Waterman

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Boasting total mastery of all oceanic endeavors, the revered waterman can fish, dive, surf, windsurf, kayak, bodysurf, interpret complex weather data, save the odd drowning man, etc. Generally built like a tank and typically soft-spoken (choosing to let his actions do the talking), loner watermen fear neither tempest nor shark and rarely head for higher ground. If need be, he can survive entirely on self-harvested ocean bounty, spearing his food from the nearby reefs he'll surf over when the swell is up. He's an intense figure, idolized in the local community for his silent bravery and meteorological prowess. For example, while looking up at the sky, he says, "Approaching cold front. West-north-winds coming. The kelp patties will be jumping around 12:16 on the outgoing tide, so we'll fish until the wind switches offshore sometime around 4:19 or so."

Webster defined waterman as "a person who makes his living from the water (as by fishing, crabbing, or oystering)", and it is of Middle English origin. British seadogs aside, the Hawaiian Islands probably sport the highest concentration of true watermen as we use the term today. The turn-of-the-century Waikiki beach boys, from George Freeth to Duke Kahanamoku, were among the first watermen to gain notoriety.

Soon mainlanders joined in: Detroit-raised Tom Blake and Californians Pete Peterson and Whitey Harrison led the act. By the '50s, a plethora of West Coasters -- Buzzy Trent, Pat Curren and Greg Noll -- had latched onto the lifestyle and relocated to Oahu's North Shore. While the lifestyle has been eroded by creature comforts, there remains a small community of watermen -- clustered mainly in Hawaii. Most notably is Oahu's legendary Keaulana family and the late Rell Sunn, first lady of the sea.

Still, these guys come in all colors and sizes. On rickety docks in fading red caps they launch their trusty vessels headlong into heaving swells. On the bluff at deep-water spots like Maverick's, armed with only a weather radio, they study swell periods. Alone, miles from the din of ringing cell phones, they dive deep in icy waters skillfully seeking fresh abalone. Their beat up pick-ups bounce down dusty Baja back roads at dawn in pursuit of solitude, fresh fish and empty perfection.

Unjustly or not, the waterman is often thought of as somewhat bitter, forever running and hiding from what he views as "encroaching civilization." As embodied by Hawaii's Roger Erikson, the waterman's lone companion is the sea, and he's hardly one for idle chat. Furthermore, the modern waterman seems all too aware of his own legend and carries himself like a god, with contempt for the "Day-Glo army," who so disgrace mother ocean with loud, self-congratulatory babble in the water and wealthy boaters with the latest fishing gear. Surfers often fall victim to waterman worship, buying into the aura these guys project and embracing it as a higher state of oceanic consciousness. These false idols aside, plenty of authentic waterman still exist along shorelines worldwide. -- Greg Heller, January 2001