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The .

BrokenGround

Homegrown, solar-powered, and paddle-only, Kohl Christensen and his band of merry men scratch into bombs—and scratch out a life—

on the North Shore of Oahu.

Big wave paddle glory is notthe guaranteed proposition themagazine hero shots promise.Kohl returns to the beach aftera failed attempt at an openocean slab in Chile. “Theplaying field was too big,” hesays. “The wave would suckup out of nowhere and heave.I brought my big board butrealized that I couldn’t paddle.”AL

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62 63

The .

BrokenGround

Homegrown, solar-powered, and paddle-only, Kohl Christensen and his band of merry men scratch into bombs—and scratch out a life—

on the North Shore of Oahu.

Big wave paddle glory is notthe guaranteed proposition themagazine hero shots promise.Kohl returns to the beach aftera failed attempt at an openocean slab in Chile. “Theplaying field was too big,” hesays. “The wave would suckup out of nowhere and heave.I brought my big board butrealized that I couldn’t paddle.”AL

FRED

O E

SC

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AR

64

Kohl Christensen is stressed.His travel plans to chase a large swell the following day toRapa Nui, an island 2,000 miles off the coast of northernChile, have been upended. Overnight, two of Kohl’s closetravel partners, Ramon Navarro and Greg Long, have pulledout—bad winds, or so says the most recent forecast. As wetalk, he fields calls and text messages, now trying to figureout where to go. Never mind that he’s already convincedseveral others to join him, including friend and professionalkiteboarder Reo Stevens, and that they in turn have boughtnon-refundable tickets. This is always an inherent riskwhen signing on to Kohl’s program. He just wants to makea decision. You see, Kohl has a few other things on his platethat need attending to. Between juggling a hectic travelschedule, a solar installation business, and an organicfarm, it’s a wonder he has any time for me. After a flurry ofback and forth messages, the call is made: they’re headedto a semi-secret, hollow left point in Chile, good for bothsurfing and kiting.

I’ve come to Hawaii to visit Kohl on “The Land,” asomewhat notorious three-acre organic farm just outsideof Waialua on Oahu’s North Shore, which serves as equalparts farm, surf salon, youth hostel, and home for waywardbig-wave surfers. From the start, Kohl’s relaxed Hawaiianupbringing mixes with a sort of manic “surfer ADD”that constantly keeps me off balance. When I arrive fromCalifornia to visit The Land, for instance, Kohl soonmentions that he may have to cut our scheduled visit shortto depart for a trip the next day.

Those who haven’t met Christensen may be vaguelyaware of his endeavors in ridiculously giant waves througha smattering of online video hits. When the swell is massive,he seems to keep popping up, often in remote areas of Chileand Peru, as well as big-wave meccas including Maverick’sand Todos Santos. Watching the majority of accomplishedsurfers muscle their way into huge waves, typically crouchedin functional, survival-type stances, Kohl is different fromthe standard breed. He appears in a relaxed state, like mosson a willow tree, his lanky frame and limbs hanging, hisboard sliding fluidly into enormous walls of water. With suchcomposure, his positioning on a wave often nears perfect,smoothly negotiating warbles and chops before projectinginto long, flowing bottom turns at a crucial moment.

65

JOLI

BY DEAN LATOURRETTE

Fiji, 2012. “It took a couple ofyears for people to realize thatCloudbreak is a wave you canpaddle when it’s massive,” hesays of the de-privatization ofwaves surrounding Tavarua.

“Before, the boatmen were soused to having it to themselves.”

64

Kohl Christensen is stressed.His travel plans to chase a large swell the following day toRapa Nui, an island 2,000 miles off the coast of northernChile, have been upended. Overnight, two of Kohl’s closetravel partners, Ramon Navarro and Greg Long, have pulledout—bad winds, or so says the most recent forecast. As wetalk, he fields calls and text messages, now trying to figureout where to go. Never mind that he’s already convincedseveral others to join him, including friend and professionalkiteboarder Reo Stevens, and that they in turn have boughtnon-refundable tickets. This is always an inherent riskwhen signing on to Kohl’s program. He just wants to makea decision. You see, Kohl has a few other things on his platethat need attending to. Between juggling a hectic travelschedule, a solar installation business, and an organicfarm, it’s a wonder he has any time for me. After a flurry ofback and forth messages, the call is made: they’re headedto a semi-secret, hollow left point in Chile, good for bothsurfing and kiting.

I’ve come to Hawaii to visit Kohl on “The Land,” asomewhat notorious three-acre organic farm just outsideof Waialua on Oahu’s North Shore, which serves as equalparts farm, surf salon, youth hostel, and home for waywardbig-wave surfers. From the start, Kohl’s relaxed Hawaiianupbringing mixes with a sort of manic “surfer ADD”that constantly keeps me off balance. When I arrive fromCalifornia to visit The Land, for instance, Kohl soonmentions that he may have to cut our scheduled visit shortto depart for a trip the next day.

Those who haven’t met Christensen may be vaguelyaware of his endeavors in ridiculously giant waves througha smattering of online video hits. When the swell is massive,he seems to keep popping up, often in remote areas of Chileand Peru, as well as big-wave meccas including Maverick’sand Todos Santos. Watching the majority of accomplishedsurfers muscle their way into huge waves, typically crouchedin functional, survival-type stances, Kohl is different fromthe standard breed. He appears in a relaxed state, like mosson a willow tree, his lanky frame and limbs hanging, hisboard sliding fluidly into enormous walls of water. With suchcomposure, his positioning on a wave often nears perfect,smoothly negotiating warbles and chops before projectinginto long, flowing bottom turns at a crucial moment.

65

JOLI

BY DEAN LATOURRETTE

Fiji, 2012. “It took a couple ofyears for people to realize thatCloudbreak is a wave you canpaddle when it’s massive,” hesays of the de-privatization ofwaves surrounding Tavarua.

“Before, the boatmen were soused to having it to themselves.”

Shortly after my introduction to his big-wave heroics,Kohl appeared, again, on my computer screen, but this timeI saw him on the front lines of relief efforts following the2010 earthquake and tsunami in Chile. His appearanceson camera revealed fluency in Spanish as he chatted withChilean earthquake victims. The prospect of an unknown,Spanish speaking, big-wave surfer from Hawaii was puzzling.

As one might expect, by this point, Kohl charted anunusual path beginning at an early age. Born and raisedin Kailua on Oahu’s east side, he later moved to the NorthShore. Growing up alongside his younger brother, Nick, anaccomplished big-wave surfer in his own right, the two weresurrounded by the robust surf culture in Kailua. The area,which is perhaps better known for its windsurfing andkiteboarding, has produced a surprising number of excellentsurfers. Kohl and Nick got started in the shorebreak andsoon graduated to more challenging surf, eventuallyboating out to some offshore reefs in the area. “The wavesare generally pretty bad. It’s always onshore,” says Kohl ofthe waves near home. “But there are some outer reefs andone or two really good waves.”

According to Nick, surfing with his brother in Kailuahelped shape their future exploits. “Although there’s nota lot of big surf, there’s plenty of adventure out there,” herecalls. “We would take boats out to a few slabby reefs,including a spot called No Can Tells, and it got us thinkingmore about surf exploration.”

By the time Kohl got his hands on a driver’s licenseat age 16, the brothers were eager to scour the rest of theisland for surf, including the North Shore. Soon, storiesof Kohl’s solo paddling exploits at the island’s outer reefsproliferated. “It was something that just happened naturally,”he says. “I never really had a mentor when I was younger.I kind of just did it on my own.”

Kohl’s affinity for daunting surf at a young age—andwith no real encouragement from others—supports thenotion that perhaps big-wave surfers are born, not bred. Hemade his first foray to the outer reefs of the North Shore asa teenager when he pulled up to maxing Laniakea. “I lookedway outside and there was this perfect wave breaking on anouter reef,” he says. “I only had an 8'0" with me, but I justpaddled there to check it out. I got pretty worked.” Onlyone other surfer joined him that first session. “A guy wenow call ‘The Boogieman’ came out. It was the first timeI’d ever met him, and he was out there bodyboarding.He schooled me on the lineup, showed me where to sit.Pretty classic, I was taught how to surf the outer reefs bya boogieboarder.”

“Even when he was younger he would paddle outto new spots by himself, often way under-gunned,” saysDusty Middleton, a close friend from Kailua who’s also apassionate outer-reef surfer. “When there’s a lot of swellrunning, sometimes it’s hard to tell where the good wavesare breaking, but Kohl has a really good eye for spottingrideable surf in all the chaos.”

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18-year-old Christensen on hisfirst trip to Rapa Nui (above),standing at the rock quarrywhere the iconic moai statuesof Easter Island were built, thentransported to the coast.

(Right) “A week before I left theisland, the family I was stayingwith said, ‘Where do you wantthis tattoo?’ I said, ‘Put it righthere, I guess.’ I didn’t have achoice. It’s a native petroglyphfrom one of the rocks there—half bird, half fish. To this dayit’s the only tattoo I have.”

This late take-off at Waimea(left) led to a two-wave holddown. “It was back when every-one used to go there. We’d paddleout early and get a bunch ofwaves before going to the outerreefs. This wave looked like itwas going to close out the baybut I held my ground and stayedwhere you have to be.”

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Shortly after my introduction to his big-wave heroics,Kohl appeared, again, on my computer screen, but this timeI saw him on the front lines of relief efforts following the2010 earthquake and tsunami in Chile. His appearanceson camera revealed fluency in Spanish as he chatted withChilean earthquake victims. The prospect of an unknown,Spanish speaking, big-wave surfer from Hawaii was puzzling.

As one might expect, by this point, Kohl charted anunusual path beginning at an early age. Born and raisedin Kailua on Oahu’s east side, he later moved to the NorthShore. Growing up alongside his younger brother, Nick, anaccomplished big-wave surfer in his own right, the two weresurrounded by the robust surf culture in Kailua. The area,which is perhaps better known for its windsurfing andkiteboarding, has produced a surprising number of excellentsurfers. Kohl and Nick got started in the shorebreak andsoon graduated to more challenging surf, eventuallyboating out to some offshore reefs in the area. “The wavesare generally pretty bad. It’s always onshore,” says Kohl ofthe waves near home. “But there are some outer reefs andone or two really good waves.”

According to Nick, surfing with his brother in Kailuahelped shape their future exploits. “Although there’s nota lot of big surf, there’s plenty of adventure out there,” herecalls. “We would take boats out to a few slabby reefs,including a spot called No Can Tells, and it got us thinkingmore about surf exploration.”

By the time Kohl got his hands on a driver’s licenseat age 16, the brothers were eager to scour the rest of theisland for surf, including the North Shore. Soon, storiesof Kohl’s solo paddling exploits at the island’s outer reefsproliferated. “It was something that just happened naturally,”he says. “I never really had a mentor when I was younger.I kind of just did it on my own.”

Kohl’s affinity for daunting surf at a young age—andwith no real encouragement from others—supports thenotion that perhaps big-wave surfers are born, not bred. Hemade his first foray to the outer reefs of the North Shore asa teenager when he pulled up to maxing Laniakea. “I lookedway outside and there was this perfect wave breaking on anouter reef,” he says. “I only had an 8'0" with me, but I justpaddled there to check it out. I got pretty worked.” Onlyone other surfer joined him that first session. “A guy wenow call ‘The Boogieman’ came out. It was the first timeI’d ever met him, and he was out there bodyboarding.He schooled me on the lineup, showed me where to sit.Pretty classic, I was taught how to surf the outer reefs bya boogieboarder.”

“Even when he was younger he would paddle outto new spots by himself, often way under-gunned,” saysDusty Middleton, a close friend from Kailua who’s also apassionate outer-reef surfer. “When there’s a lot of swellrunning, sometimes it’s hard to tell where the good wavesare breaking, but Kohl has a really good eye for spottingrideable surf in all the chaos.”

6766

18-year-old Christensen on hisfirst trip to Rapa Nui (above),standing at the rock quarrywhere the iconic moai statuesof Easter Island were built, thentransported to the coast.

(Right) “A week before I left theisland, the family I was stayingwith said, ‘Where do you wantthis tattoo?’ I said, ‘Put it righthere, I guess.’ I didn’t have achoice. It’s a native petroglyphfrom one of the rocks there—half bird, half fish. To this dayit’s the only tattoo I have.”

This late take-off at Waimea(left) led to a two-wave holddown. “It was back when every-one used to go there. We’d paddleout early and get a bunch ofwaves before going to the outerreefs. This wave looked like itwas going to close out the baybut I held my ground and stayedwhere you have to be.”

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On his first-ever wave atNelscott Reef, Oregon, Kohldigs into a contest-winningbehemoth. “This is one of myfavorite pictures,” he says.“I was trying to go right butI was too late. I went left,the board went sideways,and I barely made the drop.”

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On his first-ever wave atNelscott Reef, Oregon, Kohldigs into a contest-winningbehemoth. “This is one of myfavorite pictures,” he says.“I was trying to go right butI was too late. I went left,the board went sideways,and I barely made the drop.”

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When he was 18 years old, and his classmates at theacademically competitive Punahou were all heading offto college, Kohl hopped on a plane bound for Tahiti andcontinued to the small island of Rapa Nui. He wanted totravel and see the world. “Punahou was a hard school. Halfmy friends got kicked out,” says Kohl. “So I was kind of burntout by the time I graduated.” Yet, instead of arriving, surfing,and moving to the next pulsing surf destination, he stayedand lived on Rapa Nui for almost a year. He surfed. He fellin love. He learned Spanish. Then he went on to Chile anddid the same, staying for another three months.

Upon returning to the North Shore a few years later,he moved to Pupukea, primarily working construction andcommercial fishing jobs to help fund his ongoing travelsto Indonesia, the South Pacific, and other remote surfdestinations. At age 20, while between fishing jaunts withhis close friend and surfboard shaper Chris Freed, Kohljumped aboard a boat owned by Alaskan crabbers headingsouthwest from Hawaii. The crew hatched a plan to fish andsearch for lobster in the Kiribati Islands, a series of remoteatolls in the central Pacific, and Kohl talked his way onboardas their “warm-water fishing expert.” After picking up a smallplatoon of native divers on Christmas Island, and someinitial fishing success, things deteriorated into somethingone might find in a Melville novel. “There was a full-onmutiny, and we ended up having to leave all these divers onremote islands,” he recalls. “I still can’t believe how crazyit was.”

With a newfound appreciation for the comforts ofhome, Kohl returned to Hawaii and purchased the propertythat came to be The Land with his brother in 2005. “Theopportunity presented itself, and we just jumped on it,” saysKohl. Scraping the money together involved borrowing fromfamily and friends, as well as some creative fundraising,which included participation in human drug trials. “Weheard an ad on the radio one day, and we ended up earningalmost $20,000 doing this asthma study,” he recalls. “Youneeded to have asthma to participate, which I did, but mybrother had to lie to do it.”

The parcel was one of 17 lots, part of a formersugarcane plantation nestled in the shadow of Mt. Kaala,Oahu’s highest peak, an area historically known as theKeawawaihe Valley (Valley of the Spears). An ex-sugar milltown, Waialua is known as the quieter side of the NorthShore, and was one of six original “mokus” or traditionalancient Hawaiian districts on Oahu.

“There was literally nothing on The Land when wefirst bought it. It was an open canvas,” says Kohl. “Weneeded help, so we invited all of our friends to come stayand work on the farm. For the first three years, all we didwas work the land.”

It began as a core group of friends, most of whomhad a particular deference for extremely large surf, livinga sort of primal, communal existence. Slowly, it evolvedinto a nucleus for a ragtag, big-wave fraternity that would

70

The road up toKohl’s property(above), throughthe KeawawaihiValley, passesthe burned downruins of the firstCatholic churchin Hawaii. Every-one helps workthe land (left),including Kohl,and everyoneenjoys the fruitsof that labor(right), at theoutdoor kitchenadjacent to thefields. Here,farm-to-tablemeans shakingthe earth from ahead of lettuceand lobbing itstraight into thesink.

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When he was 18 years old, and his classmates at theacademically competitive Punahou were all heading offto college, Kohl hopped on a plane bound for Tahiti andcontinued to the small island of Rapa Nui. He wanted totravel and see the world. “Punahou was a hard school. Halfmy friends got kicked out,” says Kohl. “So I was kind of burntout by the time I graduated.” Yet, instead of arriving, surfing,and moving to the next pulsing surf destination, he stayedand lived on Rapa Nui for almost a year. He surfed. He fellin love. He learned Spanish. Then he went on to Chile anddid the same, staying for another three months.

Upon returning to the North Shore a few years later,he moved to Pupukea, primarily working construction andcommercial fishing jobs to help fund his ongoing travelsto Indonesia, the South Pacific, and other remote surfdestinations. At age 20, while between fishing jaunts withhis close friend and surfboard shaper Chris Freed, Kohljumped aboard a boat owned by Alaskan crabbers headingsouthwest from Hawaii. The crew hatched a plan to fish andsearch for lobster in the Kiribati Islands, a series of remoteatolls in the central Pacific, and Kohl talked his way onboardas their “warm-water fishing expert.” After picking up a smallplatoon of native divers on Christmas Island, and someinitial fishing success, things deteriorated into somethingone might find in a Melville novel. “There was a full-onmutiny, and we ended up having to leave all these divers onremote islands,” he recalls. “I still can’t believe how crazyit was.”

With a newfound appreciation for the comforts ofhome, Kohl returned to Hawaii and purchased the propertythat came to be The Land with his brother in 2005. “Theopportunity presented itself, and we just jumped on it,” saysKohl. Scraping the money together involved borrowing fromfamily and friends, as well as some creative fundraising,which included participation in human drug trials. “Weheard an ad on the radio one day, and we ended up earningalmost $20,000 doing this asthma study,” he recalls. “Youneeded to have asthma to participate, which I did, but mybrother had to lie to do it.”

The parcel was one of 17 lots, part of a formersugarcane plantation nestled in the shadow of Mt. Kaala,Oahu’s highest peak, an area historically known as theKeawawaihe Valley (Valley of the Spears). An ex-sugar milltown, Waialua is known as the quieter side of the NorthShore, and was one of six original “mokus” or traditionalancient Hawaiian districts on Oahu.

“There was literally nothing on The Land when wefirst bought it. It was an open canvas,” says Kohl. “Weneeded help, so we invited all of our friends to come stayand work on the farm. For the first three years, all we didwas work the land.”

It began as a core group of friends, most of whomhad a particular deference for extremely large surf, livinga sort of primal, communal existence. Slowly, it evolvedinto a nucleus for a ragtag, big-wave fraternity that would

70

The road up toKohl’s property(above), throughthe KeawawaihiValley, passesthe burned downruins of the firstCatholic churchin Hawaii. Every-one helps workthe land (left),including Kohl,and everyoneenjoys the fruitsof that labor(right), at theoutdoor kitchenadjacent to thefields. Here,farm-to-tablemeans shakingthe earth from ahead of lettuceand lobbing itstraight into thesink.

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TheLandBy Dusty Middleton

In those first winters on The Land, we were always covered in red mud—our clothes, our feet, our hands, our pickup trucks, and our surf-boards. Everything was stained red. Clomping around fields a scantdecade after their sugarcane days, our shoes and slippers were heavywith clay. We spent hours fighting back eight-foot-tall thickets of grass.We planted fruit trees, ginger, Heliconia, and vegetables. Ti leavesaround a Hawaiian home help keep out the ghosts, and we plantedthem everywhere.

Our big boards were always ready to go, and we were awakebefore first light, focused, and ready for battle. As dedicated big-wavesurfers, there were many winter days of massive, empty surf to be had.We’d load the truck full of boards and spend a few hours out in a wildsea, surfing the waves we love before blasting back into the mountains,to the foothills of Ka’ala, to our own quiet world.

The testosterone and egos of the North Shore winter meantnothing to us. The noise and scene were as distant as Hollywood.Our sounds were cows across the river, echoing their strange callsagainst the mountain. The quiet extended so far that when our dogUre got himself caught in a pig snare one night, we followed his yelpsfrom our porch for a mile, eventually finding him up in the hills.

The inhabitants of The Land were no more typical of thosewhom you find on the North Shore. One Vietnam vet, Wild Bill [TSJ17.7], lived on The Land for years in his army truck. Sharp and wisein his own way, he’d plant his skinny frame on the porch and workhappily on oil paintings, drinking red wine and nibbling on cashewsand cheese. Some nights, he’d awake from a dream, feeling surroundedin the tall grass by a platoon of enemy soldiers. We could hear ashe pulled on his double-trigger shotgun, screaming and firing intothe darkness.

The original house was built around a 40-foot shipping container.There were usually four of us living in there, two up the rope ladder,sleeping in bunks on top of the container, and two down below. Kohland I had rooms downstairs. To keep out the riff-raff, Kohl put a padlockon his bedroom door. My door didn’t have a latch and I never botheredto fix it, so it always remained open. In the trusses overhead werebeautiful, big boards: Chuck Andrus, Kirk Bierke, Robin Johnston, ChrisFreed. Our windows were screens stapled to the studs. We had apropane fridge in the center of the house, a camping stove, and abarbecue to cook our food. There were five small lights running offa boat-style DC power system connected to a small solar panel andbatteries. Our rain gutters ran into a 1,000-gallon water tank. There wasa small bilge pump to pull the water from the tank. The toggle switchwas in the kitchen and in order to make the cold outdoor showerwork each night we used a system of yelling and teamwork.

Short, cold showers were no match for the mud. Our towels andbed sheets were stained red. It was a dirty life, but fun. There wasbeauty to walking from my home at night and choosing a trail acrossthe hill, carrying a shovel and a roll of toilet paper. I wasn’t concernedabout neighbors or police, shitting wherever I chose amid the high grass.I’d stare up at the sky and try to avoid stumbling into the red mud,distracted by my sleepy delirium and imaginings of the next run of swell.

Kohl’s beloved outer reefs (top) have grownmore crowded in recent years but he’scomfortable sitting deeper than the pack.(Second row) At a party on The Land (left)with 1,000-plus attendees, Kohl recalls,“I dug a mud pit with the excavator anddidn’t know what was going to happen. Girlskept volunteering to get in there and getnaked. (Center) Applied balance on a slack- line set up by the WWOOFERS. Kohl pickedup the first big wave gun (right) that FletcherChouinard had ever shaped—sight unseen—at Maverick’s on one of the biggest daysof winter 2010. (Bottom row) Kohl and Dusty(far left) learn the ways of the pig roast.A solar-powered, warm water, outdoor tub(left) soothes the paddle muscles. AtKaukonapalooza (right), all are welcome.

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work on the farm until the surf came up. The makeshifthouse built from a shipping container housed big boards,which they’d pull from the rafters any time swell poppedup on the North Shore’s outer reefs.

Collectively, the group became known as “The BombSquad,” for their stealthy ventures in big waves. “There wereguys surfing the outer reefs years before we were,” Kohlpoints out. “But it was always a really small group of guys.Everyone else just seemed to be surfing Waimea.” At a timewhen tow surfing was popularized, Kohl, his brother Nick,Dusty Middleton, Chris Freed, Tom Henry, Andy Starn,Orion Barelz, and several others gained an undergroundreputation for paddling into massive surf. “We surfed outthere for years without jet ski assist,” says Andy Starn. “Ifyou lose your board, you’ve got to know the currents andswim in through the impact zone or you’re going to getsucked out to sea, and you’re probably looking at almostan hour to swim in.” Listening to Kohl and the rest of hiscontingent recount their first harrowing trips to the outerreefs clarifies why few others surfed there for so many years.Yet once the potential of the outer reefs was realized, it washard to avoid becoming fixated. “The waves out there areso beautiful and mind boggling,” says Nick. “When I firstwent out there, I’d never seen anything like them. Thereare waves that come through and are so impressive thateveryone just watches, and they go unridden.”

The wild exploits of Kohl’s early years were by nomeans limited to the reefs fringing the North Shore. AtThe Land, rowdy parties earned the farm its namesake“Kaukonapalooza,” where over a thousand people wouldconverge for a sort of giant, muddy mosh pit. They builta stage for live music, dug a 15-foot deep mud pit forwrestling, and erected two platforms with 20-foot poles for“dancing.” “We spent weeks preparing for the parties,” saysMiddleton, one of the original denizens on The Land.“Before we built the big house, there wasn’t anythingvaluable here, so we didn’t really care about who was thereor what they did. We’d be at bars when they were closingand invite everyone up to The Land for an after-party.”

During my first night on The Land, I luck into anevening barbecue. Friends come from all around, foodand drink in tow, appearing from out of the fields. Ito, agregarious musician from Rapa Nui, who, when he was 12years old, “borrowed” Kohl’s boards during his first visit,strums out smooth, island-inspired tunes. I eavesdrop onconversations about big-wave training regiments, boarddesign, and mysto-reefs. The more serious the conversation,the more hushed the tone.

These days, The Land has evolved into a bit more ofa mature operation. Beneath its laid-back exterior is anundertaking with lots of moving parts. The residential andcommercial property functions completely off the grid. Foursolar array systems provide power that’s backed up byseveral generators, a 190-foot-deep well plus a rain catchingsystem provides water, and propane gas is used for cooking.

Other than a handful ofstep-offs, this Chileanslab session is the onlytime Christensen hasopted to tow. “I’m notgoing to restrict myself,”he reflects. “But if it’seven questionable I paddle.”

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work on the farm until the surf came up. The makeshifthouse built from a shipping container housed big boards,which they’d pull from the rafters any time swell poppedup on the North Shore’s outer reefs.

Collectively, the group became known as “The BombSquad,” for their stealthy ventures in big waves. “There wereguys surfing the outer reefs years before we were,” Kohlpoints out. “But it was always a really small group of guys.Everyone else just seemed to be surfing Waimea.” At a timewhen tow surfing was popularized, Kohl, his brother Nick,Dusty Middleton, Chris Freed, Tom Henry, Andy Starn,Orion Barelz, and several others gained an undergroundreputation for paddling into massive surf. “We surfed outthere for years without jet ski assist,” says Andy Starn. “Ifyou lose your board, you’ve got to know the currents andswim in through the impact zone or you’re going to getsucked out to sea, and you’re probably looking at almostan hour to swim in.” Listening to Kohl and the rest of hiscontingent recount their first harrowing trips to the outerreefs clarifies why few others surfed there for so many years.Yet once the potential of the outer reefs was realized, it washard to avoid becoming fixated. “The waves out there areso beautiful and mind boggling,” says Nick. “When I firstwent out there, I’d never seen anything like them. Thereare waves that come through and are so impressive thateveryone just watches, and they go unridden.”

The wild exploits of Kohl’s early years were by nomeans limited to the reefs fringing the North Shore. AtThe Land, rowdy parties earned the farm its namesake“Kaukonapalooza,” where over a thousand people wouldconverge for a sort of giant, muddy mosh pit. They builta stage for live music, dug a 15-foot deep mud pit forwrestling, and erected two platforms with 20-foot poles for“dancing.” “We spent weeks preparing for the parties,” saysMiddleton, one of the original denizens on The Land.“Before we built the big house, there wasn’t anythingvaluable here, so we didn’t really care about who was thereor what they did. We’d be at bars when they were closingand invite everyone up to The Land for an after-party.”

During my first night on The Land, I luck into anevening barbecue. Friends come from all around, foodand drink in tow, appearing from out of the fields. Ito, agregarious musician from Rapa Nui, who, when he was 12years old, “borrowed” Kohl’s boards during his first visit,strums out smooth, island-inspired tunes. I eavesdrop onconversations about big-wave training regiments, boarddesign, and mysto-reefs. The more serious the conversation,the more hushed the tone.

These days, The Land has evolved into a bit more ofa mature operation. Beneath its laid-back exterior is anundertaking with lots of moving parts. The residential andcommercial property functions completely off the grid. Foursolar array systems provide power that’s backed up byseveral generators, a 190-foot-deep well plus a rain catchingsystem provides water, and propane gas is used for cooking.

Other than a handful ofstep-offs, this Chileanslab session is the onlytime Christensen hasopted to tow. “I’m notgoing to restrict myself,”he reflects. “But if it’seven questionable I paddle.”

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On a board scrounged for$80, Christensen joinsRamon Navarro and DiegoMedina at El Buey in 2005.“I was working in northernChile at this little metalshop,” he recalls. “Therewere times when I had nomoney, just traveling on ashoestring budget.”

In addition to the surf operation, which includes dozensof boards (most over nine feet), a jet ski (support only, notow-in here), and a giant garage stocked with surf and travelgear, there’s also a thriving solar installation business witheight employees, and a prosperous organic farm.

The solar business was born in part out of necessity,as Kohl and Nick needed to figure out how to get power toThe Land. “When we bought the property, we didn’t havea lot of options,” states Kohl. “We were off the power grid,so it was either run generators or look at solar or wind.”Intrigued by solar, Kohl took some courses and received acertificate for doing installations, eventually earning hisstate license. “I convinced them to use The Land as thehands-on portion of the course, so my own house becamemy first official install.” One begins to see that Kohl’s skillsand interests developed from adapting to his surroundings:no electricity available, he’ll make solar power work; localsspeak Spanish, he’ll learn the language; scary, uncrowdedwaves near home, he’ll figure out how to ride them. Nothingabout Christensen seems staged because it isn’t.

The organic farm operates under the same ethos.Maintained by “WWOOFers” (World Wide Opportunitieson Organic Farms), workers from around the world cometo help out on the farm in exchange for room and board.The WWOOFers provide a constant and ever-changingworkforce, as well as continuous entertainment. As onecan imagine, the program attracts its share of characters.“WWOOFers—they’re another species,” laughs Kohl. “Youget some good help. You get some bad help, and it seemsto work out.” He recounts a story of one worker, James, whohad an eyeball tattooed on the front of his neck, and nearlygot them all beat up in town. “This guy was kind of creepy,”says Kohl. “I think he was on the run from a crime. Wewent out to the bars and he picked a fight with one of theheaviest locals around, who, of course, associated us withhim.” After getting chased by several large toughs throughthe streets of Haleiwa, and eventually outrunning them,James threatened to go back after them with a knife, atwhich point Kohl intervened. “He wanted to kill these guys,and when we tried to stop him he turned on us. We almosthad to call the cops.” That a knife-wielding outlaw wasnot cause for notifying the police speaks to the free-wheeling atmosphere found at Kohl’s home.

“The key is to screen the WWOOFers a bit better,” hesays. After a bit of trial and error, Kohl has implementeda few more controls over the volunteer labor pool. He’s hireda “WWOOF-Master” to oversee the workers; installed“WWOOFer-Watchers,” security cameras that he can viewthrough his phone while on the road; and established adesignated “WWOOF-Zone,” a basic tent encampmentwith a kitchen area where the workers live and eat.

“When I arrived, the farm was kind of in disarray,”says Sarah Bonte, the current WWOOF-Master. “Everythingwas overgrown, and we had to make three runs to the dumpjust to clear it out.” Bonte has also been slowly trying to add

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On a board scrounged for$80, Christensen joinsRamon Navarro and DiegoMedina at El Buey in 2005.“I was working in northernChile at this little metalshop,” he recalls. “Therewere times when I had nomoney, just traveling on ashoestring budget.”

In addition to the surf operation, which includes dozensof boards (most over nine feet), a jet ski (support only, notow-in here), and a giant garage stocked with surf and travelgear, there’s also a thriving solar installation business witheight employees, and a prosperous organic farm.

The solar business was born in part out of necessity,as Kohl and Nick needed to figure out how to get power toThe Land. “When we bought the property, we didn’t havea lot of options,” states Kohl. “We were off the power grid,so it was either run generators or look at solar or wind.”Intrigued by solar, Kohl took some courses and received acertificate for doing installations, eventually earning hisstate license. “I convinced them to use The Land as thehands-on portion of the course, so my own house becamemy first official install.” One begins to see that Kohl’s skillsand interests developed from adapting to his surroundings:no electricity available, he’ll make solar power work; localsspeak Spanish, he’ll learn the language; scary, uncrowdedwaves near home, he’ll figure out how to ride them. Nothingabout Christensen seems staged because it isn’t.

The organic farm operates under the same ethos.Maintained by “WWOOFers” (World Wide Opportunitieson Organic Farms), workers from around the world cometo help out on the farm in exchange for room and board.The WWOOFers provide a constant and ever-changingworkforce, as well as continuous entertainment. As onecan imagine, the program attracts its share of characters.“WWOOFers—they’re another species,” laughs Kohl. “Youget some good help. You get some bad help, and it seemsto work out.” He recounts a story of one worker, James, whohad an eyeball tattooed on the front of his neck, and nearlygot them all beat up in town. “This guy was kind of creepy,”says Kohl. “I think he was on the run from a crime. Wewent out to the bars and he picked a fight with one of theheaviest locals around, who, of course, associated us withhim.” After getting chased by several large toughs throughthe streets of Haleiwa, and eventually outrunning them,James threatened to go back after them with a knife, atwhich point Kohl intervened. “He wanted to kill these guys,and when we tried to stop him he turned on us. We almosthad to call the cops.” That a knife-wielding outlaw wasnot cause for notifying the police speaks to the free-wheeling atmosphere found at Kohl’s home.

“The key is to screen the WWOOFers a bit better,” hesays. After a bit of trial and error, Kohl has implementeda few more controls over the volunteer labor pool. He’s hireda “WWOOF-Master” to oversee the workers; installed“WWOOFer-Watchers,” security cameras that he can viewthrough his phone while on the road; and established adesignated “WWOOF-Zone,” a basic tent encampmentwith a kitchen area where the workers live and eat.

“When I arrived, the farm was kind of in disarray,”says Sarah Bonte, the current WWOOF-Master. “Everythingwas overgrown, and we had to make three runs to the dumpjust to clear it out.” Bonte has also been slowly trying to add

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Kohl watches aset grind atCloudbreak(above), where,in 2011, hecaught the bestwave of his life(below). “It’sthe one wavethat will keepme surfing forthe rest of mylife,” he says.

“I was so close.I made it to theend of the barreland fell out.”

feminine touches to the farm. “This place was so dude-central when I got here,” she laughs. “I don’t think they’dever had a woman live here before.”

Kohl admits that he never had ambitions tobecome a professional surfer, but when offered sponsorshipin exchange for, well, continuing to ride some seriouslyscary, behemoth waves, he accepted. “All these guys likeDusty, Nick, and others are capable of doing the thingsthat I do,” claims Kohl. “Ability-wise, they’re just as goodas me. But they just do different things for work.” Othersaren’t so sure about that. “Kohl’s gotten so crazy latelythat I don’t know if I want to try to keep up with himanymore,” says Nick. “He’ll go on anything and come upwanting more.”

Kohl’s relationship with Patagonia has also led to aclose surfer-shaper collaboration with Fletcher Chouinard.“It’s been a really symbiotic relationship,” says Kohl. “I thinkI’ve helped get him more involved in shaping big boards forhuge surf, and he’s been great to work with, dialing in designconcepts.” Few surfers, when given the choice of a provenbig-wave surfboard shaper or an inexperienced one likeChouinard, would be willing to go with the latter in high-risk conditions. Christensen even surprised Chouinard withthe decision. “All of a sudden I’m making all these 10'6"boards for death-defying waves,” Fletcher says. “It’s aconstant feedback process. We talk almost every day.”

By the end of my time on The Land, I feel at homethere, only I know I’m not, at least not until I’m willing topaddle into a 30-foot wave breaking over a mile offshore.Perhaps it’s better that I’ve come when the surf is flat. Thecamaraderie among the inhabitants here seems genuine,and the notion of looking out for one another is evident—whether it’s providing a place to crash, finding work, orsurfing.

Kohl floats at the center of it all. It’s hard to say howlong he can sustain traveling the world and chasing bigwaves; he’s currently on a pretty torrid pace. “I think big-wave surfing is an older person’s game because of all theexperience required,” he says. “But I do want to have afamily and all that, so we’ll see.” As for The Land, while itwill always serve as a hub for wandering surfers, it’s growingup and evolving. There are toilets now, hot showers, anda comfortable house. Who knows what direction it mighttake from here? “Kohl has always said, ‘It’s not about me,but making sure all my friends are taken care of,’” saysPaige Thomas. “He doesn’t leave anybody behind.”

As the night wears on at the evening barbecue,everyone’s clearly enjoying the get-together, most of themquite drunk. I look around and notice Kohl is no longeraround. Apparently, the power has gone out. While hisfriends all drink and play music by the fire, he slips offinto the dark to start a backup generator. ◊

For expanded content including videos and photography, GoDeeper with Kohl Christensen at surfersjournal.com.

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Kohl watches aset grind atCloudbreak(above), where,in 2011, hecaught the bestwave of his life(below). “It’sthe one wavethat will keepme surfing forthe rest of mylife,” he says.

“I was so close.I made it to theend of the barreland fell out.”

feminine touches to the farm. “This place was so dude-central when I got here,” she laughs. “I don’t think they’dever had a woman live here before.”

Kohl admits that he never had ambitions tobecome a professional surfer, but when offered sponsorshipin exchange for, well, continuing to ride some seriouslyscary, behemoth waves, he accepted. “All these guys likeDusty, Nick, and others are capable of doing the thingsthat I do,” claims Kohl. “Ability-wise, they’re just as goodas me. But they just do different things for work.” Othersaren’t so sure about that. “Kohl’s gotten so crazy latelythat I don’t know if I want to try to keep up with himanymore,” says Nick. “He’ll go on anything and come upwanting more.”

Kohl’s relationship with Patagonia has also led to aclose surfer-shaper collaboration with Fletcher Chouinard.“It’s been a really symbiotic relationship,” says Kohl. “I thinkI’ve helped get him more involved in shaping big boards forhuge surf, and he’s been great to work with, dialing in designconcepts.” Few surfers, when given the choice of a provenbig-wave surfboard shaper or an inexperienced one likeChouinard, would be willing to go with the latter in high-risk conditions. Christensen even surprised Chouinard withthe decision. “All of a sudden I’m making all these 10'6"boards for death-defying waves,” Fletcher says. “It’s aconstant feedback process. We talk almost every day.”

By the end of my time on The Land, I feel at homethere, only I know I’m not, at least not until I’m willing topaddle into a 30-foot wave breaking over a mile offshore.Perhaps it’s better that I’ve come when the surf is flat. Thecamaraderie among the inhabitants here seems genuine,and the notion of looking out for one another is evident—whether it’s providing a place to crash, finding work, orsurfing.

Kohl floats at the center of it all. It’s hard to say howlong he can sustain traveling the world and chasing bigwaves; he’s currently on a pretty torrid pace. “I think big-wave surfing is an older person’s game because of all theexperience required,” he says. “But I do want to have afamily and all that, so we’ll see.” As for The Land, while itwill always serve as a hub for wandering surfers, it’s growingup and evolving. There are toilets now, hot showers, anda comfortable house. Who knows what direction it mighttake from here? “Kohl has always said, ‘It’s not about me,but making sure all my friends are taken care of,’” saysPaige Thomas. “He doesn’t leave anybody behind.”

As the night wears on at the evening barbecue,everyone’s clearly enjoying the get-together, most of themquite drunk. I look around and notice Kohl is no longeraround. Apparently, the power has gone out. While hisfriends all drink and play music by the fire, he slips offinto the dark to start a backup generator. ◊

For expanded content including videos and photography, GoDeeper with Kohl Christensen at surfersjournal.com.

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