Pele has convinced me that she does not want me to surf good waves at this time in my life. How did I come to this absurdly blasphemous conclusion you ask? Well, the first time I was on the Big Island an almost identical swell scenario repeated itself. Days of overhead, clean surf leading up to my arrival, followed by an absolute snuffing of the swell for the first day where I can get my board to the water.




I mean nothing, zero, nada, gilch, fill in your favorite personal synonym for the feeling of really, really wanting to do something and then being shut down completely from being able to participate. Barely waste high (on a short pygmy) and piddling over the reef, the waves that were breaking over the reef upon my arrival were not powerful enough to push my body more than an inch.

Was this the Pele curse? The Curse of the Loco? Instead of Hunter S. it was Emergency Room Harris feeling the wrath of the goddess that has been woven into the very fabric of Hawaiian existence.

Doubtful. This was just another case of ego and desire over rationality. I wanted to come up with some sort of excuse for why I was being taunted with the prospect of scoring clean Hawaiian waves in warm water.

The truth was that no swell equal no waves. No waves equal tranquil ocean. Tranquil ocean equals SNORKELING conditions! Turning a negative into a positive, one look under the turquoise waters made it quite clear that it might not be so bad after all.

ER Harris