It’s Not Always Easy

330 am seems an ungodly hour to call morning. It’s mostly night, in my opinion, but, with 4 hours sleep, I rouse myself from my still-warm bed and begin preparations for the adventure that lies ahead.

Pulling up to our meeting place, my friend hops out of his truck with his headlamp lighting the way. We load up and head out by 4am.

“Is it too early for Sabbath?” he asks we sleepy passengers.

“Never,” we reply.

45 minutes later we turn down an unmarked road and throw the truck into 4 wheel drive.

The sky is just starting to hint at the dawn to come as the line between the mountain ridge and the atmosphere makes its shift from pure black to steel-blue.

Dawn comes quickly here and not ten minutes later the sloping line of the mountain boasts fire above and black below.

It’s unforgiving terrain, this landscape dominated by razor sharp lava rock, but as the light spreads its red, pink, and orange hues, the jagged pillars stand stoic in silhouette.

With the growing light, I can see our surroundings better — black, desolate, empty, but not without life. It’s utterly beautiful.

It’s full light when we park at the black sand bay to walk the rest of the road to the break. You can drive it, if you’re willing to take your vehicle to fight club, but it’s almost easier to walk — so we do.

I hustle to keep up with my friends in front of me, walking the line of being left behind and knowing that one wrong step on this severe terrain will fish fillet my foot. But I focus and walk, unhurried and in time.

When we crest the final rise, the second bay comes into view and a perfectly clean peeling right invites us in.

Turns out you’ve got to walk about a hundred yards barefoot over a carpet of underwater lava to get to the shelf where it’s deep enough to jump in. The rocks have developed an algae that softens them somewhat, but it’s still a slow and unbalanced journey.

Arriving at what I think is the deep enough point I take a leap of faith and plunge into the water. Nothing hits, I’m free.

Behind me the sun has just escaped the mountain’s grasp, and as I paddle out, my friend catches a barrel on the first wave of the day.

Good tidings.

Three friends, dawning day, moonscape around us, not another soul in sight, and playful waves — it’s pretty much perfect.

Bobbing in the lineup between sets my friend says, “No one appreciates how hard you’ve got to work for surf in Kona.”

“True,” I say with a smile.

No one except the surfers of course, and for us, the challenge is part of the joy. It’s part of the journey. Getting there is as much of an adventure as riding the waves once we’ve arrived.

It’s the process of unfolding that makes it so damn fun.

It’s the beauty we witness along the way.

It’s the pre-dawn stillness and appreciation of a breaking day that humbles us and fills us with such gratitude we could burst with love.

It’s the journey and the destination and the journey again.

Whether it be surf adventure or business or life milestone, it’s easy to want to punch through to the end. It’s tempting to try to skip over the bumpy road, the skidplate scraping, the 330 am wake up.

But, when you’re so focused on the destination, the path to it is not nearly as enjoyable, and you miss the invaluable insights perfectly positioned as gifts along the way.

If the path gets a little rocky? So what. Keep going, make it an adventure, make it fun.

It’s in your power to do so. It’s in mine as well.

They say it’s all about the journey. It is.

They say it’s about enjoying the moment. It is.

It is all about the adventure, the joy, and the love. And it’s all about the choice to see it as such — or not.

You choose, you adventurer you.

This article originally appeared on ashleywelton.com.