Puako Beach Home – Summer to Winter Waves

Let the ocean be a part of your every day life.

Puako Beach — Where your backyard is measured in square miles ($2,500,000—MLS# 238957)

While buyer clients wait for a short sale, or REO, approval months pass by…tranquil days of summer transition to the eventual music of the winter swells.

Why not turn to the ocean for a distraction? It’s my favorite pastime, and makes me wax poetic. If living by the sea does it for you, talk to me about this 2 bed/2 bath house on ⅓ acre in Puako. Possibly, the most desirable neighborhood on the Big Island. Oceanfront houses in South Kohala rarely come on the market, so come take a look.

For the inspiring effect of the changing sea…

Have you ever sat down and listened to the ocean when the wall of incoming water makes a roiling sound as the lip of the wave turns over? You can hear the scraping against the sand on the beach as the particles collide forward, then backwards, coiling under, over, and over again, like echos of soft wave music. There are sounds in the distance of the larger waves often making cracking noises as their much larger wave faces curve in front of eager surfers.

The playground of possible rides announces itself, sometimes thundering loudly. It beckons ocean lovers to break out their toys. The big ocean jet skis, and long boards, appear like magic when the ocean songs speak big surf on the North Shore of Oahu. There are often little salty whiffs of spray in the air – enough to tickle your nose. The ehukai, or gentle sea mist, in the air floats lightly to shore. Ocean lovers find the presence of salt in the air just as reassuring as a glance between old friends who anticipate good times.

The ocean introduces itself, in a matter of speaking, by calling out to your senses. Like a generous hand extended forward when you meet someone, you gain a sense of how capable they are. With the ocean, you can detect this capacity by how much limu (seaweed) is in the air, by how big the surf is, or by observing the sea spray dust across the horizon. That lovely salty-air scent can seem crisp and tangy, with the expectation of excitement, and activity on the water. It is a fine mist carried by the ocean spray, and tastes like salt on your lips. Thick salt spray can appear like a whitish haze, or a transparent film, and can seem ominous, or foreboding. It has a recognizable presence in the back of your consciousness, and for some, it registers as danger, for others caution, and for thrill seekers a day of challenge and fun. The distinct character is a scent that wafts in the air, often resulting from blowing off the back of large surf. It smells heavy, and green, like leafy seaweed washing between the sets.

The brisk ocean breezes flow towards the shore, delightfully blending the seashore with molecules of air driven off the wave activity, and evaporating towards the sky. Sea spray is like a sweat emanating off the ocean surface. The ehukai appears and it speaks the language ocean dwellers understand. It is the breath to inhale of life, and can dazzle your senses, or warn you of powerful forces you dare not question.

On such days the ocean appears whiter, with foam floating atop the undulating surface; the movements of currents flow in diagonal rhythms, while sea turtles swiftly take their breaths and dive down with the rhapsody. Oxygen is needed more frequently amongst the peaks and valleys of water, and currents. Energy is in motion and expended.

When the call of the wave sounds, the surfers gain more momentum as their survival instincts peak with renewed interest, and the sets begin to close out. Like masters who serve only one sport, the slim and solid appear with bright colored surf boards and quickly skim the surface out to the next set.

The waves crackle and turn while the foam hisses in the wind. Great weeping combs of spray blow off the back of combers inbound. Small rocks turn in the tide onshore, knocking together, telling the story of waves. The stones jockey for new positions with the wave force, and the small fish tucked away in nooks of safety see nothing but turning sand. Then for a moment it quiets down far beyond the reef.

A set finishes breaking; yet on the horizon a silence sends the surfer’s arms into a quick pace. All are keenly aware of the set building far out, and the silver walls have not yet spoken. The waves move with promise as keen, but vigilant eyes anticipate their arrival, along with the momentum and power behind them. Some surfers call out and glide just over the top, increasing their efforts to meet the waves beyond. Some take off and plunge down the steep face and head right, accelerating as the wave continued towards shore.

The tops of the waves spill into the shamble of chaotic precision, collapsing into shapeless foam. The waves behind brake louder in punishing cracks, and the shore vibrates with the onslaught. Surfers often throw their hair off to the side and look to the horizon, or around for a lost or broken board, as their arms seem to calmly keep up with one cadence against the current.

The surf commotion seems like just a game, as if the set, having newly collapsed, has just performed and the waves, all in laughter, are having their own contest to see which one is bigger, or the loudest.

The kids on shore play along with this idea and call out for bigger action, or taunt the ocean playfully around the concept for a bigger next wave. They run into the waves, or fly boogie boards along the sand, and do crazy flips off the lips of the inbound shore waves. It’s a sport that could go on all day and the kids won’t leave until their lips are blue, or they get hungry.

When the quiet returns to the deep waters and the foam dissipates, the surfers look patiently for the next round. In the distance the sun sparkles on the water, shimmering, diamond-like, as if hundreds of tiny mirrors were thrown upon the gray surface. The brightness glistens in the undulating paths, as the mountain-shaped wave surfaces move towards the shore. The sun, high in the sky, illuminates the silver landscape, and the clouds cast momentary shadows over the masterpiece.

Cloud bunnies display their ears on the horizon, and a gray low-moving cloud hesitates in the distance before it drops a million tacks from the sky. The drops fall by the thousands, and each glistening drop to land seems to be a precious gem finding its way back to the ultimate gem-scape. The silver droplets, each capable of sustaining life, falls into the ocean of eternity.

The squall on the ocean passes with the trade winds, and the birds along the shore line dispute, from their perches, the controversy of life. Four turtles edge their way laboriously across the reef, just before sunset, foraging for sustenance. Just one large turtle works itself up onto the beach to close its eyes for a short rest. The sand is hot from the day’s heat, but the moon will soon change that.

On the moon’s shift things will cool off, and there will only be a path of silver on the water cast from above. Cloud bunnies seem to disappear along the orange horizon as though finding shapes amongst the great white looming clouds is often an evening sport of imagination and fancy. The elephant cloud raises his trunk and sounds his silent bugle taps. The alligator, by his side, displays a toothy grin to approve the closing ceremony. The birds stop chatting as the sky mesmerizes them in powder-soft shades of pastel.

As night falls, all feel safe under the star theater above. It was a good day on the ocean, and the music of waves continues as the ocean breezes fill the hearts of those salty dogs who heard the ocean songs.