Containing
Top: Waimea Bay, 34th annual Eddie Big Wave Invitational (1.22.23) PC: Martin Caprile/MJC Hawaii. Bottom: Waimea Bay, the view of Captain Jonathan’s catamaran from shore in the EXACT same location, (10.17.2021) PC: my hubby
When I travel, I try to stay attuned to signs of “thin” places. In these special locations, the veil between finite and infinite is lifted. They are places of transcendence, connection and flow. I haven’t traversed the Western hills of Ireland yet, but when I do, I suspect I’ll gain a deeper appreciation of why the ancient Celts described their sacred landscapes in this way. According to Celtic tradition, heaven and earth exist a mere 3 feet apart but this distance is considerably shorter in thin places.
One such locale for me is Waimea Bay. It is a horse-shoe shaped cradle of sea on the North Shore of O’ahu, Hawai’i, positioned across from the sacred historical site of Waimea Valley (also very thin!). Fortunately for us, my sister Collette lives nearby so we get to frequent the region and soak in its thinness.
On a recent visit, we joined Collette and my niece on a 3 day sail up the west coast of O’ahu. You can imagine my enthusiasm when our skipper, Captain Jonathan, announced we’d be anchoring in Waimea Bay for a night. After hours of splashing, bouncing, and puking our way through the wild waves in the open Pacific, Waimea gently welcomed us home with her stillness and awe. We relievedly dropped our sails and our anchor.
And then we dropped in.
We replaced doing with being. William and I enjoyed a new setting in which to practice our oral hygiene. Grace had a fun (and eco-friendly) new method of finishing her assigned arithmetic. Eric and the kids studied the local fishes and then dove down to see which residents they could identify. We read, played cards, swam between the hulls, and even spied a pod of spinner dolphins putting on a spectacular aerial show for the sheer pleasure of it. We paddled to shore and embraced the weight of the earth as we traded our sunburned legs for sand-sculpted mermaid tails.
The cradle of Waimea and her sacredness held us safely all night. Bioluminescent plankton waltzed in the depths below while stars commuted reliably across the night sky. I swear the bay was humming us a lullaby was we drifted to dreams that night. I remember thinking, “this is the work of a thin place”.
But is it?
Last weekend, a winter storm brought in massive swells to the North Shore. Waimea bay was breaking. With the arrival of her monster waves, came the announcement of The Eddie Aikau Big Wave Invitational, a rare surfing event to honor the legend. Eddie was the first lifeguard at Waimea (and the entire north shore), a native Hawaiian, a champion big wave surfer and may be the very definition of a hero #EddieWouldGo. Thanks to my niece Leila, I learned his important story. I wonder if his legacy, his culture, and his very own spirit of aloha have helped make Waimea the thin place it is.
Collette stood on shore to watch the competition live and was kind enough to send me clips so I could share in the Energy from my land-locked state while streaming the event alongside the other 1.2 million internet spectators.
Waimea’s thinness felt as evident as ever. But she sure as hell wasn’t humming “rock-a-bye baby”! This felt like a new type of thin. At any instant, her waves could crush a surfer; and like Eddie, another legend would be swallowed by the sea. Caution tape lined the shore so spectators didn’t accidentally get gulped into the unforgiving currents. What if someone got held under for longer than their lungs could tolerate? I found myself holding my breath as if doing so meant I could donate oxygen to those soldiers braving the 50+ foot waves - especially to the 6 women who made history as the first wahine to ever compete in an Eddie event.
In witnessing the striking dichotomy between Waimea’s stillness and her tumultuousness, I realize the full breadth of it’s thinness: Waimea has an enormous capacity to contain. It willingly and unshakably reveres life and death, light and dark, relaxation and tension. She finds balance in paradox. Perhaps this is the true nature of a thin place.
In our upcoming adventure there will be many moments of flow, connection and awe. There will also be storms and heavy waves (and undeniably, there will be puking). I wonder how my own capacity to contain will mold and shift with the changing tides of our odyssey.
When the inevitable invitation comes, I’ll be sure to look to Waimea Bay and to Eddie Aikau for inspiration.
