The depth of the low tide was right at my check of the forecasts, 3:30 this morning. By the time I paddled out about 540, surely the tide would be swinging up to my advantage.
When I checked the point at first light, I saw that it seemed to be opening up more on the inside ones but not enough to make me want to paddle out there.
I had dreams of walking out to the beachbreak and seeing makeable slabs folding over on the lefts. And then I walked out and BOOM, saw one! Long story short, I saw one other one that I likely could've backdoored and made with a timely pump had I been fifty feet closer!
I got really amped, definitely the most amped I've been all year. I was screaming my approval to the surf gods.
But that was all there was to see. I diagnosed it as the tide still being too low as everything just seemed to reel away way too quickly. I was eventually swept down the beach and was caught in a rip. I saw only despair around me so I went in and walked to the point.
Once at the point, I saw three guys out, one whose silhouette looked familiar. It turns out it was the unmistakable local legend Don Roberto. He pioneered Punta Roca in the 1970s and liked it so much he bailed on life in the US to run his restaurant/tour business here.
I caught a wave within eight minutes of having perched. I was mindful of the priority situation, but the guy outside missed it and Roberto and his buddy had decided to paddle way inside about thirty seconds before this wave was visible. I got a pump on it and a cutback as well after which I kicked out.
Bob expressed his dismay at his fortune. He'd been waiting for a wave for a half-hour. I apologized for having been in position out of respect to the guy and he told me it was his fault for paddling out of positioning.
He didn't recognize me, but when I introduced myself as my mother's son (he was friends with her starting in the 70s when she ran away from home to live at the beach) he correctly guessed my name. He asked me how long it had been since I'd spoken to my dad which I thought was an odd question. He said he'd read about him in the news and I was as confused as I was curious. It turned out he thought my ex-stepfather was my dad.
Once that was cleared up he said the guy was a real prick and that one time my mom came down to visit at his restaurant and she'd been beaten. I told him I'd been on the receiving end of those myself.
Not sure why but the conversation stalled a bit after that.
I was in position for a macker. I was a bit late but not too bad. The wind held my board back a bit but I pushed through and down. As I'm starting my bottom turn, I inexplicably just flopped over onto my back. I half-expected to skip off the water given my speed but I didn't. It may have been a good thing as the section that folded over looked beastly from the back.
I had a race with another sectioning wave. I was flirting with disaster, pumping up and down near the top of the wave. I descended and the thing detonated just inside of my backside rail which spelled doom for my chances of making it around the section.
My last wave there was a smaller one. I managed a couple of ok top turns before compressing into a cutback.
We sat forever as the high tide swamped us out. I'd had thoughts of bailing to try the beachbreak again with the higher tide but I thought that the river go-in would've been sketchy if a set came. And if I paddled all the way to the sand it would eat up an easy fifteen minutes between the paddling and the walking.
I watched as the smoke trail from a local's burning trash heap go towards the ocean then flagellate in its indecision until it appeared to be taken over by the budding onshore.
Then I just snap-decided to go in at the river. I watched for sets and when a small one came I hung out and used the waves' backs to propel me over as many rocks as possible. The go-in was perfect, if you don't count my slow-motion slip and butt bonk on a rock!
I walked all the way back doing my best to inhale as little as possible of the trash fire and took a look at it with the extra water. It was burlier and my chances at an open face seemed unlikely. There were no amp screams on this attempt. I did get a pump in on one and an off-the-lip on another. A big set came and I took one in, not wanting to be caught outside as the swell reinforcers arrived and stranded me out there longer than I wanted.
When I checked the point at first light, I saw that it seemed to be opening up more on the inside ones but not enough to make me want to paddle out there.
I had dreams of walking out to the beachbreak and seeing makeable slabs folding over on the lefts. And then I walked out and BOOM, saw one! Long story short, I saw one other one that I likely could've backdoored and made with a timely pump had I been fifty feet closer!
I got really amped, definitely the most amped I've been all year. I was screaming my approval to the surf gods.
But that was all there was to see. I diagnosed it as the tide still being too low as everything just seemed to reel away way too quickly. I was eventually swept down the beach and was caught in a rip. I saw only despair around me so I went in and walked to the point.
Once at the point, I saw three guys out, one whose silhouette looked familiar. It turns out it was the unmistakable local legend Don Roberto. He pioneered Punta Roca in the 1970s and liked it so much he bailed on life in the US to run his restaurant/tour business here.
I caught a wave within eight minutes of having perched. I was mindful of the priority situation, but the guy outside missed it and Roberto and his buddy had decided to paddle way inside about thirty seconds before this wave was visible. I got a pump on it and a cutback as well after which I kicked out.
Bob expressed his dismay at his fortune. He'd been waiting for a wave for a half-hour. I apologized for having been in position out of respect to the guy and he told me it was his fault for paddling out of positioning.
He didn't recognize me, but when I introduced myself as my mother's son (he was friends with her starting in the 70s when she ran away from home to live at the beach) he correctly guessed my name. He asked me how long it had been since I'd spoken to my dad which I thought was an odd question. He said he'd read about him in the news and I was as confused as I was curious. It turned out he thought my ex-stepfather was my dad.
Once that was cleared up he said the guy was a real prick and that one time my mom came down to visit at his restaurant and she'd been beaten. I told him I'd been on the receiving end of those myself.
Not sure why but the conversation stalled a bit after that.
I was in position for a macker. I was a bit late but not too bad. The wind held my board back a bit but I pushed through and down. As I'm starting my bottom turn, I inexplicably just flopped over onto my back. I half-expected to skip off the water given my speed but I didn't. It may have been a good thing as the section that folded over looked beastly from the back.
I had a race with another sectioning wave. I was flirting with disaster, pumping up and down near the top of the wave. I descended and the thing detonated just inside of my backside rail which spelled doom for my chances of making it around the section.
My last wave there was a smaller one. I managed a couple of ok top turns before compressing into a cutback.
We sat forever as the high tide swamped us out. I'd had thoughts of bailing to try the beachbreak again with the higher tide but I thought that the river go-in would've been sketchy if a set came. And if I paddled all the way to the sand it would eat up an easy fifteen minutes between the paddling and the walking.
I watched as the smoke trail from a local's burning trash heap go towards the ocean then flagellate in its indecision until it appeared to be taken over by the budding onshore.
Then I just snap-decided to go in at the river. I watched for sets and when a small one came I hung out and used the waves' backs to propel me over as many rocks as possible. The go-in was perfect, if you don't count my slow-motion slip and butt bonk on a rock!
I walked all the way back doing my best to inhale as little as possible of the trash fire and took a look at it with the extra water. It was burlier and my chances at an open face seemed unlikely. There were no amp screams on this attempt. I did get a pump in on one and an off-the-lip on another. A big set came and I took one in, not wanting to be caught outside as the swell reinforcers arrived and stranded me out there longer than I wanted.
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