I hadn't surfed all day. The waves were there, but I may have been feeling a bit surfed out. I paddled out at La Bocana after I saw a guy who is most likely a first-round loser from the 'QS Copa Quiksilver tear apart a left.
There was a storm brewing to the north, on the mountain side, and I hoped for a repeat of LATE Tuesday's conditions
I paddled out and noticed the guys who were out were buddies and they were speaking weird furrin' Spanish, most likely a Costa Rican dialect.
My fears were realized slowly when I had major problems catching waves. The ones I was in position for had no shoulder, just a drop. The ones I wasn't in position for, either cleaned me up or I JUST missed. There were also quite a few middlers that someone was already on.
They were not doing the Pipe Wolfpak thing, at least not that I could tell, but there was someone on every decent wave.
Eventually, after forty-five minutes of taking outside mackers on the head, I got a look at a good one. It was the second wave in a set, a bit smaller than the first, and as a result, was oh so frothy. I paddled, dropped in, pausing slightly in my head to admire the bowliness of the wave and the steep drop that allows the rider. I hooked up from the bottom, hoping to lay into a roundhouse cutty. As I began my first pump, I realized I'd put too much weight on my front foot and flamingo'd. I lost my balance, endo'd over the nose of my board, and had the pleasure of falling about four or five feet into the flats onto my back. My neck and head cruelly snapped back upon impact. Ouch.
I paddled back out for a chance of redemption. I lasted another half hour before I decided to pack it in.
I caught an inside left and rode it in, Mac-style, to the too-shallow area. Luckily, I didn't hit a rock mine and didn't suffer a surf-killing ding.