I explained that taking an 8-year-old girl and having an open kayak were not good ideas, but Tom said it was fine. I love that about Tom. You don’t have to waste time discussing things, because he’s not going to change his mind. So, we took off on an adventure.
The wind and waves were behind us and kept rising as we made our way down the infamous Na Pali coast. The boys and I reached the first sea cave. It was about 300 feet long and came out on the other side of a point. We decided to risk the rising swell and were able to ride a wave right on through. It’s a super rush as the wave jacks up and you swear you’re going to be scraped along the ceiling. Once out, you take a hard right and exit into a choppy but sheltered cove behind the point.
We waited and waited, but no Tom. Eventually, I told Logan and Timmy to go on slowly ahead while David and I paddled back around the outside of the point to check on Tom and Bethany. As soon as we rounded the point, the wind hit us with unbelievable force. Far behind we saw Tom and Bethany in the water with a sinking kayak. Now we had to battle our way back against the wind and the current. By the time we got to them, we had to paddle full bore just to stay beside them. Tom asked me to take Bethany in my kayak and said he would stay with the boat. Not a great plan, but this wasn’t the time to have a discussion.
In seconds, Bethany was in our boat, and the wind and waves took us away. By the time I looked back, Tom was already a couple hundred feet behind and almost lost among the spray and swells. But then, as I looked again—a miracle—the first boat we’d seen, a catamaran tour boat, was heading toward Tom from the ocean side. This boat had a big open deck and carried up to 25 passengers. The last thing I saw as we ran with the seas was people trying to wrestle the kayak onto their boat. Tom’s last words, echoed in my mind, were “see you in Kalalau.”
Our plan was to break our trip into three parts while doing some exploring along the way. We were about halfway to our first stop, the Kalalau Valley, a wide beautiful place with beaches, rivers and waterfalls. It used to be home for more than 5,000 Hawaiians, but now it has reverted to nature with only goats, pigs, and campers on the beach . . . and, well, also quite a few usually naked hippies in hidden camps.
The next miles were relatively uneventful and almost peaceful as we got away from the turbulence of the cliffs. We caught up with Timmy and Logan and had a chance to appreciate the spectacular scenery rising thousands of feet above us. Miles ahead we could see the beach at Kalalau.
Meanwhile, Tom had emptied his open kayak and, despite the loud protests of the passengers, took off in pursuit of us. Tom said that the captain, a fellow surfer, assured everyone that he could handle the rugged conditions, but then Tom has been known to minimize danger. He did admit later, amusedly, that one poor woman was weeping hysterically and begging the captain not to let him back in the water because he was going to die. Personally, I doubt if the captain could have stopped him!
With less than a mile to go, we approached the beach where we would land. Between us and our destination, however, was the Kalalau River mouth, which left the water shallow far off shore. As we looked out to sea, a huge set of waves started to plough across the ocean between the beach and us. We slowed down to assess the situation. The safest thing to do was to head a half-mile out to sea and go around the reef. We watched and judged the time between sets. It seemed we could shoot across to the beach, if luck held.
As the last wave of the set came through, we were already charging it. Halfway across the distance, Logan and Timmy were doing well. There were no waves in sight and I thought that we were safe. Just then, Bethany, who was sitting in the bow facing me, opened her eyes very wide. She pointed and yelled, “Mr. Miles!” I turned to look over my shoulder and saw a 10-foot wave face start to curl and break behind us.
I immediately went down on my back and dug in the paddle, pulling us around to run with the wave. We were up in the air, then racing down the face. “Just catching a wave,” I said through clenched teeth to calm Bethany’s fears (and mine). My whole strength was on the paddle to keep us on the wave. I still remember Bethany’s face turning from terror to joy as we rode and rode that wave. This went on for a quarter- to half-mile—certainly the longest ride I’ve ever had on a kayak.
When the wave finally weakened and slid beneath us, we saw that the beach was just a few hundred feet in front of us. We would still have to brave a huge beach break, get rolled around, lose and retrieve our food and camping gear, but we had made it! And half an hour later there came Tom . . . no worries!
After this, we took a shower in a cool freshwater waterfall, hiked, camped, cooked over a fire, saw a turtle lay eggs at night, and looked at the incredible stars as we slept out on the sand. Good times and long days lazing in the shade.
We began the last leg out with much calmer seas in the lea of the island. We had to paddle much harder now, as there was less wind. However, it was still rough enough to where Tom suddenly sunk again, so we paddled over to again pick up Bethany. Tom wanted to stay with the boat (déjà vu), and this time the conditions were not so bad and we were on a section of coast that usually had more boats coming and going. So we left, paddling the last two miles to land at Polihale Beach. We pulled our kayaks out of the water and onto the dunes, where someone was to soon meet us to drive us back around the island. We sat and waited for Tom . . . and waited . . . and waited.
Finally, we spotted something odd out in the water that wasn’t a boat. Slowly, it became more visible. It was, in fact, Tom. He had rigged up some ropes into a harness and was swimming the last two miles dragging the overturned two-man kayak full of water . . . no worries. As he came closer, we jumped in the surf to help bring the boat through the five- to six-foot shore break.
As it turns out, a kayak with 500 gallons of water can really knock you around. It rolled in the waves, it rolled in the sand, and it rolled on us. Some four-wheel drive trucks with a dozen local guys had pulled up on the beach about a hundred feet from us and were having a good time drinking beer until we started kayak wrestling in the surf. Now they were having a hilarious time . . . laughing at us. I would tend to ignore a beer-drinking crowd in this situation, but not Tom. He strode over there and yelled, “What’s wrong with you guys? Can’t you see we need help?” They looked at each other, they looked at their feet, and then jumped down and got in the surf. Before you knew it, we were back on the beach, a mollified Tom, a rescued kayak, and being offered a beer . . . no worries.
While we were not one of those families with traditions, we tried to build memories together by doing simple things, usually on the beach. Birthday parties were always on the beach with a mom-made piñata of papier mâché. On Christmas morning, forget about opening presents. A morning surf session came first on the agenda, and then family gifts were opened while enjoying a late breakfast.
Most of all, Tom and I realized that our own faith had to be genuine and alive every day. You can tell kids what to do all day, but more is caught than taught. What we do weighs 10 times more than anything we say.
It was good that I was learning all of these parenting truths, because after eight years of learning the ropes with two rambunctious boys, Bethany was born in February 1990. I finally had a girl!
CHAPTER
8
Hopes, Dreams and
Hurricanes
The name of the LORD is a strong fortress;
the godly run to it and are safe.
PROVERBS 18:10, NLT
We had two boys, and I had settled into motherhood. I was already locked into my future as a shuttle driver to surf spots and sporting events. I was happy, no doubt about it; but I was determined to have a girl. I used to tell Tom, “We are going to keep having kids until there’s another female in the family!”
Working late nights can hinder your sex life. On a rare night off, Tom and I enjoyed a romantic evening. The next morning at the market, I bumped into a good friend. Out of nowhere, Karin said, “Cheri, you are going to have a baby girl.”
I
believed that God had spoken a word of knowledge through Karin as taught in 1 Corinthians 12:8 and illustrated in the story where Mary first visits her cousin Elizabeth, who receives the word of knowledge about the baby that Mary was carrying (see Luke 1:41-42).
In fact, I was so certain that I was having a girl that I never picked out a boy’s name. Immediately believing, and while reading the Bible, I chose the name “Bethany,” because I read it was the hometown of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, as well as the place where Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead; and I loved how “Bethany” sounded. Tom got to pick the middle name, and he chose Meilani—Hawaiian for “Heavenly Flower.”
The boys were already accomplished junior watermen. I could only pray that Bethany would find the same kind of joy in the ocean that we did, and still do. No need to worry . . . she was born with saltwater in her veins and took to the ocean like a fish.
By the time Bethany was born, Noah was an active eight-year-old and Timmy was getting ready to start school. Tom and I were juggling our schedules at the hotel that had gone through yet another expensive renovation. Things were always tight financially, but we lived carefully, which today is called going green.
After two years in the river house behind the Dolphin restaurant in Hanalei, we had to move out. It was a sad day, as we had enjoyed kayaking and watching Noah fish for Tilapia.
I always called upon the Lord in prayer when we moved; where you live can greatly influence your children’s lives because of safety issues and the friends that influence them. So it was important to ask for wisdom from above.
One late afternoon, my two sons and I were on our way to take dinner to one of my good friends from church who had recently given birth. The whole church was providing meals, and it was our turn. At about 5:00 P.M., as the boys and I were on our way to Claudia’s house, we saw a triple rainbow. The Hawaiians believe that when you see a sign in the heavens, something special is happening!
That night, Tom and I stayed up late. About 11:00 P.M., my water broke. I packed a bag of items to take to the hospital and then decided to clean the bathroom because it’s so nice to have a really clean bathroom with a new baby. I asked Tom to call the hospital and let them know we were coming in. By 1:00 A.M., my labor was getting more intense, so I said we needed to leave now! It takes about an hour to get to the hospital from the North Shore. Tom does not mind driving fast, so we made good time on the empty highway. I had to turn up the stereo full blast when the labor pains got too intense. I knew I was dilating, and I was thinking about how fast Timmy had been born . . . a short two hours.
We entered the emergency room at almost 2:00 A.M., where I was put on a wheeled bed behind a curtain. The doctor took one quick look and went to prep a few things. Of course, as soon as he was gone, Bethany arrived at 2:10 A.M.—early, fast and beautiful!
On November 11, 1992, Hurricane Iniki slammed into Kauai dead-on. The eye of the storm passed directly over us and the destructive 145-mile-per-hour winds leveled whole neighborhoods.
In the days leading up to the most powerful hurricane to hit the islands in recorded history, everyone was simply going about their business. Tom and I had left the kids with a friend the day before and headed to the other side of the island to catch some truly amazing surf. We enjoyed a glorious day with blue skies and perfect waves, a day we will always remember.
The next morning, we woke up before dawn. I decided it was too rainy and windy and thought that for me it was a better day to stay home with the kids. Tom thought the waves were too good to pass up just because of a little bad weather, so he said goodbye and jumped into the van for the long trek to the other side of the island. By the time he got to the nearest town, he knew something was wrong. Lines of cars snaked out from every gas station. People were gathered in front of the stores, waiting for them to open.
Tom turned on the radio and pulled over as the news washed over him. He heard that a hurricane watch had become a full hurricane warning; destruction was imminent. Tom found a store that had just opened and managed to pick up some provisions, miraculously before the crowds descended. The sirens went off at first light and I became aware that this was not just a heavy rainstorm. Tom raced back home to help us prepare for the impending disaster.
We both still had strong memories of Hurricane Iwa, which had passed within 25 miles of Kauai, in 1982. That had only been a Category 1 hurricane, but it had devastated the island, flattening the predominately tin-roofed, single-panel walled houses and creating huge storm surges that carried boats and cars across the coastal lowlands.
We took one look at our old-style plantation-era home and decided that we’d better find somewhere else to take shelter. The neighbors across the street had a solid, stone-built house, and they welcomed us to join them. Tom and I gathered up the kids and left the laundry on the line as the winds started to pick up outside.
The first thing I noticed was the smell.
As the increasing wind stripped the leaves from the trees and foliage everywhere was torn up and scattered, there came the pungent scent of newly mown grass. Trees were uprooted and covered the road. Then began the bombardment upon the house from untold debris and shingles from the neighbors’ roofs. By this time the wind was whistling and howling like a freight train and we could barely hear one another speak unless we shouted.
I, perhaps foolishly, wasn’t really that scared. I was more curious to know what was happening to our house across the street, so I crept up and peeked out the window. Every tree was bent over, straining in the wind. Sheets of rain and wreckage swirled around like crazed bats; but I could still see the laundry I’d left on the line; it was literally standing out straight and totally horizontal.
A few of the others joined me, and we watched the storm in awe. That is, until, with a rending sound, we saw the garage roof belonging to the house we were sheltering in go flying up and over us.
After hours of tense waiting, and watching the houses around us disintegrate, there came a sudden calm. The eye of the hurricane was directly over us and everything was quiet and still. We all walked outside, and for the first time we could see the incredible damage around us. The homes of our neighbors and friends were roofless or in pieces; some homes had simply vanished. As we surveyed the destruction, we were surprised to see that our house had survived, but Noah’s bedroom was missing.
By early evening the storm had passed and the sun set behind the once lush, green mountains. The Garden Island was ravaged—trees denuded, livestock and agriculture devastated, beaches radically altered and covered in churned-up debris. The roads were impassable, and nearly every power line down. Within minutes, every neighbor with a chainsaw began working to clear the roads.
We took off in our van with the video camera rolling to document some of the damage and check on friends. Stopping at the Hanalei Valley Lookout, I saw the exact mountainside I had seen in a vivid dream two months earlier that had lost all its foliage. I believe it was a supernatural dream from God. Other Christians had also had dreams and prophetic words. I remembered the prophecy I heard three months earlier that said, “The eye of the storm would pass over Kauai.”
The water pumps had gone down with the loss of electricity. Not having water was the biggest challenge. You couldn’t flush your toilet! I had filled up our bathtub and a few other buckets of water, so we were able to make our toilet work sparingly.
It was extraordinarily hot after the storm passed, so we headed to the closest waterfall for a shower. Of course, almost everyone else in the neighborhood had the same idea, so there was already a line in front of the beautiful, refreshing waterfall.
There was no electricity, no stores or gas stations to go to, no work except to try to patch together what shelter and subsistence could be scrounged up for yourself or your neighbor. The economy was wrecked. Tourists fled, hotels were shuttered, first flights out of the island were packed with people escaping back to the mainland, forever telling of their nightmare vacation on Kauai. The storm had destroyed
our church building and scattered our church family into other churches around the island.
In addition, Tom had parked our van in the parking lot of the nearby elementary school, logically thinking that it would be safe from falling trees or buildings. We’d only bought the van—our first new car—in 1988. We were determined to keep this one in good shape. But we didn’t count on the fact that huge pieces of the school would tear off and sail into the parking lot. We don’t know what part of the building smacked into our car, but it was more than just dented here and there. It had even been spun 180 degrees by wind and whatever else hit it.
Our insurance company declared the van totaled and gave us a check for $11,500. This was all we had, along with unemployment money, to survive on for the next year. We were thankful that the van was still drivable; but with all the debris, including ample amounts of roofing nails, scattered along the road, flat tires were a constant occurrence for everyone navigating the roadways.
When we tried to make a repair reservation to get the van worked on, we were told it would be a six-month wait! We decided to ship the van to Oahu and have the bodywork and repainting done there. We chose blue, like the ocean, for the repaint. It only took two weeks. We enjoyed a few days of vacation on Oahu, then drove our blue beach cruiser to the docks and shipped it home.
With no income, we wondered how we’d be able to pay the mortgage on the lot we’d owned for 10 years. We had approved plans and soon planned to build; when we lost our jobs, the bank tried to foreclose. But with the island’s financial infrastructure wiped out as well, the government put a moratorium on all mortgages.
Raising A Soul Surfer Page 10