Dragon Tails

By Leona Roberts

After spending a beautiful day with my family in Hilo around Coconut Island and Lili`uokalani Park and Gardens, I drove back to the west side of the Big Island. Roadwork kept traffic moving at a snail’s pace and by the time I reached Waimea, it was time for a break. It looked as if springtime had arrived early. Ohia trees were thick with lehua buds and the cherry blossoms were starting to bloom at “church row,” just in time for the Waimea Cherry Blossom Heritage Festival set for 9 a.m. on Saturday, February 4.

After stretching my legs, I headed down the hill with a steady breeze from Mauna Kea at my back. A lightly gold-tinged, silvery haze veiled the blue skies over South Kohala, muting the sun’s light while incorporating it’s immediate rays into a larger circle. This false corona made the sun look gigantic as clouds played shadows across an unusually textured ocean surface. Each break in the shadows revealed uniformly-spaced furrows sculpted by the wind, like the rows in a field of asparagus before the succulent shoots sprouted above ground, or like a design in freshly raked gravel of a Japanese garden.

I pulled off the road and tried to capture images of the unusually corrugated sea that lay before me, but the pictures just didn’t do the scene justice. You had to be there. I could still see the corduroy-like lines, running perpendicular from the shore out to sea when I reached Queen Ka’ahumanu Highway, but the otherworldly appearance of the afternoon sun had faded with the angle of light and cloud cover during that brief space and time just moments earlier.

Humpback whales dotted the shimmering blue-gray ocean here and there with brief appearances of black, white and lingering silvery puffs of spray from their spouts. Pua Ka ‘Ilima ‘O Kawaihae Cultural Surf Park at the breakwater looked flat until a set of breakers roped around the tip of the jetty, perking me up with that old familiar feeling of hopeful excitement. A late afternoon dip was in order and watching the sunset from a beach is one of my favorite things.

Hapuna Point was breaking so I pulled into the parking lot, grinning from ear to ear as a stack of cars waited to drive out. The lifeguards were starting to pack up and lines of people were on the trails leaving the beach like ants carrying foraged booty to their hives. The water looked a little bit choppy but my grin widened when I saw it was nearly deserted except for a few small clusters of people.

I was grateful for the glare-cutting cloud cover as I scanned the break and the waters beyond for signs of anything good, bad or ugly. Deciding where to get in, I set my stuff down just oceanside of the soon-to-be stowed away by the lifeguards, “dangerous shore break” sign at the south side of the beach.

Ahhh… the cool water that lapped at my feet felt so good as I pulled on my fins and fastened the leashes around my ankles. I knew my stuff wouldn’t get wet because a little white sand crab, freckled with gray specks, was digging at the water’s edge as the tide continued to drop toward its lowest mark of the day.

A long set of at least seven, two to three footers started rolling in while I purposefully waded out through the white water toward large, dark, undulating shapes along the edge of the empty break that I had my eye on. A single fin broke the water’s surface about 15 yards out, followed by the wide, powerful, black back that it was attached to. Fear rang through my core, releasing adrenaline into my bloodstream. For what seemed to be an excruciatingly long moment, I wondered, as my fingertips were stung with the jolting itch of my body’s response, if I’d been wrong?

It felt as if my eyes were bulging out of my head as another huge black fin appeared alongside the first one. Suddenly, even closer to me, right next to the other two, a third, enormous white fin cut through the water, relieving all of my fears. Like a tremendously beefy black bird with a white underside, the manta ray “flew” by in slow motion, parallel to the shoreline along the spine of an unbroken wave. It turned and repeated its flight, but this time, it glided toward me on the next wave. Without the usual afternoon glare I could clearly see its “horns” were unfurled. Its great mouth was gaping wide, exposing countless, perfectly white, uniform, tiny teeth that, with the ribs of strap-like, white rows running across the inside of its mouth and down its open throat, formed a cross mesh-like sieve structure that filtered plankton from the clear, dark water it was grazing through.

I was smiling again as I dove in under the waves of the break. The ray looked to have a wingspan of at least nine feet. Soon, it was joined by two more, smaller, about five-foot wingspan, mantas. They, especially the big one, seemed to have no fear of me and watching their interactions while I bodysurfed was sheer joy. After a short time, the trio of manta rays darted out toward the open ocean together, their little dragon tails trailing behind them, only to reappear right next to me as soon as what turned out to be an overhead set, had subsided. The next time they split, I chased after them and got out and in position just in time to score the first, big, beautiful bomb of the set.

A handful of young locals got in nearby and suddenly spied the swirling fins. Their eyes grew wide and they were about ready to dig out when I told them that the fins were mantas. The young kama’aina tentatively moved next to the rocks where a nice right and left were shaping and peeling as pure calm came over the water and the miracle of evening glass-off worked its magic at Hapuna.

After a while, they left and some longtime, young and old friends from Santa Cruz arrived to glean great rides that were being offered up at the far-south end of the beach. There, the side-wave that reflects off of the cliffs was throwing perfect, long-running barrels. A couple more friends, a father and daughter, back home from college who I’d last seen as a toddler, came out to quench themselves during the last rays of light on the undeniably sweet surf.

Long after the sun had melted away into the clouds, I reluctantly trudged up, onto the beach. In the waning light, I could see a big set coming in and heard excited whoops of joy as yet another perfect set crashed into the year of the dragon. Kung hee fat choy!