| Paddleboard Tahiti |
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Page 1 of 4 When two old friends set off to traverse the Society Islands on stand-up surfboards, they splash up against luxury resorts, tropical beauties, and every other imaginable South Pacific allure. Sometimes there's no shame in abandoning ship.
The author (left) and Ed McCall paddling out to sea off the coast of Tahaa
The lagoon at the St. Regis Bora-Bora Resort
Problem is, no maritime maps of this island exist, so the 77-foot private yacht we’ve called home for the past couple of days, the Roa, must dock a mile offshore to avoid the risk of running aground. We’ll have to stand-up paddlesurf from here, but without coordinates or a local to guide us through Tupai’s crown of thorny shallow reefs, that will be tricky. Though we had come to Tahiti seeking adventure, our quest thus far amounted to little more than idle recreation. Our mission was to stand-up paddlesurf from Tahiti’s southern tip to the northern extreme of the Society Islands, a journey of some 190 miles involving several treacherous open-water crossings. Thanks to deft planning and the islands’ largesse, our expedition morphed into a voyage of rather milder adventure (we’d fly over the open water) and extreme hedonism (staying each night at the world’s finest tropical resorts). Like Paul Gauguin (who took a 14-year-old Tahitian mistress) and Marlon Brando (who married a Tahitian and bought his own atoll) had before us, we were succumbing to sin, pulchritude, and the islands’ sensual charms. So as the days floated by and the indulgences amassed, we decided we needed to atone for our extravagance. We vowed—by God!—to redeem ourselves by becoming the first to completely circumnavigate Bora-Bora on stand-up surfboards. It was a feat of empty grandiosity, perhaps, but a feat all the same. For Ed McCall, a 41-year-old private-equity virtuoso, the trip would be a washout without such an exploit. On paper, Ed is one of those guys you’d love to hate: Stanford graduate, Goldman Sachs pedigree, seven-figure income, with Lance Armstrong as a pal and a half-dozen eager girlfriends on speed dial. (After I dined with him recently in Venice Beach, he went home with a leggy Lithuanian and woke up with his yoga teacher.) But you can’t hate him. In an industry ruled by pencil-neck Ivy Leaguers, Ed is the son of working-class parents who favors surfing shorts over Armani suits. Last year, he showed up in the office a grand total of 40 days, and he’ll readily admit, in his loping, long-armed, self-deprecating way, that work is merely a way to fund his play habits. He achieves not because of greed or ego, but rather an impulse akin to the insoluble determination of a black Lab that joyfully retrieves a tennis ball no matter how far thrown or how thick the bush. Tahiti would be fun, but Ed required the Bora-Bora caper—his tennis ball to bring back home.  ACCESS French Polynesia consists of five archipelagos scattered across some two million square miles of the South Pacific. The Society Islands, which include Tahiti, Bora-Bora, Raiatea, Tahaa, and Tupai, are the westernmost group. Air Tahiti Nui... “You’ll never make it,” our captain calls after us, pointing to the churning surf blocking the channel to the lagoon. Spurning wisdom, we paddle incautiously toward shore. From a distance, the breaking waves look totally surfable. But as we approach land, we can see the waves crashing mere inches above razorlike coral with a ferocity that suggests the slashing of flesh. “I guess the captain was right,” I shout to Ed, who I assume also recognizes the insanity of going farther. I’m wrong. Ed is suddenly up on a wave, maneuvering his eight-foot carbon-fiber paddle in a fluid J-stroke while stepping back on the board to stay on the wave’s crest. A moment later, the surf delivers him elegantly into the channel leading to the lagoon. He raises his paddle victoriously overhead and beckons me to follow. I’m hardly Ed’s equal on a stand-up surfboard, but with the trail blazed, I manage to catch the next wave and bobble my way over the reef. Reunited, Ed and I paddle into Tupai’s lagoon, where we discover a secluded aquatic garden alive with stingrays, giant crabs, and baby hammerhead sharks. More Tahitian excess—for now. |
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