This Is Surfing: A Dance With the Ocean, and a Tea With Tom Pohaku

On my recent trip to Hawaiʻi, I was fortunate to meet Tom Pohaku and share an afternoon with him at his home, learning to shape traditional Hawaiian surfboards out of native trees, drinking tea, and asking as many questions as possible.

Conversation and connection are two fundamental life pillars I seek out at every opportunity. But in all my travels, I’ve met very few people like Tom. He’s the kind of person you hope to serendipitously sit next to on a plane flight or park bench; a living artefact of sorts, Tom oozes stories and houses an incredible depth of knowledge.

Chatting with Tom about storytelling and culture, he said, ‘The world we live in today just washes away’. Years of life and travel will continue to pass me by, and a million tides will roll through across the world, but what I learnt from him won’t wash away any time soon. More about this later.

Slow Travel

I started travelling in 2015, and over the last nine years, my approach to travel has evolved many times over. In the beginning, it was fast. I travelled in the way the world encourages many of us to do. Hop on, hop off. See as many countries in as many weeks as you’re abroad. Go to the spots that are blowing up on Instagram. Eat at the restaurants with long lines because everyone else does.

The problem with this style of travel is that we only ever scratch the surface of a place, if that. If I have one hope for this article, it’s that you travel slower and take the time to learn about the cultural significance of the land you find your feet on.

Anybody who has been to Hawaiʻi and spent time in the ocean or hiking on the ridge lines has felt the powerful energy of Hawaiʻi’s nature and culture. Tom taught me about what it means to dance on the surface of the ocean, the origins of surfing, and the native Hawaiian trees that he shapes from.

Tom poetically described what the ocean meant to him; ‘When I think of the ocean, or you know, when I look at the ocean. The ocean, to me, is home. Home is ocean. Born from the ocean. Born to the ocean. Ocean is mother’.

This instantly laid the foundation to help me understand how vital the ocean is to him. But as he went on to talk about what the ocean meant to Hawaiians he hit me right in the feels. ‘For us as Hawaiian people, the ocean is life. Without it, you know, we die’. This is when its importance became clear – the ocean is the lifeblood of Hawaiians. If the ocean, and consequently surfing, are the lifeblood of Hawaiians – it begs the question, where did surfing begin?

The Origins of Surfing, for Tom.

As a guy with wavy, dirty, long blonde hair, it’s not uncommon for me to be asked if I’m a surfer. Typically, I respond, ‘I can surf, but poorly.’ The reality is that I know very little about surfing. Meeting Tom was the perfect way to understand Hawaiian culture and surfing on a far deeper level.

Previously, I’ve only considered surfing a sport, a hobby, an obsession, an art form, or a way to connect with the ocean. Listening to Tom talk about his journey to find the ‘origin’ of surfing helped me see surfing through an entirely new lens. Surfing is far more than paddling, getting barrelled, reef cuts, and dangling toes off the nose.

Surfing is deeply woven into the fabric of Hawaiian culture. However, Tom’s Father was the one who first introduced him to wooden surfboards. He didn’t take to it right away. As a kid, he wanted to be ‘white’. It was uncool to surf on a wooden board.  As years passed, Tom came to realise it was his duty to surf on a wooden board. It was his way to showcase Hawaiian culture and tell the stories of his ancestors.

As Tom fell in love with the craft of shaping his own boards, he quit his job at a university and put everything into his shaping. He still does. Tom’s boards are art. For weeks at a time, he will shape a piece of wood into the shape of what we now know to be a modern surfboard. Some people may know of the ‘alaia’. Before meeting Tom, I thought ‘alaia’ was the word used for all traditional Hawaiian surfboards.

Tom taught me that the ‘alaia’ is only one of many, explaining there are about ten different shapes and words used for traditional boards. Some, so small, resemble skateboards. Others, are nearly 10ft tall. With no surprise, these boards are heavy. I was scared to carry them because of how beautiful they were.

We took two of Tom’s favourite boards out to paddle. To no-one’s surprise, I didn’t ‘catch any waves. Yet, it shocked me how well they floated. Paddling one of these boards was a unique experience, especially knowing how few of Tom’s boards exist in the world. His boards are exhibited in museums all around the world – to showcase Hawaiian and surfing history and incredible honouring to a dying a craft.

Tom said, ‘We’ve been surfing for thousands of years; that’s pretty good, right?’ The roots of surfing run deep in Hawaiian culture, much deeper than mainstream representation often communicates. Traditionally, surfing, known as he’e nalu in Hawaiian, was more than just riding waves. It was a sacred ritual, a way to connect families and the natural world. The modern surfboard is light, mass-produced, and often but not always, made without love and care for the world. I feel the modern surfboard has us away from connecting to people and the natural world like the Hawaiians once did.

Creating surfboards from local trees was an act filled with spiritual significance. Each board Tom crafted was done with a respect for nature and a deep understanding of the ocean’s power and rhythms. As Tom used his old tools to plane the wood, bits and pieces of surfing history, his life story, and Hawaiian culture filled the air between us.

Connection to the Ocean

The connection to the ocean, or moana, is fundamental in Hawaiʻi. This relationship is not merely about use or enjoyment; it’s a reciprocal, almost familial bond. The ocean provides sustenance, materials for living, and spiritual grounding. In return, it requires respect and care. Perhaps, most importantly, the ocean carries the heart of Hawaiian heritage.

This heritage is something Tom wants to carry on before history is rewritten. The concept, known as malama moana, embodies the Hawaiian practice of caring for and living in harmony with the ocean. The process of creating a traditional Hawaiian surfboard exemplifies this connection. Listening to Tom talk about the connection between Hawaiians and surfing made me wish I could feel what he was explaining.

The connection to the ocean is integral even whilst Tom chooses the tree that will eventually be transformed into a surfboard. The selection process is one of reverence and gratitude. Felling the tree, shaping it, and eventually riding it on the waves is a continuous dialogue with nature, respecting both the land and the ocean it touches.

Bonding With Trees

One thing I adored most about Tom was his care for living entities. Tom and I ventured into a nature reserve only accessible to native Hawaiians to search for trees. Before entering the forest, he delivered an oli (traditional Hawaiʻian chant). This was Tom’s way of asking to enter ‘their’ home. The home of the trees. This was his ritual of communicating to the trees to ask them questions.

We went from tree to tree, looking for a ready ‘ulu/breadfruit. ‘We should be asking’, Tom said. He reiterated that ‘asking’ should extend far beyond seeking a tree to shape. One lesson I hope we all take from Tom is this: We should ask the world (nature) if we can take from it. I feel it’s important to remember that humans and culture are nature too.

Days in Hawaiʻi can be slow, and that’s all they need to be. The pace of life on the islands is governed by the natural world – the tides, the winds, the sun’s path across the sky. This rhythm seeps into daily life, encouraging a mindfulness often lost in the rush of modern existence.

Tom makes sure to live in a way that allows him to listen to the natural world. In the morning, he makes sure to touch his pohaku/stone, and in the afternoon, he shapes boards under his guava tree. Some days he won’t shape at all. He won’t force it if the wood isn’t talking to him. Everything is a conversation. I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of these slow moments whilst with Tom.

Lessons From Tom

One of the most profound lessons I learned from Tom was how we look at and appreciate the world around us. ‘You can’t just take something and treat it as if it has no life’, he said. Continuing the conversation on trees, he went on to talk about the spirit that exists in the trees and life around us. ‘A connection of two spirits. You have to realise there’s a spirit in it’, he said.

When I came here to learn about surfing, I never thought I’d be returning home with such profound wisdom. In a world that moves incredibly fast, it’s easy to forget about the life that exists in the seemingly ‘dead’ nature around us. When you walk past the autumn leaves on the street or see a fallen tree, remember they are still living entities.

A Deeper Appreciation

Leaving Hawaiʻi, I felt a profound shift in my perspective. My time with Tom Pohaku had opened my eyes to the deeper layers of surf culture and the intricate relationship between Hawaiian people and their environment. It reminded me that travel is not just about ticking off destinations or collecting experiences; it’s about immersing oneself in the culture, learning from the people, and finding connections that transcend time and place.

Hawaiian surf culture is a rich tapestry woven with threads of history, spirituality, and a profound respect for nature. It’s a culture that teaches us to move with the rhythm of the waves, to honour the land that sustains us, and to find joy in the slow, mindful moments of life. My journey to Hawaiʻi may have started with an interest in surf culture, but it ended with a deeper understanding of what it means to live in harmony with the world around us.

In the end, it’s the connections we make – with people, with nature, and with ourselves – that leave the most lasting impressions. Tom Pohaku, with his stories, wisdom, and deep connection to the ocean, reminded me of this fundamental truth. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

Photography by @etchd