The Making of a Tsunami Ranger

"We all have one thing in common-- we don't want to die."
--Commander Eric Soares, Tsunami Rangers

There are great moments in life that one never forgets. Like the time I was sitting in my kayak just outside the breaking surf and a wave of epic proportions steamrolled underneath me. I looked shoreward to see how Commander Eric Soares, right in the midst of the smash zone, was going to deal with this man-eater. The wave crested and Soares and his kayak vanished behind it. An eternity later, he burst over the top. For a breathtaking moment, he and his 18-foot X-1 Rocket Boat hung motionless in the sky before going into free fall.

Then there was the time Captain Jim Kakuk deliberately surfed his kayak straight into Sniveler's Slit, a gigantic cleft worn deeply into granite on the Northern California coast. No sensible paddler had ever gone there before, nor probably ever will again. Kakuk paid for the privilege by very nearly dying when he was caught by a rouge wave and thrown head first into a jagged stone wall. Fortunately, he was wearing full body armor at the time, and his face shield saved his face from serious rearrangement.

Outrageous exploits like these, sometimes performed for the benefit of television audiences (National Geographic Explorer, ESPN and MTV Sports, to name a few) have caused the Tsunami Rangers to become a living legend among sea kayakers around the world. They are an individualistic, unashamedly elitist tribe of modern-day wave warriors who have banded together out of a mutual love of the sea, a shared passion for adventure, and a high tolerance, bordering on contempt, for danger. They decline admitting to any political, para-military or religious allegiances. However, each of its current 12 members has rank, roughly based on the US Naval system. And they never enter the sea without observing a moment of ritualistic, yet earnest prayer.

When stories about the Tsunami Rangers started circulating along the California coast about a decade ago (the group was first formed on Jan. 1, 1985), it stirred something deep and primal within me. One day while my new bride Nani and I were walking by the sea, I recall exclaiming, "The Tsunami Rangers! They sound like some of my old comic books heroes. I hope to meet these wild men someday." I thought I detected a flicker of dread flash across my wife's face. Perhaps it was that look women have worn since time immemorial, as they stood vigil near a stormy sea, awaiting the safe return of their seafaring men folk. My gaze followed hers, out across the sea to where big swells were breaking like white fangs across a distant reef. Neither of us suspected then that the time would come when I would be making my own bid to become a Tsunami Ranger.

From the first day I drew a kayak paddle through the sea, I felt a connection with something ancient and powerful. Ocean kayaking was a way to escape, at least temporarily, the confines of an increasingly crowded and regulated society, a path back to life as it must have been long ago. With a few crazed friends, I began to explore this exciting and mysterious world beyond the shore. Inexperienced and sadly lacking in skill, but fortified with a bravado born of innocence, we found special joy in being pounded around by the surf. Even when we got trashed and thrown back unceremoniously onto the beach, we returned undaunted. Soon we began venturing farther away from terra firma. Out in the open sea, there were no roadsigns, traffic cops, or limits to where we could go, except our own strength and courage. All traces of our passing vanished behind us. The wind and the tides, the currents and the thundering surf were all just as powerful as they had been before man set foot upon this earth. We began to have thrilling encounters with the creatures that lived beyond the shore. Far out at sea, great flocks of migratory birds would fill the sky around us and then vanish as suddenly as they had come. We shared the breaking waves with sleek sea lions, imitating but never equaling their grace and power. Majestic gray whales burst unexpectedly to the surface, sometimes only a paddle length away. These were inspiring and mystical experiences.

In the autumn of 1987 Lady Destiny made her move. One day, Eric Soares, co-founder and commander of the Tsunami Rangers, landed his X-1 Rocket Boat on the beach in front of my home. Meeting the infamous Rangers signified a quantum leap for me, into the heady world of extreme condition sea kayaking. Here was a band of true wave warriors who shared my passion for adventure in the sea, but who challenged me to go to places and out in conditions I had never dared before. They introduced structure and order, even ritual to what until then had been merely an instinctual response to the call of the sea. The Rangers had developed hand signals to communicate with each other at a distance or in stormy conditions and other special safety procedures in response to the perilous circumstances they often found themselves in. It was all such wonderful, nostalgic stuff, smacking of Captain Marvel and Huck Finn, with a dash of Superman thrown in for good measure.

At last, the day arrived when I was to undergo my initiation test for formal acceptance. I had prepared for months by running on the beach, pumping iron, meditating and at every opportunity, going to the sea for its lessons. Skirted into my kayak, I disciplined myself to breath deeply in those last, heart-stopping moments before a big wave came crashing down upon me. I learned to relax and conserve energy when my boat tumbled end-over-end in the surf, and honed my Eskimo roll until it became a split-second, reflexive movement. By Tsunami test day, I was as ready as I would ever be.

At the appointed hour, I arrived at the door of Eric Soares' beach house. Already there were Captain Jim Kakuk, senior officer of the Rangers, Soares' friend Lisa, and Michael Jeneid, a British photojournalist and former Commando in the Royal Marines who was doing a story on the Rangers. Captain Kakuk lost no time in leading our little party on a vigorous climb, up a steep bluff to a promontory hanging high above the beach. A glorious panorama of windswept sea and sky spread before us. Even from this height, the sea looked wild that April morning.

The Tsunami officers began firing questions at me in rapid succession: "What had I done to prepare myself? Describe conditions on the reefs below. What's the tide doing? Are strong currents or rip tides present? Estimate the wind speed and direction, wave and swell size." I answered as best I could. At another signal from Kakuk, the questioning ceased. At a dead run he and Soares were off, with me racing behind. We reached the top of a hill where the cliffs dropped a hundred vertical feet to the sea below. Kakuk gestured towards a row of ancient cypress trees, hanging precariously out over the eroding cliffs. "Climb!" he ordered. I struggled upward, trying to ignore all the open space between me and the crashing breakers far below. The gnarled old trees creaked and swayed in the wind. I climbed until only slender branches and green foliage remained around me.

Back on the beach, we pulled on our wet suits and Commander Soares led us in the ritual of prayer and acknowledgment that precedes every Tsunami mission. Then he invited me to accompany him in swimming out through the pounding surf breaking over the reefs. Intermittent northwesterly winds for the past few weeks had caused the water temperature to plummet, and I instantly felt the numbing cold. Making progress through the rough water wearing paddling gear was challenging, yet I knew this was considered an essential survival skill by the Rangers. The words of a pioneer storm surf paddler, the late Steve Sinclair, came to mind: "Kayaking's not an on-the-water sport... it's an in-the-water sport!"

Out through a caldron of slippery rock and crashing waves we clambered and swam against powerful currents. I was grateful for the protection of my wetsuit and helmet whenever the big breakers sent us tumbling and sliding back over the jagged reef. At last we reached deep water beyond the breaking surf, where Captain Jim waited with two extra wash-deck kayaks in tow. Eric and I mounted our crafts and we all threaded our way back to the beach. I was secretly relieved that this grueling part of the test was behind me.

In a few minutes our energy had returned. Now the true measure of my kayaking skills was about to begin. Kakuk and Soares would use their specially designed Tsunami X-1 Rocket Boats. For the intense rock garden paddling ahead, I chose a Perception Sabre, a low volume, skirted kayak that was easy to roll and maneuver in tight quarters. We battled our way back over the foaming reef, the seas building in size and power. The greater hull speed of my mentors' long, sleek boats gave them an advantage in punching through the oncoming surf. I worked hard to keep up in my tiny whitewater kayak. Just as we reached the exposed, outer fringes of the reef, the first of a colossal set of storm swells arrived. All around us, thousands of tons of cascading water violently encountered the solid rock of the reef. Following the initial shock, rebounding waves continued to come from all directions at once. Glistening rock, capable of tearing a kayak to shreds, burst to the surface where blue water had been seconds before. Like wild ponies driven panic-stricken before a storm, our kayaks surged first one direction and then another. I saw Kakuk's boat become totally airborne when two big waves collided beneath him.

At the height of the pandemonium, Kakuk suddenly went limp, feigning unconsciousness. He fell from his boat into the frothing sea, and it was up to me to rescue him. I slung his inert form across the deck of my boat and struggled shoreward. Returning to the melee, I narrowly avoided a collision when Soares' unmanned boat came charging in through the surf zone. Where was Soares? I found him floating a few yards further out, also in "need" of assistance.

My rescue skills demonstrated at last, we turned north on an exploratory mission, a favorite Tsunami pastime. I lead the others along the rugged, exposed coast, through a labyrinth of sea stacks, blowholes, exposed reefs and sea caves. The ceaseless roar of the surf made hand signals essential for communication. We continued to play the sea's deadly, fascinating game, until the sun had fallen low in the western sky. Returning to the open sea, we sped swiftly homeward. Catching a great wave together, we came hurtling over the reef a final time.

Later that evening, we gathered with friends at a cafe near the sea. Impassioned toasts were offered to Neptune and Odin, amid much laughter and back slapping. Then Captain Kakuk signaled for order. He and Commander Soares proceeded to deliver a detailed evaluation of my performance that day in the sea. I was amazed at the thoroughness of their observations in the midst of the chaotic conditions. Obviously, they took the initiation of a new Ranger very seriously.

To my relief, I learned that for the most part, Soares and Kakuk felt I had done well. All those months of preparation had paid off. Their major criticism was that in some instances I had been a bit too reckless for my own good. Everyone laughed when I replied, "With all due respect gentlemen, that sounds ironic coming from Tsunami Rangers, with your reputation as wild men on the lunatic fringe of the kayaking world!" Finally, Commander Soares announced that I had passed my test, and was hereby accepted as one of 12 members of the Tsunami Rangers, with an entry rank of lieutenant commander. Captain Kakuk presented me with an official Tsunami hat of camouflaged canvas, complete with the gold oak leaf that signified my new status. More toasts and warm handshaking. Even our normally reserved British journalist seemed deeply moved. For me, who had not even made Tenderfoot during my brief Boy Scout career, this was one of life's pinnacle moments. And I remember feeling very grateful to the Creative Force that dreamed up the sea, the waves, the sky...and the Tsunami Rangers.

--Michael Powers, now a commander in the Tsunami Rangers, lives by the sea in Northern California. He is a filmmaker and photojournalist, specializing in eco-expeditions around the world. The Rangers are currently planning to cross the Bering Strait by kayak in support of the proposed Beringian Heritage International Park. Powers and Eric Soares are currently working on a book about extreme sea kayaking, to be published next year by Ragged Mountain Press.