A few years ago my family made their semi-annual visit to the North Shore and scored a rental on the point west of Chun’s reef, directly in front of Jocko’s. For those of you who aren’t super familiar with the North Shore, Chun’s is a fun, if slightly gooey, longboard wave. It’s a long, perfect right, but never really critical, even at size.

Directly across the channel from Chun’s is Jocko’s. A fickle left that turns into a freight train when the swell angle is right. Jocko’s is a very good wave when it’s working, and nothing to laugh at when you’re caught inside and watching an approaching set begin to feather.

The Chun’s channel generally offers a very easy paddle out. You can just hop in and ride the current into the lineup, sitting safely in relatively deep water where only the largest sets can break. However, on a big swell with the right angle, the water that Chun’s pushes onto the reef dumps into the channel, a large portion of which takes the path of least resistance through the impact zone at Jocko’s, across Hulton’s, finally heading out to sea right before Laniakea. If you unknowingly paddle out on the far west edge of the channel, you can find yourself pulled directly into the impact zone at Jocko’s. Here you’ll be handed a wicked beating, pretty much forcing you to ride the current down to Lani’s, paddle in and try again.

Directly inside of Jockos is a somewhat calm area that hides a very shallow series of reefs. If you get pushed in too far, and know what you’re doing, you can thread the needle and find a way onto the beach. If you don’t, well, you’re getting flogged over the rocks like a for-profit foster child.


One beautiful afternoon midway through my family’s trip, we found ourselves surfed out and enjoying the scenery as Jocko’s went mental less than one hundred yards in front of us. Cold beers, family, a luxurious beach front home in lieu of my Haleiwa shit box; it was a nice situation. The only thing that could have, and did, make it better was the shitshow we got to witness every twenty to thirty minutes.

Some poor fucker, carrying either a tattered rental or whatever “big wave” board they’d flown out from the mainland, would try to give Chun’s a shot, only to get slingshot by the current into the path of an oceanic fury they’d never had the prior misfortune to experience. Time and again, my father and I were blessed with front row seats as some poor asshole got pulled west, panicked, and tried to paddle straight in.

Blood, shattered fiberglass, and rattled nerves were the rule of the day. One dude panicked and took off his leash, only to learn a valuable life lesson: if you can’t paddle against the current, you sure as fuck won’t make headway swimming against it.

It was an afternoon comprised of the most majestic display of sheer ignorance and poorly considered bravado that I’ve ever been fortunate enough to witness. And with every drop of blood spilled and dream destroyed, my father and I grew closer. Because nothing in the world says father/son bonding better than getting wasted on cheap beer and laughing at some pathetic sap who thinks he’s about to die. Say what you will. I’m just being honest.


1. Back when I was a little grom doing Junior Lifeguards, I loved to hang out at the Balboa Pier during a big south swell and watch ladies get their tops ripped off by the shorepound. It was the early nineties, and since we didn’t have the internet yet, it was my only chance of seeing tits. Well, except for the time we found a hobo’s porn stash. In retrospect, stealing a homeless dude’s pile of porn from under a bridge is pretty fucking nasty, but I was a horny little preteen, so I took what I could get.

2. This guy is fit, tan and looks like he knows what he’s doing. Too bad he gets caught anyway.

3. Short cuts make for long delays. This is hard to watch. And the music is almost as bad as the beating this poor fella receives. Ouch.



4. I can just imagine them stopping at Foodland for poké, impulsively picking up a few boogie boards and blithely heading to the beach with no idea what’s in store for them. Check out homeboy’s leash placement. Just like the pros.



5. I grew up in SoCal, and I hate the lifeguards. Speedo-wearing dorks, always blackballing everything, ruining my good time. Love the guys in Hawaii though. Advertisement

6. Like the folks in part one, some chicks got no rhythm. Can’t dance.

7. Despite an outer reef swell that was pushing huge surges up the beach, people insisted on walking right up to the water’s edge, dipping their toes in, totally oblivious to the fact that they are literally inches from a horrible death. No lifeguards out there, and I sure as hell won’t go in after them.

If you liked that, sicko, here’s part one.