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Monday, June 10, 2019

6.7.19 Chunky La Bocana with Charamusca

I last surfed with Charamusca, Pando, Chuleta, and Chamba's cousin,  in 1999.  He moved up to the gulf coast of FL to work and this was his first time back to El Salvador.  He just so happened to coincide with my still living here.

His kids, all three full-blooded Salvadoreans, had never visited.  His wife is Salvadorean but she was from the eastern part of the country aka went to another school, so they'd never seen where the other was from.

Daaaaaaaa Boyz




Charamusca was the receiving party of probably the best surf prank I've ever heard.  I don't remember why Chamba was pranking him, if he was the initial offender or avenger, but in the middle of the night before an agreed-upon Recodo sesh, he stripped Chara's board of wax and used soap to give a surf wax-like finish.

Chara was none the wiser and didn't notice the water's effect on the board's virgin soap coating until he had made it past the rocks and attempted to jump on the board to paddle out.  I believe it was Chamba's cackling that snapped him out of his stupefied confusion.  He sheepishly walked all the way back to the house.

We'd agreed upon this morning being our rendezvous.  He'd surfed his latest session at Cocoa Beach about six years ago.  He said in the nearly 20-year gap since he'd last been in the country, the biggest waves he'd surfed were maybe four feet during a hurricane.

I expected him to puss out.  I messaged him at 340 this morning that I was going to leave soon, and to my surprise he responded.  He even came out before I'd told him it was time to roll.  After dealing with less-than-timely people almost exclusively for the past year-and-a-half, I was shocked!

His brother, who lives here, came with us.  As we set out for the rocks Chara asked if I was really going to walk there barefoot.  I said that I liked my sandals and didn't want them to go "missing" while I was out thar.  He said his brother was going to be sitting there and I needn't worry about their whereabouts.

I was a little intimidated by the paddle-out preview.  The tide was nearly at its apex and I could hear the rocks being dragged about, clanking off other rocks.  I could almost feel my ankles being impacted.  When a shorebreak wave hit the rocks, I saw tiny little rocks being flung about.  Oof.

I led the charge in.  I pointed out a spent syringe laying on the rocks, needle absent; surely the result of someone fortifying themselves with B-12 and the wind snatching it out of their grip.

I caught a lot of waves and never got stuck inside, thankfully.  When La Bocana is overhead as it was today, it's always a concern.  Poor Chara had to do three paddle-outs, including once getting all the way out of the water in order to launch off correctly.

I saw no turns performed today, by anyone.

My first wave was really late.  I thought I was going to pearl.  It had so much power and I was on a 5'10".  I managed to make the drop and spent about three seconds almost-endoing before setting my back foot down.  A nasty close-out section came and I went.

The waves can be sometimes hard to catch, especially on high tide.  There was a storm blowing through, but no rain, so I was concerned about the possibility of offshore wind blowing me off the back, and onshore wind running the surface ragged with chop.  The latter was on top, though mellowly so for the time we were out there.




Sunday, June 2, 2019

6.2.19 Consistently Shifty Head-Plus La Bocana and Top Post-Surf Chill Tunes

I was waffling as to where I would surf.  I opted for La Bocana as El Recodo is practically dead to me.  I'll surf it if I go with someone, but I'm over that place.  The beachbreak is still not doing its thing and I wanted to catch some waves with form.

I pulled up to Chuleta's after an uneventful, just a semi-close call with a dog, drive down.

I opted for the back way into El Tunco figuring the road was still fugged from the big remodel they started nearly a month ago.  Sure enough, I took the correct route.

I took a shortcut in between a couple of hotels and saved about five minutes.  I was surprised when I saw the ocean as there was no one out.

A dude was on the rocks and beat me to the waves.  I paddled past him after a what's-up head nod because I'd spied some reeling cylinders.  This was the danger zone.  The rocks were somewhat shallow, but what I hadn't remembered until later this session was if you're caught there at the beginning of a set you are pretty much screwed if another set follows it.

It took me forever to catch a wave.  I caught a nice steep right that unfortunately sectioned off on me.  I was forced to take a slight beating as I kicked my board out and the wave enveloped me.

I waited about twenty minutes for my next chance.  It was another right but it didn't have much of a shoulder.  I popped up and sure enough, there was almost nothing there.  I laid into a roundhouse cutback but bailed out the back as it had no push.

Later, I went really late on another right.  I stomped the airdrop but must have been off-balance because when I tried to initiate the bottom turn I fell on me nutsack.  I surfaced with a stinging scrotal sac.

I would attempt to paddle west, towards the massive rigor-mortis-afflicted-pig-carcass-resembling rock formation (hence the name of the town, El Tunco, The Pig) when a wave would come.  It would thwart my efforts.  I felt as though I was stuck in a tractor beam.  I wasn't getting sucked out or sent east, I just couldn't escape its watery grip to the west.

I caught another good-sized right.  I couldn't make it around the massive detonating section and I kicked my board up.  The wave smashed me down so hard.  The inside of my eyelids darkened, letting me know I was going down.  I did my half-flaps with my arms, so as not to scrape on the sharp boulders out there and channeled my father-in-law when his catchphrase "Holy Fuckoli" popped into my head amidst the carnage all around me.

I then paddled for a wave and went in a ways on it.  A set detonated.  I spent, and this is not exaggeration, over a half-hour paddling.  When I wasn't paddling out, I was trying to make my way west.  After a couple of hours out there I was over it, and after this marathon paddle battle I was aching to get out of there.  Avid readers (😂) of this blog will remember my boondoggle of a go-in on the wrong side of the river.  I'd made a promise to myself that day that I would never going in in that rocky gauntlet at low tide.

But after all that paddling and my trapezoids screaming in protest (especially my still-sore right trap), I was tempted by the paddleless siren song that beckoned to me if I chose to go in directly behind me.  My face felt hot from the prolonged exertion.

It's a weird feeling having zero interest in doing something, but having little choice, as the fate awaiting one if he doesn't comply is likely so much worse.  It's a mental and physical burnout all in one.

I'd never seen anything like this before.  I would paddle forever and make almost no progress, but I wouldn't get sent any farther than the massive antenna landmark.

My plan was to catch a left.  Yes, my plan was to catch a left, something that had eluded me all session and ride that to relative safety where the rocks were more subdued.  This wasn't a bright plan, as the lefts were sectioning off, but my thinking was that I might make enough progress and be released from the rubber band's invisible grip on me.

Within five minutes, I made the fateful decision to paddle the wrong way to attempt to catch a left.  I thought I wasn't going to catch it and I was wrong.  I think I did one maneuver on the wave, not wanting to jeopardize its escort to friendlier waters.  The thing was very nice-sized, and connected even better than I had hoped to the inside.  I was getting butterflies thinking I was going to end up smacking into a boulder but they never surfaced!

I was elated.  Not so much because of the wave but because of the progress to go in.

But one glance shoreward revealed I still had a tough fifty meters to go before I knew I could avoid the nasty boulders.

Of course I was stuck in a deep spot.  A wave would come and help me oh so slightly, but I would get sucked back by the backwashing corpse of the wave.  A somewhat of a savior arrived and pushed me about a fifth of the way in and I decided to plant my feet down.  I felt immediate relief once my feet made contact with the slippery rocks.

I not so gingerly twinkle-toed my way in.  Once I was on a little oasis on sand, I stood there for twenty seconds, catching my breath.  My heart was beating in quintuple-time.  I was tired as can be but so amped to be walking away from the torture device that was La Bocana this morning.

Top Five Post-Surf Chill Tunes


7. This is a vid of some festival-goers in Europe.  I love this guy's voice but the last time I looked up his band's stuff I found it to be terrible.  His voice is the posterchild for smoking sometimes helping one's voice get that gritty gravelly texture that can sound really good.  I'm not sure he smokes, but it sure sounds like it!



6. Awesome sample-heavy instrumental, sick drum loop too!




5. One of the sickest basslines you'll ever hear.  This is a dub masterpiece.


4. One of the best-produced songs I've ever heard.  The effects sound amazing but they don't overdo it.  There's a nice healthy amount of muted guitar which I go gaga over.


3. I happened to find the above on reddit a couple of years ago.  I liked it A LOT from the get-go, but then I heard something completely new to me.  I won't spoil it for you but it starts at 4:22.  The outtro is frisson-inducing.  The way this guy hits those notes and nails the guitar parts, not to mention killing it on his board is awe-inspiring.


2. I didn't discover this video up until a couple of years ago.  This is from a live gig they did in Costa Rica.  They were supposedly down there so the lead singer could get clean.  It's a cover of a Bad Brains song with some amazing vocal vamping.  The power went out during the gig so they were using a generator for the instruments and the one light they had.  They were seeing a show in Alajuela and asked to borrow the band's instruments and this is what came out of them.


1. I think this the best produced song of the band's.  Great use of samples, especially the Ohio Players synth in the last half, as well as the MADNESS vocal sample.  There's a fair amount of scratching, but they didn't overdo it to the point of making it sound outdated.  I love how the song ends with the synth sample repeating into itself.