On and on they come, huge, much bigger than I am, winter waves on the north shore of the Hawaiian islands. Yes there are calm days, but mostly there are days when each wave climbs slowly, majestically to a peak and in slow motion starts to curl over and fall. You can see the green tube form below the bursting foam, slowly extend to the left and right, close as it meets a tube from the other side, and blow a fountain of foam high into the air as the last part of the tube collapses.
The area is sufficiently remote and dangerous that in six days there, I didn't see a single surfer.
Below the cliffs, you can see the swells break far from shore, then eventually hit the cliff with a thundering roar. This is how all those beautiful sea caves formed, over the years and the centuries. Even from 400 feet above, the waves look huge.
I slept far above this roar on two different nights, on my hike in and on my hike out. The first night I woke and watched the stars move slowly across the sky. I didn't bring a watch or a clock, so I estimated the time by counting constellations in the zodiac. I saw many shooting stars, and I listened to the waves.