Drew Kampion's "Project Avalance" feature ran in the November 1980 issue of Surfing magazine. This version has been slightly edited.


On January 1, 1980, a manned canoe launched into two of the largest breaking waves ever ridden. Fortunately, photographers were present to record this incredible event. More fortunately still, everyone survived. The scene of the action: a rarely-ridden, treacherous, deep-water break off Haleiwa called Avalanche.


Those two drops down those twin epic waves at Avalanche were a long time coming for Tommy Holmes. Hawaiian-born and a canoe paddler for almost twenty years, he'd begun work on a book some twelve years ago that would tell the story of the Hawaiian canoe from ancient times to the present. Project Avalanche, says Holmes, “is just one very, very small phase of the book, a scholarly work."

The project, says Holmes, was staged to produce some spectacular pictures of a canoe on the largest waves they could find. "We've been surfing big waves in canoes for a long time. I mean, people have been doing it all along. Not as big as this last episode, but we've surfed waves up to fifteen feet for years and years and years off of Waikiki."

In the past, Holmes has been involved in specials for ABC television in fifteen-foot waves at Makaha and, again, for National Geographic on about a twenty-foot day. On the latter project, he was pitched over-the-falls inside the canoe and spent three days in Queens hospital recovering. “None of the photographs were that good," he says, “so on this last go-round I decided to go about it a little more professionally."

That meant coordinating an outstanding crew, reliable (and very gutsy!) photographers, boat crews, and even security men, as Holmes was intent on preserving the exclusiveness of the event for his cameramen alone.

The vehicle chosen was a 22-foot outrigger canoe, owned by the Outrigger Canoe Club, and appropriately named the 

. It was a craft designed some 7,000 years ago by Polynesians, possibly to handle the huge waves encountered on the initial voyages to Hawaii. The Duke was double-rigged to withstand the tremendous destructive power of the giant surf at Avalanche.

Although Holmes has said that the purpose of this adventure was to produce exciting photos for a book on canoeing, it is possible that larger motives lay beneath the surface, motives that could keep an idea like this alive for over a decade, waiting for the right moment, for the right combination of elements, for the ultimate canoe surfing experience.

To approach such an incredibly dangerous situation intentionally implies a purpose and immense dedication. A book may serve as an apparent justification, but beneath it all there a strong current of Hawaiian blood, of an Island tradition of man-against-the-sea—the same current and tradition on which the ancient Polynesians set out, following their magical shark to an unknown point across an uncharted sea. A point now called Hawaii.


The crew consisted of Tommy Holmes, Aka Hemmings, and Dale Hope. Holmes, now in his mid-30s, is a writer, a long-time member of the Outrigger Canoe Club, veteran of the first 

, and well known for his all-around abilities as a waterman.

Aka Hemmings is a 28-year-old construction worker, brother of former World Champion Fred Hemmings, Jr., a member of the Hui Nalu Canoe Club (Outrigger Club's rival), a surfer and bodysurfer, and an expert canoeist.

Dale Hope, 27, is president and general manager of a clothing business in Honolulu, surfer, bodysurfer, paddleboarder, sailor, and star canoe paddler for the Outrigger Club, of which he is a long-standing member.


No one knew for sure that it would be Avalanche, and yet that spot has been breaking on huge swells all these years, tempting the imagination of a few. And a few have even gone out there and ridden it occasionally.

On that particular morning, the North Shore was giant, and the swell was out of the northwest. Pipeline was big and unruly and showed no interest in being ridden. Waimea was big and breaking perfectly, but it was public theater, and Holmes wished privacy. Finally, it had to be Avalanche, a mile offshore, beyond the entrance to Haleiwa harbor.


Photographers: Steve Wilkings, Jeff Divine, Jeff Hornbaker, and Jim Pate. Filmers: Gary Gerberg and Leonard Brady for Island Style. Logistics: Flippy Hoffman and Jeff Johnson.

Holmes had approached Wilkings to shoot the big-wave canoe ride years before, but it never came off. Last year he approached Steve once again for this top-secret project and asked him to put together a film crew that could cover it. "I contacted Jeff Divine and Jeff Hornbaker," says Wilko, "because I figured those were two definitely reliable people and I wouldn't have to worry about them."

 at Haleiwa Beach Park. The rigging was secured. The 

, which in turn were double-lashed to the wooden canoe. Any corners areas were padded with neoprene, as were the seating areas.

Roving among the onlookers were Holmes's security people, making sure that there were no unauthorized photographs taken. Bernie Baker and his 1000-mm lens were dispatched to another part of the North Shore.

When the preparations were complete, the canoe was towed to the lineup behind Jeff Johnson's Boston Whaler. Hornbaker and Divine were dropped off at the buoy for some down-the-throat water shots. Wilkings, feeling the weight of the responsibility to produce good photos, stayed with the boat, figuring the chances of a clear shot were greater with that kind of mobility.

"We must've paddled around for an hour or an hour-and-a-half," remembers Holmes, "just trying to figure out just where to line up and what the most practical take-off spot would be." This was made difficult by the size of the waves and the strength of the current. Every time they'd get the canoe into position for a wave, the second wave that came would already find them swept to the far side of the peak and out of position.

"Typically, when they surf Avalanche," Holmes says, "and there are very few people who do"—Flippy Hoffman being one of 'em and sort of a guru of the spot)—"they drop buoys and watch the buoys for maybe an hour before they even attempt to ride it because it's so dangerous. You know, potentially losing one's life if one makes a mistake or gets wiped out or whatever."

The surf that morning was twenty-five or thirty feet. It was oily smooth. None of the canoe surfers had ever ridden the spot before, so they were cautious—getting caught inside mean be the end of the project, at least for the day. But gradually they moved in closer and closer to the break, gaining confidence as they watched set after set thunder inside of them.

"Actually, it happened very quickly," Holmes says of the first wave. "All of a sudden we were obviously right in the spot. I said 'Let's go for it!' and we did. It was an impulsive decision because we were way, way down from the shoulder and didn't have a snowball in hell's chance of making it."

The wave was at least twenty-five feet, and despite the paddling efforts of Dale, one of the strongest paddlers in the Islands, and Aka and Tommy, the canoe was sucked back up the face until, by the time it had caught the wave, the face was too steep to make.

Even though he was lead man in the boat, when Dale looked up he could see the roof of the wave heaving out above him. "For a moment, I thought we might make it," he recalls, "but then I realized it was a little bit too late to get out of there, and that's when I jumped, and that's when I got thrashed against the canoe."

Wilkings lost a camera and waterhousing that had been mounted on the bow of the canoe. The impact exploded it away, just as it did to Aka. "I was literally wiped off my seat," Hemmings says. "I remember looking back and seeing Dale still sitting there. I'd been hit by all this water, and it cleared for a minute, and Dale was still there!" A moment later he was gone.

Hope had hesitated too long; he jumped, but the exploding whitewater bashed him back against the canoe and tore one of his fins off his foot. "It just blew right off my foot! And then, as I was swimming up into the whitewater, I thought my right arm was gone. But I grabbed it, and it was still there. I started swimming. I looked at it; it was all bent and twisted and blue."

Hope made it to the surface and, using one arm and one fin, began to swim out through the twenty-five-foot sets, working against the current and trying to be patient about getting picked up. But the boats were elsewhere, still trying to grab Flippy and the two Jeffs after their clean-up caper. Dale had a smashed arm, and the boats had been out of position for the photo.

Now they were out of position for the rescue.

"It got to the point where I decided 'Hey, you can't stay out here forever! You gotta start yelling at these guys! Before you drift down and they just don't see you!' And then, when those guys came in to pick me up, the guy driving the boat (Jeff Johnson) had to turn back out because a set was coming. He's got one of those boats that he uses for fishing, it's probably twenty or twenty-five feet, and that thing went straight back up the wave and was leaving about another ten- or fifteen-foot wake behind it, going straight up this wave. Boy! That's when I wished I’d had a camera!


Aka and Tommy weren't aware of the seriousness of Dale's situation. They found the 

 floating inside, righted it, and bailed it out. Miraculously, it had not been damaged. They decided to try again—one more wave. "We figured we were both alive and healthy," says Aka. "Why not?"

Meanwhile, Jeff had finally picked up Dale and was taking him to shore; from there he went straight to the hospital. Figuring the project had ended in disaster, Hombaker got in his car and drove to Waimea. But Wilkings and Divine went out again, on Jeff Johnson's boat; Divine once more jumped off at the buoy while Wilkings staying with Johnson in the boat.

This time there was no long wait. Holmes and Hemmings realized they had been positioned too far out during that first hour-and-a-half, so they committed themselves to an aggressive position just as a huge set lumbered in. They let the first wave pass and went for the second.

"It was so unusual," recalls Holmes, "having waves that large and that smooth. We took off again and went screaming for the shoulder, and this time, after memories of the first wave in which none of us bailed out, I bailed out first, letting Aka go with the wave another, maybe, eighty yards. Then, as you see in the pictures, he bailed out, and the rest is history."

"I didn't know that Tommy wasn't in the boat," says Aka. "Everything happened so fast, all I could think of doing was to get outside of the canoe and onto the 

Without taking this action, the outrigger might have planed up out of the water and flipped the canoe. Incredibly, Aka made just the right move under the most intense circumstances, reaching over with his left hand to lean on the 

. "I remember seeing the photographers in the boat," he recalls, "and then I looked up and saw the green ceiling of the wave. At that point, I knew it was time to get out."

Later, Holmes and Hemmings compared notes. "We commented to each other afterward," says Holmes, "that never, ever have we been hit as hard, on both waves, but especially the second one. Aka thought he'd been broken in half, literally, by the impact. I didn't feel that, but I've bodysurfed Waimea many times at twenty-five-plus, and I've never been hit that hard. The waves at Avalanche are so thick that it makes Waimea look like Waikiki. There's just no comparison."


Aka says that he was spiritually prepared to die if that's what was going to happen. He might have been close to death after he hit the water; he says it was the toughest hit he's ever encountered. He thought his face and chest had been split apart; he saw stars like he'd been punched, and had to touch his body to make sure he was still alive.

Dale spent the night in the hospital, with a new stainless steel plate and six screws in his right arm. After a year, the arm would be reopened to remove the plate and screws, and 

 surgery would require another six more months to heal. Of course, life is full of surprises. Dale was paddling again by July, less than seven months after the Avalance wave.

Tommy says the book will be out this fall, the 

 has been returned unscarred to the Outrigger Canoe Club, and Avalanche is quiet again. And so, what really is the motivation for such acts of heroism or insanity after all?

Says Wilkings of Tommy Holmes: "He truly feels that he is the last of a dying breed. No one else these days is really into canoe surfing. The beachboys who do it in Waikiki are not about to go ride a big wave; Tommy is the only one now with enough experience to actually do it. Fred Hemmings is not about to do it, he thinks his brother is absolutely nuts. And there is no one down around the ten-year-old bracket who is showing any interest in doing canoe surfing. Tommy feels it might be fifteen years or more before someone will be qualified to canoe-surf big waves again, and that's assuming they started now."

And what about Dale Hope—would he do it again?

"No, I don't think I need to do that one again," Dale confesses. "That [was] a calculated disaster! Once is enough. But, y'know, I have been out canoe-surfing. I took the 

 out by myself last week and caught a few waves. Small waves!"

"PROJECT AVALANCHE," BY DREW KAMPION (1980)

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