Catch One For Rell With Her Death, There Is Life - Bruce Jenkins Thursday, January 15, 1998 REPORTER'S NOTE: Rell Sunn died Jan. 2 at the age of 47. She lost a long and difficult battle with cancer. The news rocked the surfing world: for while her passing was considered inevitable, it nevertheless seemed beyond the realm of comprehension. For hundreds of surfers, particularly the countless kids taken under her wing, it was like losing a member of the family -- a second mother or in some cases, a very real and surrogate parent. Life will never be the same around the west side of Oahu, where Rell lived and surfed her beloved Makaha. Women's surfing has lost its most regal and gracious ambassador. But in death, there is life. Through the pain and suffering comes strength and satisfaction -- from the memories of Rell and the way she enriched our lives. There was a time, just two years ago, when people celebrated Rell's spirit, even as her condition was declared terminal. She was having so much fun, making so many others feel good, there was no appropriate mood but the positive. In her memory, here is a column that ran in Surfer Magazine in the spring of 1995. It is the complete, uncut version, containing material previously unpublished.

The next time you go surfing, catch one for Rell.

The friends of Rell Sunn are at ease now, because there's no more use in crying. Surfing's most heartbreaking story has taken a magical twist, and the Queen of Makaha is in her prime. Outsiders bring their maudlin curiosity, desperate to comfort this 45-year-old woman with cancer, but the friends know better. You don't feel pity for the best female longboarder in the world, for a woman whose diving ability remains legendary, for someone whose relentless spirit and generosity capture the essence of her people. You see Rell's life for what it is: A treasure, perhaps richer and happier than ever before. "A surf bum? I love being called that," she says. "The most stressful part of my day is what board I'm gonna use."

Therin lies the beauty. Over the years, she has known the hardship of two divorces, devastating breakups, down-to-the-bone finances and single motherhood, not to mention the ravages of chemotherapy. She always endured, with a smile and funny stories and the knowledge that surfing would see her through. And now, at a time when others would be emotionally and physically beaten -- if not dead, outright -- she has health, true love and serenity. So this is not a time to pity Rell Sunn, nor to shed any tears of sorrow. It is a time to celebrate. * * *

She lives within a 2-minute walk of the Makaha surf, but the sounds come first. Without even leaving her bed, she spots the wind's angle on her curtain and hears the cars roll by. "There goes so-and-so, bad muffler. Uh-oh, he didn't come back. Must be good."

The sounds tell her everything about swells, revealing their size and direction by the way they hit the reef. "My favorite size is like 4-5 feet (Hawaiian style) from the northwest, and it's such a nice sound; it's almost sexual. There's a blow hole in front of the house and you can hear the rocks sighing as the water goes through." She lets out a sigh and smiles. "If it's bigger, it's just a consistent noise. And if you hear it echoing way on the outside, you think, Oh my God, where am I gonna surf today?"

It is late January on the West Side, and this is a good day. Dave Parmenter, Rell's loving companion for more than a year, pulls a huge bottom turn on one of his own Aleutian Juice masterpieces, a four-stringer 10-0. Buffalo Keaulana glides effortlessly into the inside section, switching stance. His son, Rusty, surfs to the beach with a spear gun in one hand, a mask and snorkel in the other. Lance Ho'okano heads back to the lineup with a live turtle on the front of his board. The lifeguards are out: Mel Pu'u, Dennis Gouveia, Dean Marzol and the formidable Pua Mokuau, one of Makaha's many talented women surfers. Lots of laughter, no arguments. Plenty waves for all, none to spare.

"Makaha is like Cheers, where everybody knows your name," Rell says from the beach. "Nothing changes here. It's like being in a time warp. Lots of longboards. See a little rainbow coming out of the corner, and everybody's moving slower than anywhere else on the island. Look at this set! Maybe the swell's kickin' back up, who knows?"

For Rell Sunn, it could be any season, any year, any era. She's like a little kid, hurrying down the beach to go surfing. She knows her calling, just as she always did.

"I was 4 years old and I knew I was in love," she says.

"It was surfing. We grew up right around the corner there (past the Makaha point), and it was always a mad scramble: five Sunn kids, fighting over the one board we had, and if you lost out, grab one off the beach, surf as long as you can before the owner finds out (laughs). As I got a little older, every board I ever got spent a night in my room, sometimes in the bed, and I'd touch the rails and fondle it. That's just the way it's always been. Can
you imagine being four and knowing what love is?"

There seemed to be a bit of destiny attached. Her middle name, *Ka-polioka'ehukai,* means Heart of the Sea.

"Most Hawaiian grandparents name you before you're born," she says. "They have a dream or something that tells them what the name will be." Hawaiians also have a knack for giving people rhythmic, dead-on nicknames, and for young Rell they had a beauty: Rella Propella.

"My godmother called me that because I was always moving so fast," says Rell. "To this day, people think my real name is Rella. Actually I was born Roella, a combination of my parents' names: Roen and Elbert. But I hated it, and no one used it, so I changed it to Rell."

Her heritage is a fascinating blend of Chinese (father) and Hawaiian-Irish (mother). "It's like, we're at some big luau and everyone says, "Come on, Rell, go dance.' The Chinese part of me says, 'No, stop it: don't make a fool of yourself.' The Hawaiian part says, 'Yeah, go for it, get out there.' And the Irish part says, 'Well, I don't know. Maybe a beer first.'" Invariably, the Hawaiian side takes charge.

Then and now, Makaha was special: a fantastic wave from 2 feet to 30 feet. It was the center of the surfing universe in the 1950s, when Rell was growing up, and she couldn't get enough. "People like John Kelly, George Downing and Wally Froiseth were my idols," she says (remarkably, the wives of Downing and Froiseth are both distant relatives of Rell's mother). "And I learned how to dive from Buffalo and Buzzy Trent, who lived at Makaha back then. Those guys taught me how to listen. I learned so much from their stories; I knew how to dive Makaha before I even started. It made me such a better person, made me creative. If there's no food on the table, go catch it. "

Rell knew the great Duke Kahanamoku from several meetings, including a trip with the Hawaiian surf team for the 1966 World Contest in San Diego. That lit a fire for traveling that still burns hot, taking Rell to Australia, South Africa, Tahiti, Brazil, France, Peru, New Zealand, Fiji and China, among other exotic locales, over the years. It also inspired her to join the first women's professional tour in 1974, a period now warmly remembered as a
golden age featuring the likes of Margo Oberg, Jericho Poppler and Lynne Boyer.

"People say, 'Oh, you must have struggled so much from the beginning, you poor pioneer surfers.' I wouldn't have changed any of it," she says. "We were there for the adventure. I never had a vision or desire to be the best in the world. We didn't have people like Joyce Hoffman in our back yard that we could emulate. My role models were people like Buffalo and Rabbit Kekai, who really weren't competitors, they just had good fun. You know, lose your board, bodysurf in, and it feels so good, leave your board on the beach and
bodysurf a couple more. We were fortunate to have the Makaha International every year when I was a kid, and that was *the* contest back then, so we got to hear all kinds of great stories. As a woman, I swore they would not be stories that belonged only to men. I knew already. I was hungry. Out of Africa. Out of Makaha."

Rell had no idea that women didn't surf big waves. Why would she think that? She took on Makaha point surf with her sister Kula (also known as Martha, herself a Makaha International winner) whenver the big swells arrived. They were both out in 10-15-foot surf by their late teens. "I used to stay with Rell at Makaha, and it was the time of my life, " Boyer recalls. "That's where I really learned to surf. My whole thing was catching the biggest wave, and I had one of my worst experiences there on a 15-foot day. I got caught inside, saw stars, and just barely made it. That kind of humbled me about big waves. But when it came time to prove myself at Sunset, that experience really helped."

"That was our upbringing," says Rell. "Back then, people really watched out for each other. Without leashes or anything, if you couldn't swim 15-foot surf, you couldn't surf it. You were one of the boys, and it was a wonderful world."

Rell and her good friend Jericho always seemed comfortable in menacing surf, whether it was Makaha, Sunset or Haleiwa. Oberg and Boyer, meanwhile, were two of the hottest surfers of all time. "In terms of understanding the ocean, that was the best group of women I've ever seen," Bernie Baker says. "You could tell they knew where they were sitting, *why* they were there, and what to do in big water. Everything was focused on Hawaii then, so they almost had to dive into the winter surf, and they shared a special little bond. With the women today, Hawaii is just a one-week period in their life, and then they're gone. "

In the opinion of surfer/journalist Sam George, "That was easily the prime of women's pro surfing. Aside from their great ability, Rell and Jericho were the most glamorous girls who have ever done the tour, by far. They were a talented, dynamite combination. I first met Rell in Australia for a Bells Beach contest in 1977, and she was doing a radio interview to stir up some interest. Rell goes, "We want all you Aussie surfers to come down here,
'cause we'll be rootin' for all the locals.' Well, she had no idea what "root' means down there (imagine a four-letter word). People went berserk, just turned out in droves. Two beautiful girls, rooting for the guys at Bells (laughter). But the thing about Rell, without even trying, she had sex appeal. She was ju st plain sexy. And she knows that's lacking on the
women's tour today." It was Margo who first called Rell "The Queen of Makaha." There was the hint of royalty in Sunn's appearance and demeanor, and she was incredibly popular -- almost in spite of herself. "She was the most perfect beach woman I ever met in my life," says longtime surf photographer Warren Bolster. "I had a huge crush on her. So many guys did. She had beauty, elegance, extreme coordinaton, and a very sophisticated surfing style. I can still see her on Wide World of Sports, running up the beach with a flower in her hair, doing the great commentary. She became the first woman lifeguard (to work the
beach) in Hawaii. She could paddle a canoe, dive as well as any guy, surf big waves ... I was always a little frustrated she didn't do more for her own benefit. I mean she didn't do *anything* to promote herself. You had to draw it out of her."

Friends said she had no ambition to destroy her opponents in the water, either emotionally or on the judges' cards. The contests were too much fun for Rell to cop a killer instinct. And yet, she twice finished third in the year-end world rankings. She ranks fifth all-time in most Top 8 appearances (7). "I can't even remember the years," she says. "Because it didn't matter to me.

"But," she points out cheerily, "nobody had more fun."

Her house is a marvelous slice of Hawaiiana, full of tikis, koa wood, paintings, surf photos and magazines, glass balls, historic surfboards, pieces of coral and rocks found on the beach. So where are all the old trophies?

"The junkiest things in this house are the boxes of trophies out in the garage, rusting away," says Parmenter. "Even the worst things out there are in better shape. Those Surfer Poll trophies that most people have as centerpieces in their house, they're just stuffed back there. Breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Use 'em for tail blocks or something (laughter)."

* * *

They said their goodbyes to Rell, privately, many years ago. Doctors had given her no chance to live -- zero, forget it -- and there seemed little reason to argue. Years of chemotherapy had left her bald, rail-thin, almost unrecognizable. She was on her way out.

Only Rell could have imagined herself surfing her way out of a coma.

Because she has absolutely no sense of time, she can't remember the year. Her loved ones are equally vague as they stash this episode in the distant past. A pretty good guess would be 1987 or '88, the time she went to the M.D. Anderson clinic in Texas for special chemotherapy treatment. What matters is that Rell Sunn, hitting rock bottom with breast cancer, slipped into unconsciousness.

While friends and family grieved, dealing with the crisis in their own way, Rell was surfing in her mind. "It saved my life," she says. "When I was in the coma, I was seeing a powder blue -- that's the vision I had -- and I was dreaming that I was trying to catch waves out at Waikiki. I was so frustrated, because I kept paddling and paddling, and I couldn't catch a
wave. It seemed like just a session, but actually Val (the oldest sister) had been with me in the intensive-care unit for a couple of days. Finally one swell bumped up, it caught me, I stood up, and I was surfing! And I woke up and said, "Val, did you see that, I finally caught a wave!' And she was just beside herself, you know, "Rell, we've been here for days, we thought you were gonna die.' But that kept me occupied while I was in a coma. I've always said surfing saved my life." She was first diagnosed in 1983, in California, during a stop on the pro tour. The reactions ranged from shock to abject disbelief.

"Everyone kept saying, it can't be you, Rell. You don't eat meat, you surf all day, you're the healthiest person we know. That's when you learn it can happen to anyone, and you'll go nuts trying to figure it out."

Sunn remembers sitting in the doctor's office, weeping alongside Rell, when the news came down. "There we were in the very beginning, " she recalls, "and we were already lost. Looking back, that was probably our lowest low. Because every time Rell had a really scary moment, she had some kind of amazing turnaround. And it's always been the urge to go surfing, to get back in the water, that pulled her through. If only everyone in her condition had something like that to live for."

There were times when Rell looked in the mirror and had her doubts. "I was bald three different times, and once for two years," she says. "And, I mean, you don't just look bald, you look ugly. You don't have eyebrows or eyelashes, so you look like you're from Mars or something. People know you look different, but they can't put their finger on why you're so extremely ugly."

Bolster, who had come to know Rell fairly well, remembers getting a call from her one night, not long after the diagnosis. "She called and just broke down on the phone," he said. "It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. She didn't want to burden anyone, but it just came out. That night I said the longest and most sincere prayers of my life for that person. But I could never have imagined how beautifully she came through it."

She had spent a lifetime helping people on the West Side: saving lives, getting kids into surfing, offering a spare room for the night, giving gifts when there was no particular occasion, making everyone feel special. Now, in a crisis, it all came back to her. People dedicated themselves to the cause -- benefits, fund-raisers, special visits. If unaware kids chided Rell or belittled her appearance, Rusty Keaulana and Duane DeSoto were "right there, like bulldogs," she says, "to protect me from getting my feelings hurt."

And there was that unforgettable day at Makaha, capturing one of the most touching moments in surfing history. Rell had been given a skull cap to wear for protection against the elements, and of course it looked positively horrible. One day she arrived to find the boys -- Pu'u, Brian Keaulana, all of the most respected watermen -- wearing skull caps to make her feel better. "That was so neat," Rell remembers, adding the inevitable touch of
humor: "Buff tried to do it, but he couldn't get it over his hair. He looked like a clown. "

Rell's appearance is nothing less than stunning today. She's still a knockout at 45, her flowing hair a gorgeous mix of black and sun-baked brown. She gives you the stone-cold truth: "I'm not treatable now, because they consider me terminal. There's nothing more they can do." But the living, breathing evidence suggests that a type of miracle has occurred.

"She's beaten it," says Parmenter. "Because everything from here on out is gravy, compared to where most people would have gone. Just watching her in the year we've been together, if that's any indication of how she's lived, she owes a debt to the Devil. I'd rather live with that over me than the way most white bread-Velveeta cheese-mayonnaise people live. I mean, how many people have a canoe in their front yard? How many people can bring up a fish they caught with a three-pronged spear? She's just amazing. There's no comparison. "

* * *

Nobody really talks about the tough side, but it's there. You can't be the first female lifeguard at Makaha without being tough. You can't raise a daughter by yourself, or free-dive 80 feet down with sharks hovering about. If you intend on making big statements in a man's world, you need more than *aloha* and a warm hug.

Jeff Divine, the noted photojournalist, knew all sides of Rell Sunn in the late '70s and early '80s, when the two were in love. He knew she was supremely giving, that she welcomed friends and strangers with the purest form of kindness. But he also knew that she held a black belt in judo, and that you didn't cross her. "Her limit is way, way out there," he says. "It took a lot to set her off. But actually, she could be a real bad-ass, and she got nothing but respect for it.

"She was surfing Lower Trestles one time when a bunch of guys started hassling her. She just got right up in their face, and I'm thinking, God, these guys have no idea. Rell could just ... whack! One blow, and your nose is broken. If it was really life-threatening, she'd rip your eyes out if she had to."

"The thing is," says Rell, "around Makaha, guys never thought of us girls as in the way. We're all connected to the soul part of surfing out here. But I go to California or Ala Moana and watch guys pick on women, and I can't believe it. They start terrorizing me and it's like, "Shut up, buddy, or I'm gonna kill you.' They look at me and they know I mean it."

Those were the rarest of occasions. More relevant, says Divine, was Rell's toughness in a crisis. "Lifeguarding is a really tough thing," he says. "You get situations where people get so panicky, you literally have to knock 'em out. Otherwise they'll take you right under, and you both drown. She's had so many rescues, she should get a citation. One day a group of Japanese people had a barbecue going at Pokai Bay, and one of their little babies was
drowning in the water. They had no idea. Rell was there in a second, rescued the baby, and they just freaked out. They were so embarrassed, they put the barbecue in the trunk, rounded up everyone and left.

"Most of the time lifeguarding, she was really sweet, giving out food to tourists and kids, making sure everything was OK with everybody. But if somebody got out of line, maybe some Waianae girl showing up with a pit bull and acting like a jerk, Rell would get right in their face and neutralize 'em. That would end it real quick."

Divine found Rell incredibly generous -- to a fault, sometimes.

"She's so loving; people are attracted to her like moths. Great people, sincere people, but also a lot of nuts. You'd see 'em coming at the beach, and I'd be, "Please, don't invite 'em over.' But oh no, here they come (laughter). Rell would lend someone her lawn mower, her surfboard, her car, her clothes, anything, without giving it a second thought."

But, once again, there was a limit. Divine remembers a guy named Jason who began stalking Rell: writing her letters, making lewd comments, promising he'd kill her one day so they could meet in heaven.

"This guy would talk like a dolphin," says Divine. "Really radical, disturbing stuff. Normally he'd just get worked (by the locals), but he'd bring sandwiches to everybody so they'd think he was a regular guy. But Rell was really getting upset, and the message got through. One day Jason came to Makaha and they broke both of his feet."

* * *

Rell Sunn's *menehune* contest enjoyed its 20th season this year. That's 20 years of fun and aloha spirit for the surfing kids of Hawaii, 20 years of enlightenment for skeptical parents. Sunny Garcia came out of Rell's program and credits her to this day. Johnny Boy Gomes was another -- "a puppy dog," as she describes him. Virtually every top Hawaiian-raised surfer had the pleasure of surfing Rell's contests at Makaha. But perhaps no story matches that of Keoni Watson.

When he was 10 years old, Keoni figured he was about the least cool kid on the West Side. He was a local, but with his white-blond hair, goofyfoot stance and a board that literally came out of a trash heap, he felt a little weak. "I was just a kook going left at Makaha," says Watson, now 22. "It was only a matter of time before I busted up my face on the reef."

As Keoni remembers it, "I always heard about Rell's contest, but I was really shy about it. I wasn't real big on surfing in front of people on a board that some guy found in a Dumpster. But Rell got on my case, and she wouldn't let up. She would come by every day and tell my mom, "We gotta get Keoni in the contest. It's the best event -- nobody loses, everybody wins, everyone gets a prize. it's a great day.'

"I tried to avoid it, but every day Rell would come to my house, pick me up, take me to the beach and teach me how to really surf backside. And if there was no surf, we'd talk about waves, go fishing, whatever. You can go to a beach where there's absolutely nothing going on, but if you're with Rell, all of a sudden there's something happening.

"I was still scared about the contest, but one day I come home and there's an unreal, beautiful thruster in the house. Used, but in really good shape. Rell had brought it by for me. Now I had no excuses. I had to go surf that contest. I can't remember if it was that year or the next, but I wound up winning the surfing and bodyboarding divisions. I walked down the beach with five dollars and came home looking like I'd robbed a store. I had a
brand-new surfboard, brand-new bodyboard, a pair of fins, two trophies and two bags full of wax, stickers, all kinds of stuff. And I knew right then. This is me. This is what I want to do."

As Watson began entering amateur contests, Rell made sure he had sponsors. She talked his mom into getting him a new surfboard. "And she taught me all kinds of things about strategy. She's the sweetest person, but you should hear the stuff she taught me to do in heats! I mean heavy, no-prisoners stuff. And it worked. I listened to everything she told me. It was always me, Ross Williams and Jason Magallenes in the top three around Hawaii when we were growing up. And even then, she still took care of me. Every night she'd have at least three things going on -- parties, dinners, speaking engagements -- and she'd always talk my mom into letting me go along. If I was late for something or didn't do my homework, she'd tell my mom, "Sarah, the waves were so good, the inside section was just going off,' and my mom couldn't even get a word in. She knew Rell was teaching me all the right things. I could have been down at the mall, smoking and drinking, but I was hanging out with Rell Sunn. It was an honor. Auntie Rell. The best."

When the word of Rell's cancer spread around the West Side, young Keoni sensed the vibe. "She kept telling me everything was fine, but I knew something was wrong. Finally one night we were at this party down the street from my house. I was hurting so bad inside, I couldn't stand not knowing any more. I guess she looked at me and knew it was time. So she said, "Why don't you go home, go to sleep, and later I'll come wake you up and we'll talk surf talk.' I went home and didn't sleep at all; I was just waiting there. Sure enough, she came over and told me what was going on. I just ... I cried for days. And of course, for Rell it was about *me* having a problem now. She was consoling *me.*"

It's safe to say that the nervous, blond-haired kid has gained a bit of confidence. He's already on the alternate list for the Eddie Aikau big-wave invitational. He's on Brian Keaulana's canoe team during the Buffalo Big Board contests. Last February, on a jagged, rainy afternoon with nobody around, he paddled out to Makaha alone and rode a 20-foot wave -- backside. This New Year's, just to say he rode the first waves of '95, he and a friend
went out to bodysurf Pipeline. At night. On the second reef. With no fins. Keoni Watson charges so hard now, they call him "Bags."

How could Rell have known? What could she possibly have seen in the kid back then? "He had that look," she says. "You could see it in his eyes."

* * *

The winter evenings are soft and quiet around Rell Sunn's neighborhood. You might find her playing the ukelele on the front porch -- or maybe that's Dave Parmenter strumming away. Dave has found a new life with Rell in Hawaii, well removed from his beloved central California, and he is a changed man.

To be sure, he surfs and shapes as well as ever. Longboard, shortboard, he'll make it, then he'll rip on it, whatever the conditions. But Parmenter never really liked Hawaii. He was one of the great North Shore cynics, and as a writer of uncommonly keen perception, he found the sultry climate an obstacle to productivity.

It all began to change in early '94, when Dave and Rell found themselves on the same surf trip to Christmas Island. They talked surf into the late hours, sharing the depth of each other's knowledge. She broke her board one day, borrowed Dave's. "And when she did a drop-knee cutback," says Sam George, who was also on the trip, "you could see it right then. Dave was gone."

Their passion went unspoken as Rell flew back to Hawaii. Then, one flat winter day, she was diving along the Makaha reef when she came upon an old, crusty surfboard fin. Curious, she scraped off the debris and saw these words:

*Shaped by Dave Parmenter*

It was out of their hands now. "That was like a bolt of lightning from heaven," Dave recalls. "I mean, I didn't have many boards in Hawaii, and none on the West Side as far as I knew. That was too much. I booked a flight over, and I've been here ever since."

She's got 10 years on him, and at first glance they appear to be worlds apart. And yet ... "We're so alike, we recognized it instantly," he says. "I've never come across anyone as passionate as I am about surfing and all the romantic elements about it. There's nobody else like Rell. There never has been. She's like a female Duke Kahanamoku. The differences in age, culture, where we lived, things like that are inconsequential when you
compare them to eternity. I mean, what comes if you don't try it?" Both are worldly veterans of the scene, yet both have a child's enthusiasm for surfing and its potential for lifelong rewards. Rell sees Dave's spirit, even his looks, in a classic Tom Blake photo on her living room wall. For Christmas, she gave him an old-time balsa board. Most guys would respond, "What's this piece of junk?" Dave was smitten. "Great board for its time," he said. "I don't think it's a stretch to believe it was shaped by Joe Quigg."

A successful but reluctant pro surfer throughout the '80s, Dave sees well past the North Shore contest scene now. He understands what it means to paddle out at Waikiki or Makaha and find Rabbit or Buffalo out there, styling on a longboard. He finds so many of the sport's legendary names -- Kelly, Downing, Froiseth -- alive and well. He sees little kids with more water knowledge than longtime surfers he knows back home. He sees people
judged on their merits as a person, not where they're from. "This was always the mecca of surfing," he says, "and that power is still reverberating here. There's so much to learn in Hawaii, from so many people. Living with Rell has made me realize that."

As for Rell, she had just about given up on relationships. "I had a breakup so devastating, I figured I could just die," she said.

"And all my women friends were reinforcing this thing about how bad men are. Then I met Dave, just a young curmudgeon, but with a wonderful innocence to him. He taught me to admire and respect the people I play with every day. He's given me a reason to really love living. He shapes so darn good, he's kind of gotten that stoke back for me. And he's inspired me to surf a lot better, give a few waves away. usually I'd go out there and try
to catch everything, not feel the slightest guilt. Now I watch Dave give every wave away, maybe just go left over the reef, and I found it's OK to do that, you know? It's easy."

Everything is easier now. Although Rell has sources of income -- radio surf reports, hosting various events, advising the Patagonia company on design and surf-related matters -- she pretty much calls her own shots. "It's funny that I learned it when I got older," she says.

"I'd apply for jobs and say, "I don't start work until after 9. The mornings are mine. And if there's a low tide, I might stay a little longer (laughs). I'll work 'til midnight for you, I'm real loyal, but I'm a surfer.' It's always nice to find other people who are tuned into that."

So many people give up surfing in their 30s, if not earlier, and they don't even know why. "Just didn't have the time," they might say. "I don't know ... it just got away from me." Maybe they should listen a little closer to Rell Sunn.

"Surfing frees everything up," she says. "It's just the best soul fix. Life should be stress-free, and that's what surfing is all about. It's something you do in your sleep, with your eyes closed; it's something you'll constantly embrace and be passionate about, and whatever it takes, you're gonna do it, because nothing else in the world can give you that kind of self-esteem."

Out at Makaha, they know. The great man, Buffalo, has watched Rell blossom from "a little China doll," as he called her, into a fully grown woman through surfing. "How is she? You can see her out there surfing. You can see she's all right," he said from the beach.

"Nice natural style. You see people with three fins, doing all these maneuvers, but she just does nice long bottom turn, graceful, walks up to the nose, does cheater five or hang ten. Really nice. Hawaiian."

Even the dogs know. Rell had 13 dogs at one point in her life, and they all surfed. The sole successor is Shane, hanging out on Rell's front lawn, waiting for the next session. "Dogs go out once, and from that point on, they know they're different," she says. "Shane surfs, he canoes, he rides on the front of my board. He comes back here, kind of crosses his leg on the porch, looks at the other dogs, and he's like, "Yeah ... riff-raff.' All animals are that way. From the time they get on that board, they know they're special. Brian (Keaulana) took a pig out there once. Pig acted differently from that day on. Went back to the farm and had an attitude."

* * *

She's a sly one, Rell Sunn. Her life today is a wonderful contradiction. Waste no time with sorrow, because you'll miss the incredibly wide-spreading fun of it all.

She says she doesn't surf big waves any more ("Kinda hard to do the sign of the cross and catch a wave at the same time"), but when the big *tsunami* watch came down last -- mer, she was out at Makaha, ready for anything. It was 6 feet, perfect, and on the rise, when they evacuated the beach. She was the last one left. They had to talk Rell out of the water by helicopter.

Time is just a myth to this woman. "I think she invented the phrase "Hawaiian time,'" jokes one of her closest friends, Jeannie Chesser. "She's always late, no matter what. Meet you at 1 o'clock? Hey, she might never show. She's one of those people who will be late for her own funeral ... Come to think of it, she *is* late for her own funeral (laughter)."

True enough, says Rell: "It's all one day to me. I never look back at dates. Don't need to, I guess. Move fast and the wrinkles won't show. " Exactly. With a fax machine, computer, VCR, answering machine and other modern conveniences in her home, Rell is not quite as behind as she may appear.

She seems to be in a form of retirement. Surfing gets top priority, every single day. But while she is beyond her own cancer treatment, she offers constant help to other women, to the point where hundreds of previously unaware Hawaiians get checked regularly for telling signs of cancer.

Maybe she can't hold her breath for two minutes any more, but she's probably good for one minute at an 80-foot depth, and she stacks all of the odds against her. "She wouldn't think of using a tank, or a spear gun," says Parmenter. "She's into the sport of it. She doesn't ambush a fish; she tracks it, gets it into a certain type of situation. She knows every hole in that reef, every mood, every nuance. If she's going to bring home dinner, she's going to do it fairly."

Perhaps she's not quite as active in the community, but how can you tell? If anyone asks, she'll come out for the full eradication of sharks, who have clearly multiplied in their near proximity to surfers and divers in recent years. She speaks on behalf of Hawaiian sovereignty and has long been a proponent (along with Jan, her daughter) of the traditional Hawaiian hula. When Ricky Grigg announced his public support of the controversial Obayashi project for North Shore development, Sunn unleashed an angry, detailed report in the local media. She is totally relaxed and a full-time surfer, yet she seems to be everywhere at all times.

"She changes her priority more rapidly than most, because every moment counts," says photographer Linny Morris Cunningham, who generously offered Rell Sunn lore she had researched with her husband, Mark. "Time is her currency, and each day represents a fortune to be gained or lost. Everyone wants her input, access to her energy or even to just talk to her for a moment. To clasp her hand or share her easy embrace is to experience the
closest thing to immortality that most of us will ever know."

And when she hits the water, Rell is pure magic. Pua Mokuau has followed her lead as a top female surfer, Makaha lifeguard and spiritual soul, "and I have so much aloha and love for Rell," she says. "But when we compete in longboard contests, the woman is hard to beat! Come on, man. Forget first place. She out-paddles all of us, even now. Girls get so discouraged, but I tell them, if you love surfing the way Rell does, maybe that's the only way you can beat her."

So please, no sympathy. Rell is well past it now, past the treatments, past the latest miracle cure. Tell her a good surf story now, or a salty joke. Or listen to her friend Jeannie Chesser for the real lowdown: "I was shattered at first, but now I just give her a hard time about everything. I mean, she surfs every damn day. Pisses me off (laughter). Poor Rell? Give me a break. Everybody's giving her love, staging all these fund-raisers, giving her money, and she gets to keep surfing. She can't call me for sympathy. She's the luckiest girl in the world, and I told her so."

Lucky is the woman who surfs her way to survival. Lucky are the ones who meet her. She is here with us now, and it is only the beginning, for Rell Sunn will be here always.

POSTCRIPT: Dave and Rell were married not long after this article was written. Keoni Watson is now on the cherished main list of 24 surfers for the Aikau contest. Pua Mokuau also died of breast cancer, early in '97, and Jeannie Chesser lost her son, Todd, to the 25-foot surf of Oahu's outer reefs. Dave plans to stay at Makaha, surfing and shaping out of Rell's house. Shane the dog is still around, but looks lonely. In the last week of her life, Rell invited all of her friends to the house for an unspoken goodbye. Most of them were unprepared for the shock of the occasion. The sight of her -- withered, drawn, unable to speak -- left all of them relieved when she passed on. Services were held Jan. 17, on the beach at Makaha.

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