Sweet Spot

Peter Cole first visited northern Oahu in 1958. The flight from Los Angeles to Honolulu, via Oakland, took nearly 11 hours. The drive from Honolulu to the small town of Haleiwa, before the roads were what they are today, took two more.

There were no hotels. This rarely visited region was all about agriculture. But Cole and some friends found the only reason they needed to have made the journey -- and to keep making it again and again.

Really big waves. The biggest and best known at the time.

“I knew from the first day I was here -- that first day I rode Sunset Beach -- that this was where I belonged,” says Cole, 72, who now lives on the beach near his favorite break and who still surfs three or four days a week. “I realized I’d never go back.”

What none of them realized, however, was that their daredevil exploits on those waves -- made famous by the makers of the first surfing movies -- set the stage for what today has evolved into a wild, months-long spectacle that all but turns this part of the island upside down.

A phenomenon called, simply, “the North Shore winter.”

Surfers today come not by the dozens but by the thousands, from all over the world, young and old, amateur and pro. They begin arriving in early November and keep coming long after Christmas, taking up residence along a lush coastal corridor that has retained its country feel, offering little in the way of resort living and nothing in the way of big-city nightlife.

The surfers come only to surf and to surf some more -- and to look like surfers when there is no surf because the North Shore winter, from an industry standpoint, is about much more than the mere act of riding waves.

During the peak months of November and December, photographers line all the popular beaches. Surfwear company representatives, here to showcase their stars and recruit new talent, are everywhere, and usually talking on cell phones.

Collectively, they milk the season for all it’s worth -- and it’s worth millions as the surfers appear in the photos that sell the magazines that sell the fun-in-the-sun lifestyle and the clothing, equipment and other products associated with that lifestyle.

“It’s kind of like renting a sky box at Indy,” says Randy Rarick, 53, a Sunset Beach resident and director of the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing, a six-week pro surfing extravaganza and a North Shore centerpiece for the last 20 years. “Everybody’s got to be here. It’s imperative that they have a presence here because if you don’t, you’re going to lose your edge. They’re all looking for their little niche and how they can one-up each other.”

What do the surfers get out of all this? Plenty, if they’re good enough and have the right look. Sponsorship levels vary from simple freebies and expense money to multiyear contracts worth millions.

“This is where you build your credibility as a surfer, and a lot of companies are building their marketing around that,” says Kelly Slater, 30, the sport’s most successful athlete and the poster child for Quiksilver Inc. in Huntington Beach. “It’s beautiful, warm and blue; everyone wants to come to Hawaii.”

Not everybody’s happy with such a drastic departure from the lazy days of spring and summer, when the surf is nil and the tranquil blue sea provides a stunning contrast to the deserted white-sand beaches. Those beaches become overrun with surfers, just as the highway becomes overrun with automobiles.

The North Shore population swells from about 12,000 to nearly 40,000. With so many people comes only a slight rise in crime, police say. But with more people coming every year, with more contests and with the better surfers trying so hard to get noticed, catching waves is becoming increasingly difficult.

As for Cole, a former Santa Monica lifeguard and swimming star at Stanford, he sighs when he gazes out at the sea of surfers. But he’s not altogether disheartened.

“Because of my old age, the surfers usually give me waves by myself,” he says, “and one good ride keeps me happy for a week.”

Seven-Mile Miracle

Hawaii definitely can make or break your career -- and it can definitely make or break your board or body too.

-- Fred Patacchia Jr., 20,

Haleiwa resident and rising star

The jagged ribbon of coast between Haleiwa and just beyond Sunset Beach is often referred to as the seven-mile miracle. It’s ideally situated to receive fast-moving swells generated in the North Pacific. Its many reefs, likewise, are well positioned to take those swells and throw them shoreward as perfect waves.

When the storm pulse is not strong, some of the reefs -- at Waimea Bay, Banzai Pipeline and Sunset Beach, for example -- don’t even break. But others do and are under constant assault by surfers of all abilities.

When the pulse is mighty, when the waves at every break boom like thunder and the roar of rushing water is constant, only the seasoned veterans have business in the water. And it’s serious business.

“This is the most challenging situation in the world for a lifeguard,” says Jim Howe, chief of operations for the Ocean Safety Division of the Hawaiian Lifeguard Assn. “You’ve got the best surfers in the world out here and who do you think they’re relying on to save their lives?”

Fatalities rarely occur, Howe says, because of the heavy lifeguard presence on both Jet Skis and in the towers, but also because the fear factor is so intense, for good reason, during the really big days that it turns many into mere onlookers.

During the 2001 high-surf season, the last for which statistics are available, lifeguards logged 875,000 beach visits to Waimea Bay. They made only 88 rescues and recorded only 44 medical emergencies that required hospitalization, but took 15,000 preventive actions, which ranged from simple advice to ordering people out of the water.

At Sunset Beach, there were 600,000 visitors, 88 rescues, 21 medical emergencies and 12,000 preventive actions; at Pipeline there were 500,000 visits, 46 rescues, 63 medical emergencies and 12,000 preventive actions. There were no deaths by drowning at any of the breaks.

“We’re proud to say that whether it’s Kelly Slater or just Kelly Girl out there, we’re in good position to keep an eye on them and help them out,” Howe adds.

At some of the bigger breaks, there’s another kind of interaction of an intense and often intimidating nature, between locals and non-locals, experienced and inexperienced.

Nowhere is that more apparent than at Pipeline. There are only so many sweet spots in the lineup, and because the hollow wave is so dramatic and breaks so close to shore, it is a favorite haunt of photographers and thus offers surfers in those sweet spots the best chance of getting their pictures in the magazines.

Also, because the left-breaking wave is so fast and moves out over sharp and jagged coral reef that runs the length of the impact zone, it is highly dangerous and requires responsible behavior on the part of all who paddle out.

“When Pipe is good, the pack comes out and you’ve got to know who’s who,” warns Patacchia, gazing seaward for signs of an incoming swell. “When it’s good, you want to sit on the beach and watch and wait. You want to make sure you know who is out there, getting the good ones, so you’re not in his way.”

Lifeguard Johnny Angel, stationed at Pipeline, says a popular weeding-out tactic employed by locals is “to punch the kid in the face, flip his board over and knock his fins out,” leaving him no choice but to paddle in.

“As years go by, more of those victims want to get the police involved,” adds Angel, 32, son of legendary big-wave surfer Jose Angel.

“But the police aren’t going to get wet over it. Then, they want us to get involved. We’ll patch them up, but otherwise it’s up to them to press charges with the cops, if that’s the way they want to go.”

That night, under a big yellow moon, the swell everyone had been expecting arrived, broadcasting its presence loudly and with a resonance that seemed to shake the island.

At dawn, the sun revealed what everyone knew was there, along with a briny mist that wafted along the shore. Surfers were diving in atop their boards, scratching toward the horizon. It was a mass exodus from land to sea that spanned the length of the North Shore.

At Haleiwa, the first leg of the Triple Crown, the $100,000 Haleiwa Pro, was called a go, with wave faces measuring as high as 18 feet.

The world’s top surfers were featured, including Slater, who drew the loudest applause when he carved a 360-degree turn on a steep, shifting canvas and somehow maintained his footing, finishing his ride with a series of smashing off-the-lips.

Tube rides, cutbacks and floating reentries seemed to come easily to those who do this for a living.

Oahu’s Sunny Garcia, 32, would go on to win the event, despite a torn knee ligament and a gash on his head, suffered during a wipeout in an earlier heat.

The crowds were fairly small, which was not surprising. The lineups from here to Sunset Beach and beyond were teeming with those starving for waves of their own.

At Pipeline, there were about 100 in the water. Those in the sweet spots were catching waves while those on the fringes mostly sat, hoping for opportunity in the form of a wayward peak.

On the beach, the spectators were as one, applauding every successful tube ride, gasping at every wipeout. “I came because I wanted to see a wave like the one on ‘Hawaii Five-0,’ ” said Joan Greene, making a circular motion with her hand.

She and her husband, Howard, vacationing in Waikiki to celebrate their 35th anniversary, were fortunate to have picked this day for a drive to the North Shore. They got what they came for and then some.

Living the Dream

It really is like living at a college frat house. I go house to house every day, seeing what all the other surfers are up to. It’s the best lifestyle I can imagine and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

-- Andy Irons, 2002 world champion

The North Shore is still country. The string of small communities from here to Sunset Beach has successfully opposed any large development projects. The only hotel is the upscale Turtle Bay Resort north of Sunset Beach in Kahuku.

The surfers, by and large, flop where they can close to the waves: in small apartments, rented houses or rooms within the houses, on couches, even on floors.

The more fortunate ones are the hundreds of sponsored pros shuffling in and out of homes vacated by their owners and leased -- for as much as $15,000 a month -- by the surfwear companies. The bigger the company, the better the location.

Irons, 24, is staying at the Red Bull house in front of Off the Wall, a right-breaking wave only steps from Pipeline. Next door is the Oakley house. Overlooking Pipeline is the Quiksilver house and next door is the Volcom house.

There are the O’Neill house, Billabong house, Rip Curl house and so on. There’s even a diamond in the rough: the Roxy house, a big yellow manor on Sunset Point. It’s full of young female riders and thus one of the more popular houses around.

“I just love the North Shore -- I think it’s cool,” says Kassia Meador, 20, a Roxy surfer. “You walk down the street and everybody says hello. If there are waves, everybody’s buzzing, and if there are no waves, everybody’s going to each other’s houses and having barbecues and parties. You breathe in the warm air and you’re just stoked.”

Meador, of Westlake Village, doesn’t recall exactly when she got discovered. “One thing just led to another,” she says.

That’s often how it happens.

Strider Wasilewski, 30, captain of the Quiksilver team, made his first trip here when he was 12. He and two older friends (they were 14) “fooled” their parents into believing the trip was supervised by the surfboard company for which Wasilewski had been competing.

Wasilewski sprang for the airline tickets, using money he’d made as a child model. They caught a plane from Los Angeles to Honolulu, and a cab to the North Shore. The cab driver dropped them off in the dusty lot of a small market.

Almost immediately, Wasilewski recognized a pro surfer walking across the lot. He introduced himself. The surfer said they could stay with him.

“I didn’t even know where he was taking us,” Wasilewski says. “We walk in through the back of the house, walk out the front and he says, ‘See that? That’s Pipeline and that’s Back-Door and that’s Off the Wall. And that’s all you’re going to need to know for the next 15-20 years.’ ”

Those words rang true. Wasilewski continued the annual pilgrimage and slowly gained the respect of locals and older, more experienced surfers who dominated the sweet spots in the lineup.

Then, on a thunderous day at Pipeline, he took off on the biggest wave of the afternoon at the outer reef. He made the bottom turn and stood on his board in awe as the face of the wave warped inward and the lip flew out, over and well beyond him.

So impressive was his tube ride that it was a cover shot on Surfer magazine.

“It ended up being the start of my pro career,” Wasilewski says with a smile. “It was my dream come true.”