Facing Down Jaws

Story by Rod Antone | Photos by Mike Neal and Aaron Lynton

It was Saturday night, December 5, 2015, when my buddy Derrick Meyers texted, asking if I wanted to wake up at 3:30 a.m. and work with him on a security boat for the Pe‘ahi Challenge.

I thought for exactly one second and replied, “No.”

“Wow, I thought for sure you would say yes,” he texted back. “Going be awesome, brah. Free grinds, and we get paid $250 each.”

Money? Hmmm. . . .

Eventually I agreed, despite the warning bells going off in my head. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late.

The Pe‘ahi Challenge. It’s a big-wave surf tournament at Pe‘ahi, on Maui’s north shore. Jaws is what surfers christened the break there.

You’ve heard about Jaws, right? Biggest wave in the world? That’s the one.

Derrick and I got to Kahului Harbor at 4 a.m. In the dark, we could hear the waves crashing onto the break wall.

Derrick jumped in with two surfer friends of his, and I hooked up with a silver-ponytailed local braddah who introduced himself as Doug Camanse, a.k.a. Uncle Dougie. He was captain of a vessel that barely had room for him, his son Puali, and me; but he proudly assured me that the steel-and-foam boat was “practically unsinkable.” Good thing, because he also admitted he had sunk three boats prior.

The alarm bells in my head started up again.

For so early in the morning, the harbor was busy. The Jaws support crew included a medical boat, a video crew, a ton of Jet Skis, and half-a-dozen small “security” boats like Uncle Dougie’s. As I climbed onboard, Uncle Dougie and Puali pulled on raincoats. I had maybe a second to ponder this detail before we took off.

Ever ride a boat on rough seas? How about a tiny boat on rough seas? How about a tiny boat on rough seas in total darkness?

From the get-go, we were launching into the air over swells and crashing down on the water. In the dark, it was impossible to ready myself for impact. All I could do was hold on for dear life. All I saw were shadows of what looked like towering waves coming in to swamp us. I was pretty sure Uncle Dougie couldn’t see any better, either, but that didn’t stop him from accelerating to top speed. I couldn’t figure out how he was navigating until he yelled over the crashing waves, “EH, TRY LOOK BEHIND YOU FOR TWO RED LIGHTS AND SEE IF THEY MATCH UP.”

I turned and saw two flashing lights — buoys, about a hundred feet apart. This was Uncle Dougie’s only way of knowing he was heading for the opening and not about to crash into the concrete break walls.

Somehow we made it out into open waters, the waves doing an Oscar-worthy impersonation of The Perfect Storm, and Uncle Dougie piloting like he was on The Dukes of Hazzard. I lost count of how many times we launched into the air and crashed down.

As the sky lightened, I saw the ocean for the first time that morning. To our left were mountains of water, swelling and smashing onto the shore to our right. Whitewash and mist covered the beaches from Kahului to Pā‘ia.

We got to Jaws just as the sun rose, and I welcomed the chance to breathe and think. That’s when I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I asked Uncle Dougie.

“We supposed to keep people from interfering with the surf contest,” he said.

Me: So if we see someone that isn’t supposed to be here, we kick them out?”

Uncle: “Yep.”

Me: “What if they don’t want to leave?”

Uncle: “Then they going see the bottom of my boat.”

Me: “Oh. Okay.”

Turns out Uncle Dougie taught a community kung fu class in Keanae. At seventy-three, he looked a fit fifty-three. Everyone in the water came by and shook his hand, and bowed their heads in respect while they did it.

His son Puali is a quiet guy in his twenties who smiled a lot and kept trying to take video of the waves with his GoPro. They were an efficient team. I felt like an outsider until Uncle Dougie asked me, “Eh, you Hawaiian, yeah?”

Me: “No, Uncle, I’m Portuguese and Filipino.”

Uncle: “You sure? Because riding out here, I heard you chanting like one Hawaiian.”

Then Puali and he laughed their asses off. I realized they were talking about the noises I made every time we went airborne and crashed down: “OOOH, AHHH, UGHHH!” I laughed, too, and suddenly I was part of the crew.

The contest hadn’t started yet, but some of the competitors were already catching waves. And when I say “catching waves,” I mean they were staring death in the face as they veered down a forty- to sixty-foot wall of water. If they survived the drop, they had to turn and race out of the wave before it folded in half and tried to crush them.

I knew some of the competitors. Ian Walsh, who grew up riding Jaws and is sponsored by Red Bull. His younger brother, Shaun, who had the same advantage. Kai Lenny, a big-wave surfer, stand-up paddleboard champion, windsurfer, kite boarder, you name it. Billy Kemper, a Jaws regular, whose wife is Tahiti Hernandez. You might know Tahiti’s brother, Bruno Mars.

The Walsh brothers I know personally, the other two only by reputation, but I was cheering for all four. You have to support the Maui boys, especially at Jaws.

The competition still hadn’t started when one of the surfers made it down the face of the wave, but instead of turning, went straight. You can’t do that at Jaws; you can’t outrun the wave. It will catch you and punish you with wicked fury. That’s what happened to this guy, Australian surfer Mark Matthews. The wave caught him and tried to drown him. He popped up and got hit by another monster.

Somebody darted in with a Jet Ski and pulled him out of the impact zone. They stabilized him and he was off to the medical boat. Then one of the rescuers approached us and said, “You guys need to take him back to the harbor so he can go to the hospital.”

We got Matthews into our boat and tried to make him comfortable, but he was a mess. He had caught a moving mountain and paid for it with a dislocated shoulder and a couple of broken bones. It was easier riding back to Kahului with the waves than against them, but it still must have been a nightmare for Mark.

There isn’t much to tell after that. Jaws kept pumping and the competition did, too. Kai Lenny rushed almost every wave and popped back up after every wipeout. Shaun Walsh was battered by the wind as he headed down a monster, but kept his balance and rode it all the way down. Big brother Ian looked like he was going to have an amazing ride in the barrel of a behemoth, but got hit by the lip of a wave and fell into a backwards wipeout. He still scored well enough to take fourth place. First place went to Billy Kemper, who found the barrel and rode out like a bullet train out of Osaka.

By the end, I was sunburnt and running on fumes. Heading back, Uncle Dougie said, “You did good today. Next time get competition, ask for my boat.”

I laughed. “Next time I’ll drive out to Jaws and swim to you from shore. I don’t want to ride from the harbor to Jaws ever again.”

He smiled, and pushed the boat to top speed. We crashed wave after wave, and this time I smiled, too.

Keeping Watch

In rural Ha‘ikū, along Maui’s north shore, the land descends in rolling hills from Hāna Highway to cliffs overlooking Pe‘ahi, better known to surfers the world over as Jaws. It’s prime real estate from which to observe big waves — and big-wave surfers — and the area’s also popular with cyclists, equestrians and hikers. Fifteen ancient trails have been identified here, along with historic hale (Hawaiian structures). The late Alex Bode started Waikikena Farm on some of this land, growing Hawaiian plants and helping at-risk youth and families by teaching them to farm.

This is prime real estate from a developer’s standpoint, too. On September 30, 2016, spurred in part by the sale of one of five lots for a private home, the County of Maui purchased the other four — nearly 270 acres. “We started looking at the possibility of losing the whole area,” says County Councilman Don Guzman. “Our plan was always to keep it as a passive conservation area, to preserve its pristine views and open spaces.”

Over the years, these former pineapple fields have become a dumping ground for trash and abandoned vehicles. Alexander & Baldwin, which owned the land, cleaned it up before selling it to the County. “In the next three weeks, we found more abandoned vehicles,” says Guzman.

Happily, Pe‘ahi has some powerful supporters. While the County assesses where to place berms and perhaps reroute old pineapple roads to make it harder to dump abandoned cars, Kathy Kaohu, Guzman’s executive assistant, notes that “an assortment of organizations have formed Malama Hamakua Maui (HamakuaMaui.org) to help steward the land. They include the Waikikena Foundation, Sierra Club, Ha‘ikū Community Association, Surfrider Foundation, old-roads advocates and representatives from big-surf contests. The County is working with Hawaiian lineal descendants of the region on preserving ancient trails, and Hawai‘i Farmers Union United is interested in doing organic farming here.

Want to help? Contact Councilman Don Guzman, 808-270-5501, don.guzman@mauicounty.us; or the Office of the Mayor, 808-270-7855, mayors.office@mauicounty.gov.