SURFERMAG.COM CURRENT ISSUE VOL. 44 #7

Despite his funk that day, Raimana's accomplishment in this arena has been a classic example of "the good." He was 20 before giving up bodyboarding for surfing. But almost as soon as he could stand on a board, he was getting barreled, and his first published photo was taken only a couple months into his surfing life. Only a few years ago Raimana was training to become a flight attendant. Yet with the first contest held at Teahupoo, a WQS event in 1997, Raimana foresaw the benefits to come. Since then, he has expanded his career in surfing to include water-safety skills and big-wave expertise. But, like most recent gains in Tahitian surfing, his are irrevocably linked to just one wave. At that moment, it seemed a bit like living in a one-factory town.

"For me and Manoa, it's Teahupoo. That's how we make our living. Period. When I realized I could make money [by surfing], I knew I had to surf the big waves and get barreled," he said.

Just then, Hena, who works as a cook and maid for Raimana, carried her dripping longboard into the backyard and set it next to the canoe and fishing gear--all water sports are integral in Tahitian life. When she entered the small house with a quiet satisfaction, I realized the divide between her and Raimana's take on surfing marked a change in the times. I found myself wondering how the business of Teahupoo and the influence of the foreigners who come to surf it will affect Hena and her friends down at the rivermouth.

A few minutes later, checking the surf from his doorstep, Raimana spotted Poto down at the beach. There had been a dispute between them. It seems the island isn't big enough for two full-time surf ambassadors. And currently, the two local heroes of Teahupoo weren't on speaking terms. Raimana definitely wouldn't be going for a surf now that Poto was out.

"That's all I've got. Pictures," said Henry Lucas. A tan, healthy 53-year-old with dark wavy hair, Henry looked much too young to be the first modern Tahitian surfer. The Society Islands' surf culture is not historically minded. At the start of our search for the pioneers of Tahitian surfing, Raimana pointed out there are no old 16mm films, no magazines and he hadn't seen any of the old photos. So when Raimana and I tapped Tahiti's coconut pipeline in an effort to uncover the island's oldest surfers, we had no idea the pioneers were living and surfing with everyone else. But in finding guys like Henry Lucas and Patrick Juventin, the first full-time shaper in Tahiti, we discovered an historical treasure much more engaging than a strip of celluloid.

Still, Henry treats his place in the re-emergence of Tahitian surfing as incidental. He's kept nothing of those early days but a handful of faded black and whites. In one of them, he pointed to a group of young guys leaning against cars clutching longboards. With a backdrop of palms, the photo could have been one of hundreds from Hawaii in the early 60s. Here though, it's a rare document. "That's when we started the Tahitian Surf Club," Henry said plainly.

Like Henry's unadorned speech, the word "club" is an understatement. Formally organized in 1967, this crew's geographic isolation sparked an aggressive search for information and technique that would be more characteristic of an ancient exploration society. They taught themselves how to shape with hand planers, organized fact-finding missions to Hawaii, traveled to competitions in France and invited anyone with a knowledge of surfing to Tahiti. At one point Henry sold his house to buy a catamaran he used to explore the outer reefs. When the boat tariffs became too expensive, he dabbled in the first surf charters.

The irony is, having grown up in the South Pacific, Henry's first contact with surfing occurred in the 50s, when he was shipped off to a Santa Ana, Ca., boarding school. During that time a school friend who'd previously dressed like a "greaser," sporting chinos and slicked-back hair, declared one day he'd "turned surfer." The two of them started hitching rides to Newport Beach. They shared a board, slept on the sand, and collected bottles for redemption. When Henry returned to Tahiti at 13, he ferreted out the island's only surfboard. It belonged to a Frenchman who brought it to the island as a curiosity piece. Henry borrowed, surfed and destroyed the thing within a year.

So in 1964 when Bruce Brown and the crew of the Endless Summer paddled out at "Ins and Outs" the only kid on the island who knew what to do with a surfboard crouched on the beach waiting for Robert August's or Mike Hynson's board to wash up. Eventually, one of them did. Henry scrambled for it and poached a few waves before the board was given back. This event was the beginning of a cross-Pacific friendship, an exchange as monumental as those of the early explorers at Matavai Bay. Henry would soon convince his father to order 20 surfboards from California to sell in his general store. These would become the nucleus of the Tahitian Surf Club, which, in turn, would build a foundation for the roughly 2,500 surfers in French Polynesia today.

Considering what lay offshore, there's a moment in Henry's youth that rivals the Endless Summer's visit in importance. It was the first day the local crew was inspired to leave the beach and paddle for the distant reef pass at Ta'apuna. "[The wave] was hairy for us," Henry said, "And then, we liked it."

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