I had watched with interest as Archie had carefully rigged the canoe, with a group of the harbor boys hanging out Hawaiian style, as the sun began to lower towards the mountains in the West. I was fairly oblivious to the aspects of what we were up to. I knew Pier One would likely be in the 15-20-foot face range. The prospect of paddling a canoe into a wave of that size presented itself as exciting image fodder. The boys on Maui are sort of like that, in coming up with ways to amuse themselves. They conjure up adventurous things to do that they see as fun, and the rest of the world views as lunacy. Lucky me, they invite me along.

Still, knowing this, I had enthusiastically agreed to an afternoon adventure in the notoriously shark-ridden waters off the harbor. I would be on a personal water craft, filming. What could happen?
Perched safely atop the big Sea Doo with Gary Sirotta driving me, I watched as Archie and pals made some runs in the triple overhead offshore bombs, making many of the rides, but dramatically and sometimes hilariously NOT making a couple. I found myself grinning after one harrowing ride, when Archie and Victor had bailed from the canoe without saying a word to Gary's son in the bow, who rode the canoe into the pit and absolute calamity. Archie must've been near drowning from not being able to hold air in laughing as they took a beating in the extreme practical joke. I was still smiles, as, a while later, Arch casually yelled over to me: " Hey Dave! You like go? We are gonna have the ski tow us."

Keep in mind what I was thinking. I have done and continue to do some hairy stuff. I have raced bikes and cars. I've ridden big outer reef waves. I regularly swim huge surf and remote breaks around the world at all hours of the day. Stuff that is pretty extreme to the average person, well, that is sort of my every day life when I am working. So I really did not think much about it when I simply replied over the roar of a set as it exploded on the reef: "Hey yeah, Arch, that sounds like fun!" I can be such an idiot.

My mood soon changed as I was swimming around the canoe a little later. I was shooting some water perspectives of Arch and his craft as we bobbed on the outside fringes of the break. I suddenly felt the hair go up on the back of my neck. This is an instinctive thing that happens when I sense I'm being predated. It happens sometimes, usually right before I run into sharks. It puts me on edge. I pretty quickly hopped into the canoe and settled in second position, right in front of Archie, saying nothing about it. But my mood had changed. Shawn was in the bow. His Dad, Victor, was on the ski and tossed us the tow rope.

Archie is a pretty accomplished steersman and navigator, being one of the occasional captains on the Hawaiian historic sailing canoe the Hokulaiea, that same vessel Eddie Aikau had died skippering. Having paddled and steered all his life in various canoe configurations, he knows what he is doing. Couple that with his prodigious and varied water skills, big wave riding ability, and being head of OCEAN SAFETY: well it had all seemed to make sense. Until right at about that instant.

As the warm afternoon sun began to sink into the Iao Valley, and rays of light fell into the ocean around us, Victor towed the canoe in a semi-circle towards a fast rolling swell outside of the break. As the wave stood up, I suddenly realized, camera in hand, that this was a gnarly and dangerous thing we were doing. Arch yelled: "This one?" I saw that the wave had a bump in front of it and was likely a double wave that would jack and pitch. I could not imagine us making it in a canoe. I found the air expelling from my lungs in one great big "NO! Double wave!"

The feeling of all this was so familiar. I remembered right then what it reminded me of. It was similar to being in a roller coaster at Magic Mountain, about to go over the first big drop! Only I was holding a camera, and on top of that, knew that the wheels could easily come off in our little escapade. Hooleeing the canoe in a 15-foot wave with sharks at sunset? Hmm, NOT a good idea. Arch pulled back. Relief flooded over me. We circled towards the outside as that wicked double-up exploded behind us. I was secretly glad I had my fins with me.

In due course, Victor throttled the little Kawasaki, which complained loudly. The yellow canoe accelerated as it felt the power of the swell. Hearts in throats but grinning, we were into it. The racket of the two-stroke receded as the strain upon it eased. The deep blue wave reared, and Archie yelled at Shawn to let go. He tossed the line. We sluiced forward and down, over, and onto liquid tracks with a sucking, ripping sound. It was mesmerizing. The sun shone onto golden wave face as the lip reared up and pitched out and over us. I was instinctively shooting, while struggling to comprehend what seemed to be a slow motion compilation of a huge number of things going on all at once. It seemed silent when out of the reverie of our dramatic slide came a shout: "Dave, the ama!" Camera in hand I threw myself onto it as we rocketed past the critical part of the wave, water flying in sheets off the front of the outrigger. I kept shooting. Time snapped back into its normal cadence and we flew out onto the flats, a lot like a formula car exiting a turn. Gliding into the relative calm of the channel, stroking, we found ourselves laughing.

Later, in the half-light of evening back in the harbor, feeling the still-warm ground underfoot as night cooled the day, two thoughts occurred to me: this was likely the most dangerous thing I had done, and, that I wanted to do it again! Good steersman, Archie Kalepa, I reflected, as we de-rigged the canoe and loaded it onto the trailer.