A BARNEY IN BAJA: DAY 2 SAT 08OCT2011 MOR

Last night I asked Jay if he wanted to paddle out at first light. “No,” he said. “It’s better to paddle out right after nine. This is a mid tide spot, the tide will be too high.” With that being said, I wake up a little after 0700. I hear the sound of food sizzling on the pan as I walk upstairs. Jay and Kevin are cooking breakfast. There’s a mountain of bacon on a plate and scrambled eggs cooking in two pans. The eggs are mixed with chopped vegetables; it looks professional.

Kevin and Jay on breakfast detail

“Orange juice?” Kevin asks, raising his own glass in offering to help myself. I thank him. The surf outside looks clean, but Jay’s right about the tide. It’s a bit too high still and breaking too late. We eat a good breakfast, all of us on the balcony scanning the water. It’s clear, there’s no wind, but the air’s a little cool. I have no doubt that this is a morning for my thicker wetsuit. After eating, we all go out to the top of the stairs. It’s a little after 0900 now, and there’s a small crowd of six surfers claiming one peak. It’s so hard to tell how big the waves are from our vantage point. We are far and sitting high on a cliff. We see their peak working, and best of all, we see guys getting slotted. These aren’t long, impeccable barrel rides, but some guys manage to pull in for partial cover up and make it out unscathed. Some other guys try and get clipped in the tube. Either way, the potential is obvious. Kevin goes on a surf recon mission further south, Jay and Jonathan suit up, but I opt to wait until the tide drops a little more. 

 Baja Time, Round 2:

Kevin returns from his surf recon mission and tells me that he discovered an empty, right-hand pointbreak. He asks if I wanna come along. I oblige. I cake on the facepaint, suit up, and head out the door. We walk past Paul who’s filming again. Once on the sand we see Jay and Jonathan. We think about signaling them to come along, but we can tell that they’re devoted to their spot. Kevin and I continue. He tells me he’s a pilot, he and Paul are roommates in Hermosa, and that he surfs all the local places that I do as well. We reach the pointbreak, and it’s really rocky. There are jagged rocks sticking out everywhere. At the point we reach a path which drops off sharply into the ocean. “We can’t jump down there,” says Kevin. We back up and scale the rocks to get down to the water. There’s one guy sitting at the top of the point. “What’s he waving at?” says Kevin. I look up, and the guy is flailing his arms. Instinctively, I assume that he’s telling us to go somewhere else, or he’s warning us not to enter there. I wave back but receive no reply. Kevin goes in first. I see him paddle and then walk because he’s still in shallow water. It takes a while for him to get out. I hear someone yelling behind me. I turn around, and it’s an older woman on the balcony; she’s yelling at the guy in the lineup. Mystery solved. 

When it’s my turn, I get hindered by the rocks. Memories of duckdiving my board into the reef in Bali crosses my mind. I need to be extra careful, for I only have one board with me, and the last thing I want is an accident during my first morning on this trip. Once I’m past the rocks, I’m in the impact zone, but the white wash isn’t “roaring” or too difficult. I’m a little uneasy at our spot. I don’t know if there are any gnarly boulders that we can’t see under us, and the big rock formations forming the point are close by. We watch the old guy by the point. He’s farther out there, and some bomb sets approach him. It just seems so sketchy. One wrong move and he’ll get bashed into the point. He’s scratching out a lot. Some of the sets swing wide. Kevin and I scratch out on our first set. It’s reminiscent of Trestles but just a little more slopey and harder to get into; we have to catch them a little late. Another set comes, and this time I’m in good position. It’s a decent sized wave. I don’t want to exaggerate, but I’ll call it at just under six feet. Once again, since it’s not a “round wave” and is more gradual, it’s an “easy” five feet, plus. I get a lot of speed on the drop, bottom turn, and top turn just under the lip. I can’t hit the actual lip because the wave is too mooshy. It’s still a fun ride. I practice my backhand cut back, redirect, and stay in the pocket. Unfortunately, it’s one of those waves that are almost too soft, where the only chance for a turn is if you stay right where the wave is crumbling. The high tide may be an issue too.

Kevin’s happy for the wave I got. On the next set he catches his first wave. From behind I see him maneuvering back and forth along the face; he’s getting some turns down. A Mexican surfer paddles out to join us. I say good morning, and he returns a greeting to confirm the good energy. So it’s just us three with the older guy at the point. The old dude gets a couple rides at the top of the wave all the way to the inside. I cheer him on every time he rides by. If his house is right there by the rocks, then he truly has local priority. After the old guy goes in, another Mexican dude shows up. I take my chances and paddle to the top of the wave. Seeing the rocks that close is a little nerve-wracking. I sit in the wrong place, and a bomb set breaks on the outside. After duckdiving it, I’m able to make the next wave. It’s one thing to catch big waves at a familiar spot. However, this point break is all brand new, and I have this wave all to myself. In a way, I realize that a crowd brings some comfort, and being all alone on this point is a little eerie. I paddle into a steep drop. When I regain myself, I see that the wave is lining up to be a long ride. I see Kevin in front of me going over the wave; he’s hooting for me as I do my first top turn. On my second one, I do it by the Mexican guy. On the way back out, the Mexican dude says, “Nice wave.” I thank him.

I paddle up to Kevin and say, “It’s funny how good, uncrowded surf is talked about like it’s some kind of myth. Yet, here we are. We have this point to ourselves with only a couple guys out. It is possible!”

There’s a problem with catching waves at the point. At the end of the ride, it leaves you in the impact zone. On my last wave at the point, it takes me forever to paddle back. My right shoulder muscle feels worn out and is getting weaker. I paddle up to Kevin and tell him that I’m gonna join the other guys. I can either wade through those sketchy rocks to get back to the path, or I can paddle around the point to the other break. I choose to paddle around. Set waves lift me as they roll by and crash against the massive rock forming the point. It actually gets slabby when it breaks close to it. It’s a long ass paddle, but I finally clear the area. I see three dots and assume that Jay and Jonathan are two of them. By the time I make it up to Jonathan, my right shoulder is worn out. He tells me that the waves there are pitchy, fast, and they’ve watched guys get clean barrels. It’s hard to imagine because it’s a lull at the moment, but that soon changes. A wave catches us by surprise. It’s already breaking on the outside, but I’m by the shoulder that’s beginning to stand. I catch it as the lip’s about to throw. Everything seems textbook, but I’m not prepared for how vertical the face is; it’s really steep. The surprise predicament throws me off balance. I’m leaning backwards, struggle to stay on the board, and I back-plant. I emerge with a look on my face that says, “Holy shit, what was that?!” Clearly, these waves here are not like the waves at the point. At the moment before falling, I was near the base of the wave and saw the face standing. I blew a potential barrel. I do my best to respect the sea and prepare for the next one. Unfortunately, the lulls are long. Now Paul joins us in the lineup. That’s the issue with this break. Big waves roll through only to break late. On the next rideable set, Jay paddles for the first wave.

“You got it?” he asks.

“Yup.”

            He could’ve taken it, but he offers it up. Thank you, Jay. It’s another steep drop, but I don’t feel the wave going hollow. I feel water from the lip hitting my deck, but I negotiate out of the section to the face. Finally, I can practice some turns. I’m pumping with a lot of speed and initiate my cutback off the top. It feels graceful, but it probably looks sloppy. Either way, my feet are positioned to set my outer rail for the motion, my arms are outstretched, cheeks puffed, and it’s one of the very few times that I feel like I pulled it off. I keep pumping, and then I pull off one more. At the end of the wave there’s a little ramp before it closes out. I’ve watched enough surf porn to know when the pros attempt their airs, and this section is asking for it. Instead I just do a body air flop without my board. Come on . . . you know I ain’t ready for airs. . . . Paul, Kev, and Jonathan acknowledge my ride. I’m feeling pretty stoked. The next set is a goddam monster. None of us are in position for it, but a lined up, long, six foot wave pops up and starts peeling. It’s a little sloppy, so it’s not perfectly hollow, but the face is so vertical while still holding shape. That would’ve been the wave of the trip right there. Today this break isn’t perfect, but again . . . potential. 

            My last wave is a left. It’s like my first one at this break, but this time I don’t fall, and I’m able to get to the open face. I see the wave standing up, but there’s a problem. The wave is connecting with another section that’s closing out. I should kick out or go straight, but I say fuck it, fade out, and pull in. It’s a milestone for me. On this foul day of our Lord, October 8^th, 2011, I’m standing up in the barrel. There’s only a slight hunch in my shoulders. There’s a marble pattern in the water. The wave is blue and white wash mixed with beige sand, but as soon as it happens, it ends. I see the sections connecting. The mean wipeout is inevitable, but I remain standing until the very end when my outer rail gets clipped, and I fall awkwardly backwards. I resurface not really realizing all that’s happened. I try to paddle out, but the next waves in the set are ferocious. I see Jonathan, Paul, and Jay on the sand, so I turn around. We wait for Kevin and walk back up. We talk about this morning’s war stories. Jonathan has blood on his feet and so does Kevin. Walking up the stairs I recollect my last wave. I do not by any means count it as a barrel, but for the first time my awareness was heightened to slow down time inside of it. I’ll never forget it, everything: my stance, seeing the building wall to my left, the closing section approaching, and the will to ride it out despite the dirty lickins. If that’s how a counterfeit barrel feels, I can only imagine what the real thing must be like. 

Taco Time:

Paul on the right

            For lunch, we head to the seafood taco stand by K38. It’s windy as hell on the highway. A giant statue of Jesus Christ looks over us, and we meet Robert the cook who’s ready to grill. We feast . . . fucking feast. I eat one fried fish taco, one fried shrimp taco, two grilled shrimp tacos, and three octopus tacos. Yes . . . octopus tacos. Friggin’ delicious. Seven seafood tacos and a soda cost me $13. 

            Back at the base, I take a short nap, then . . . it’s seafood dinner time again! We head to Puerto Nuevo looking for the elusive “fast pass” to cross over the boarder in the “fast pass” lane come Monday. Unfortunately, none of the restaurants have them anymore. 

            Now . . . I don’t want to say any names, but one guy in the group gets pretty damn drunk. We keep going from restaurant to restaurant asking for the “fast pass.” We give up and decide on one by the sea. Everyone else orders lobsters, but I opt for the shrimp dinner instead. Drunkee is a little loud. I’m uncomfortable, but I hide it. The homemade tortillas and beans are the highlight of the meal. Drunkee has been very rude and aggressive with the waiter. He’s been negotiating hard for the margaritas. By the time the bill comes, he’s making sure the waiter goes over each item step by step. I can sense the frustration in the waiter’s voice. When it’s time to pitch in, there’s some disagreement about how much everyone is paying. A couple “fuck yous” fly across the table. I’m sure we’re looking like some classy Americans at this point. These are situations that I try to avoid at all costs. After being involved with the military, I’ve gone through a lot of cultural briefings or the “don’t be an American asshole” briefings. Even when I was stationed in Germany, they put us in a two week “head start” program to make sure we knew the basics of the culture. Well, this moment in this Mexican restaurant is getting pretty ugly. Another one of our guys demands clarification over the bill. Drunkee’s counting the money. Everyone else is demanding it from him. As he slaps their hands away, he knocks his drink over and spills margarita all over the table. The poor waiter has to spring into action to clean up after us. Classy. Finally, we’re out of there. We stop at little shop that’s about to close for souvenirs, and drunkee slaps one of our guys dead in the face. A slap is returned. Hmmmmm . . . really close friends perhaps?

Lobster Village AKA Puerto Nuevo

            Now we’re back at the house. I’m with different people with a different energy. I just want to score good waves. That’s all I want.