"In the 1970's, a decade before bumper stickers and T-shirts bearing the phrase "Eddie would go" began popping up all over the Hawaiian islands and throughout the surfing world, Eddie Aikau was proving what it meant to be a "waterman". As a fearless and gifted surfer, he rode the biggest waves in the world; as the first and most famous Waimea Bay lifeguard on the North Shore, he saved hundreds of lives from its treacherous waters; and as a proud Hawaiian, he sacrificed his life to save the crew aboard the voyaging canoe Hokule'a."
Eddie keeping watch at his lifeguard stand at Waimea Bay.
In 1978, the Polynesian Voyaging Society was seeking volunteers for a 30-day, 2500 mile journey to follow the ancient route of the Polynesian migration between the Hawaiian and Tahitian island chains. At 31 years of age, Aikau joined the voyage as a crew member. The Hokule'a left the Hawaiian islands on March 16, 1978. The double-hulled voyaging canoe developed a leak in one of the hulls and later capsized about twelve miles south of the island of Molokai. In an attempt to get help, Aikau paddled toward Lanai on his surfboard. Although the rest of the crew was later rescued by the U.S. Coast Guard, Aikau was never seen again. The ensuing search for Aikau was the largest air-sea search in Hawaii history.
What happened to Eddie that night remains a mystery. Though he was a strong surfer, he probably didn't make much progress through the Moloka'i Channel. With the high winds and deadly currents being funneled between the islands of O'ahu and Moloka'i, it is one of the most dangerous channels in the world. Paddling against the currents would have been like trying to go upstream in a whitewater raft. By that evening, he had been without sleep for almost two days and nearing exhaustion. Stroking toward the faint green light of Lana'i's airport, he struggled to stay awake and afloat on the surfboard. The 35 mph winds would have blinded him with saltwater spray, as the 10-12 foot waves washed over him. Sharks probably surrounded him as he clung to his board, his strobe light pulsing like a fading heartbeat in the howling darkness."
Eddie aboard Hokule'a on the fateful day of departure, March 16, 1978.
Eddie used to take on the biggest waves in the most critical spot, a trait he shared with such seemingly fearless surfers as Greg Noll and Jose Angel. "Eddie was always so far over from where most of us took off at Waimea, and he was riding the Point [the most dangerous inside section, near the rocks], no matter how big it got. He was just phenomenal. Greg and Jose and Eddie were like three peas in a pod. The three of them were totally out of whatever realm all of us are in. They were doing things that were almost impossible. Like Jose doing a cannon ball or a back somersault off of his board right in the middle of the hook [curl] at Waimea. I'd never heard of that."
Eddie charging from the point during the epic swell of 1967.
During the 60's, Greg Noll was known as the most daring big wave rider of the time, but unlike Jose, he knew when to quit. In the mythic lore of surfing, Greg became famous for riding one of the largest waves ever ridden during the enormous swell of 1969. The wave supposedly towered above him like a glass skyscraper before imploding and almost annihilating him. After almost meeting his maker that day, Greg retired from big wave surfing, moved back to California and became deep sea fisherman. According to Greg, "Waimea Bay is like a beautiful woman, and I had my time with her. When I drive around that Bay, I see these guys pouring down the side of her waves. She's turned her favors, and she's caressing some other young guy. We get older, yet she stays the same. I just appreciate the times she smiled on me. Eddie had his time with her, and now some younger guys are having their time."
Greg Noll and friends at Waimea.
Greg once remarked that Jose must have had "cast-iron balls". Eddie's brother Clyde agrees, saying Jose was the "undisputed fearless one of all the big wave riders. Eddie and Jose were like close buddies." Besides surfing Sunset and Waimea Bay together, they both loved diving. But Jose seemed to know no limits and kept going deeper. Jose became a role model for Eddie because he was so brave in big waves and yet so humble and friendly. "Eddie just worshipped Jose because he was a good waterman and he had lots of guts- he would take off on anything. And he was such a nice guy and such an enjoyable person to be around. Everyone liked him. He was a leader in sense. He was principal in school. Eddie, Clyde and the whole Aikau family really liked Jose because of his personality and what he was." What he was was larger than life, mythical figure whose life and mysterious death would have a profound effect on Eddie and help shape his future.
Jose Angel displays a shark he just captured.
Jose Angel displays a shark he just captured.
Jose Angel disappeared in a diving accident in 1976 after descending too deep. His dive buddy that day, Ricky, insist Jose didn't do it intentionally. "I know he didn't. It was just an attitude of taking huge risks because he felt, 'If I'm going to die, I might as well have a great time doing it.' Seriously, if you think about how most people die, it's in total destitution and misery. They're holding on, and they're suffering and everyone around them is suffering. Jose just took the total opposite approach to his life by going out in the biggest possible way. He probably got to the bottom, saw an area that he had been wishing to see his whole life, which was the ridge at 340 feet, one of the most beautiful sites there is to see diving in Hawai'i or maybe the world. And that's where he passed out. What more romantic way to end your life?"
Eddie became the spokesman on the day of Jose's funeral, leading the ceremony. After bidding Jose farewell and aloha, his friends paddled their boards out to the lineup where he used to surf and formed a circle. Holding hands, they shared memories and stories about him and then threw their leis into the center of the circle. "The irony of the whole thing", Clyde says, "is that not too much longer we did the same to Eddie. And the two disappeared out in the ocean. No sign of them at all."
January 1, 1999. New Year's day at Waimea Bay, the North Shore of O'ahu. In the darkness before dawn, just before the moon sets and the sun rises, a strange calm settles over the Bay. It is interrupted periodically by the thunder of waves and whitewater in the distance. How big the swells are and what they look like is still unclear due to the darkness. Byt many believe today will be the day they run the Quiksilver in Memory of Eddie Aikau Contest, the largest and most unusual big wave-competition in the world. The "Eddie" can only take place when the surf reaches at least 20 feet by Hawai'ian standards, which means the wave faces are 40 feet high from the top to bottom. Inaugurated in 1985, the contest has only been held twice in the last twelve years, but many believe today could be the day.
During the winter, the true mana or spiritual power of Waimea Bay can be overwhelming when massive swells suddenly rise up on the horizon and come crashing down against the shoreline. Like a fickle god, the Bay can be moody and violent: one day it is calm and peaceful, and the next it is angry and deadly, threatening to crush those who enter its waters. Only the best big-wave riders in the world are invited each year to compete in the "Eddie", including Florida's 8x World Champion Kelly Slater, Australia's Tom Carroll and Hawai'i's Derek Ho. Along with the 24 competitors and a list of alternates, there are two honorary invitees, Mark Foo and Todd Chesser. These big-wave riders perished in a pair of tragic accidents that shook the surfing world. Both pro surfers seemed invincible in big waves, but in the contest between man and ocean, the ocean often wins.
Mark Foo and Todd Chesser.
Though disturbed by the loss of Foo and Chesser, the competitors in the "Eddie" have not stopped riding big waves. They take comfort in the fact that at least their friends died doing what they loved. Most of the invitees come from families who have been surfing together for decades, forming well-known surf tribes from around the world. Each winter, they make an annual pilgrimage to Oahu's North Shore, The Holy Land of surfing. As wildly different as their backgrounds are, they are spiritually connected by an almost fanatical love of the ocean, their open-air cathedral. Because Eddie is the closest thing to a martyr in the surfing world, these surfers and competitors gather together each December around his memorial at Waimea Bay to honor the man and his memory. Many of the younger pros didn't know Eddie but they can tell by the serious tone of the speakers and the ceremony that he deserves respect. Each year, this opening ceremony begins the three-month holding period for the contest, as the competitors wait for the biggest waves and the best conditions. But it's been nine years since the last event in 1990, and they are getting restless.
Honoring Eddie.
Looking out at the ocean in the faint light of dawn, Brian Keulana can barely glimpse massive walls of whitewater exploding in the distance. He can feel their primordial power. "Your senses are heightened to a whole new level," he says. "You don't really see clearly yet, it's still dark, but you can feel it. It sounded like Jurassic Park: all of the sudden dinosaurs come by and go boom, the ground starts rumbling. You can hear the boulders in the Bay clashing and the sand kind of screaming. At first, all you see is foamy whitewater. As soon as the light starts to break through, you have an idea of how much power and energy are generated out there." Waimea is a natural power plant, and it's been said the energy in these waves could light up the city of Honolulu for a week.
Brian looks for George Downing, the gray-haired contest director, to find out if the event is on. George was one of the first big-wave riders in Hawai'i and a champion surfer in his day. Known for his courage in huge surf and his cunning in competition, he is an intensely private man with deep set eyes and glasses. He stands on the beach next to Brian and the other surfers, scanning the horizon for the larger sets he has predicted will be arriving soon. After being married to the ocean for almost 60 years, he has an innate feel for its moods. He combines intuitive wave knowledge with a scientific understanding of meteorology and weather patterns.
For months, George has been studying weather charts and buoy readings for signs of swell activity. For the best and biggest waves at Waimea Bay to break, low pressure systems and ferocious winds need to whip the North Pacific Ocean into a frenzy. Swells are generated by wind, wind is generated by storms, and some of the meanest, most perfect storms are generated in the cold, forsaken sea off Japan and the Aleutian Islands. Like earthquakes, these storms send out shock waves that move across the sea, building in power and size. George noticed that the buoys have been registering swells of over 20 feet for the last twelve hours. After travelling thousands of miles across the open ocean with no continental shelf to slow them down, these giant swells suddenly jump up to almost 40 feet when they hit the reefs just off the shore. Reaching their peak, they finally pitch over in an explosion of water and energy, as they reel across the Bay.
At 10:00 am, giant waves start pouring over the horizon, as if on cue. Downing announces that the contest is on, and news of the event spreads rapidly over what the locals call the "coconut wireless" or word of mouth. Soon people from all over the Island begin driving to the North Shore to witness the event. By 11:00 am, thousands of locals and tourists are gathered on the cliffs and the beach to watch, and traffic is backed up for miles in either direction of Waimea. Shaped like a natural amphiteater, the Bay offers one of the greatest shows on earth. The sun is out, the waves are heavy, and the surfers are pushing themselves to take off on the biggest and steepest waves. Helicopters fly overhead as cameramen film the surf, while lifeguards race across the Bay on jet skis to rescue fallen surfers. The competitors scramble for giant waves, and spectators in bathing suits and bikinis watch from the shore. Like a mantra the words "EDDIE WOULD GO" keep repeating themselves on T-shirts and bumper stickers and in the minds of the surfers. "The saying from the bumper stickers sticks in your head when you're at the Eddie Aikau contest," Kelly Slater says. "You think, 'If Eddie was in this place that I'm in right now, would he take this wave?' And pretty much every time the answer is going to be Yes. I'm sure that that accounts for all the people who take off late and surf really big waves."
With 24 invitees in all, there are four heats of six surfers, and each competitor gets to surf in two rounds. When the swells rise up on the horizon, the crowd starts hooting and screaming as these ant-sized surfers drop down the faces of the massive beasts. People peer through binoculars and gasp, while cameras zoom in on the action and click away. Some swells are too big or steep, and the surfers back off at the last minute, afraid of being run over. These waves look like massive locomotives steaming across the Bay, leaving smoke-like mist in the air. Along with epic rides and maneuvers, there are some epic wipe-outs. The crowd groans in mock pain as surfers free-fall almost 20 feet before being slammed into the water and churned inside a rolling mass of whitewater more than two stories high. Many of the spectators hang around the judges' tower to get a glimpse of the surf pros and the Aikau family.
Eddies surviving siblings -Clyde, Sol and Myra- join George Downing in the VIP area to get away from the crowds. Like George, the Aikaus are intensely private people, and they generally don't like talking to the media about their brother because it's too painful. Wearing "Eddie Would Go" T-shirts, they can't help but stare at the orange lifeguard stand where Eddie worked for years. Clyde is older now, and his dark hair and mustache have been touched with gray, but he can still vividly see his brother keeping watch over the Bay. He restlessly follows the event, wishing he were out there surfing. Some of the most memorable moments of his life happened at the Bay. He remembers standing on the beach as a teenager during the epic swell of 1967 and watching Eddie catch some of the biggest waves ever ridden at Waimea. His heart raced as his brother screamed across the giant waves, and it sank whenever he fell. He and Eddie later surfed and competed with each other in the biggest contests of the day. They both lifeguarded at the Bay, and Clyde watched his older brother bring dead men back to life on the beach. Bun when Eddie disappeared at sea in 1978, it left a hole in Clyde's life. Looking out at the Bay, he can't help but recall the emotional moment almost ten years later at the first Quiksilver contest -at that moment, he felt like they were reunited.
Clyde Aikau at the Waikiki Statue of Eddie's Idol, Duke Kahanamoku.
"We are from the ocean, and we are water people who will end up back in the sea sooner or later."-Solomon Aikau III
Honoring his father's wish to share Eddie's legacy with the world, Clyde proved his dedication to his brother in 1986, the year of the first annual Quiksilver in Memory of Eddie Aikau contest. During the waiting period for the contest, a mammoth swell hit Oahu's North Shore, flooding roads and destroying homes. Because the surf was so big and dangerous, officials argued over wether or not to hold the event. While they debated over the safety of the surfers, big-wave maverick Mark Foo looked out into the maelstrom of waves and whitewater and nonchalantly told one cameraman, "Eddie would go." The saying stuck, and it eventually became popular in the Islands and in the international board riding community.
When they finally decided to hold the event, the early rounds went off in huge waves that continued to build throughout the day. Like the Smirnoff Contest in 1974, monster swells more than 40-feet high sometimes closed out the Bay and swept surfers toward the shore. Sitting out in the lineup with friends and fellow surfers like Ken Bradshaw and Mark Foo, Clyde knew he was competing against the best big-wave riders in the world. Foo was on fire that day, and it became clear he was the man to beat. Taking off on giant waves with vertical drops, Mark pushed all the limits and established an early lead in the contest. Well aware of the dangers of the sport, Mark Foo would later say during an interview with Surfer magazine that dying in huge surf would be "a glamorous way to go" and that "it's not tragic to die doing something you love." Years later, he fulfilled his own prophecy. In the winter of 1995, while surfing with Ken Bradshaw at Mavericks, the epic break located at Half-Moon Bay below San Francisco, Mark Foo wiped out on a wave that broke his board and held his body underwater until he drowned.
Mark Foo on a wave that killed him.
During the finals of the Quiksilver contest, Clyde saw two turtles swimming out beyond the lineup. In the face of such huge waves, they seemed calm and playful, like Eddie and Jose Angel used to be. Staring at the graceful creatures, a voice inside him said, "Follow the turtles." As a Native Hawai'ian steeped in mana, Clyde believed that animals could take the form of 'aumakua, spiritual guardians, so he listened to his instincts and followed them. Knowing that positioning was critical in big surf, he paddled toward the turtles way past the lineup. When he was far beyond the other competitors, Clyde suddenly saw the biggest wave of the day rise up on the horizon and swallow the sky. He turned his board around, started stroking for the beast and then dropped more than forty feet down its rushing face. Crouched just ahead of its roaring maw, Clyde rode the wave across the Bay and the overlooking cliff shouted with excitement. When he finally made it back out, he followed the turtles once again. Another set came rolling in, and he rode the mammoth wave all the way in to the shore.
A fog horn announced the end of heat, and the other contestants came in from the giant surf. While the judges tallied the final scores, everyone speculated as to whether Clyde had been able to overtake Mark's lead. When the emcee announced that Clyde had won the event, a surge of electric energy swept through the crowd. Family and friends swarmed around Clyde, who was so overcome by emotion he couldn't speak. "To have it come out that way," head judge said, "It was almost too much to bear. That Hawaiian mana stuff is pretty awesome." With tears in his eyes and a stammer in his voice, Clyde dedicated his victory to his brother, just as Eddie had done for their dead brother Gerald during the Duke Classic ten years before. To this day, Clyde still believes the turtles were the guiding spirits of Jose Angel and Eddie -together, they had won the contest.
"Greater love have no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends
John 15:13"
EDDIE AIKAU 1946-1978
"Eddie Aikau disappeared at sea on March 17, 1978 while going to get help for the crew of Polynesian Voyaging society's double hulled canoe Hokule'a. The canoe capsized in rough seas about 20 miles off Oahu during the night of March 16, 1978.
Eddie Aikau is gone but his name will live in annals of heroism of Hawaii. His spirit will live, too wherever the Hokule'a sails and on the beach at Waimea Bay where as a city and county lifeguard he saved thousands of lives from the dangerous waters.
This was a great man a great Hawaiian and he will live in our hearts forever."
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