Brian E. Powers: Dawn Patrol

Dawn Patrol 1972

I couldn't feel my fingers, each step onto the frozen sand felt like what I'm guessing walking on broken glass must feel like, my eyes hurt from the salt water and the cold wind blowing straight into my face. It is seven AM in 1972 and I have just climbed out of the 55 degree Pacific Ocean and have to make my way across the 300 yard width of Brookhurst Beach to get to my stingray bike and ride home with my orange Walden 7'2" squaretail under my arm. I have been in the freezing surf for over an hour snagging waves with the other Brookhurst boys before racing home and then getting to Edison High School before the bell rings.

The winter Santa Ana winds kicked up that night along with a reported 4-5 foot west swell, hence my getting up at 5:00 AM and waiting for my buddy Russell Peters to swing by my house and then we'd peddle down Bushard Street with the wickedly cold wind at our backs pushing us to the waves. It was a mile and a half ride full of stoke and genuine happiness in anticipation of the surf awaiting out arrival. We would lock our bikes to the chain link fence guarding Huntington Beaches sandy treasure from all enemy's foreign and domestic and then climb said rusty chain link wall, passing over our sticks to the guy on the other side, all in pitch black. The Santa Ana wind at our backs blowing us ever quicker to the cold ocean waves.

Others were already there at the shores edge. Rodger had started a fire in the sand from driftwood and a jar full of gasoline he always brought down with him. The sky was just beginning to lighten and I could see the first set coming in before us. Four to five my ass, that's an eight foot face if I ever saw one! Pull off your sweatshirt, kick the tube socks off your feet, drop down beside your board and rub it with sand to roughen up the wax, stand up with your vessel under your arm, look at the other guys and run for the shore break. I'd race into the water and throw myself down on my board and begin to paddle frantically towards the dim horizon. Ten, twenty strokes later and the first wave I have to get passed rears up in my way. Can't go over it, too far inside, have to push under. Grab the rails, pull forward and push the nose of my board into the waves face. My then young head, covered in full sunbleached blondish hair, goes beneath the oceans surface in order to penetrate the wave. The first freezing shock of this action would bring a dying man back from the grave. If you wished to get an idea of what it was like, place a large bucket of freezing water near your bed. Then, in the dark at 5:30 AM jump out of bed and sprint out to the street in front of your house and back, then plunge your head in the bucket and keep it there for four seconds.

An hour later after having caught as many waves as you were good enough to get and having had to swim to shore as many times as you ate it and lost your board, remember this was before the surf leash was invented, you headed in to make your way to school. My god how we cursed the offshore wind we had so blessed when it was at our back. Cold, tired, wet and numb we had to drop our heads and peddle into the bitter gusting Santa Ana's with our boards under our arms acting like sails being whipped back and forth as we pressed on.

I recall one morning falling into my seat in Mrs Sandtroms first period spanish class just a minute before the bell rang, my hair still wet and sand on my slippers and a white mexican peasant shirt with blue stitching on my chest . She passed out a pop quiz and as I leaned over to look at the mimeographed test a stream of saltwater gushed from my nose upon the page. She was not impressed with me that morn.

Dawn Patrol 2012

"Gotta be at Hapuna Beach at 6:30 in the morning huh?" I ask Luke.

"Yeah, there's gonna be a bunch of my friends there. The surfs supposed to be massive and we want to be the first ones to ride the swell".

Well, seeing as how Hapuna Beach is 40 minutes north of here I can't very well tell him to ride his bike there like I did as a freshman in high school, so I guess I'm getting up early and driving north at O-dark thirty.

The pre-dawn drive along the Kona Coast is refreshing to me. I am normally heading south at night after finishing a photo shoot at one of the hotels and here I find myself heading the opposite way in the dark and in the morning. A different sight picture I guess you might say.

We arrive at the beach parking lot to find two or three carloads of boys already heading down the path to the sea. Luke writes his name in the sand, grabs his fins since he has decided to body surf this morning while his buddies ride booger boards and heads for the waves.

I can tell by the sound of the breaking waves that there are no massive waves hitting the beach, which is fine by me since Luke is not used to big surf and it's way too early in the morning to have to play lifeguard and haul anyone back to shore.

Luke's good buddy Conner shows up and races out to snag a couple of nice little barrels for himself.

The scream of multiple teenaged boys voices arises behind me as I face the sea and as I look around I spy a herd of young guys in decidedly non surfer-ware racing towards the waves. I have no idea what they are up to but shoot some frames to capture the moment. Afterward Luke tells me they are bunch of his classmates using a GoPro waterproof video camera on a pole to make some kind of crazy YouTube video. The newest method to try and woo girls I suspect.

The sun gradually rose above the summit of Mauna Kea and shed it's warm light upon west Hawaii. Luke managed to grab a handful of nice little waves, as did Conner and the other boys who forced themselves out of bed at 4:30 to jump in the ocean in the dark.