Tommy Zahn, along with Bob Simmons, Matt Kivlin, and Joe Quigg, invented the "Malibu chip" board in the 1940s—the first step on the long road leading to performance surfing as we know it today. Zahn was also the best paddleboarder of his generation. The article below, describing his nine-hour paddle from Molokai to Oahu, was originally published in the March 1954 issue Paradise of the Pacific magazine. This version has been slightly edited.

On October 24, 1953, during the annual Aloha Week Molokai-to-Oahu Outrigger Canoe Race, I paddled my surfboard from Point Ilio, Molokai, to Waikiki Beach, Oahu. This was accomplished in nine hours and twenty minutes; the course was thirty-six miles with an actual total of some forty miles, after allowing for wind and drift. The Kaiwi Channel, popularly known as the Molokai Channel, is considered by many to be one of the roughest bodies of water in the world. This is caused by a combination of very deep and shoal-lined waters; abrupt island shorelines causing heavy backwash and cross-swells; a prevailing northeast tradewind in the middle of the channel, which continually shifts as one approaches shoreward due to the mountains, valleys, and passes. The result: an ugly, choppy, restless body of water.

The reasons for attempting this type of project deserve some explanation. I was born in Santa Monica, California, a locality where many types of aquatic activities flourish, much as they do in Hawaii. When I was eight years old, I fell in love with the sport of surfriding. The thrill I got from my first ride on a little redwood bellyboard I have never forgotten and is little exceeded by riding much larger deep-water swells today.

After surfing the California coastline for years, and under the influence of such champions as Tom Blake and Preston Peterson, I developed an ambition to try the famed surfs of Oahu. My first experience was in 1945 en route to the invasion of Okinawa. Our ship had a one-day stopover at Pearl Harbor, allowing me about four frantic hours at Waikiki. My first impression was all that I’d hoped for; a friendly reception, beautiful water and weather conditions, and a promising surf. Following this “brief encounter,” watching Diamond Head fade into the distance as we sailed southward, I resolved I would come back someday, which I did as a civilian in October 1947.

I moved in with Gene (Tarzan) Smith, then Hawaiian Surfboard Champion, and began one of the happiest portions of my aquatic career. Gene had paddled his board between virtually all of the islands. His personal accounts of these expeditions and his training methods intrigued me. The crossing that brought him recognition, and interested me the most, was that from Molokai to Makapuu Point, Oahu, in the time of eight hours and thirty-seven minutes.

I began to prepare for the event. As the project became more of a reality, my plan was to better the existing time, go the entire distance to Waikiki Beach, and evaluate the surfboard as a means of deep-water rescue and survival equipment.

In April 1953, I resigned from the Santa Monica Lifeguard Service where I had been a lieutenant and worked eleven years, to return for the fourth time to Hawaii. When I heard of the approaching 2nd Annual Molokai-to-Oahu Outrigger Canoe Race, I knew the time and circumstances were right for the crossing. I wrote Joseph M. Quigg, the Malibu sailboat designer, to design and build what he considered the ideal board for the crossing. This he agreed to do in his spare time.

Then I began a training routine of surfing four hours a day and swimming every night to develop the endurance and speed for the coming test. I enjoyed myself immensely that summer surfing Waikiki, and Makaha Beach at Waianae in the early fall. A month before the race I began to further prepare under the expert advice of my friend and coach, Tom Blake. Every day he would take me up the channel coast of Oahu and I would paddle back to Waikiki. We went further until we were at Hanauma Bay, twelve miles from Waikiki. It was over the course of these workouts that I developed the long relaxed stroke I was to use during the race, and accustom myself to the short, nasty chop that is so characteristic of the rip in the Molokai Channel.

I learned at this time that, in accomplishing anything of this nature, preparation is nine-tenths of the battle. My conditioning and diet required thought. Getting a suitable escort craft was a problem. The greatest problem, however, was weather conditions; the success of my project was utterly dependant on this unpredictable phenomenon. I studied the weather reports daily; I stared at the ocean surface and clouds whenever possible. If the wind were to shift from trades to Kona (southwest), my plans would be seriously affected. I desired a moderate trade, which would provide a favorable current, as well as a quartering wind-chop to assist my progress.

Quigg air-freighted my new board to me just in time. There had many delays in its completion due to his other commitments, plus details and experiments he made during construction. I uncrated the board on October 23, the day before the race, and gave it a short test run. I was thrilled and delighted with the finished product. It is sixteen feet long, nineteen inches wide, made of hollow balsa wood construction, with a one-eighth inch plywood deck. The board is covered with a thin layer of fiberglass and is equipped with a foot-operated rudder. It cost one-hundred and forty dollars. As an afterthought, Tom Blake attached a chin-rest that was to save me later by relieving my neck and shoulders of the weight of my head. The board has stability and maneuverability, and I would now say it is the ideal board for offshore work.

We re-crated the board that afternoon and loaded it on the charter boat 

, at the Ala Moana Yacht Basin. We were to rendezvous that night on Molokai with the boat that was to be my escort. At this time it was still indefinite who my escort would be, as this was a courtesy of the Aloha Week Committee.

This contributed to my growing anxiety, together with such thoughts as what conditions I would encounter during the paddle, including fish. I had read every account of shark activity in the Hawaiian Islands, trying to separate fact from fiction and superstition. I read all the books I could obtain on the matter. I was comforted by the knowledge that the deadly killer-whale does not frequent these waters due to a lack of suitable prey. My fear of sharks diminished as it became apparent that virtually all humans attacked were engaged in one form or another of fishing. So, barring a freak accident, I felt reassured.

, a converted PT craft owned by Jim Lee and skippered by Spike Simpson, had been chartered by the Hawaii Visitors Bureau to cover the entire canoe race, and to accommodate a party of casual observers. At 4:30 p.m. we left the shelter of Diamond Head to plow into the channel swells en route to Molokai. I concentrated on the wind and water conditions until it was too dark to see. Then I went below and slept for several hours. When I awoke, a beautiful moon was over Oahu illuminating the silver of the breaking whitecaps. The flash of the Makapuu lighthouse was directly astern. Ahead was the low silhouette of Point Ilio, Molokai. The keen anticipation of the task that lay ahead the next day dulled my appetite and I ate lightly of beef-stew, tomatoes, and fruit. It was a lovely night on deck as I tried to sleep, but the pressure of my plans, the advance publicity I’d received, the “well-meaning” but dubious warnings and advice I’d heard, made sleep come slowly. I wanted to be off as soon as possible. The actual performance would be a release.

Dawn broke clear with ideal conditions. I ate a light breakfast of cornflakes, honey, condensed milk, and applesauce. This was to be the last food or drink I was to receive until I finished, although I had a supply of food and orange juice in the event I was in the water longer than anticipated.

We waited for the escort craft. It did not appear. We heard, then saw, the canoes get underway. I became fearful that I had been forgotten, which was apparently the case. After a hasty conference on the 

, the group informed me with no hesitation that I was to get underway immediately, which I did at 6:20 a.m.

I started in the water, in the lee of Point Ilio, about one hundred yards offshore. I paddled toward the open sea, increasing my speed as I warmed up. Just as I hit the first open water I struck a Portuguese man o' war (a form of jellyfish) which inflicted a minor sting on my left arm. I didn’t break stroke, however, but wondered if there would be more to come. As it turned out, there was one other minor sting somewhere mid-channel.

I believe there were many who were skeptical of the outcome of my trip, perhaps even a few onboard the 

. At this point, I determined to relieve them of any doubts they might have. I maintained my practiced pace with success, following the boat about fifty- to a hundred yards astern and a little to windward to avoid the exhaust from the twin diesel engines. I would look astern every twenty minutes or so to see if the dark outline of Molokai had diminished any. My pace was calculated to a point that I could determine my position reasonably close whenever I could hear the time from Tom Blake, who was watching my progress carefully from the 

’s taffrail. He had an auxiliary board ready in case anything happened to mine. He also had a rescue tube ready in case of an accident. He scanned the surface continually with binoculars for dangerous fish, and also photographed my progress with a Rolleiflex camera.

As the sun rose higher and I approached the Oahu shoreline, I headed for Makapuu Point, so that we might work as far as possible to windward. Also, I wanted my time at the point, to break the existing record, if possible.

Toward eleven a.m., the distance stretched interminably. I neither ate nor drank, as I didn’t want to lose the time involved in doing so. The 

 would follow me, then lead for a while, then change sides. This was relaxing for me, as each change afforded me some relief of the rhythmic monotony I was undergoing. I no longer needed her to set my course, as the Oahu landmarks were clearly visible.

Past the mid-channel mark, I ran across several schools of flying fish. They sailed across my bow about twenty feet away, giving me ample room. I later saw what I believed to be a mahi-mahi break the surface of the water in a foaming whitecap several yards away. These were the only signs of marine life I saw during the trip. Now and then a curious sea-bird would hover slowly overhead, inspecting this strange form of travel.

I became anxious concerning my time as we reached Makapuu Point, as I wanted to be well under the record, and yet paced enough to finish at Waikiki. My fastest speed was the last hour out of Makapuu Point, and I was delighted to learn that I had made my mark, and was inspired to finish at Waikiki. I changed my course to Koko Head; and it was in the approach to this headland I found the roughest water of the entire trip, caused by the sheer cliffs between Sandy Beach and Koko Head. There was an hour of this messy cross-chop and changing winds, but at no point did I doubt that I would make my goal. Upon rounding Koko Head by Portlock, I could see the wonderful outline of Diamond Head, as I entered the relatively smooth waters of Maunalua Bay.

The trip then became a series of obstacles to hurdle. First, Kuliouou, then Aina Haina, its comfortable homes clearly visible. Wailupe, and finally Black Point which I passed so close I could see people walking about. I set my course just outside the breaker line fringing Diamond Head, where I left the loyal 

, who had to skirt the reef to seaward. Here I was escorted by a fishing canoe until I brushed the surf at Elks Club. With little more than a mile to go, I pulled myself together for the final stretch.

This last portion also had its obstacles. First, the Elk’s Club, the Natatorium, Cunha surf, and finally Canoe surf where I picked up a short ride shoreward. Already the beachboys in canoes were welcoming me—I could see a large crowd in front of the Moana Hotel and could hear the announcer speaking over the sound system. I evidently slipped up on them unnoticed, as they were all staring out to sea, until the last few yards.

My board touched the beach at 3:40 p.m., a total of nine hours and twenty minutes since I left Molokai. I rolled off my board into the warm, blue water, and was assisted to the platform on the beach to receive the greatest welcome and applause I have ever known. Hawaiians I’d never met were giving me leis of flowers, kissing me, and shaking my hands. Edwin Adolphson of the Oahu Lifesaving Service presented me with a silver cup, and my board was brought up on the platform and exhibited to the friendly crowd.

I was then walked, or rather, half-carried down the beach to my apartment by friends and well-wishers. Other than a slight numb sensation through my body, I felt quite normal but sleepy. I took a long warm shower interrupted by many friendly callers. I was given hot soup and milk to eat but found eating difficult because the pressure of the weight of my body on the board had caused a general muscular tension.

My first act was to telephone Joe Quigg in Santa Monica and thank him for the wonderful job of construction and design, and for making the air-freight deadline.

I slept a few hours, dressed, and ate a huge steak dinner. After a three-day rest, I was more or less restored to normal activity.

The newspapers were warm in their comment with front-page stories and pictures, which that Mainland papers picked up. The Quarterdeck Club selected me for their Williams “Player of the Week” award at a very hospitable luncheon a few days later. Rex Wills, KHON sportscaster, invited me on air for a thirty-minute interview, at which time I was joined by Tom Blake. Later, at a dinner-dance held by the Waikiki Surf Club, I received a beautiful trophy made of Hawaiian woods and silver to commemorate the occasion.

I learned many new things about the sea, the human body, and the surfboard. I was satisfied for the time being with what I had set out to do, but perhaps the most memorable sensation was the wholehearted Aloha I felt at my reception at Waikiki.

1953: “SURF BOARDING FROM MOLOKAI TO WAIKIKI,” BY TOMMY ZAHN

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