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clifford gessler : surf riding at waikiki, 1938 |
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The grass house,
the hula, the lei; the surfboard and canoe these are not Hawaii.
They are but
one aspect.
Sugar and pineapples
are a big part of Hawaiian life, but not all.
Many elements
enter into the complex that is the islands.
...
All of these,
modified by climate and by one another, go to make up a Hawaii that is
broader and deeper and
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more puzzling
than the Waikiki-and-volcano, surfboard- and-hula Hawaii of the tourists.
They constitute
the day by day living and working Hawaii.
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From most accounts
Kamehameha seems to have been a serious, even somber person, seldom if
ever smiling, but fond of athletic games.
He was noted,
even in old age, as a surf rider; he learned to ride a horse an animal
unknown to him in his youth; he was skilful in the martial exercises of
his people.
Vancouver saw
eight spears cast at him at one time in the annual games, three of which
he caught, three warded off, and two dodged.
When one visiting
captain remonstrated with him on the dangers of such a
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practice, he replied: "I am as able to dodge a spear as any other man is to throw one."
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And then the Waikiki
mood begins to creep over one.
Sun-mornings
and sun-afternoons glide imperceptibly into the spirit; the caress of warm,
clean, sea water and of mild sunshine relaxes every nerve and muscle ;
live, sparkling surf tones and invigorates; soft nights and haunting island
music beckon to gaiety and dancing under the stars that seem so near.
And Waikiki becomes
an addiction, a passion.
Winter after
winter, summer after summer, one returns again and again.
...
I didn't want
to mention a single hotel, even less to emphasize one.
There are others
at the beach as comfortable if not as lavish the Halekulani, for instance.
But the Royal
Hawaiian, architecturally and by virtue of geographical location, is inescapably
the center of Waikiki life and cannot be ignored, any more than its thrusting
bulk and ornate style can fail to catch the eye from any angle within miles.
It is set within a huge garden of tropical shrubbery among coconut palms that waved over Karnehameha's court
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Its broad verandas open upon a garden terrace where of nights one dances literally "under the stars" while the murmur of waves on the sand below the sea-wall and the low thunder of surf along the reef play a soothing obbligato to the man-made horns and strings.
By day it looks
out upon a beach gay with many-colored sun umbrellas and thronged with
visitors in fashionable bathing costumes, served with every attention by
solicitous "beach boys."
Here an eastern
lady of fashion lies prone beneath the sun while a smiling Hawaiian youth
anoints her back and legs with coconut oil to encourage protective and
ornamental tan.
Near-by, another
bronze boy kneels over another fair visitor, kneading and manipulating
the muscles in the soothing and relaxing Hawaiian massage.
Here a brown
lad braids a hat of young coconut leaves ; there one with guitar or ukulele
entertains a group with island songs,
pausing to remark,
if applause is not satisfactorily enthusiastic, "Luffly!"
The beach boy
is guide, instructor, nurse, outdoor valet, and a dozen other things.
He teaches guitar
and ukulele playing, takes care of children while parents are otherwise
occupied; when things grow dull he plays the clown, performing amusing
antics in the water or on the sand.
No visit to Hawaii
is complete without a beach boy to teach the art of surf riding and to
pilot an outrigger canoe for thrilling rides under the urge of rusting
waves.
Waikiki is said
to be the world's most favored spot for surf riding.
The curve of
shore and the formation of the reef set up long, smooth, far-running swells
that carry skilful riders at times a half mile or more.
This kingly sport had been almost forgotten when, around the opening of the present century, it was revived,
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like many other
native things, by a group of white men. It is not quite like anything else
in the world; the nearest approach to it is skiing.
One launches
the curved, slant-shapen board with a run and a smooth glide, then leaps
upon it and lies prone, striking out with arms at either side, paddling
out to the encircling line where the white beards of sea gods stream in
the wind.
One ducks under
crashing waves, glides over smaller ones, till the "break" is passed; then
sits astride, watching for the bulge on the horizon that heralds the coming
of a wave.
There it is, a
darkening signal at the watery edge of the world.
Lying flat again,
you paddle swiftly from it, straining for speed.
The wave comes
on; you feel it under your feet, lifting the board. You put every ounce
of strength into the last quids: arm-strokes. For a moment you hang poised
on the crest. It is the crucial time : you shift position, judging quickly
the height and speed of the wave; if your weight is too far back on the
board, you will lose momentum and fall behind the swell; if too far forward,
you and the board will dive together with a ton of water upon you, perhaps
to strike hard against the coral bottom.
But if your coordination
is just right you rise to the knees, to the feet; you stand erect, deftly
balancing, guiding the speeding board by shifting the weight.
Shoreward you
soar in the grip of the wave birdlike, godlike, exultant with the joy of
that swift motion. In immediate physical sensation it approaches wings.
If surfboard riding
suggests skiing, canoe surfing somewhat resembles tobogganing down a moving
wall instead of a solid mountain.
The technique
is similar in principle to that of the board, but with arms extended by
paddles.
Spray dashes
over you as you hurtle at seemingly express-
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train speed before the wave that carries the canoe often to the very edge of the sand.
One has not felt
fully the magic of the islands until one has ridden a canoe beneath the
moon.
The sea is silvered
with mellow light; the shore is mysterious beneath the shadows of palms;
the wind comes cool and soothing to the half-bared flesh.
Far out, the
rim of a wave reflects the ghostly light; "Huki!" the steersman
shouts; bending in time to a rhythmic chant, you plunge the broad paddle
into the curving sea.
The over-taking
wave hurls the canoe forward till you seem to soar clear, between earth
and sky, with cool spray flying about you and the voices of the night calling
in accents of forgotten gods.
Tourists: especially
ladies commonly begin their surf riding in "tandem," under instruction
of a beach boy.
The pupil lies
forward on the board, the instructor behind and partly over her, his strong
arms furnishing most of the motive power for the long pull outward bound
and the swift fierce struggle to catch the wave.
When it is caught,
he lifts her to her feet, and she has all the feeling of conquering the
surf when in reality her brown companion has done most of the work.
Romances develop
out of these beach and surf associations.
One is so carefree
at Waikiki, and a stalwart surf rider has appealed to some visiting ladies
as an evening escort as well.
The shore of Waikiki
by night is mellow with lights, gay with music and cool drinks and dancing.
The outdoor terrace
ballroom glitters with fashion; from the dance floor floats the fragrance
of flower leis that match the gowns.
Either night
or day, it is a place of joy: the spirit of Waikiki is careless, indolent,
remote from even the island-
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tempered struggles
of the town.
One can't take
life quite seriously at Waikiki.
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To this extent
the islands partake of tropical custom: the day begins and ends earlier,
though there is no noon siesta as in the real tropics.
Most businesses
open at eight or earlier and close in time to allow an hour or two of outdoor
play before the early dinner time.
The volley-ball
courts at the Outrigger Canoe Club and the surf outside are crowded each
late afternoon with young business men.
Thus they keep
fit.
The Hawaiian
climate is kindest to those who are active.
Tropical lassitude
is more likely to creep up on the sedentary.
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Hawaii- Isles of Enchantment D. Appleton-Century Company, New York, 1938. Internet Archive
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