Below him lay the coral reef
where breaks the surf at deep lagoon;
above him blazed the tropic fief:
the God of fiery afternoon.
The brilliant hues of fish and ray
shone all about him through the sea:
the neon auweke, the puhi kápá
flying malolo, striped ólilí.
The surfer's bronzed and brawny arm,
a deep tan gash cross yellow board,
drew tense, his shoulders flexed, alarmed...
his golden eyes intent, seaward.
Far off, where distant swells were born,
where Neptune's coursers set to toil,
the Surfer's eyes were thither turned
to seek to ride the perfect roil.
Long years he'd bobbed along the shore,
his quest was still unsated hunger.
Hawaiian Gods had locked that door—
cruel Duud, or crafty Kau-Abunga.
Though as the years slipped ever by
the Surfer grew in skill and power
and others came to watch him fly,
first awestruck, and then—a-cower.
Full thirty feet he'd ride the crest
(a fifteen footer made him yawn).
He rode the ones that crushed the rest,
he rode the tube till it was gone.
If it would break, then he could ride,
and all who saw him had to say
his awesome boardwork hurt their pride,
it made their own seem… child's play.
But on this day, a hurricane
came toward the isle with frightening force
and all the surfers left the main
before the storm could run its course….
all but one man, the Surfer King
who bobbed alone out in the swells:
he watched what such a storm would bring
besides more shipwrecks' empty hulls.
All his friends who watched from shore
called out to him 'till they grew hoarse,
“Come now! Or return nevermore!”
He didn't hear a word, of course;--
his mind was set on Gods at sea.
He called them—waiting on his board—
defied them: give him more than he
could ride. Still no such wave came forward.
Then, as the sea turned newly balmy
and all had thought the storm had passed,
far off, the angry God Tsu-Nomi
accumed the ire he had amassed
and formed with it a mighty wave,
the likes of which are rarely seen:
its height turned craven even brave;
it dwarved whole blue whales with its mien.
The men on shore all turned and ran
for higher ground as it came near.
But still at sea, the surfer man
stayed where he was, devoid of fear.
From mountain top, they watched, amazed,
the yellow speck before the wall
and some would say they saw the crazed
Surf Master paddle toward his fall.
Yea, out to sea they watched him head
to reach the mother of all breaks,
in sixty feet of watery dread,
atop it, he pulled… turns and fakes!
And then, the damnedest thing of all,
a tube had formed, full forty feet!
The surfer slipped inside--so small
in that enormous yawning pleat.
And some had thought they heard him shout
before he vanished, “I pay ya price!
Kau-Abunga! Now check idout!
I mons da waves a paradise!”
...His body and board, lost, evermore,
and surfers this day forth believe
the Master reached his Promised Shore,
where heaven's surf has no reprieve.