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Saturday, March 30, 2019

3.30.19 Macking and Mostly Empty La Bocana?

After finally coming to terms that it probably would continue to suck at San Blas/El Recodo , I decided to surf La Bocana, something I hadn't done in eight months.

As I locked the door to leave, I felt a pang.  It seemed to exhort to me to take a preemptive poop.  I diagnosed it as a juicy movement of the gaseous kind but in the back of my mind was some doubt.

After three spooky incidents all within a mile of my place and within an eighth-mile of one another, it was smooth sailing.  I got behind a pick-up truck with two dolls hanging under the bed, presumably as a warning against future doll transgressions and shadowed it.  This helped me avoid potholes and hazards.  There was an incident in 2003 when I was driving down shadowing a car and it hit a crossing dog.  The dog lifelessly careened down the road and under my car and I somehow managed to avoid further defiling its presumed corpse.

Once I got into La Libertad proper I began to receive warning signs from my intestines.  It got bad, but I was able to let off some pressure thanks to some very measured eructions.

Arriving at the hotel, I called Chuleta.  I didn't beat around the bush and asked for the nearest empty room's bathroom.  While offloading, I noticed my legs didn't have much room while sitting, I couldn't make my fist fit between my knees and the wall.  But the flush was strong with this one, and that is the only thing that truly splattered.

We'd made plans to surf but I figured he would bail.  He has become a bit husky and knew it would be big.  He was out of shape and not in the mood, as predicted, but had other cover in the form of no one being around to watch the place or his kids.  I harassed him by telling him his kids could come film but he said the three-year-old wasn't ready.

I parked, 'screened while chatting Chuleta up, then embarked on the long walk.  I saw Sunzalito and was pleased to see the sea's surface was smooth.  I turned the corner and La Bocana was doing its thing.  It was big, but not unmanageable, even for me on my 5'10".

I waded out in the low tide and paddled out pretty uneventfully.  I was surprised to be the only one out on a Saturday.  Sunzal was packed, it looked like a floating ant swarm out there.  I dodged bombs and got smacked around by a few, but nothing too bad.  Until...

...The Set came.  It surprised me as I was sitting pretty far out, WELL past the rock after which the stretch of beach is named.  I didn't get hit too hard, but I was pushed back enough to have no shot at cresting the bigger wave.  I spent the next fifteen minutes pretty much in place, paddling my ass off and duckdiving.  I got pushed to the east a bit, but still in position for some rights.

Two dudes had paddled out.  I saw one catch a wave and immediately kick out.  The current was disgusting and unforgiving.

Long story still too long, I paddled for one wave I might have been able to catch had I been ten feet more on the inside and that was the only look I got at a wave.  I was so whupped, not from any real beatdown (maybe a 6.5 on the beatdown scale at worst), but the absolute tenacious quantity.  I went in well east of the river, farther east than I ever have.  Ugly sharp boulders littered the gauntlet that awaited me.  The ones that weren't sharp were slippery.  I scraped my knee pretty bad and have small cuts all over my feet.  I even fell on my ass and thought I'd dinged the board but apparently it was a fin tap on the rocks.  My lower ribs met rock very softly but I thankfully wasn't cut.

The long walk was hampered by a thorn in my foot, cuts all over my lower extremities, and my tail between my legs.

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

3.24.19 When Will It End?

I elected not to surf on the 23rd.  The forecast/report seemed ok but Sunday was supposed to be better, with a stronger period.

I got there really early, before first light, thanks to having left the carport at 451.  I finished off my Chikys and coffee, 'screened, and walked optimistically to the point.  My pace slackened upon seeing the morning sickness on the water.  The wind was offshore but it had apparently been blowing onshore not too far off shore.

There wasn't anything at the point so I resigned myself to the beachbreak.

The beachbreak looked AWESOME!  Peaks up and down the beach.  I excitedly slapped on my leash and jumped into the water.

I must have caught the tail end of the vibing tide, because it almost immediately turned into mushburgers with almost zero push.  I would take off on waves and have a bitch of a time getting down the face.  The slight offshore wind further befuddled my attempts but not nearly as much as the lack of push.

A logger paddled out to my west and then another guy who looked familiar from afar joined him.  I paddled towards him and sure enough, it was Cuca.  I hadn't seen Cuca  in about fifteen years.  He is now managing the house next door to the one in which I caught surf fever as a grom.  That house rents for $500+ a night and he gets to keep 10%, which is great for down here.  We talked story for a while and he went in, unimpressed with the conditions, but not before regaling me with tales of how good it had been the previous afternoon.

I stayed out longer and longer, hoping for something as the tide began to drop but it sucked beyond repair.  When my eldest is out for spring break I will be surfing elsewhere...

Saturday, March 16, 2019

3.16.19 Point Toe-Dip, then Shipwreck, then back to Point on First Swell of the Year; Intro to BeatDown™ Scale

I left at 454 and got to my parking spot at 532, one of my fastest descents ever.  The biggest slowdown was right as I got into La Libertad (town) I spotted something while going about 30mph.  It was about five guys pushing a heavy cart.  Had I not been feverishly scanning the road in front of me it could have been bad!  There was nary a streetlight and these guys were wearing darkish clothing and the cart was an unhelpful woodgrain brown.  I waited behind them as they slowly progressed and then they thankfully turned off onto a sidestreet near the pier.

Given the swell reports I went straight to the point.  As I pass it on the way to the parking spot I was barely able to make out a big wave coming down the point, so the reports were confirmed.

I made it to the 'river' which was barely a trickle given the lack of rain upstream.  I put my leash on but with every step I grew less excited at the session that would lay before me.  I was up to midshin in water when I decided to try my luck and see what was happening at the beachbreak.  The waves were coming but they were sectioning so hard.  The paddle-out looked juicy too, with the biggest surf I'd seen in about six months.

So I turned and walked the ten or so minutes.  My first view of it was exactly what I'd feared.  The low tide was making anything that came turn inside out and slam shut.

The shipwreck was breaking ok so I decided to try my luck there.  I dodged a couple of angry bombs.  Within five minutes I caught a pretty good-sized wave.  The shipwreck looks like a big lazy wall from the sand but the water angle is a whole 'nother story.  If you want to catch them you can luck into one that is foaming over, gather your wits and balance after initial impact and drop down or try your luck at a steeper-than-you-thought drop.

Mine was of the latter variety.  I thought I was in a good spot for a not too hairy drop.  That's when the wind cackled in my face and blew up the face of the wave.  It did its best to hang me up on the lip but I was determined to make this, though I did utter an Oh Shit.  I stuck the drop with absolutely nothing as a reward other than a feeling of speed on mostly flat water.  I jumped off my board and paddled back out.

Upon perching I was awestruck at the speed at which I was being shuttled west.  I got swept into a rip and I caught it about as early as possible.  There was nothing breaking out the back, just a bunch of waves pouncing on the too-even sandbar.  So I cut off the head of what would eventually be an unbelievable drubbing and went in.

While I realized the sand at the point would cripple my chances at anything I had to try as I knew the beachbreak was crap given the bathymetry present there.

I did the walk along the rocks this time, fended off a sand flea after feeling its sting, then with renewed fervor, committed to paddling out.  There was so much sand but with such a low tide it came to an abrupt and sad ending.  I probably put my board down for stability too early and out of the corner of my eye I saw it almost clap a dry boulder.

When a big surge of whitewater hit I jumped up and made myself as hydrodynamic as possible (feet straight with a couple of mini-paddles from my free hand)  so as not to be dragged back.  I would then play the Recodo roulette where the post-surge force would push me back and I splayed my feet, hoping to catch a gentle crevasse to not cut me up and give me a decent foothold.

I wasn't very successful, but I did make it out pretty quickly all things considered.

The classic take-off spot wasn't worth perching, it was ground zero for section-offs so I paddled way wide where I would essentially be surfing this alien intruder of a sandbar.  Some did open up somewhat but with it being so shifty good luck guessing correctly!

After too many pullbacks on obvious no-makes I caught one and was immediately blinded by the glare of the sun bouncing off the wave.  I pumped half-blind, did a baby top turn and launched off the end section behind the wave into a sailor dive.

It took over an hour for me to catch my next wave.  In the interim the spot filled up and the wind switched from offshore to side onshore.  I saw a dude go for a nasty looking wave and get pitched headfirst, he told his buddy he hit only sand.

Every ten minutes or so a nasty set would come and clean up the guys sitting up the point, but I and another guy were sheltered thanks to the absence of the sandbar in deeper waters, with one bad exception. 

I hereby am proposing a Beatdown Scale™:

  1. Water off a duckdiver's back
  2. Anything in between 1 and 3
  3. Healthy hit noticeably delaying one's resurfacing
  4. Anything in between 3 and 5
  5. Shocking hit rocking the submerged off-balance
  6. Anything in between 5 and 7
  7. Immediate slam down and turned upside down
  8. Immediate slam down with some rotation and can't recover balance once breaching surface
  9. Immediate slam down and hit so hard submerged is stunned and involuntarily releases board
  10. Anything worse than 9

A big 'un came and I was a bit behind the epicenter, which meant I couldn't escape via the air pocket that shows up between the wave hitting the surface and the force penetrating to the depth at which one duckdives.

It was easily the hardest I've been hit in six months, definitely a solid 7 on the above scale.  I came up and had water up my nose from my adventures underwater, though I was able to maintain a grip on my board.

I'm sad to report that my streak of not having given up a wave due to another surfer on it was broken on this session...

Eventually, I was in a good spot for a smaller wave and did a turn on it after a couple of fun pumps.  Another dude caught the one behind it and I was slightly in his way.  We both went in WAY down the beach near Rotherham's property.

Saturday, March 2, 2019

3.2.19 Lazy Low Tide Bombie Reform Depth Charges

The road hadn't changed much from last week so it was a relative breeze making it down.  I parked the car at 5:55 and 'screened up.

The point had less than nothing to show me, and I trudged to the beachbreak.  Only one local was out watering the dirt (presumably to keep dust down as delivery trucks/buses access the community of San Blas).

One of the feline twins started audibly chortling when he saw me.  I said, "Is it that bad out there?".  He ignored my question and said, "It's like going back in time watching you walk up with your board".  He was referring to my several summer sojourns in my late teens/early twenties before a post-pizza delivery lifestyle swooped my carefree youth out from under me.

The waves were predictably crappy.  Every once in a while a sick reeling barreling section would fold over and if  the wave lined up flawlessly and one timed it perfectly he/she/it/xir could conceivably get covered up and doggy door out before being entombed in a no-way-out barrel.

The sunrise was amazing.  A massive fire-orange, somewhat squared-off marble rose just where the land met the water.  That was unquestionably the best part of my morning.

All of my waves were lefts and I didn't even bother trying to turn.

But first, let's get to an EddieSurfs first!  I had a dry hair paddle-out and when I caught my first wave, the thing detonated just inside of my tail.  I slowed down and almost stopped as I beached my board but not my fins, then stood there awkwardly.  The water came back up after bouncing and completely doused me and my dry hair was no longer even though my chest hadn't gotten wet.

It was bizarre but thankfully my board seemed fine.

I had one wave on which I had a line on a barrel but I didn't bother as the section in front was folding over for the next twenty yards.

I had a bunch of hairy drops but no reward for my efforts. 

The wind turned up and I went back, picking up pieces of sea glass on my way back.