WRITTEN BY
I have many versions of myself, but the two most constantly at war are the hustling, ambitious storytelling computer monster who loves getting projects off the ground and across the finish line—and the diving, surfing, snowboarding nature girl who needs adventure to feel alive and purposeful.
After a very busy season of cookbook writing, documentary making, and some really amazing storytelling opportunities—all of which I love and am grateful for—I was ready to huck my phone off a cliff and disappear.
So I was thrilled when Free Fly tapped photographers Perrin James, Mike Borchard (Borch), and me for a feral mission to field-test and shoot a few new pieces with one important caveat: the adventure mattered more than staging any shots.
Spread across different parts of Hawaii, we found a small weather window in the middle of a particularly windy, rainy winter and decided to dive a few of our favorite spots on Big Island.
It's a place I love, a place Perrin knows incredibly well, and a place that Borch had never really explored.
From a diving perspective, Big Island is incredibly unique. As the newest-formed island in the Hawaiian chain, it hasn't gone through the long erosion cycle that turns volcano into sandy beaches. Instead, the island drops quickly into deep water—making it an unbelievable place to encounter pelagic species like tuna, oceanic sharks, whales, and all kinds of blue-water life without going very far offshore.
So, like many of our Hawaii adventures begin, Borch and I met Perrin and his girlfriend Syd in a Costco parking lot, fueling up beside their Tacoma with a small inflatable boat hitched to the back, preparing for a few days of serious fun.
We headed to South Point, a place I'd wanted to dive for a long time because of that out-there feeling.
We were spoiled to have the boat. Shore dives there are epic, and trailering down and launching off-road is no small mission. Thank you, Perrin. You are a hero for handling that. Having the little boat gave us access to more coastline, more options, and more room for things to go mildly sideways.
After finally landing on our entry point (and a quick trailer flat-tire change), we finally got in the water and were off.
It was glassy and beautiful and deep and magical.
That moment when you finally settle into an adventure is one of the best feelings in the world. You forget about everything else. And because things can go wrong out there, and you're so remote, you have to be present.
One of my favorite feelings in life is being in nature with capable ocean people. It lets you stretch outside your comfort zone because you trust the people beside you—and Borch, Perrin, and Syd are that.
We spent the afternoon diving and seeing absolutely nothing. Syd manned the RIB. Perrin and I were spearfishing. Borch was shooting photos. We did a few drifts. Crickets every pass.
Our "quick" dive turned into the whole afternoon, and we knew we needed to set up camp and secure the boat for the night, so we started wrapping up. We headed back and unloaded the spearguns. I stayed in the water, winding up the flasher—basically an underwater lure used to attract fish.
After hours of nothing, with the boys already back in the boat and the flasher only a few feet from being packed away, I turned around underwater and saw a beautiful, very curious ono (wahoo) hovering right over my right shoulder.
I popped my head up and laughed. "There's an ono."
They thought I was joking.
Then Mike jumped in with my brand-new speargun, loaded up fast, and landed a beautiful 40-ish-pound fish.
I watched the whole thing with no camera, no gun, no proof. Just the memory of this stunning, fast, surprisingly aggressive fish materializing out of nowhere and giving us every chance to bring it home.
As a filmmaker, I'm always stoked when the camera guy lands the fish. Nice job, Borch.
Sure, there was a tiny competitive voice in me that wanted the glory. To be the girl that fed da boys. But that fades quickly when you genuinely love the people around you and everyone is moving toward the same goal: feed yourselves, have fun, explore.
By then it was getting late.
We had completely blown our shooting window and missed the good light because we were too busy actually enjoying ourselves and it was time to get in and make camp.
We hopped off the boat, swam to the cliffs, scrambled up the rocks, and came back to a proper feast that our friend Anissa, who lives nearby, had set up while we washed gear. She runs the Mala Kalu'ulu Coop and is a master with local 'ulu (breadfruit).
Less than a half day in, we were sitting around camp lights with a fish in the cooler, whiskey being passed around, 'ulu cinnamon buns in hand, happy as can be.
I need moments like that to reset everything else.
That night a rogue rainstorm rolled in. Perrin laughed, "It NEVER rains here!" as the wind came up hard. It was supposed to stay light, but conditions got rough enough that after a couple more dives in the morning, we called it. If the wind got any stronger, getting the boat out would become its own adventure.
No pictures will ever really do justice to how rough it was, but this video gets close.
Once we got the boat on the trailer, we spent the rest of the trip roaming different corners of the island. Checking surf. Trying to eke out shore dives. Taking whatever the day gave us.
And while I wish we'd had more time underwater at South Point, it was a really special trip.
Some trips give you content. Some give you yourself back. This one did a little bit of both.
Till the next feral mission,
Nicole
