Outrigger

Puffy, white clouds blotted the tops of the Koolaus. Low tide in Kaneohe Bay left the water glassy calm. After weeks of windy, cool weather, the warm sunshine seemed to infuse the palms, the waves, the mountains, filling them with light and radiating out like beams scattered from a gemstone. Hawaii is astonishing in early morning. I truly can’t imagine anything more beautiful.

What a perfect day to try outrigger canoeing for the first time! I joined the Na Koa Lani Rec paddlers Friday morning to give it a spin.

The paddler in front sets the pace. The second paddler counts the strokes, calling out, “hui!” and answered back, “ho!” as all paddlers switch sides. The paddler in the back steers and captains the canoe.

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Here’s my favorite part. “The most important thing is that paddles go in and paddles come out at the same time,” said one coach as she gave an introduction to us newbies. “Paddling hard out of sync is just hard work; when you paddle all together, the boat will lift up and just glide.”

The silence on the water was only broken by the sound of paddles pushing us through the water and the faint “Hui! Ho!” calls of the other canoes. Helicopters, jets and ospreys roared overhead now and then. We rounded Coconut Island and beached for a short break and chat.

“I like being part of this group because–well you can’t beat this,” said one paddler, gesturing around to the gorgeous morning, the emerald hills and palm trees mirrored in the bay. “And I like being around such strong women. Like, physically strong and everyone is so knowledgeable and encouraging.”

On the paddle back, we paused, paddles at rest, to watch speed boats zoom along the sandbar, pulling their cargo of inflatable bananas covered in exclaiming tourists. We made our way gently along the edge of the reef in search of sea turtles. They found us, poking their heads up and blinking slowly before diving down, deep and away. The shadowy outline of a turtle that looked like it was the size of a picnic table never fully materialized, sinking back down into the darkness before ever coming fully to light.

Ours was the last canoe back in. About a dozen women together carried the canoe up the embankment, then everyone circled up to put hands in the middle aaaaaand break. I’d missed some calls from Chris—my sailor was finally back from his short-but-slightly-extended final voyage out on the USS Michael Murphy, and he wanted to meet up for lunch at the O Club so we could talk about our orders to our exciting new duty station.

Whales breached offshore, and the sun beat down, and the palm trees waved, and the water crashed along the shore. How will we ever leave this place?