SURFERMAG.COM CURRENT ISSUE VOL. 44 #7

In the 60s, surfing shallow reef passes was not an obvious idea. Bruce Brown would come and go that first trip, without realizing the island's potential. Unlike Hawaii, where a range of reef breaks sit close to shore, Tahiti's barrier reefs stretch for unbroken miles like a submerged sidewalk. There are relatively few reef passes and only a handful of them are surfed consistently. The day the local boys decided to search for something new began as a fluke and ended with a leap of faith.

"I will always remember that first day at Ta'apuna. We were five boys. We were young and we didn't have a license to drive," reminisced Patrick Juventin with his classic French Polynesian accent. Though he was just a grommet when he and some friends rallied Henry, the elder statesman by then, to drive them around the island to look for waves, Patrick would become the island's first real surfboard innovator, shaper and glasser.

Imagine it: The reef at Ta'apuna is a sharp, visible slab sitting just under the water's surface. The wave is fast and unforgiving. The boys were shaping their own piggish boards by then, they had no leashes and the water in the channel would have been pushing out toward the island of Moorea in the west. But the experience was a kick in the ass. "We think, wow, incredible and we surf there the next Saturday and every week after that," said Patrick.

Today, when Ta'apuna is working, there are scores of surfers from Papeete and the southern districts scrapping for sets and crumbs alike. There are boats in the channel and a hierarchy in the line-up. The boys' first paddle out to Ta'apuna enlarged the scope of Tahitian surfing, and arguably, it was the very beginning of an outward expansion that would lead to the Tuamotu, Leeward and Marquesas Islands.

When I asked Patrick, now in his late 40s but still wearing the grin of the boy who first surfed Ta'apuna, what he thought of surfing's place in Tahiti today, he said, "It's too big, but it has to be this way, non? It's progress."

Both WQS contender Hira Teriinatoofa and I knew the waves would be junk, but we drove out to the north side to surf the beaches around Papenoo anyway. As an American ex-pat I met at Papara Beach told be rather bluntly, "The magazines love to promote fantasy. Which is fine, except for . . . reality."

The reality is that even in paradise, conditions aren't always ideal. But Hira, 23, could find somewhere to surf just about everyday. His determination is not a Tahitian trait, and I wondered where he'd picked it up from as we passed through Papeete's vibrant streets. Taking odd jobs to supplement his travel budget, as well as surfing twice a day, Hira was working as hard as any Brazilian on the WQS. And as Tahiti's sole international competitor, he was doing it alone. "The hardest thing is to get out of here," he said. "Then the life on the [WQS] tour is hard too. If you don't love the adventure, better stay home."

Even on a short stay here, you'll quickly realize that Polynesian culture is mud-thick, even on Tahiti, the most urban of the Society Islands. You'll see a brawny man search a bush for the perfect flower to tuck behind his ear. Others will sit by the road lazily strumming ukuleles. Hip-hop fans carry their Discmans in woven palm-frond baskets. And young and old seem to be perpetually traveling to or from a canoe race or practice, paddles in hand.

But it's the easy life and culture that can be most constricting to the young competitor. Hira said he's seen some of Tahiti's best surfers languish after spurts of success in the local competition scene. Some former competitors his age have families already and can't travel. Others are afraid to fly, or don't like cold water, or have lost their competitive drive to the simple daily life. Raimana said that their distance from the center of the surf industry creates tremendous obstacles in gaining decent sponsorship. As a result, Tahiti seems to produce successful competitive surfers one at a time.

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