It would almost be rude not to surf in Hawaii, especially when local firefighters teach the sport on their days off

Words: Jonathan Thompson

Images: TK

In the opening lines of the film “The Descendants,” George Clooney’s voiceover muses: “My friends on the mainland think just because I live in Hawaii, I live in paradise. Like a permanent vacation, we’re all just out here sipping mai tais, shaking our hips and catching waves. Are they insane?”

As I sit on a surfboard in the glittering waters off Oahu, I can only conclude that no, George, they are not insane. From the tropical climate to the gorgeous white-sand beaches and perfectly rolling waves, Hawaii feels every inch the paradise people imagine, especially to a city dweller like me.

If there’s one experience you absolutely must do when visiting these achingly beautiful islands, it’s surfing. There are countless surf schools on Oahu, Hawaii’s most populous island and home to its capital, Honolulu. But what you might not expect is that many instructors are working firefighters.

The connection isn’t as surprising as it sounds. Across the Hawaiian Islands, firefighters are exhaustively trained in ocean rescue, and every fire engine is fitted with a gleaming yellow surfboard as standard equipment. Put simply, these professional lifesavers are as skilled at handling powerful, unpredictable water as they are at tackling flames.

In 2004, a group of entrepreneurial first responders got together to establish Hawaiian Fire after responding to several preventable surfing accidents, and the business concept caught on like, ahem, wildfire. Today, countless firefighters teach the sport as a side hustle on their days off. And tourists can’t get enough of it.

“We found ourselves responding to a lot of injured surfers, who were either beginners learning in bad classes or novices unwisely surfing alone,” says Sean Kelly, a local firefighter who is teaching me to surf today. “We just thought, you know what? We could do this a lot better and a lot safer than a lot of these other people. Why don’t we step up? It might save us a rescue or two down the line as well.”

Kelly works an intense 10-day stretch at the station, followed by an extended time off, so he’s free to teach surfing for the rest of his calendar month. He does this with a small team of fellow firefighters at Barber’s Point — a picturesque little bay on Oahu’s south coast, not far from Pearl Harbor.

Maybe it’s the hot Hawaiian sun, the thrill of trying something new or the lingering jetlag from the long flight via Los Angeles, but I’m instantly addicted to the sport. Surfing began in these islands as “wave sliding” — a means for chiefs and kings to demonstrate their power and skill.

I’m a long way from regal, but by the end of my two-hour session, I’m paddling into waves by myself, pushing down on my front foot to gain speed and using my upper body to turn my board. When the lesson ends, I don’t want to leave the water, and I can understand exactly why Kelly and his colleagues would want to spend their precious free time doing this.

“Surfing is the best thing in the world, and this is the best place in the world to try it,” Kelly says, as I regretfully drag my board back up onto the beach. “But only if you learn from the professionals.”

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