We attach make the ski ready and head east. Quick cup of coffee for me at the Circle K and we're off again. The sun is still 15 minutes from coming up when we launch the ski. It becomes bitterly apparent that this is going to be a cold session. Barely warm enough for a 3 mL suit.....booties. Gotta have booties. Chad pilots around the point and picks me up. Philippe is close by deciding if he wants to surf or stand. He surfs. A quick ski ride with green sea turtles popping their heads up every now and then and we're there. Chad beaches the ski and we head for the rocks. We saw what awaited us. Off shore head high and long, not a soul but us out. Standing on the jetty we watch two sets come through before cautiously hopping down the rocks. Leash on and clear, we jump in, furiously paddling to make distance between ourselves and the jetty before the next set comes in. Chad is the first to go. A head high left that I was not in position for. He always has had a sweet take-off. So smooth. Mine is rough, fast.....jerky. He races down the line and cuts back quickly with a splash; classic Chad. Philippe is up next. Once again I'm in the wrong place. Philippe is a goofy foot so this wave suits him. His was bigger than Chads so I don't get to see him ride it.
The set passes and another bears down on us. A peak forms right where I am and I paddle for it. The cold spray from the offshore wind hits pelts my face. I hop to my feet and make the drop. I turn at the bottom, pump once and I'm down the line. My feet are warm, gotta have booties.
Miami, FL- I've waited for what seems like an eternity. Really only 20 minutes. I can't find a parking spot anywhere. It's late summer and Haulover hasn't seen a ridable wave in weeks, maybe months. This is why there are so many people here. Everyone is wave starved and no one has the idea to car pool. I'm no exception. In the back of my truck is my 5'10" fish, super thick and perfect for the mushy Miami waves. It used to be a good looking board. Back when I shaped it myself in Chad's garage. An endeavor I think has still not been fully cleaned up to this day. But two and a half year of being owned by me has take its toll on the poor board. I'm almost too embarrassed to walk to the beach with it. Once I paddle out on it. My body covers up most of the, now numerous, imperfections. A PARKING SPOT!!!
Quickly I pay the meter, apply sunscreen, hide my keys, and jog to the beach. This is South Florida and Haulover is a vacation spot. No one looks like they're from anywhere remotely where I'm from. All have money. I pass the beach butlers serving drinks and ensuring that every little matter is attended to. These guys are surprisingly amiable and always seem to have a sense of fellowship when they see another common man walk by. At this point I don't think I can any longer portray a pleasant experience.
There are 60 guys out, easy. A lot of people that surf Haulover are really good. I won't be getting waves if they're around. A lot of people that surf Haulover are really bad. I won't be getting waves if they're around. A lot of people that surf Haulover have enormous boards and sit out the back. I won't be getting waves from them if they're around. Stubbornly, I pick a spot and paddle out to it. This is a matter of taking your life into your own hands. I make it, no thanks to the guy on a SUP who lost control of his board and nearly cut mine in half. I try not to criticize waves, that's for people who are mad at surfing. You make the best of what you got (Note to self: Apply this to real life). Instead, the waves at Haulover usually aren't my favorite. I paddle for one that, for any respectable surfer would see, should be mine. At Haulaover, it's not, it's shared. Three people are in front of me, tow of them are late to drop in because they were turning on their GoPro. The other one wreaks of cologne. I was going to go left but that isn't happening. A quick twist of my ankles and the four fins catch the face and reverse direction. Maybe I should have gone right to begin with? Soon I would see why I didn't. Racing down the line toward me is one of those good surfers. He furiously pumping, gaining speed. Seeing that this guy was hell bent on taking this wave I concede, point my nose to the beach and begin to ride the whitewater in. A quick glance with to my right and the guy attempts an air, right at me. He doesn't come close to landing it. His board barely misses me. Did he do that on purpose? I gave him the wave. What's his deal? I stare at him. He mounts his board, no apology, no glance, and paddles quickly back out. I call it a day. That's Haulover.
Deerfield Beach, FL- I've been paddling for 25 minutes straight. A sign on the pier is screaming at me to STAY BACK 300 FEET! The sign gets louder as I get pushed closer. I have already ditched my board twice. Both times out of desperation. I knew I wasn't going to make the duck dive. Both times an overhead closeout reached its jaws open as if to swallow me. I dive as deep as I can. The full weight of the lip pierces the water and pushes me deeper. I feel the leash that attaches me to my life line become taut. I reach for it and scramble to the surface. I hadn't been down long but when you are exhausted and out of breath from paddling for so long, every second is painfully shortened. I had to get to the surface. I did. I made it, don't stress over it.
After the second wave I was able to get back on my board and paddle past the break. Here I spent another fifteen minutes paddling away from the glaring sign, and the pier that was attached to it. I finally found a spot and was greeted by only one other surfer. He was (if I may channel my inner surfer) epically stoked out of his mind, to be in the conditions that we were in. And conditions they were. The waves coming in were easily over head. the wind was onshore but that didn't matter. There was lots of face and really long rides. Just then a set begins to approach the sandbar. By this time, I am well beyond the length of the pier. My new friend who was very glad to see me out there with him paddles for a massive lefthander. At the very last second, he pulls back and the expression on his face says it all. HE wanted no part of that wave. My attention turns to off shore. There is a set coming in. Bigger than the others. My arms are shot but I need them now more than ever. I start to paddle out the first wave passes beneath me but the next is close to one of the biggest waves I've ever seen. It's going to be close. I might not make it over this one. My board pitches to 45 degrees, then 60, then 75 degrees. I'm clawing for the lip. The wave begins to break as my nose pierces the white water. I come down with a plop and a splash. I look behind to see my new friend's board tombstoning under the strain of the collapsed wave. His board relaxes and I see him pop up. 10 minutes of waiting. I paddled at a few but never really committed to any. Until this beast appeared at the just the right spot. It was already breaking down the line to my left and the right was shaping up beautifully.
I caught it right on the shoulder. This next part is very hard to describe to those who have never experienced it, but I am going to try. When I popped up, in the position I was in, I knew that this was going to be a great ride. When you are at the top of the wave and as the board begins to slide down the face, it make this sound that, even now gets my heart racing. There is a gentle lapping sound as the rail of the board breaks the surface of the water. The water that is displaced makes this light tapping, and the water that fills in from the wake caused by the tail makes this slight sucking sound. All of these put together is a assault on the senses in the most perfect of ways. The ride was so fun. Off the top, cut back, cut back again, off the top again. When you do it right and you turn off the top, a splash of water leaps off the back of your board. You see it only for a split second before your eyes turn back to the wave. The real satisfaction comes when you hear all that water returning to the wave. You think you are the coolest kid out there at that moment. Rushing down the line, your heart is pounding at the end. As the wave looses it's power, you fall on your board and paddle out, rushing to beat the waves that come behind it. I surfed for two hours, I only caught 10 waves but everyone restored in me what Haulover took away.
el Astillero, Nicaragua- Threes hours is how long I had been in Nicaragua when I hopped into the Land Cruiser with my 7'2" pintail. This wasn't my go to board it's a little big for what we were about to do. I usually reserve this board for hurricanes and small off shore days. But it was July, I hadn't surfed a decent wave in several weeks and I didn't want to embarrass myself on a shorter board that I was just getting used to. Not on the first day of my trip. Not in front of my guide, camp owners, and other campers. No, I wanted to make a good first impression and so I went with a board that I could easily handle. It was a short drive. This was my first time in Central America and I was fascinated. I was jittery and super excited, but I had to keep cool. I I didn't want to look like a kook. The land cruiser lumbered down the half paved, mostly pothole street. IT spent most of the time dodging these potholes which took us to both sides of the street, the path of least resistance I guess. We came to this small fishing village called el Atillero. There was a baseball/soccer/pasture to the right. You could clearly see the painted lines that marked the way towards first base. To get to first, you had to run slightly uphill. No slap hitters here. We pulled off the main road and drove another 75 meters of so to the beach. All along the road were kids, 5, 6 year olds with no clothes, holding their hands out shouting, "money, money, money." Likely the only word they know in English. What I remember most about this beach is that the sand was black. And the horses, there were horses everywhere. This beach was sheltered by a point to the south and this was the only safe harbor for boats for miles. The boats are really colorful, and they're that classic third world style; Single hull, no canopy, and one large outboard that his hand steered. The sun was setting and we didn't have much time so we paddled out to long period chest high waves. The swell would fill in the whole week and by the end I was surfing well beyond my skill that I had when I got there. As the session ended we were able to buy some fish and retreat back to the compound. I fell asleep in a hammock on the patio overlooking the Pacific ocean. The night was filled with flashes of lightning. I got to do it all over again the next day.
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| South Beach Surfers surfing Hurricane Sandy |
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| el Astillero, Nicaragua |
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