROUTE 101, you might as well check out HAMA HAMA OYSTERS. If you have access to the internet, might as well check realsurfers.net on Sundays and Wednesdays. Not, like, dawn patrol.

Big Island ‘Haole Local’ finds Surf Redemption

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing, real surfers, Uncategorized

Now that Stephen R. Davis is kind of settling into Big Island life, and has made progress toward, possibly, becoming what he referred to another surfer over there, a “Haole Local,” I speak with him less regularly than when he was over here on the crookedy corner of the contiguous states. I mean, like, really, what do I have to say, surfwise? King tides and southwest swells and skunkings and underwater gravel migration that cuts a wave-killing channel through my favorite reef? Mean-muggers and packs of high-fiving white guys on SUPs who, obviously, got their training chasing ferry boats? How the number of new surfers add to the Olympic Peninsula demographic of most frustrated surfers per hundred thousand?

Yeah, the usual stuff, plus, since it’s this time of year where every surf trip starts AND ends in the dark, and the political shenanigans continue, unabated, as does the virus, and the unavoidably (except by Congress) obvious toll the pandemic has taken on regular folks (for example- several Port Angeles restaurants in business the 42 years I’ve been here have for sale signs in front of them) continues to rise; and, oh yeah; it’s Christmas time, which, if I had my choice, would take place in August when I actually have some money for presents (my kids don’t call me the Christmas Dick because I seem particularly jolly)… so, again, just the usual stuff is going on in my life, making it extra pleasant to get a call from Stephen R. Davis.

Steve called me to say he’d gotten redemption at a sketchy break that features a dry-reef-takeoff, a couple of cruisy sections, and an opportunity to get barreled or pummeled. We did talk after an earlier session in which one of the non-Haole locals said something that Steve understood, but, with him using the pidgin pronunciation, left me with no clue as to what he was talking about, even when I made him repeat it. But, placing it in context, because, when he looked around, all the other surfers were heading for shore, I’m guessing the phrase probably meant something like, “The tide’s too low, Haole.”

Now I imagine Steve nodding, as if he understood the implications, but staying out for an uncontested wave of two.

As I said, this time, with some water on the reef, Steve, who says, with the opportunity to surf consistently, he is surfing better than he ever has, and he was already a very good surfer; this time… redemption.

WAIT! I was just watching some pipeline footage and suddenly reef that Steve said he was doing the outfit with the two hands in the wave face, meaning one hand behind him. “Wait,” I exclaimed ( or asked, perhaps- less dramatic), “you mean like Clay Matzo at Honolua Bay?” “Yes. ” “So, you Marzoed?” ” Guess so. ” “Okay.”

Steve sent me a few photos. This one is a little beefcake-ish and buttcrack-ey, and he says it isn’t him, though he claims he can’t remember the name of the guy and, although I just don’t know of that many people who have that much fucking hair (and I have seen some Stephen Davis wannabes).

Merry Christmas from Stephen R. Davis or Stephen R. Davis doppelganger

It’s a bit interesting to me that I’m working on this while considering how much weight a 4/3 full wetsuit adds to a surfer, that with a one mil vest (with hood) and booties, all of which take in and hold a certain amount of saltwater and/or urine (no, not the hood, urine-wise); and that I have two baggies of assorted chocolates on a side table, and a selection of seasonal cookies easily available; and that working on finishing my novel “Swamis,” (self promotion here) and whatever else I’m doing from a chair that can recline if I’m too tired to sit upright is not exactly like burning calories.

I did mention the Christmas Dick thing.

Anyway, and not just because I have some free (as in no one is paying me for it) time, I will, soon, post some photos my friend and contemporary Tom Burns sent me illustrating a trip some of his friends took to the channel at Mavericks on that recent day, best in years, you are probably already familiar with. But, just because my sister Suellen sent me this, I may as well include a shot of our dad, Suellen, me, and my next sister down, Mary Jane, en route from Surf City, North Carolina to San Diego, December 1953.

“I see the big crack, yeah; but when do we get in the water?”

Merry Christmas; try not to be a (not a sexist comment- I’m talking behaviorally) dick; in or out of the water; and, for godsake, Steve or non-Steve, tighten up those boardshorts!