Eddie Aikau (May 4, 1946-March 17, 1978) |
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There are surf stars and there are surf stars. Some become great. A few become heroes. Most fade into obscurity. Every now and then, a surfer comes along who transcends the desires, dreams and expectations of others. And his very life becomes a myth.
Eddie Aikau is one. Perhaps because he embodies the twin themes -- the stoke and the tragedy -- of Hawaiians, the people who gave surfing to the world and took so little in return. Edward Ryan Aikau was born on Maui -- the third child of Solomon and Henrietta Aikau. He came into a world of few material goods. Sol worked as a truck driver for the Kahului Railroad Company, and the family lived in a dirt-road compound of 15 houses and fellow railroad workers. On weekends, Sol would take the kids down to Kahului Harbor with his old redwood board. Eddie learned to surf in the harbor shorebreak, which has since been dredged. In 1959, the family moved to Honolulu on Oahu. By then, there were six kids, and he wanted to offer them better opportunities than he'd had on Maui. Eddie and younger brother Clyde made themselves boards from marine ply and began surfing the Waikiki Wall. By the age of 16, Eddie -- never a committed student -- had left school and was working at the Dole pineapple cannery, earning enough money to buy his first real board -- a big, thick Velzy. The Aikau boys worked their way up the classic Hawaiian food chain, from the Wall to Queen's to Ala Moana to Haleiwa, borrowing the family truck for weekend North Shore runs. Aikau's first experience in bigger waves came through John Kelly and Sammy Lee, who took him out to big Sunset in early 1967. On November 19 of that year he took on huge Waimea Bay. All the great big-wave riders of the day were out: Greg Noll, Rick Grigg, Felipe Pomar and George Downing. Aikau, just a normal Hawaiian kid possessed by who knew what, dominated the lineup from start to finish, while young Clyde watched amazed from the cliff. Photos from that day appeared in Life magazine, and suddenly Aikau was a star. In 1968, Aikau left the Dole job and persuaded the Honolulu city and county to appoint him North Shore lifeguard. He was given the task of covering all beaches between Sunset and Haleiwa and saved hundreds of lives over the next three years. Hardly any official rescue reports made it back to lifeguard headquarters; Aikau was not a report writer. In 1971, the roving patrol was disbanded and Aikau was assigned to Waimea Bay, where -- despite his disdain for haole tourists and suicidal Marines -- no lives were lost while he was on duty. Through the '70s, Aikau cemented his reputation as the undisputed master of big Hawaiian surf, winning the Duke Classic in 1977 and scoring many other high placings. His authority over the scene was unquestioned. In 1976, when fights began to break out between angry Hawaiians and cheeky Australian surfers who'd imported an increasingly cockier attitude to the North Shore, Aikau stepped in as mediator. A few years earlier, he might've been fighting; now he was the peacemaker. But Aikau was troubled by something. A brief marriage in 1971 fell apart, and he found himself at a loose end of sorts. According to Clyde, he was more and more intrigued by his Hawaiianness: what did it mean in the second half of the 20th century? When the Polynesian Voyaging Society announced it was seeking volunteers for a journey of rediscovery aboard its double-hulled replica canoe Hokule'a, Eddie leaped at the chance. The Hokule'a trip was designed to retrace the ancient Polynesian migration passage between Hawaii and the Tahitian chain -- 2,400 miles south of Honolulu. It had done a similar trip in 1976, accompanied by backup vessels; this time it would go alone. Hokule'a sailed out of the Magic Island dock on the evening of March 16, 1978, straight into a strong northeast tradewind. By midnight, tracking down the rough Molokai Channel, the canoe developed a leak in the starboard hull and eventually capsized. The crew hung on and hoped for a quick rescue, but by morning they were locked into a southerly flowing current and still being smashed by the tradewind. Aikau insisted on paddling for help -- his target being the island of Lanai, 12 miles to the east -- and at 10:30 a.m., Captain David Lyman relented. Aikau made a leash of nylon rope for his big rescue board and paddled off, saying: "Don't worry, I can do it. I can get to land." At 8:27 p.m., a Hawaiian Air jet pilot saw the canoe's flares and strobe lights and requested aid; by midnight, most of the crew was on its way back to Honolulu. Eddie Aikau was never found. A memorial was mounted at Waimea Bay Beach Park, and the famous invite-only Bay event held in his name waits each winter for the kind of surf he made his own. -- Nick Carroll, October 2000 Click here to find all the Eddie Aikau photos and editorial on Surfline.
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