Shore Lines

by da hulk

Chapter 1: Something from Nothing

The heavy blanket of impenetrable gray fog left droplets of water that gathered on their face and arms as Zeke and Hawk walked down to the edge of the bay to peer anxiously into the mist. Their boards were poised to enter the water on the hope, or maybe it was a prayer, that there was a pulse of surf. It was their third trip down to the shoreline that morning, since they couldn't see the water from further up the beach. The muffled rhythm of miniature waves lapping at their ankles was all that greeted them.

With a disappointed groan the boys waded into the dull water and knee paddled a few yards offshore. Tiny gray lines appeared from the fog and lifted them both as they caught a knee-high wall and split it. Hawk took off left, squatted, and let the miniature closeout push him down the line until his fin ground into the sand. He stood and stepped onto the shore. Zeke raced to the nose of his ten foot board and rode the tip until the mini right closed, popping his fin loose and pivoting his board seaward while he remained planted on the nose.

The two surfers rinsed the sand off their boards and bodies, slicked their hair back, turned and began walking back toward the circle of friends sprawled in the mist, trying to absorb what warmth the golden sand could collect from the suns diffused rays.

As they trudged slowly back up the beach they passed a large group of white and gray seagulls gathered in a slight depression on the sand. The gulls barely moved when the boys passed. They stood in unison, beaks seaward, staring intently into the fog as well, waiting expectantly for the dull blanket to be lifted and the brilliance of summer to begin again. For the moment they were, like the boys, entombed in this misty shroud. Zeke and Hawk drifted past them like ghosts, sliding their feet through the sand and planting them deeply after each step. It was a step they had mastered after countless walks through the blazing sand of sunnier days. On this day it felt like a death march step.

Expectant faces from the crew turned to the two as they dropped their boards to the sand and lay down. What little conversation that had been mumbled among them stopped, hoping the report was promising, yet knowing it was hopeless.

"No surf…shit!" The last word was barked out like a punctuation mark that disappeared into the fogbank. "Ten days now!"… "No sun, no tourists, this is some twisted nightmare"… "It's July, our summer vacation is half over and….oh, man" …. "It's freezing"

It was purgatory and nothing seemed to change…maybe nothing would change…maybe…!Shit!…

Chapter 2: An Idea

Desperation sometimes causes people to do strange things, and those things sometimes lead them down paths that they never intend to go. The crew had tried everything they could think of to hold it together. They'd gone to the points but it had been just as small. They had explored the tidepools at low tide, and hunted crabs among the rocks at the foot of the cliffs until they were sick of them. They had raided neighboring beach crews only to find them as lethargic as themselves. How many nights could they sneak the entire crew into the movie theatre and watch the same movie before they start turning themselves in, or get someone caught intentionally just to keep the game interesting?

Their conversations around the circle became repetitive and cutthroat as the days dragged on…and…on. Even the stupid punfights began to get raggedy. They had to do something….

Hawk thought desperately…something new…

An idea began to develop…"Hey! Remember in that surf movie where they opened up the lagoon at Waiamea or Salt Creek and they got those standing waves?"

"Yeah Hawk, so what man…", grumbled Lobo.

Lobo was not core crew. He didn't surf much, but he would appear and hang with the circle for a while, then disappear again. He was 007. His dad was a retired sheriff or something. He was in and out of everywhere and had no respect for any authority. He also had a knack for not being around when shit happened.

"Well…" Hawk was reaching…"and remember how the creek produces a cool little sandbar when it flows heavy?"

"So what Hawk!" erupted Lobo, not caring much for the surfing references, clearly frustrated with the sitch, and looking for an opportunity to dis someone.

Hawk continued with a little more enthusiasm as the idea began to develop, "Well…we could drain the creek. You know, like in the movie. It's been blocked up for over a month and it wouldn't take much digging to get it started…. then we could surf it…yeah…and if a swell comes up soon we'd have this cool perfect little sandbar. You know?"

"It might work…" Zeke tested the waters.

Yeah, jumped in Slick, "Whada we have to lose anyway?"

"What about tools…I'm not diggin with my hands…", chimed in Scruff the uppity grommet in his squeaky whiniest voice.

It was happening. Focus at last. Anything to ease the boredom until a swell hits and the sun returns.

"I can get tools." Hawk broke in. "Yeah I could get them from my dad's workshop. He's got all kinds of digging tools. I could be back down with them in twenty minutes. Whadya think?"

While the enthusiasm was cautious, everyone agreed to meet down at the creek mouth in an hour or so and they'd check it out.

Chapter 3: The Creek

Hawk jumped into his Campwagon, a forest green '54 Dodge station wagon with a chrome ram's head hood ornament. The road from Rio to his parent's house in a nearby redwood canyon was so familiar he could navigate it in his sleep. As he threw the column shift stick into second gear he thought about the setup.

Aptos Creek has always been an important focus for the region. The local Aptos Ohlone village was built nearby where several creeks converged. For centuries they partied near the creek mouth singing songs and "dancing on the edge of the earth".

The local Spanish land-grant family built a pier at the creekmouth to ship cattle hides around the world. Later a new pier built by the local lumber barons extended the export volume of the region as they clear cut the surrounding virgin redwood forests. Much of the early Hawaiian haole houses were built with redwood stripped from Aptos hillsides. Spreckles, the sugar king, had a "sweet" deal shipping Aptos lumber to Hawaii and shipping sugar back to San Francisco until the lumber played out.

"Now RSO are the one's dancing on the edge of the earth. Yeah," Hawk thought, "now our "tribe" is dancin…on our boards. Walkin the nose..."

Hawk skidded to a stop in front of his dad's workshop and threw every shovel, rake, hoe, and pick he could find into the back of the wagon next to his surfboard and wetsuit vest. He slammed the back window down, and sprayed gravel on the drive as he jetted back toward the beach.

In the early 1900's a resort was developed around the creek, which was named Rio Del Mar. It was established like many beach communities along the California coast at the time, as a scheme by developers to attract wealthy tourist dollars from Los Angeles and San Francisco. They lined the creek with concrete walls just before it entered the bay, and in the summer claimed the largest freshwater swimming pool in the country. They also brought down a concrete ship, the "SS Palo Alto", that was surplus from WWI, scuttled it a half-mile north of the creek, and built a pier out to it. It was converted to a swinging restaurant ballroom scene for a few years…until the depression hit and the State took the area over.

Most summers the beach sand dams up the creek and the freshwater pool warms up, inviting kids and families to populate that particular stretch of beach. All of the beach in the area north and south of the creek is officially state park property, but the north side has exclusive access and so the state has developed this area with picnic tables, and BBQ pits. The cement ship with its pier had been converted to a fishing pier, and the rusted old landmark lent the beach a certain distinction. South of the creek, the area was so fully developed with private residences that it had been designated "free beach", meaning there was no charge for access to this area.

The creek represented a more important line for the crew because the surf was hardly ever good north of the creek and the farther south, the better and more consistent the surf got. RSO had claimed the section of free beach furthest south, and they hung with impunity along that entire mile stretch of sand.

Chapter 4: The Creek Draining

Hawk pulled into the parking lot next to the creek. A dozen of the crew were hunkered down on the sand that divided the creek from the ocean. The had apparently already upset a couple of little kids and their parents by telling them the crew were going to drain the creek and ruin their swimming pool. Hawk passed out the tools and the great creek drain was begun.

The crew had never done this type of thing before, nor had they actually seen anyone else do it, so they started by the ocean and began working their way up toward the creek. Ok, it wasn't a good plan. They could have let the creek do the work for them, but Hawk wanted a big rush of water all at once.

So they dug in the mist and cold onshore wind…and they dug.

After nearly an hour of digging several of the crew faded into the mist and disappeared leaving five or six core crew to finish. Hawk was digging furiously since at this point it had become "his" idea, and there was a certain amount of pride involved in seeing his idea yield results. Even in the cold he had worked up a sweat. It was clear that the remaining few wouldn't finish unless they worked their way from the top, so a couple of the boys moved to the creek side and began cutting a channel down the beach to meet those digging up.

Lobo was perched on one of the old barnacle encrusted pilings at the edge of the creek pool with a view our excavation site. Hawk watched him carefully. He didn't want Lobo to end the project prematurely. Apparently Lobo was onto something else. What was he looking at? Hawk followed Lobo's gaze to a ranger truck parked in the sand on the edge of the fog. Where had that come from? Apparently someone had called the ranger about the little invasion, and he was scouting the boys out. The crew wasn't doing anything illegal. "Yeah, kids dig at the beach all the time. Screw him."

Then again, this wasn't just any ranger, it was ranger john. Ranger john was an ex ranch hand who had been hired to help the head ranger with assorted "problems" in the park. He had his own sand truck with gun racks in the cab window. He almost always stayed on his side of the creek and an unspoken truce between he and RSO had evolved which was fine with the crew. Hawk stared intently into the fog glare but could not see the ranger. There was just the truck parked on the sand about 40 feet from where the crew was digging. The window was rolled down a crack and cigarette smoke poured out of the hazy cab. There was an ominous energy in the air. Lobo and ranger john were zeroed in and the crew was in the middle.

Finally the two digging crews met and they excitedly watched as the first creek water raced down our little channel. A couple of guys ran to get their boards in anticipation. The channel began to grow as some of the crew leaned on their shovels, spellbound by the racing water. Then the unimaginable happened. The creek dammed itself up and quit flowing. Felix and Mole were left standing on their boards, fins fully buried in the sand and a trickle of water passing around them. It was pretty funny actually. The looks they gave Hawk as they removed their boards from the trickle of water were not funny. The boys made a couple of half-hearted efforts to open the channel, but it was a lost cause. The crew had lost interest, and the battle of glares between Lobo and the unseen ranger john was getting very heavy. Lobo was talking to himself, not a good sign.

Hawk began collecting his dad's tools which were now scattered everywhere. He could hear ranger john laughing with that hoarse four-pack-a-day redneck excuse for a voice. It was the kind of laugh that shamed and demeaned. Ranger john didn't have any other kind. A kind of frustrated anger began to rise in Hawk. The ranger truck engine roared to life and the truck disappeared into the fog.

As ranger john's pickup pulled away, Lobo erupted in a raging string of profanities, leapt off the ancient wood piling, and stalked off the beach.

Chapter 5: The Palapa

The long small days of summer drew on.

In the weeks that followed the sun finally came back, but the waves were slow to return. It had been two weeks since the creek fiasco, but some of the crew was still smarting from the disappointment, compounded by the humility that ranger john's laughter had spewed on them.

At last a new project emerged to fill the void. They began fantasizing about building a Palapa like the one at Windansea or Trestles. "Those guys have them, why shouldn't we?"…"Yeah we could use one"…"We could build it right here where our circle hangs"…"We could sit in the shade and be cool"…"Yeah our own space"…. "Why not?"… "This is our beach anyway!"

Nobody said anything definite, but a van arrived at dawn the next day with enough lumber to build a house. A couple of local construction sites were undoubtedly short some materials that day. Hawk arrived with some of his dad's shovels, hammers, and nails in the campmobile…just in case. Someone else had a couple of coils of rope with them. Two guys arrived with a truckload of palm leaves, but wouldn’t tell where the palms came from. They just smiled mysteriously and chuckled, "You'll see."

The crew spent the day building the structure. It was not too well engineered and leaned at a precarious angle to one side. But it was theirs! "Yeah, the RSO Palapa." Everyone surfed the sand and sweat off in the afternoon, and watched the sunset from the platform with their "classic" shelter, silhouetted against a brilliant orange and purple sky. Cooooolllllll.

The next day the crew propped the structure up and piled more sand around the four corner posts. The crew was loving it. At last, a permanent monument to their local dominance. Even the visiting tourist chicks were impressed. "Who built this?…This yours?…Gosh, can we sit under it?…Wow, you guys are so cool…Could you teach me how to surf?…Yeah, I'd love to go out with you tonight…

Two days later, when the crew arrived at the beach, the Palapa was gone. Not a trace of it remained. "What happened?!" Everyone was pissed, really pissed. "Who took it down?"… "Another rival crew for sure!"…."Damn Moana Makani's probably"…."No, nobody knew about it yet but us"…

Lobo waited for a break in the conversation and then snarled, "ranger john", with all the venomous intent of a king cobra. "I saw him tear it down last night.", he hissed. The boys didn’t necessarily believe Lobo for sure, but Lobo's claim made sense, and the ranger john theory was soon accepted as the explanation. "What's he doing on our beach?!"…"The dirty dog….What a turd….What a….." Oh the fun they had denigrating the devil ranger.

The crew was caught up in Lobo's spell. He worked them like a concert piano. "This could not go on unchallenged!…Yeah!…We would have our revenge!….We have to invade ranger territory!"

Chapter 6: Vengeance Is RSO's

Lobo, was in his element. He had a plan. A truly bitchin "double O" plan. As he laid it out for the crew, Lobo was frequently interrupted by roars of laughter. The simplicity, the beauty, the fun of the plan unfolded. The tide had to be right. Clocks had to be synchronized. A reconnaissance team had to be deployed. It was a piece of work.

"This is a matter of survival!" Lobo was saying. "We need as many people as possible!" It was agreed that the affiliate groups from Hidden Beach, Corralitos, Watsonville, and Beer Can Beach should be contacted. That night the phones were sizzling.

By the time the morning fog had burned off and the afternoon winds had kicked in. The platform was swarming with activity. There were about 40 surfers hanging on and around the platform. The crew and Lobo were busy coordinating the assault.

"Ok, high tide is at 3:37 PM. Everyone synchronize your watches." The fact that most of the boys didn't have watches was irrelevant, this operation must go like clockwork. Lobo continued, "ranger john finishes his garbage rounds about 2:00 PM and goes into the ranger office to kick it for a while. We'll strike at 3:00 PM!" Everyone must split up and arrive at the cement ship at the same time. On my signal we go!"

The milling crowd of young men split into small groups of three to five people, and began working their way north. Past the free beach…Past the naked palm trees in the creek parking lot… Past the creek… They were across the line now…there was no turning back. The tanned, barefoot boys moved quietly in the shadows.

A couple of the groups descended the cliff that backed the beach by way of free access stairways, or well worn vertical footholds. Others strolled calmly along the base of the cliff, remaining in the shadows. Some walked the wet sand next to the ocean, pausing to watch the progress of other groups that were slipping from one picnic area to the next like shadows.

As his group began to close in on the cement ship, Hawk began to wonder what had become of Lobo. Lobo was supposed to be in command of this mission and he wasn't with any of the groups he could locate. "Dammit, is Lobo setting us up?"

Chapter 7: The Leap-O-Rama

As he stepped into the shadow of the pier leading from the beach to the cement ship Hawk spotted Lobo. Lobo stood at the entrance to the pier, positioned so he could clearly see the ranger office, the crews approaching from all directions, and the pier access. He was disguised as a fisherman complete with sunglasses, boots, coat, hat, bucket and pole that he had "borrowed" from a trailer parked in one of the state campsites.

It was 2:55. The small knots of surfers waited. 2:56. Lobo surveyed the scene carefully. 2:57. The ranger office was quiet and ranger john's truck was parked outside. 2:58. Families quietly played in the warm beach sand, or rested on picnic tables near their blazing BBQ pits. 2:59. Fishermen and assorted strollers lined the cement boat and most of the pier, busily working their lines and checking their crab pots. 3:00.

On the stroke, Lobo threw off his disguise, leapt onto a pier piling in clear view of the waiting groups of boys, and gave a shout. The boys, wound to the point of snapping with the waiting, all began sprinting and screaming at the top of their lungs as they roared out of the shadows and onto the approach to the pier. They pounded down the pier floorboards past the "No Diving" sign posted at the entrance, to their objective about 30 yards over the water. As they arrived at "ground zero" the commotion began to draw stares from the families and fishermen in the vicinity. The boys lined themselves up along the south railing, preparing for the second signal from Lobo. As ranger john emerged from the ranger station to investigate the noise. All forty surfers stood on top of the pier railing and pulled down their trunks, their pale butts aimed directly at the ranger office, and ranger john.

Mothers began screaming for their children to stop staring. Fishermen stood staring at the spectacle they were witnessing with frozen blank expressions on their faces. A few local retirees who walked the beach regularly chuckled to themselves, grateful for the change in their routine.

Ranger john hesitated for only a few seconds, before he began shouting and waving his long thin arms at the boys, his face burned in a shade of red that could be seen from the pier.

On queue, the boys began to dive off the pier into the waiting water twenty feet below. They peeled into the water starting with those closest to the beach and ending with Jocko, arguably the best swimmer and diver of the group. It was glorious. The boys plunged kicking and screaming, each trying to outdo the last for the most outrageous dive. Ranger john had recovered enough to call another junior ranger and start up his truck. He was already racing for the entrance to the pier when Jocko stood poised confidently, waiting for everyone to see his dive. Those in the water began bodysurfing ashore and shouting johnie..johnie…johnie... which echoed under the pier and across the beach. The truck pulled onto the pier as Jocko gracefully leapt into the air, doing a perfectly executed half gainer and entering headfirst into the water without a splash. Whooooshhh!

As the boys splashed ashore and began sprinting down the beach, pulling up their trunks as they ran, ranger john stood shouting at the top of the railing. Jocko emerged from the water completely naked. He'd lost his trunks during the dive. As he dashed along the shoreline he grabbed a beach towel lying unattended in the sand, and without losing a step caught up to the dozens of other boys laughing and shouting at ranger john.

Ranger john pulled his truck back onto the picnic service road above the beach but he couldn't drive it down onto the sand. The tide was too high. The truck screeched to a stop at the end of the service road. The boys strolled safely across the creek and faded into the crowd of tourists enjoying the surf and sun on the free beach. Ranger john shouted some incomprehensible phrases at the boys while he repeatedly slammed the driver door and pounded on the truck hood. The young assistant ranger sitting in the bed of the truck alternated between hysterical laughter and serious concern depending on where ranger john's bloodshot eyes were glaring.

That evening, and in the days that followed, as the crew told and retold their versions of the BA Leap-o-rama, it began taking on legendary proportions. Their mission had been accomplished. No prisoners had been taken, and in their minds their vengeance was complete. They had evened the score with ranger john, and order had been restored.

Even then, Lobo must have known better.

Chapter 8: The Home Break Turns It On

Summer eventually turned to Fall. Even though for most of the crew school began again, the months of September and October were magical on the Bay. The hordes of tourists returned home, leaving their dollars, and miles of empty beaches. The water temperatures remained the warmest of the year, the sun shone hot and bright, and the summer winds died down or brushed the waves offshore. The crew enjoyed many runs after school to Pleasure Point and the Lane that fall, and their surfing improved with consistent exposure to good waves. Some of the crew even began to gain a reputation beyond the beach scene.

Fall became Winter. The first big storm near the end of November dumped a lot of sand at the creek mouth and for a couple of days there were some fun rights and lefts off of the mini delta of sand that had been deposited. The sand then began migrating south with each storm, and after each storm swept through, a new sandbar a few hundred yards further south would appear.

Dumonds appeared first. Named after the homeowners of the beach house in front of the break. The break was a steep walled right into a narrow channel that closed out on the inside in about two feet of water. Before the storm was completely past, the crew was already riding it. Slick always rode smooth. He was a regular foot who would opt for a graceful wipeout rather than an out of control recovery. This was his spot. He would take off on the head high waves, turn and stall at the top, waiting for the wall to build. As soon as the backwash bounced the wall up, slick would slowly, deliberately cross-step to the nose. There he would set himself up with five toes over the tip. He kept his legs slightly bent, body erect, letting his eyes follow his right hand as it trailed in the wave lip that threw past his waist. It was a perfect imitation of the Dora film footage the boys had all studied. This wave was great for a pose because the inevitable pounding quickly followed the glory of the move in front of the crew on the beach and in the water. It was no accident that six of the eight regulars at this break wound up with foot injuries that laid them up for a couple of weeks.

The next major storm shifted the action to Watermans. The break featured a wonderful left and right that peeled into a very consistent channel. Immediately after the storm, the wind turned crisply offshore, creating an ocean covered with diamond sparkles, chest high waves, and offshore spray that blew as far back as the waves were high. Zeke owned the right at Watermans. His quick footwork, and natural athleticism enabled him to climb, drop, noseride, stall and dropknee cutback in the pocket so gracefully that it was like watching ballet. Yeah, the crew gained a lot of pocket time at Watermans, in spite of the ice cream headaches. The left at Watermans was the soulful playground of Sano, the one goofyfoot in the crew, and a new guy named Mick who had just moved into the area. Mick, was also a screwfoot and he was very good. He immediately gained the respect of the crew, but showed little interest in joining up on a regular basis.

Eventually the sandbar shifted to the Platform. It was generally located near the parking platform at the south end of the public Beach Drive, and across the street from the rarely occupied summerhouse of State Senator Alan Cranston. The surf generally remained bigger and more consistent through much of the year at the platform, and it was where the crew generally hung out. Bosco always dominated these waves. He took off deeper and he rode the tip longer. When he backpedaled, his feet moved so quick they were a blur. When it came to powering through, Bosco was always coming out of sections that none of the rest of the boys even tried. He would enter a section on the tip, get completely covered in wave and whitewater, and reappear back on the tail of his board, preparing to throw another bottom turn back up into the pocket. His secret seemed to be that he just did stuff. He didn't think about them, he just went, and didn't stop.

During a massive storm in January, the surf and tides combined to seriously damage the pier and destroy most of the picnic areas on the closed access side of the pay beach. It was going to require major repairs, and the state allocated a lot of money to initiate the renovation work. The massive destruction was generally viewed by the crew as a further sign of cosmic justice administered to the rangers for challenging RSO.

The truce between the boys and the rangers seemed to be reestablished. But it was an illusion. Nothing ever remains exactly the same, and the forces set in motion months before, unknown to the boys, ground on inexorably.

Chapter 9: The Sky Falls

Impending changes became clear to Hawk on a rainy day in mid March when he was running an errand for his father in the business pickup. Hawk saw no harm in his usual cruise to the beach to check conditions. It was raining and the truck windshield wipers weren't in very good shape. Neither was the defroster that seemed to be steaming up the windshield more than it was clearing it. "No matter…" Hawk thought as he used the back of his hand to wipe the inside of the windshield. He knew the way to the beach blindfolded. A straight shot to the Rio Del Mar beach and the creek mouth, take a 3/4 spin around the traffic circle and fly onto Beach Drive. Beach Drive was the narrow road that divided the free beach from the luxury homes lining the foot of the sandy cliffs bordering the bay. It was a straight cruise to the end of the road, and the familiar platform.

There was no problem as long as things stay the same. But, make one little change. Hawk cut the turn onto Beach Drive from the traffic circle. Install one little signpost and…..BLAAAMMM. Hawk pulled over and surveyed the damage. No noticeable damage to the truck, but the signpost was history as the post and concrete block anchor lay shattered in the gutter. He looked around to be sure no one witnessed his blunder, jumped back in the pickup and jetted off. Hawk mumbled to himself, "What the hell was that signpost doing there?!" as he drove down the drive to check the sandbar in front of the platform.

That evening, as Hawk enjoyed his mothers cooking at the family dinner table, the conversation turned to the news events of the day. His dad was talking about the headlines in the newspaper, when his mom suddenly chirped, "Did you hear about the plans that the State Parks Department has for the repairs at Seacliff and Rio?" Between mouthfuls Hawk answered saying that he had noticed they were already repairing road, replacing the picnic tables, and building new palapas at the pay beach. His mother continued, "Well it says in the article that they are also planning on building a new bathroom down at the platform, and putting a tollbooth at the entrance to Beach Drive."

Hawk stopped eating. "What did you say?" he choked. "A new bathroom at our platform?" "A tollbooth?" "Are you sure?" Hawk's mother handed him the newspaper and pointed to the article buried back on page five of section "C". It was true. There it was in black and white. Hawk felt nauseous. "No! They can't do this!…. Why didn't anyone know about it?… The sign, oh shit, the sign, it's my fault, oh shit…" A tollbooth would end surfer access to the free beach and the crew's beloved platform. It would be the end of RSO as he knew it. The damn rangers. No wonder they were being so quiet. They were using the system to ream RSO. Hawk was shaking with the full realization of what this small article meant to his world. Hawk had to warn the others. Surely they would realize the danger they were in. Surely they could figure out something to stop this hideous violation.

Chapter 10: The Tennis Tournament

The next day dawned pale and cold. There was a frigid west wind that blew steadily, and occasional clouds blocked what little warmth the early spring sun could radiate. By the time Hawk arrived at the platform the crew and several others had decided to go to the local community college tennis court for an RSO "tennis tournament". Everyone was leaving to get tennis rackets and meet at the courts. As he raced home to pick up his tennis equipment, Hawk promised himself he would tell everyone at the courts about the newspaper notice.

Hawk knew he had some tennis stuff somewhere. He looked in the garage and under his bed…"not there". He did find his navy blue deck shoes and some socks. He was already wearing his yellow "Surfboards by the Greek" T-shirt, and his surf trunks. Finally he found an old warped wooden tennis racket in the laundry room cupboard behind a box of Tide and a half-empty bottle of bleach. In spite of the fact that the racquet was bent like a potato chip, it would have to do. Hawk jumped back into the campwagon and steered toward the tennis courts.

Most of the crew had already arrived at the college, and were gathered near the entrance, getting ready to go onto the courts. Everyone was dressed in their best tennis attire which included: Surf trunks, blue jeans, cutoffs; barefoot, sandals, tennis shoes, cowboy boots; t-shirts, ponchos, and one Goodwill tuxedo jacket. It was a circus! To the white clad tennis yuppies prancing around the front tournament courts it was sacrilege. The most bazaar looking character of the day was Higby. Higby stood at least 6 foot 6 inches in his bare feet. He looked about 7 feet tall in his cowboy boots, which he refused to take off. He was all arms and legs except for shoulder length hair, and a wooly mustache that covered his upper lip, wrapped around his mouth, down his chin, and hung in two strands about an inch below his jaw line. He wore a black leather vest over his T-shirt, and blue jeans. Most of the time Higby growled rather than talked. Jim Hensen could have modeled his muppet character "animal" after Higby. Slick claimed him as his partner and put Higby on the net. The guy could spread his arms and with the racquet, almost span the entire width of the court.

Some of the people who showed up were actual tennis team types with all of the "proper equipment". They even had a couple of tubes of tennis balls. Mountain smuggled a couple of handballs into the games that he reserved for just the right assault moments. The tennis players who were already on the court quickly moved to the back courts leaving the front area for the chaotic band of athletes converging on them.

Hawk tried to tell the crew about the newspaper article, but everyone was busy with the tournament. A couple of the crew agreed to talk later, but failed to acknowledge the urgency of that Hawk felt. "Yeah sure Hawk. Later." It was the first time in a long while that Hawk felt separate from the crew. It was a lonely desperate feeling.

The "tournament" consisted of teams with anywhere from two to five people on a side. The sides would take turns serving the ball and everyone would run around trying to smash the ball back across the net. Someone picked the lock on the equipment locker and spilled out the hundreds of balls used for the tennis team. Most of the balls wound up several hundred yards outside of the courts. Someone finally figured out that as intimidating a team as Higby and Slick were, Higby made a damn fine target. After that the "natural" chaos of the event was restored.

The yuppie players on the back courts finally gave up and left in despair. It was pretty funny just as long as no one took themselves too seriously. Hawk worked off a lot of frustration on unsuspecting crew members during the games, and almost had fun in spite of himself. It was easy to forget troubles when tennis balls are zinging between your legs. The clowns were in rare form.

As Hawk left the courts that evening he resigned himself to losing the beach. He knew instinctively that this was not a problem that one nineteen year old surfer could solve by himself. Maybe it won't happen…maybe if we just keep surfing…maybe if we stay core…maybe if we wish hard enough…maybe if we just keep having fun…it will all go away…maybe…

Chapter 11: The Crew Starts Learning

Hawk didn't get a real chance to discuss the news about the State Park plans for almost a week after the tennis tournament. He had spoken to individuals about it, but everyone seemed to respond as if it was out of their hands. Maybe it was.

One evening just after daylight savings kicked in, Hawk found himself at Slick's parent's house on the bluff overlooking the creek mouth. Bosco, Mountain, Mole and Zeke were also there. After a few minutes of surf talk, Hawk noticed Lobo sitting in the shadows to one side of the room. The conversation finally turned to the Tollbooth and Hawk pulled the newspaper article out of his wallet to pass around. It was clear that the seriousness of the situation was not lost on the crew, but it was just as evident that the boys did not know what to do. Lobo never spoke, but his hand movements became more agitated as the discussion led nowhere. He would point one direction, then another as the discussion bounced around without focus. He looked like the Cheshire Cat, but with a glare instead of a smile. After several minutes of listening to the boy's discussion, like the mythical cat, he silently disappeared.

It was about this time that Slick's mom, who had been listening from the kitchen area and serving the boys cookies, began to ask a few questions about the article. After she read it over, she pointed out that it said there was a public hearing concerning the plan, scheduled in a couple of weeks. "What's this public hearing deal?" one of the boys asked.

She called Slick's dad into the room to read over the article. The conversation began to revolve around the parents, while Slick became increasingly uncomfortable that his parents were invading the crew's space. The parent's discussion informed the boys that a public hearing was a meeting where the public officials (like park rangers) must describe their plans, and listen and record the public's responses. Concerns and objections to the plan then become a matter of public record. Eventually Slick's dad worked himself into quite a rage over the idea that the rangers were going to interfere with beach access and alter one of the primary reasons he had purchased his home in the community. He was even mad that the state was going to displace one of the few healthy places young people like his son could go. Finally, as he stormed out of the living room back to his private den, he announced he was not only going to attend the hearing, he was going to make a number of calls and make sure some other concerned citizens attended. As the den door slammed shut Mr. Slick was saying something about "law abiding taxpayers", and "responsible citizenry".

Slick's mom offered the boys soft drinks and another round of cookies. This was something. Slick's parents were supporting them. What if all of the crew told their parents about the tollbooth? The crew finally had a plan. Everyone should talk to their parents. Incite them. Get them to go to the meeting. Yeah! RSO is in control! Sort of…

After listening to Slick's new Beatle Magical Mystery Tour album, the group decided to check the evening conditions from the bluff overlooking Seacliff Beach. It was just before sunset and the air was calm. The beach was empty as the boys breathed in the cool salty air of the evening, and scanned the shoreline for signs of a fresh swell. The sweet silence and serenity of the watercolor sunset image was suddenly broken by the low rattle and growl of a diesel engine starting below them.

Chapter 12: Losing It

The boys peered over the cliff to see what the diesel noise was about. It was way too late in the evening for the men rebuilding the picnic area to be working. Surprisingly enough, someone had started up the huge diesel caterpillar parked near the creek on the pay beach side.

At first the big cat jerked forward and then spun around out of control. The boys at the top of the cliff stared intently down at the rig with its wide metal tracks and huge scraping blade. Who was driving that thing?

"Oooohhhh Shhhhiiiiit", moaned Slick. "It's Lobo." "He musta hotwired it" Mountain said, thinking out loud. "Hey. I didn't know Lobo knew how to drive one of those things", mumbled Bosco. "He doesn't," observed Mole as the big tractor almost tipped into the creek before lurched toward the ocean. Everyone's minds were racing trying to comprehend what was happening. This was OUT OF CONTROL! What was Lobo doing?!

Lobo seemed to be gaining control over the machine. He clanked past the end of the picnic service road and suddenly made a sharp right turn just before driving down onto the sand. "Cool, Lobo's out on a joyride at the rangers expense. Man will they be surprised when the cat is moved in the morning. Heh..heh..heh." The boys watched nervously as the machine lumbered toward the first picnic table. Somehow Lobo got the blade to lift. As far as the boys could see nobody but them was witnessing this. Even Lobo didn't know they were there.

The diesel engine roared louder and the huge machine charged forward. When it reached the first picnic table, the cat flattened it without even slowing down. The huge tracks splintered the lumber as they rolled over it. The cat continued forward reaching the first newly constructed palapa, knocking one end down and crushing the structure.

The boys were speechless. It almost looked like Lobo had done that on purpose!

The cat continued on its path. One table after another fell under the beast. One palapa after another crushed.

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

BOOM! SCRUNCH! GRIND! …Clank…Clank…Clank…

It was an eternity as Lobo drove on, crushing every one of the new picnic areas beyond recognition. An occasional gasp or moan escaped the row of boy's mouths as they stared down on the total devastation in disbelief.

At the end of the row of picnic areas the tractor suddenly angled right and rumbled on a direct path toward the primary park bathroom building… and beyond that, the ranger's office. Lobo leapt off of the huge cat and disappeared into the brush at the base of the cliff. The cat continued relentlessly toward the buildings, out of control and unmanned. The boys stared in silent horror at what they were witnessing. This was NOT RSO.

A few yards before the mindless machine destroyed the bathroom structure it's right track rode up on a concrete drinking fountain, crushing the fountain, and turning the cat toward the base of the cliff, barely missing the bathrooms and the ranger office beyond. Water from the fountain shot several feet into the air. On the tractor growled, closing on the cliff, climbing a few yards up the slope and finally toppling over on its side. The engine ran for a few seconds, sputtered, and then all was still.

The boys scattered. No one said anything. No one EVER said anything.

Chapter 13: The Public Hearing

No other RSO members attended the public hearing, but several of their parents did. This was a much riskier strategy than the crew had originally thought, since they weren't really sure where some of the parents stood on the beach access issue, and many of the parents were meeting each other for the first time. The whole thing could have backfired on them. On the whole it did seem as though the parents were taking a position on the issue that supported the boys. The meeting was much better attended than the government officials had expected, and the room could not comfortably accommodate all those who showed up. The public consisted of several RSO parents, many local residents, and two influential real estate agents. Apparently Mr. Slick had been as good as his word.

The rangers, dressed in their uniforms, had come prepared. They showed a map of the "free beach" area and Beach Drive with their plans for "improvements" marked in green. They even had a little model of the tollbooth and the bathroom that people could check out. You could lift the roof off the little bathroom and see the tiny stalls inside. You could even move the tollbooth gate up and down across Beach Drive. There were charts and graphs demonstrating the maintenance costs for the "south beach area", versus projected revenue generated by the plan. There was even a "suit" from Sacramento present to endorse the plan, give it credibility, and intimidate citizens. The public was told if they wanted a copy of the plan, they had to mail Sacramento with a self-addressed, stamped envelope.

Finally the public comments portion of the agenda arrived.

When Hawk finally approached the microphone to speak, he wasn't prepared and his comment was something like, "Uhh, well I don't think you should put up a booth cuz I couldn't drive down to the platform any more…and surf…uh…well…uh…that would really bum me out…and…uh…it would bum out a lot of my friends too…" Hawk stepped away from the microphone. He looked at the room full of adults and noticed ranger john sitting at the back of the room. The ranger's stare bored right into Hawk, and shivers went down his spine as the ranger exhaled a lungfull of smoke, pointed his nicotine stained finger at Hawk, and sneered. Hawk felt foolish and hopeless.

The public response was almost entirely negative to the new plan, and the rangers were not prepared for the outpouring of concern that the public demonstrated. Clearly they were not obligated to comply with public opinion, but there were risks in turning the local community against them. It seemed as though they were sensitive to the rhetoric surrounding phrases like "homeowner associations …taxpayers …neighbors …businessmen …Chamber of Commerce …and lawyer".

The state backup strategy apparently became one of stalling while they continued with their plan. To pacify the public, a second meeting was agreed to in six weeks. This put the meeting just before the summer season was to begin, and much of the work would already be completed. Most people would have cooled off, community objections would be moot, and the rangers would have control.

Chapter 14: The Future Closes In

There were so many other changes happening that spring. Hawk sold his ten foot Takayama noserider and bought a prototype 7'10" shortboard from well-known local shaper Tom Hoye. Hawk's competition experiences were beginning to pay off with some better local rankings and a couple of trophies. The excitement that shortboarding created was heady and new surf spots, new moves, and new parts of familiar waves were being discovered with every session.

Hawk was also having to face transferring to a four-year college from the local community college where he was winding up his undergraduate units. Where might he transfer? Could he surf there? How could he afford it? What was his major? Where would he live? What was he going to be when he grew up?

Last but not least, Hawk had fallen in love. In doing so he had violated an unspoken code of the crew. No girlfriend should be more important than one's loyalty to the beach and the crew. All of these life-changing decisions swirled in Hawk's mind, driving a wedge between him and his time with the local crew. He was torn between his loyalty to the crew, the beach, and these unfamiliar new forces pushing him into uncharted perils and discoveries.

A few weeks before the beginning of summer Hawk was invited to join a few other crewmembers at Mick's place. Hawk said goodnight early to his girlfriend, who was visiting the area for a few days, and drove down to the Rio "flats" where Mick lived. "I wonder what's up", he thought as he parked the campwagon. "Mick is pretty new to the area to be calling a casual meeting."

Chapter 15: Meeting Mick

This was the first time Hawk had a chance to get personally acquainted with Mick. They would nod to each other in the water, and knew each other's names, but they usually didn't even surf the same peaks. Since Hawk surfed a lot of rights, and Mick always sought out good lefts when they were available, their opportunities to visit in the lineup were rare. It turned out that Mick had moved to Rio from Berkeley where he had been attending Cal. He had witnessed much of the free speech turmoil on campus, and seen a lot of student organizing take place. He had asked some of the crew over to see what they were doing about the beach access issue. The crew did their best to describe what they had done, but it sounded kind of pathetic, some of it even dangerous and counterproductive. They also were certain that the rangers were on to them and feared that anything they did would probably hurt efforts to stop the plans more than help. At least Lobo had taken a low profile since the tractor incident.

Hendrix howled "All Along the Watchtower", while Mick moved the story talk into a discussion about beach access. Mick had ideas. He was prepared to do something, lots of things. He truly believed the rangers could be stopped. The crew was ready to listen, but doubtful that they could get most of the local surfers to participate in a sustained organized effort. If it didn't sound fun, it wouldn't get done. Mick persisted. "Don't you guys want to save your access? What else do you think you could do? What have other people done in similar circumstances? What will happen if you lose? What do you want to happen? Who can help you? How could you get to them?" Mick didn't dictate, he just asked a lot of questions that got everyone to thinking. "Maybe we should try…Maybe there was still a chance…What do you have to lose?… What do you have to gain?

The boys weren't prepared to answer those questions on the spot, but it got them upset, and it got them to thinking. "Dammit, this was such a hastle. Why couldn't the rangers have left well enough alone? It had all been so perfect. But…If it was so great maybe there were others who would help."

Hawk and Zeke left the meeting a little early. While Mick had a lot of good ideas, and it did seem like they should do something, Hawk was afraid it was too late. He could still see ranger john sneering at him through the smoke filled haze of the public meeting, and he could still feel the sting of humiliation.

Outside Zeke told Hawk that his brother had heard about a pineapple plantation on Maui where they were recruiting young haoles to work the fields, and would even provide housing and meals for the summer. It sounded like a perfect way to combine a trip to the Islands with a chance to earn school money for the fall. Hawk wrote down the address and drove back to visit his girlfriend.

Chapter 16: Hawk Makes a Decision

Summer was about to happen. The spring sun had dried out the hard wet-packed winter sand to a loose fluffy consistency. Hawk was still struggling with decisions. He woke up early and drove down to the beach. It was an unconscious drive, like water running downhill. He made the turn onto beach drive and passed the nearly completed tollbooth already standing sentinel at the road entrance. A shiver ran down his back and his face felt flushed. The cruise toward the platform revealed a low tide with a small swell. The waves were knee high closeouts that wouldn't improve until noon when the onshore wind would kick in. In the meantime, there was a light haze hanging on the beach revealing patches of blue sky as it drifted on and off shore, as if the sea was breathing.

It was a weekday and Hawk needed some time to think. He paddled out alone and tried surfing the little dumpers, but his mind was a long way away. It was several thousand miles away.

After Hawk walked back up the beach and toweled off by the car he moved around to the front, reached through the window and grabbed the envelope sitting on the seat. It was from the pineapple plantation that Zeke had told him about a few weeks before. It informed Hawk that if he came over to Maui, they had a job and a place for him to stay for the summer. His mind was bogged. "God, me on Maui. I may never get a chance like this again. Honolua Bay right there." He reached into the envelope and pulled out a copy of the plane reservations he had made for a flight leaving San Francisco for Honolulu in two days. His girlfriend was flying up in a few hours to be with him and his folks until they dropped him and his board off at the airport. Everything was in place, but could he really do it?

Hawk walked back down onto the beach and dropped into the sand with a thud. He looked over at the four blue chemical toilets on the platform. They had been brought in until the new bathroom could be completed later in the summer. The plastic boxes were laying on their sides, chemicals spilling across the platform cement. Someone had tipped them over the night before. It wasn't the first time. Shit…

"Help me…" Hawk thought he heard a faint call from the platform, but couldn’t see anyone. "Someone, please…" There was definitely someone up there. Hawk cautiously approached the platform. Thump... thump… thump. One of the toilet boxes moved a little. "Ohmygod, someone is in one of those things. Hawk reassured the girl inside that he would help and inspected the box. It was lying on the door so she couldn't open it. Hawk explained that he was going to roll over the toilet, and with some effort the box rolled onto its side. After Hawk unlocked the door from the outside, a frightened and messy girl emerged. It was "motor mouth", one of the girls that occasionally hung out with the crew and had recently taken a liking to Lobo.

The girl explained how she and Lobo had gone down at dawn to tip the toilets. How she had chickened out, and how Lobo had tipped the thing while she was in it. The guy was out of control.

As Hawk handed "motor mouth" an old towel he had in his car, ranger john pulled up next to them. He jumped out of the truck and blocked Hawks exit. He was angry. "This is the last straw! You kids have caused too much damage here! I've had it. I saw you roll the toilet! I've already called the sheriff. You're going to jail for this kid!" Hawk had visions of being led off in cuffs. He tried to explain, but ranger john was savoring this chance to nail RSO red-handed. Finally, "motor mouth" convinced ranger john that Hawk had only helped get her out, and that she didn't see who pushed the box over. The one thing she could do really well was talk. It was like a flood of words that was merely irritating at first, and then damn frustrating when it didn't stop. Even ranger john finally conceded to her flood of chatter. It wouldn't do to look foolish to the sheriff's department, and he didn't have any evidence. Ranger john left determined to intercept the sheriff, and probably told an imaginative tale about how the "perp" got away.

Hawk collapsed alone again on the sand. He didn't think he could stand to watch the tollbooth open over the Memorial Day weekend and through the summer. He just couldn't deal with it. Maybe they could walk down from the creek, or climb down the cliffs from the private houses above, but it wouldn't be the same.

He had tried to get a few others to go to Maui with him, but Zeke and Mole had bailed. "Maybe later in the summer," they said. Again he felt alone, betrayed by the circumstances, and guilt-ridden by his betrayal of the cause to save the crew's access. Without him there to help, Hawk was certain the crew would bail and the cause would be lost.

Hawk picked up the papers, folded them, put them back into the envelope, and tossed them back onto the car seat. As he stretched out on the warm sand, Hawk felt the sun penetrating the remaining wisps of fog. "That's it then, I'm outta here. Honolua Bay, yeah that's the cure."

Two days later Hawk was staring out of an airplane window at a sea of clouds that blanketed the Pacific. A few more hours and he would be in "the Islands".

Chapter 17: Arriving in the Islands

Hawk stepped off the plane in Honolulu to a level of humidity he had never experienced before. The promise of tropical waves so near excited him, as did several of the girls selling leis in the airport lobby. The vibrant colors of the flowers, and the local clothing was dizzying.

By the time Hawk arrived at the pineapple plantation on Maui it was dark, and it was after midnight before he was finally assigned a bed and a locker for the night. Hawk was instructed to come by the company office in the morning to sign up for work and finish getting oriented. Exhausted, Hawk pulled a sheet over himself and began drifting off to sleep. He was so stoked by the sudden freedom and exhilaration of being in Hawaii.

In spite of his exhaustion it was difficult to sleep. Hawk felt like a pilgrim on his way to the holy land. He was only a blink away from waking up in paradise. The fragrance of tropical flowers wafted through the open window behind his cot. The snoring of his bunkmates was occasionally interrupted by the sound of unfamiliar insects buzzing and scurrying about.

As he drifted into a restless sleep Hawk was dimly aware that he didn't have a clue exactly where he was, who he was sleeping next to, and what would happen tomorrow. His flight had been an absolute act of faith in a dream he didn't fully understand, and a complete escape from the uncertainties that haunted him at home. He would cope. Tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrr… zzz… Hawk's snores joined in the chorus of sleepsounds filling the room.

In the morning Hawk was briefly relieved to find that Zeke's brother was also in the bunkhouse, only to be told that John was bailing for California the following day. Hawk was to be the only RSO on Maui! This did not bode well.

The days that followed were filled with adventure and disappointment. The dream was quickly replaced by the reality as Hawk explored the northwestern corner of the island, and learned the harsh circumstances of working and living on a plantation. The greatest disappointment of all was the discovery that Honolua Bay didn't break in the summer time, and the last good swell had passed through over two weeks before Hawk arrived.

Hawk's work days consisted of waking at 4 AM to the sounds of the night crew returning from work; pulling on the dusty field clothing and safety gear, and racing in the dark to the work staging area for the days field assignment. The fieldwork was hot, dusty, and strenuous, and the dayshift haole crew always seemed to get the worst field assignments.

When Hawk returned from the field in the early afternoons he found there were two things he looked forward to. Every day Hawk stopped at the nurses station to talk to Hannah, the company nurse and postmistress. The boys could always count on a warm greeting and some genuine concern from Hannah. She was a true Hawaiian lady and her aloha spirit kept Hawk from losing his faith entirely. She knew each of the haole boys by name and had their mail ready if any had arrived. Hawk had mail everyday from his mainland girlfriend, and Hannah was particularly interested in Hawks passionate correspondence romance. They soon engaged in friendly banter and Hannah was always quick to offer Hawk sage advice in dealing with local questions.

The second thing Hawk looked forward to was the afternoon surf sessions. There was nothing on earth as sweet as the barefoot walk down the tropical jungle trail to the local beach where Hawk could paddle into the clear tropical waters and surf the small local reef break with its racing rights and short sweet lefts. As the morning sweat and dust was washed away, Hawk could at last completely escape into the Hawaii he had always dreamed about.

Chapter 18: The Mail

Hawk's days and nights in Hawaii were not what he had expected, but they were challenging and thrilling nonetheless. Being on his own had become an opportunity to learn about others and about himself, and to make decisions based on discovering his own personal values. As Hawk established himself as a reliable haole, the local bosses granted him new opportunities. He was promoted to the night haole crew, and promoted again to an elite haole crew driving the big diesel trucks of fruit from the pineapple fields to the cannery. Soon Hawk was cruising the entire northwestern end of the island every day.

About a month into Hawk's time, he arrived at Hannah's office after work to pick up his regular mail. Hannah had it ready as usual, but wasn't willing to give it to Hawk without some information.

"Mr. Hawk, you got two lettahs today!" Hawk nodded, said "Thanks Nurse Hannah.", and reached for the letters that were neatly bound by a rubber band. Hannah withdrew the bundle, fishing for more information. "One lettah smells very nice, your girlfriend I think." She smiled a big smile, drew the envelopes under her nose and took a big whiff of the envelope which was covered with carefully placed X's and O's. Hannah's eyebrows raised in mock surprise. She was really going to draw this out. Hawk blushed an appropriate shade of pink. "But…" Hannah continued, "Dis other one, dis one all messy!" "Who is dis Mole fella?"

Hawk had figured it was a letter from his folks, but Mole sending a letter was real news! He didn't know Mole could write a letter. He reached over Hannah's desk to take the envelopes, but she wasn't letting him off so easily.

"What kinda person is named Mole, Mr. Hawk?" She smiled as she waved the letters above her head.

"Mole is one of my best friends. We are planning on being roommates together at college next fall." Hawk answered, still chasing the bundle in the air.

Hannah handed Hawk the letters, and gave her usual parting advice. "You be nice to dis girl! She really must love you, writing all dese lettahs… I'm not so sure about dis Mole fellah. He's too messy." While she didn't say it, Hawk knew the nurse was worried it was news that would cut the summer short and send Hawk home early. Hawk thanked Hannah again and strolled out of the office and down the dusty red road to the bunkhouse.

Hawk stopped at a quiet spot behind the plantation church to open his letters. The letter from his girlfriend was great, and he would read it again later, the perfumed letters went well with the sultry evening air. For now Hawk was curious to see what Mole had to say.

The envelope was a bit wrinkled and had several dirty resined fingerprints were smeared on it. Typical Mole alright. As Hawk opened the envelope a newspaper clipping fell out.

Chapter 19: News From Home

Hawk picked up the clipping that had dropped to the ground. On it was a picture of a dozen surf rats holding up a banner and other signs announcing their determination to save their beach access. In the background was the familiar brick wall at the creek mouth beach parking lot, with the completed toll booth to one side. "Hey that's Rio." Hawk stared carefully at the faces and poses of the characters in the picture. Mick was there, so was Slick, and Mole, and Bosco, and Scruff…and even Higby and Lobo were there! Hey this is cool.

Hawk read the newspaper article describing the efforts of a small group of surfers to save their access to the public beach. The quotes from Mick did a great job of giving the impression that the crew was well organized, and that the platform was the only spot in the area where surfers could surf regularly. "This is bitchin'." The guilt and despair that Hawk had suppressed for the past few weeks was beginning to lift. The crew was doing something! Relief swept over him in a welcome wave. Hawk opened the surprisingly long letter from Mole.

"Hey there Hawk! Stokaboka!

How's Maui? Bet you're getting lots of good waves. John said the plantation sucks but the area is cool. You still workin?

Waves have been small here, and the tollbooth is a total bummer.

RSO is in the news! Check out the newspaper picture. Pretty cool huh! That's me flashing the "V" from behind Bosco.

When the rangers started chargin everyone to get onto Beach Drive, things started happenin. Mick showed up at the booth with this big banner sayin "Save Our Beach!" and since the crew was all stuck in the parking lot, we all joined in. Pretty soon we had some picket signs we were carryin around. Pretty fun stoppin traffic and tellin tourists how rotten the rangers were.

Bosco and Zeke and Mountain went door to door on Beach Drive talkin to the owners about the tollbooth and getting them to sign a petition somebody wrote sayin they were opposed to the tollbooth. Pretty weird. Some of those people are the same ones always hastlin us about hanging in front of their houses. Almost everyone signed. We've been collectin signatures at the picket line too! Slicks dad got a bunch of neighbors to sign the petition, and so did a lot of the rest of the crew's parents.

When the day of the big meeting came, there were more people there than when you went! You should have heard Scruff cryin and shit when he spoke. Everyone was eatin it up! An you know Slick, he could sell surfwax to Kansans. They had to drag him away from the microphone; an Mick talked about how organized everything was and how we weren't gonna quit. He even got applause. It was cool!

Then some other people got up. There were some realtors who rent the beach houses in summer, who were really pissed cuz the tollbooth was a hastle for their homeowners, and high payin customers. Man, the rangers weren't getting a word in edgewise.

Hey remember Senator Cranston's beach house near the platform? The one that's only used a couple weekends a year? Well old man Cranston sent some suit down to tell off the rangers too! I think ranger john shit his pants!

Newspaper reporters were there and everything! When the meeting ended the rangers were really sweatin. They said they would review their plans and get back to everybody.

Well that's all for now! RSO Agent Mole reporting from the front lines!

RSO is in Control! Over an out!

Mole

p.s. Been doin some ding repair business lately if you hadn't noticed."

Hawk smiled with relief. The crew had come through. The rangers were on the ropes. He was going to have to thank Mick some day for what he did. No matter what happens Mick had renewed Hawk's faith in people, and especially the crew. He wished he could have seen those rangers faces.

Hawk studied the picture on the newspaper clipping again, then folded the letter and slipped everything back into the envelope. The wind was blowing offshore and Hawk changed quickly into his trunks, grabbed his board, and raced to the beach to catch some chest-high crystal clear barrels.

Chapter 20: Saying Goodbye to Maui

Hawk spent the remaining weeks of summer learning about the real people and places of Hawaii. He was invited to move into the bachelor apartments on the plantation, hitched rides regularly to Lahaina, and learned to time his cannery runs so he could park and eat lunch at the black sand beach. Occasionally he parked and watched overhead Maalea Harbor firing from the highway. He was invited to several luaus, and made many new friends. Even the local plantation families began to warm up to Hawk. He was respectful to them, smart, and didn't date their daughters.

Hawk relaxed knowing that the crew was handling things at home. He got a brief update from Zeke and Wolf who flew over on the pretense of working at the plantation. The rangers were still running the tollbooth, but something was in the air, there were more meetings scheduled. Instead of working the two Rio rats camped in the jungle by the local beach, and sponged off tourist girls at Kaanapali. After a week of wild adventure, Hawk ran out of food to share, and the boys ran out of money. Eventually the company hui caught them and escorted them back to the airport.

As the harvest season began to wind down, and the haole workers started flying back to the mainland, Hawk was approached by the company boss and asked if he wanted to stay through the winter. It was tempting. He was planning on going to school, and his student deferment kept him out of the draft. The boss promised an agricultural deferment claiming vital national interest. Somehow Hawk had a hard time believing that Pineapples qualified.

Hawk had never planned on staying permanently and it was difficult sorting out the issues and priorities. There was his education and his deferment, but here was living permanently on Maui. There were his family and crew at home, but here were his new friends on the island and a chance for total independence. There was his girlfriend counting the days until his return flight, but here was Honolua Bay about to welcome the return of fresh winter swells.

After several long talks with Nurse Hannah, Hawk finally decided that he needed to stay in school and "take care of dat ladyfriend".

Hawk spent his last free Saturday in Lahaina. He surfed the right at the harbor most of the day, taking the big drop on the takeoff, racing through a section or two, skating over the dry brain coral head that showed at low tide, and gliding into the channel near the old ship. It was such a beautiful place.

As he walked past the ancient Banyan tree in the harbor square he waved to the local Hawaiian kids who hung around the harbor everyday. He drifted past the north lawn where the hippies soaked rays and did yoga exercises all summer, past the modern shopping center where the "hookeylau" song was piped continuously, and out onto the highway where he hitched a ride from a local that worked evenings at Kaanapali. The sunset was spectacular as he walked the last five miles back to the plantation.

The next morning Nurse Hannah and one of the plantation bosses gave Hawk a personal ride to the airport. Before Hawk boarded the plane. The old boss shook Hawk's hand and mumbled "look me up nex time Hawk" as he stared at the polished airport tile. The gruff old man had taught Hawk how to drive trucks, and had pushed Hawk hard at work. It was rare that the stout old Hawaiian escorted a young haole back to the airport on good terms.

Nurse Hannah presented a clear plastic bag containing a huge orchid she had grown in her own garden. "For your ladyfriend." Hannah smiled broadly and gave Hawk a big island hug. A single tear dropped onto Hawk's shoulder. "Aloha Hawk", she whispered.

Hannah knew about good-byes. She probably said goodbye to dozens of boys each year, and yet she wasn't wary or jaded. As the airplane lifted off, and Maui became a small red and green speck out his window, Hawk only began to appreciate the kind of person who opens their heart to strangers, knowing that the pain of parting was inevitable. Hannah understood good-byes, and she knew about giving her heart away freely in spite of the risks. In the years that followed, Hawk was to find this a truly rare and precious gift.

Chapter 21: Back in California

The flight from Maui to California was interrupted briefly, to transfer planes in Honolulu. Hawk was still in a post-dream daze as he escorted his board and bag through the airport shuffle. Somehow the flurry of fruit and flowers didn't seem as intoxicating as it had on his first arrival there.

Hawks L. A. stopover to visit his girlfriend's family was intense. Her dad was less than enthusiastic when he picked Hawk up at the airport. He took one look at the skinny, barefoot, tan, mustached, surfer with shoulder length hair, and almost left Hawk sitting in LAX. Hannah's flower convinced him that Hawk's intentions were honorable.

A week later Hawk arrived back in Santa Cruz. His family acted like nothing had changed, but everything had changed! At least it had for Hawk. How come nobody else seemed to notice it?

The old surf wagon was still there, and it begged Hawk for a beach run. "Hawk…I've missed you…let's go…let's go…come on….let's ride…" The key turned, the engine cranked, the steering wheel spun, the tires rolled. "Hey old friend…I missed you."

The Rio flats flashed by and the creek beach approached…. Hawk slowed down to see what had changed while he was gone. The tollbooth was still there. Hawk approached the tiny building cautiously, in case a ranger was waiting to ambush unsuspecting drivers. No one was there! Alright!

Hawk roared past the abomination and savored the familiar cruise down Beach Drive. It was hot and glassy. People were moving in slow motion as the heat shimmered off the sand and sapped their energy. The young man's heart leapt as he spotted the surfers in the platform lineup, and the familiar circle of people sprawled in the sand. Hawk was home.

As Hawk strolled down to the circle with his board, a few heads turned toward him. "Hey Hawk, where you been man?" "Don't you know? He's been PW'd. Isn't that right Hawk?" Hawk wasn't going to let this conversation get too far along. "No, I've been on Maui all summer." No response…they knew…the rats…

"Funky board Hawk…where'd you get it?"

"I made it while I was in the Islands." He answered. Clearly the crew was waiting to see Hawk surf so they could check him out.

Hawk grabbed his board and paddled out into the chest high beachbreak. "Damn this water is cold." Mole and Mick were sitting at a likely spot to catch the occasional peak that popped up. Hawk pulled up next to them.

"Hey, look who's back." Mole drawled. Mick nodded a welcoming acknowledgement. Mole continued, "What are you doin back here? I figured you'd stay on Maui for the winter."

Mick perked up. "You been in the Islands?" he asked. "Yeah" Hawk answered.

"You hear what's been happening here?" Mick asked. "Yeah" Hawk nodded.

"Big meeting tonight to hear what the rangers are gonna do." Mick commented matter of factly. Another test, Hawk thought. "I'll be there then." He answered, feeling too guilty for not helping over the summer to say any more.

"Hawk", Mole broke in, "Did you know our moms rented us a college apartment for this fall?" "Huh?" Hawk answered, "you mean I gotta share a place with you Mole? I just spent the summer tryin to get away from you." Of course he already knew, and he was stoked the two friends would be moving on together, but he sure wasn't going to give Mole the satisfaction of "stabbing" him first.

Hawk paddled into a choppy line that cleaned up as it hollowed out. He dropped down the face building speed, threw a hard bottom turn and raced the curl until it closed down. Hawk laid back into a hard backside cutback that accelerated him clear of the shorepound, then zig-zagged to slow down until the whitewater caught up to him. He waved to Mick and walked back up to the circle and the warm sand.

Chapter 22: The Last Chance

The time for the final beach access hearing was approaching as Hawk jumped into his car. He had teased the crew with island tales all afternoon, but the underlying mood was one of concern for access to their beach.

As Hawk drove to the school auditorium he thought of the strange series of events that led up to this meeting. "Did it really start with his bonehead idea of draining the creek? Why were we so bored in the first place? Would it have happened if they hadn't pulled the leaporama? What if the rangers had left up the palapa, or Lobo hadn't been so insanely intent on confronting the rangers authority? What if the storms last winter hadn't happened? The world is so full of "if's"."

"What if he hadn't bailed to Maui, or what if Mick hadn't come along or cared. What if the crew had given up. What if the crew's parents, or the neighborhood, or the businesses, or the senator hadn't responded to their appeal for help?" Hawk was dizzy thinking of all the people and events that had led up to this meeting.

"Dammit!" Hawk thought. "I am not going to back off again. If I ever get the chance I will not bail. Even if I lose, I will fight for what I think is right." He blushed thinking how unprepared he had been at the last meeting he had attended. "Well, at least I was there." Hawk thought.

The meeting was, once again, well attended and Hawk was a little late, so he had to stand at the back of the room. Mick was sitting at the front, too far to get to. Hawk couldn't see any of the rest of the crew.

The rangers began the meeting by declaring "how much they appreciated all of the community participation in their development plans…" and… we have modified our plans to better respond to your concerns."

The room was silent as the state parks planner stood up and began describing the "new" plan.

The bathroom building was almost complete. The tollbooth at the beginning of Beach Drive would be closed, and eventually there would be a new booth installed near the bathroom building that would collect fees only for parking in the small adjacent parking lot. The street parking would remain public. They would no longer be regulating traffic onto Beach Drive.

Hawk could hardly believe his ears. Had they won? The crew would keep their access?

The planner continued, "We will also be building a bridge over Aptos Creek which connects the Seacliff Beach area to the Rio Del Mar Beach area. This will allow public foot traffic between the two areas and enable easy state park vehicle access across the creek on a year round basis."

Hawk threw the "hang loose" sign to Mick across the room and slipped out he back. He had heard enough and didn't want another encounter with ranger john. The crew had been vindicated, and the rangers had folded under local pressure. Not in his wildest imagination did Hawk think that this could happen.

That evening Hawk called a few of the crew and filled them in on the meeting. Although they were stoked to hear that access would be permanently restored, they didn't dwell on the politics.

"Are you shittin me Hawk! This is so bitchin! That'll teach the rangers to mess with RSO! Hawk, listen man, party tomorrow night, at the platform. We gotta celebrate! Yeeehaaah!

Chapter 23: The Celebration

The beachbreak telegraph hummed with the news that "RSO was in control!" The dreaded park ranger plan to close free access to the platform had been defeated. The day after the announcement, crews from most of the neighboring beachbreak spots cruised Beach Drive and congratulated the excited crew. This was a victory for every surfer who had ever ridden that stretch of beach…or who ever would paddle out there.

As evening approached a crowd began gathering near the platform. Higby parked his van next to the new bathroom, opened up the doors and turned some huge speakers toward the beach. The Doors, Cream, the Stones, Hendrix, Steppenwolf, Vanilla Fudge, The Animals, the Chambers Brothers, Big Brother…. The music shook the beach. It swept the crowd along in a hypnotic current of driven lyrics and notes, punctuated by the pervasive tribal beat.

A pickup arrived with a load of lumber and construction scraps that were quickly hauled onto the sand. Before long a bonfire was blazing. Roaring flames leapt high into the air lunging for the moon and stars.

Around the fire gathered dozens of surfers and their friends, along with everyone else who had heard about the celebration. It was victory. It was the end of summer. It was feeling young, and powerful, and immortal. As the music blasted and the flames rose, the RSO chant was repeated over and over. Some of the crew began dancing and leaping around the bonfire, projecting surreal strobing shadows against the cliffs and across the sand.

RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control… RSO is in Control…RSO is in Control…

The din of voices chanting and shouting over the music surged and receded like waves after a storm.

There were no neighbor complaints. There were no rangers. There were no sheriffs. This was the crew's night.

As the celebration raged into the night, the waves glowed a brilliant florescent pale green as they broke and rolled to shore, adding to the otherworldliness of the moment.

Slowly couples began to pair off, while drunks and stoners mellowed in the sand, still hypnotized by the primitive rhythms of the evening, bodies swaying…heads bobbing…

Hawk moved away from the fire, sweating, exhausted, and hoarse. As he passed each of the crew he began to realize there was no circle. Each was involved in his own private celebration. Hawked entered the shadows near the base of the cliff where he surprised Lobo and Motormouth. Without apology, Hawk clambered halfway up the sandy cliff to a ledge that looked down on the platform, the beach, and the bay beyond. As the ubiquitous music played on, and the fire died to embers, Hawk saw the bay, and the sky, large. His thoughts crossed the Pacific visiting the people and places of Maui. "There is so much more to discover, so much more to know, so much…. But, God, I love this place…"

Hawk awoke early the next morning still perched on the narrow ledge above the beach. The fog had moved in, blanketing the bay. The steady hiss of small waves rolling shoreward was the only sound. Embers from the bonfire still glowed faintly, and bodies were scattered across the beach in various states of unconsciousness.

Hawk slid down the cliff to the campwagon, and slowly cruised down Beach Drive. "Dammit, we saved the beach!…RSO is in Control!…The crew and the sand circle are secure…" When Hawk reached the beginning of Beach Drive, he paused to survey the charred remains of the tollbooth. It wasn't a mystery to Hawk who had made this final gesture of defiance during the night.

As he drove away from the beach, Hawk's thoughts turned toward the future, and the new challenges that loomed ahead.

He was ready.

Chapter 24: Rio Retrospective

The sun was rising behind the Moss Landing stacks when Hawk pulled into the platform parking lot. Smoke from the stacks drifted toward Monterey, exposing a slight offshore wind. The pale light of morning revealed a clean head high west swell, and it looked like the rising tide would soon open up the channel. It had been thirty years since that morning when Hawk drove into the future, but after all those years, it was still this mediocre little beach break that drew him back and stirred him up.

Hawk walked past the brick bathroom building built on the old platform, and sat on a picnic table which allowed a good view of the bay and the beach that stretched from Capitola to Monterey. The little tollbooth that guarded the entrance to the small parking lot at the end of Beach Drive was unmanned, and a sign instructed visitors to buy their parking permits from a machine conveniently mounted behind the booth. As usual there were no surfers on the beach, or in the water.

Hawk's thoughts drifted back to the victory celebration several decades before. He had been so certain that the compromises adopted by the rangers would save their way of life. In retrospect it became clear that the rangers had known what they were doing. The bridge over the cliff had given them convenient vehicle access to the entire stretch of beach. The booth by the platform had given the rangers a presence that undermined the freedom and autonomy of the crew. Ultimately the crew had moved on in their lives, and the carefree days at Rio remained only in their memories. The presence of the rangers at the platform prevented future surf crews from evolving there. When the surf was good lots of surfers who grew up locally, showed up to surf, but nobody hung out anymore.

The channel was starting to hold, as a chest high set poured through. The right showed a long line that peeled cleanly from the top of the sandbar and was punctuated by a little bowl that pitched on the inside just before it backed into the channel. The left south of the channel threw out hollow on the peak for about twenty feet, backed off a little and then peeled smoothly into the inside where the shore break raced until it closed in the channel. "The surf's looking up, definitely worth sticking around for."

Mick's pickup pulled into the parking lot and parked next to Hawk's car. His board was carefully mounted on the back of his truck with all of his carpentry tools.

"Hey Hawk, you see that left." Mick quietly commented as he approached the picnic table.

"Yup." Hawk replied. "It's getting better as the tide comes up. I'm liking the looks of the right too. How're you doing Mick?"

Mick answered in his usual serious manner. "Good Hawk. More work lined up than I can do myself. Also, I got elected president of the local Clean Ocean Foundation. I'm real excited about that."

"I heard." Hawk replied. "You know Mick, I've been thinking a lot about the days when the rangers tried to shut off access to this beach."

"Yeah?" Mick answered. "Yeah, and I don't know if I ever thanked you for what you did." Hawk hesitated again trying to distill all of the thoughts and feelings he had harbored through the years.

"Well, at least Beach Drive is still open." Mick answered.

"Yeah." Hawk continued, "But it was more than that. Before you stepped into the whole scene I tried to do something, but I couldn't deal with the problems. That's one of the reasons I bailed to the islands that year. When I heard you got things organized, and when I saw the rangers give in, it really restored my faith in surfers and in our ability to challenge the system."

Another set rolled through, a little bigger, and the waves broke across too fast, but the channel held in the middle.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Mick broke in. "I guess doing that's why I'm still involved in local longboard club politics, and coastal environmental groups. It really felt good to standup and win."

"Yeah. You've done a lot for this community, and for surfers. Don't think it doesn't get noticed." Hawk continued, "You know, the success I've had consulting with communities while they were organizing to protect their environment, and their quality of life, originated with those days. Don't know if you ever knew that. I still tell the students in my Social Problems class about what you guys did at Rio as an inspiration."

"Thanks Hawk. I didn't know you were so heavily involved in local environmental issues." Mick commented. "I guess we don't talk much about it sometimes. You know though, some of the young surfers coming in to volunteer for the foundation are really stoked. I really have a good feeling about the future of surfing when I see surfers with their kind of commitment and willingness to get involved. It's bitchin."

A little embarrassed that the conversation had gotten so personal, the two men sat quietly staring out at the bay.

Mick broke the silence. "You been by the Hook lately? Santa Cruz parks are pulling the trash cans and chemical toilets out of the parking lot."

"Yeah, I saw the notice yesterday. I think it's a ploy to get more money from the city because the voter initiative for increased funding failed." Hawk answered.

"Probably." Mick answered, "But they are pulling them at several other surf spots as well. The places are going to be a mess, and they are mostly surfing beaches."

The conversation flowed quickly into a review of possible strategic actions and local contacts for putting pressure where it would do some good. The strategy session stopped abruptly as another set came through. The head high waves reeled off the sandbars with razor-edged precision.

"You going out?" Mick asked, trying not to sound too much like he was inviting Hawk out to that left he liked so much. "That right's looking pretty good."

As the two men strode back to their cars Hawk answered. "Yeah, I'm going for the right."

The two quickly changed into their wetsuits, waxed their boards, and walked down to the water's edge. They easily launched into the channel and quickly paddled out, Hawk north to the right, Mick south to the left.

Mick dropped into a chest high left, turned quickly and cross-stepped part way to the nose where the goofy-foot crouched and watched the wave throw over him. As he came out, he stepped back and climbed and dropped the slow wall into the shorebreak where he once more stepped to the nose, hung five as he shot across the steep wall. Just before the wall collapsed on him, Mick stepped back and glided over the closing wave.

Hawk caught a wave at an angle, stalled as he stood, and raced to the nose for a clean noseride across the unbroken wave. As the wave slowed he back-pedaled and swung his board back toward the curl with a dropknee cutback. At least it was as close to a dropknee as his legs would permit. He hung on the tail and stalled, the nose of his board twitched impatiently, waiting for the inside bowl to steepen. As it stood up ahead of him Hawk leaned forward and ducked as he slipped under the lip and coasted out into the channel next to Mick.

"Know what I like best about this beach?" Mick asked as he knee-paddled past Hawk.

"What?"

"It's still free!"

"Yeah!… YEAH!…. YEEAAHAAHHHH!

The two solitary surfers paddled back out laughing and hooting as a startled pelican, riding the updraft of the next set, cruised by.

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