"If the best surfer in the water is the one having the most fun, Eddie P would be a promising amateur who eventually burns out and is forced to perform 'favors' for surf wax" -Anonymous
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Well, today I got on the road early and after some fun subdeveloped nation roadwork-riddled road driving, I got there before the sun had risen. The sunrise was a disappointment, as heavy clouds enshrouded the orb during the infancy of its triumph over the horizon.
I was told by magicseaweed to expect 3-4' surf. They were off by a foot, so only about 30%! I thought I'd seen a nice one peel down the pointbreak so I veered left. My feet hit the river and I waited. And waited. And waited for something to show. It looked FLAT out there the vast majority of the time. Every couple of minutes a too-small wave would break. About every eight or so minutes a meaty one would break. I thought about turning to the beachbreak but was saved from that, albeit temporarily, by a meaty one's arrival.
I made my way out to another empty lineup. I sat for a bit, then paddled as the peaks shifted either away from me or resulted in no-go closeouts. I swear I thought I heard them cackling with every initial crackling of each lip. Eventually, I linked up with a set wave that b a r e l y let me on it. I dropped in late, swooped around and lacerated the lazy lip. I put so much oomph into it I slid the tail out but it was awkward-feeling. I recovered and kicked out but not all that amped despite having made the fins slide out.
The "set waves" that were headed for the deeper takeoff spot seemed to back off and break too far inside. And the ones in the middle spot were sectioning off. Case in point, I caught one there and pulled through the lip when it became clear there was no making it.
I came to the realization that the embarrassing riches of sand were effing with the bathymetry and therefore, the waves. This epiphany coupled with a bad smell joined forces to make me bail and head west toward the beachbreak
This was my first session as an almost-middle-aged man. I used the remote on my bed to incline me, grabbed the railing on the side, and stepped into my slippers. I shuffled down to the stairs where my cane awaited.
I left earlier today and was rewarded with more time with which to surf. Unfortunately, it was a waste of time.
If I was lucky, I got to pump. I did get a short cover-up on my first wave but I felt like a contortionist trying to fit into the pit. It was a no-make but the highlight of the session. When the payoff for driving eighty minutes (plus twenty minutes of walking) lasts about a second it may be time to consider another line of jollies!
I also managed a gentle bonk on another left. I tried the shipwreck mostly, but because the waves were so gutless (a pansified 13-second period), if it broke out there it was SUPER fat and weak, and when it hit the inside it was a gross close-out.
I did give the incoming tide a shot at redemption for its underachieving swell cousin. I stayed out over two hours for science, to confirm the suckage.
I didn't bother driving down the next day. I am giving the ocean the silent treatment until it whispers the right sweet nothings into my ear.
The swell forecast for today was a lowly just-over-half-meter. I briefly considered not going, but with our upcoming trip less than a week away (stay tuned), I figured I better get it while the getting's good.
I packed the Tomo, confident in the board choice. The small swell with the peak high tide would lead to some me vs fat ones paddle battles.
The point, predictably, had little to show with the aforementioned symptoms affecting its ability to provide more than j u s t rideable surf. But the fact that it was showing anything was a shot in the arm to my chances!
Sure enough, when I first caught sight if what the beach break had to offer I was excited. It was really peaky, though not too open, and shoulder-high!
I did the best cutbacks I've done in years today, even bouncing one off the rebound section.
I had one wave where I hit it really high after a solid top turn and slid the fins out. It would have looked great on film if you edited it appropriately 😏
The guy who owns the surf school paddled out on his soft-top log. I asked him if he's ever surfed a Tomo and he said no. His eyes lit up when I asked him if he wanted to switch boards. He was loving it and I got to pop my logging-in-El-Salvador cherry as well as my cross-stepping cherry!
As the bloat of the apex of the tide hit, the waves slowed down. I caught a right and pumped and waited until the end section was there. I hit it really well off the lip but ended up too inverted and bailed. I came up and a little grom was within ten feet of me but didn't seem aggrieved.
My rubbed-raw belly (worsened by paddling the log) was crying out for me to end my friction assault on it. I thought with the tide coming down and some sets still coming perhaps the point would awaken.
On my walk back I confirmed it hadn't so in I went.
... is a recipe for an exciting session. But when you add in this swell direction and size, you get a workout and not much more.
My belly rawness came back although more muted this time. So I decided to go in.
As I walked, I saw some possible rideable ones on the outside, known as El Barco, after the shipwreck for which this beach is named. I hemmed. I hawed. I thought, "I can't leave my faithful blog readers with this!".
"I can't leave the person or bot from Saudi Arabia who was for whatever reason responsible for 108 page views in one day hanging!"
"I can't let my three top referrers this week, cam show sites with girls who may not have been born girls down! The session must go on!".
So I put my sensitive tummy back on the board and rubbed it a little rawer for you, my beloved blog fans.
It was a waste of time as I got shuttled every which way except into non-close-out implosions.
I did see a SICK right throw over into a great barrel section. It didn't spit and ended up closing out but if you timed it right and got lucky you could make it. I paddled over there and for its next two of kin which combusted so hard they spit out of the back (up) and threw little piddles of sand!
I nailed all of my drops except the last one, on which I pussed out as
the thing started dredging and I jumped for my life! There were no
sections presented to me, I didn't even get to bottom turn!
I walked back to the car and checked the point. It looked better than it had at first light with some swell filling in. I went to the car and the wind turned true offshore. I debated paddling out at the point given it was empty and I'd likely get some sick ones if I was willing to wait an hour or two for the tide to fill in. On the other hand, inconsistent swell on a super low tide with a hard offshore isn't ideal. My raw belly was the tiebreaker and I drove back to the pad.
This break doesn't work well unless there is solid surf coming in. Today's swell was solid, but the high tide was making it so that the waves broke more on the inside. The inside is littered with rocks jutting up, and sometimes out of the water.
I enjoyed making my way to the water. The river is dumping sand like crazy and since there has been no rain since the first week of December (or big swells), the sand stays put. So my feet were cushioned by yummy coarse sand up until the last dozen or so steps.
There were no n***** in Paris today, I had it all to myself!
On my first wave, I was pretty deep and saw that beautiful first section bowl on which one can really lean into. I smacked it and was coming down with tons of speed when I saw a rock through the water and freaked out. As panic tends to impair one's decision-making, I fell right next to the rock and could have easily t-boned it with my t-bone. We didn't touch.
The wind was making its presence felt, feathering the water surface and creating chops in the wave, something a board like my choice for the day doesn't handle well. I caught one other wave of note. I got a hit on it and a cutback before fading off the back on the inside.
The wind really started ruining things for me so I went in through the river, undoubtedly the easiest go-in I've enjoyed here.
This morning I awoke at 345 and made the decision to get up as I just didn't think I would fall back asleep.
I was going back and forth as to whether I would surf today. Tomorrow's forecast looked very slightly better. I happened to see that the wave period (the amount of time between troughs in a set) was 16 seconds. The longer this is, the more powerful the waves are.
When it's really macking, it's 18+ seconds, so 16 meant that while the swell itself was still small, it was coming with ferocity. Since tomorrow's forecast foretold of a 2-second haircut on the wave period, I decided to strike today.
Because I would be out during the apex of the high tide, I decided to take the Tomo down in what would be a fateful decision. I envisioned fat waves and possibly some reforms leading to some lazy walls and fun bonks.
My first glance was at the point break. I was shocked at what appeared to be a shoulder-high set wave rifling down the point. A subconscious pang of regret percolated over my board choice. Oh well, I was going to have to make it work.
I 'screened up and power-walked to the point. No other similar waves came and the tide was only going to get higher. So I convinced myself the beach break would be better and beat feet in that direction.
The surf at the beach break was dumping despite there being a lot of water out there. The Tomo hadn't touched water since Nicaragua and it took a bit to get used to paddling it again.
My first was a right. It was a late drop but nothing too bad, although the Tomo (and its lack of nose rocker/general rocker) sure makes it seem that way! I got a mini-pump in and a small bonk to finish.
I had a really late drop on a left. I thought I was going down and the nose went under before I rescued it.
The high tide did affect the waves so they would mostly blast down on the sandbar that's just outside the shorebreak. I had to adjust my strategy so as to not paddle too much once I'd found a wave. Doing so would put me in the drop-straight-down spot. Once I shifted to this I was able to find my rhythm.
I had two waves in a row with big finishes. One was an abortion of a layback snap, and the other was more of a miscarriage of one, as I came slightly closer to pulling it.
The tide and swell changes were starting to be noticeable. I caught a left and the oncoming section was five or so feet in front of the wave I'd caught. I stomped down after a mini-pump, swooped around and up and got a nice satisfying off-the-lip.
I paddled out as a couple of foreign-looking dudes paddled out. I let the slight current drift me down a bit so as not to break my streak of not having to let go of a wave due to someone already on it.
And that's when it happened.
I caught a wave and it was one of those that was a slight double-up. The wave behind it caught up and I didn't notice until it was too late. I was on trajectory for a second pump and noticed the thing foaming over and threatening to snap shut. I kicked my board out and got picked up and absolutely slammed onto my back into the sand, so hard that I felt it in my chest.
I gathered my thoughts, emotions, and the remnants of my ego and paddled back out. I caught a similar wave but this time I spotted it and kicked out, doing a fading carving 180 while doing so.
Another similar but smaller wave came. I pumped crazily along the top of the wave and tried to do an air but I didn't swoop enough on my set-up and just skipped out along the top of the wave.
The tide and swell angle conspired to make the waves crappy and I decided to pack it in. I was curious to see what the point was doing and since it was on the way to where I'd parked, I walked that way.
I left the carport at 538 and parked at 622. The surf report had said it would be 2-3' and it was wrong. I suppose some a couple of sets approached 3' but 1-2' would have been much more appropriate. Had I known it was going to be this small I would not have made the trek! But I can't really complain, I had it to myself, had great scenery and got some exercise.
The point looked like Tahoe on a big day. I took the dirt road to the beachbreak. My first glance gave me hope that it would be a fun day.
But it was not to be.
The relative highlight was a backside floater I did. It was such rough going getting any speed that I ended up too sideways on the smush-out sections.
The early morning timing of the depths of the low tide wasn't going to slow me down.
I thought about bringing the Tomo and while driving down cursed my decision to bring the Merrick, but then I remembered how low the tide was going to be.
I got there, parked the car, walked the walk, and it looked flat. Down the beach I saw some spinning with steep sections and disgusting doomsday sections.
The wind was a beautiful light offshore. I fantasized about the perfection present had the swell doubled in size and the tide been a foot higher. I had to stop when I felt my boardshorts getting tight.
There were many waves caught and "ridden". I had a bunch of dicey airdrops. Some made, some "made". The rights were gross because of the just-risen sun's glare subtracting a clear view from the equation. I caught one and thought I had it in the bag while in the air. I slammed really hard into the water after having pearled.
I did luck into a few corners. I was so focused on making the drops and initial sections or catching up to the green water that I was too sideways to make anything.
A questionably late left came. I went. I went under and smacked my elbow HARD into the sand, thankfully cushioned by a slab of just-above-the-knee depth of liquid salvation.
I kept getting shuttled west where it was even less makeable. I don't remember what happened on the wave but when I came up my head and fin met and I was left with a painful contusion.
I left the water on two occasions to walk back up the beach; from unmakeable to barely makeable.
This was the worst session I've had since moving here and it was ironically the most crowded I've had at the beachbreak. The good news is I gave up zero waves to others because the closeouts were splitting the peaks so effectively.
This time I was let in to Pando's development. I longingly looked at the point but there just wasn't enough swell for it and two n***** in Paris already on it.
I walked over to the beachbreak and I was surprised at the size there. Nothing special, but there were some shoulder-high ones out thar. They were mostly pump and dumps, in which you could get a sick amount of speed and then go for broke on the nasty end sections.
The absolute highlights were two late lefts I caught. On the first I rose up slightly and snapped with the lip hard, but kicked my board out when I realized I had zero shot.
On the second I altered my trajectory and was able to weight more correctly. It was an aggressive line but this time I had a single-digit percentage shot. The odds took it.
There were some freight trains rolling through: rights which were barreling. Some looked makeable. I went for one and without thinking crabgrabbed. The lip tightened and slammed me in the head. I laughed possibly the shortest laugh of my life. I stopped my face from hitting the deck by stopping the momentum with my hands and just managed to shoo the board away from me. My face was smashed into right where the board had been.
The wind came up a little earlier this time and there was nowhere to hide. I walked back to Pando's and there were still two n***** in Paris on it, now with heavy texture on the water surface.
I suffered through a battery of illnesses in the month in between sessions.
I initially thought I'd gotten the flu, but when two rounds of rashes (first across my back, then across my left collar area) appeared, I thought I'd contracted chikungunya. Chikungunya is a mosquito-borne illness but it is maybe a tenth as bad as dengue (if I've diagnosed it correctly..). Then, a cough arrived (which I still have the remnants of) and a minor cold.
I missed out on the late November swell as a result as my nausea wasn't allowing me to take advantage.
I finally had a chance to go to the beach and did so. Pando's development wouldn't let me in so I drove and parked at a lot.
The waves were small so I didn't bother checking the point. I paddled and perched on the inside of the shipwreck. They were lining up pretty well there and I was all by myself, not a bobbing seafaring soul in sight.
After being neglected for so long, my floater game was on display! I did one I bobbled and faded, and one I held for seemingly ever, outlasting the initial mini-blast and riding away and clean.
The wind kicked up a bit and the tide dropped. The surf spigot was turned to a standstill. I went in and walked past the beach house I'd spent many-a-weekend in years past but that was a fool's errand.
I paddled back out and caught not much of anything and eventually went in.
Two roads diverged in a beach
and I-I took the one less traveled
and that has made all the difference
(from my recollection of an 8th grade Robert Frost poster)
I took the street side as I wasn't feeling the rocks jutting out along the shore. I wasn't sure when to go from littoral to sandbound so I guessed and was half-expecting someone to tell me not to go that way. It was a quarter-lot's width and there was a little cocktail/bar/surf rental shack. Sure enough, I heard a noise, looked up and it was that guy with whom I surfed a couple of sessions ago (or his brother, I can't tell them apart).
He said he'd be out soon and I said I'd probably miss him as I had a hard out.
I paddled out at the first sign of a decent wave and was surprised it didn't end in a horrendous closeout.
Long story short, I caught three waves in quick succession. On one I might have gotten tubed but I had frontside turns on the brain after having only turned backside all day. I did a sick superpump, on which it felt like the wave was amping to catapult me into the flats.
I managed to overturn™, which as I'm coining it, is to turn too hard for the section. I probably could have gotten away with a cutback but with the tide being this low I didn't even consider it a possibility.
My other memorable wave was a double-up and, though I didn't realize it at take-off I did spot it while descending. I prolonged the drop and bottom-turned hard. Once again the wave was weirdly too weak for my off-the-lip. I diagnosed it as a case of my being too early.
I went in and my car's clock read 802, 804 once I had changed into shorts and mounted up. The drive back was gross thanks to the roadwork and I was stopped at one place for nearly ten minutes. Thankfully I made it back just shy of 910 and avoided another browbeating!
My wife wasn't into me going surfing on this day. The previous evening, she'd reminded me that our eldest's ballet recital rehearsal was today at 930. I thought, if I leave with enough time I can arrive right around first light, which is what I did.
Thanks to my wonky sleep schedule, I woke up without an alarm at 330. I tried to go back to sleep and gave up after our youngest began wailing. I tried to get her to come to our bed but her Mami appeared behind her and she somehow preferred her for soothing purposes.
I got in the car and left at 458 and got there at 540. I got a little static from the guy at the front because I was there so early. They have a rule wherein guests can't use the pool/showers/club area until 830 but I've learned that if I tell them I'm just going to the beach they're cool with it. After a three-minute delay, I drove in.
The point looked good enough that I barely gave the beachbreak any consideration, despite how good it had been to me the last couple of sessions.
There was one dude out but he was sitting on the shoulder on a bigger board, which is usually a sign there won't be a battle for waves. I waded through the river towards my paddle-out path and soaked in the colors of the sunrise. The sun's top third was visible in its orange glory.
Within five minutes I caught my best wave. I did three turns on it and was amping.
On my second wave I did two turns, then kicked out as the wave fizzled a little close to the inside. As I splashed down and recovered, my buttocks happened to gently land on a submerged rock. Back in my twenties this sensation would have driven me into a panic but I guess I care less overall now?
The waves vacillated between the main take-off point and the swing-wide point. If you were in the perfect spot you could get a pump in and make it around the section, but the swing-wides seemed to have a soft shoulder. The main take-off was great because at first turn the wall was very bowly.
I had a wave that was iffy from the main and I saw the swing-wide section off. Normally I would just kick out but for whatever reason I went up and smashed it, throwing a good amount of spray in the process.
As the tide continued to drop along with the consistency, I longed for the sweet curves of the beachbreak. With each subsequent wave I was more committed to staying at the point break, but then a local paddled out and where there's one dude, there tends to be a gaggle.
I caught an ok wave and rode it pretty far in. I started surfing this wave almost twenty years ago and there was always a little beach area I could use for egress purposes. I aimed for it (it's right in front of a big ceiba tree), while keeping my eyes glued to three jutting rocks in between the shore and me.
It was a bitch to go in and I spent five minutes doing the eggshell dance. I vowed to never again go in that way, at least at that low a tide. I beat feet to the club area and asked a guard the time. He told me it was 728 so I walked briskly to the beachbreak, convinced I could buck the closeout-causing low tide and contentment-killing inconsistency and snag some more waves.
I decided to take advantage of our eldest daughter's week off from school and thereby my week off from shuttling her there in the morning. I left our carport at 5:41 and shut the trunk, surfboard in hand at 6:30, nineteen miles and some iffy road construction later.
The point, as it's wont to do when it's small, was underperforming. There was one guy out who was trying and got a wave in my three minutes of checking it. It was a waist-high one with nice shape, but just too small considering I could probably get some shoulder-high waves if I walked ten minutes to the west.
As I did so this aguacatero ran up to me; a scruffy mutt with lively muted green eyes. I petted it and rubbed its head. I could tell someone was caring for it as its fur was not matted or mangy. It was loving the affection and was really leaning into it. After about a half-minute it wanted to play and tried to snag my dangling leash in its maw. I retracted the leash upwards in time and I ran after it. It stopped to look at me and then ran around as I squatted and jumped toward it. I hit the rocky area and it started barking at me (it felt as though there was a tinge of sorrow in its barks but it might just have been my imagination).
About five minutes later it ran towards me from the opposite direction! The dog had taken the road and then come to the beach to meet me, this time with two other dogs I'd seen before in tow. The novelty must have worn off quickly for he/she/it, as I began gaining on the pack.
The tide was pretty low, which can sometimes be a good thing for beachbreaks but usually it means closeouts are on tap. I paddled out close to my ex-stepdad's beach house to try my luck there. There were two dudes out at the shipwreck and the waves looked ok there; a critical-ish takeoff but a too-mellow face as a payoff for having stuck the landing.
I caught a couple of close-outs and then backdoored one. I was thankfully a bit early and was underwhelmed by my timing on a pump. I gained some speed but not as much as I could've. I swooped up, tucked in and was ensconced in a swirling frothy barrel for maybe a beat and a half. I sensed doom and was able to doggy-door it was the lip j u s t tapped me on the head. This is the first barrel I've ever made at this beach and I was amping.
The morning's sun angle was wreaking havoc on my visibility on the rights, but I did catch one about ten minutes after my barrel. I wound up on the bottom turn and smashed the lip. I got hung up and exhaled quickly through my mouth as I leaned back so as not to pearl. Another, less critical, turn followed and I kicked out as the wave fattened over a deep spot.
Another right towards the end of my session led to another nice wind-up. But this time I lost sense of where on the wave I was when I turned, as when I did so my legs fully extended as too much of the board went over the lip. As I surfaced I admired the foam trail my spray had wrought.
The waves turned off and I went in, no sign of the dog on the way back.
The waves were looking pretty small for today but it might be the last southern pulse for the year so I headed down after my buddy (with whom I went to school down here) bailed on me.
The point looked too small, and I initially was excited by the three guys that were WAY out. I thought to myself that perhaps they were fishing but I've never been right in that thought. Until today!
I headed to the beachbreak around the corner. There was one dude out and so I walked past him. I inevitably was swept into him by the current. It was a guy five years my junior whom I'd met when he was little. He and his two brothers lived in a house a couple of blocks away from my former stepdad's old beach rental. He now runs a surf school and on good months does pretty well for himself. Check him out at Surf Strong El Salvador
He chatted me up somewhat about the situation here in El Salvador which he thought was grim, but not too bad all things considered. He really talked a lot about his time in the States, mostly in CA, but some in DC and VT.
The waves looked a bit closed out but there were definite running corners on some. You could backdoor the peak and get a really good pump in to make it. It was tons of fun when I didn't misread the waves.
I did a few frontside hacks and pulled one, as well as a weak carve down attempt. I botched a couple of layback snaps, though I did get semi-close on one.
After I paddled back out and perched, I felt for my car key in my boardshorts. The reassuring irregular mass was not to be found. I entered panic mode as I frantically patted every corner of the pocket. I was freaking, "There's no way I'll find it, it's gone!". Then I went into, "The pocket is still velcroed closed, where/how could it have fallen out?!" I stopped patting it thinking I had to catch the next one in when I finally felt the key, tucked into the top center of the pocket, right under the flap! PHEW!
I'm really digging the water temp/clarity from the lack of rains. It is an absolute godsend not having to battle crowds on B waves. I can't imagine doing the California struggle every morning with ravenous snakers and achingly cold water...
I saw some barrels breaking from the beach club. I'd finally been granted access inside. The first attempt I was forbidden entry because they said the administration hadn't passed word down that Pando (owner of a lot inside the development) had greenlit me in (he had).
The next time we tried, we got in the gate but were barred at the beach club itself because Pando was a couple of months behind in paying his dues (he wasn't).
Due to it being my first time here I got excited when I saw the barrels but then realized from the angle that these barrels were breaking over shallow cobblestones and likely not worth the risk.
A squint into the rising sun's glare down the line revealed good news: nice lines coming down the point.
I did the river paddle-out that few seem to do for some reason and I jumped onto my board more quickly than possibly ever at that spot. I spotted no boils and the current was threatening to drag me down the point, where slightly submerged rocks could get me. I sprint-paddled diagonally just as a set detonated on the outside and took a few on the head. After the carnage, I was comically way past the preferred take-off spot, even inside the wave-swung-wide-section-off take-off spot.
I spent most of the hour paddling to attempt to stay in position. Eventually, I paddled OUT deep, then across and in. I continued my work on the liquid treadmill and finally caught a beast of a wave. I cut back just enough on my first maneuver, then pumped and slayed the section which had presented itself. I got hung up on the lip some, but managed to descend and pump a couple more times which led to another rooster tail of spray on my last turn.
I kicked out amped, but crestfallen at the paddle back that lay before me.
Ten minutes later I was almost almost in position and caught a small one. I faded off the back on my first turn and after I surfaced I realized I was really gone. I figured Raquel needed help with the girls at the pool so I went in and managed to scrape my knee up on a surprise big boy rock on the inside.
That one wave was worth it. After three sets in one hour (first one blasted me, second one I blasted, third one was blasted by the locals), I figured I'd gotten what I was going to get given the circumstances.
As you probably surmised from my emoji game, these are the only waves I've surfed in El Salvador in November. The last time I was in El Salvador in November was my tenth grade year in 1995 and I wasn't surfing then.
I was allowed a reprieve from daddy duty on this day so I shot down to the beach. I was overjoyed that I was allowed entry into Pando's development (he owns a lot there). My joy turned to pain when the security guard by the pool (which is next to the point break I wanted to surf) said that Pando was behind on his monthly payments so I had to leave. It turned out this wasn't the case and was a clerical error...
So I drove into the neighboring beach, parked the car and walked all the way back. It looked abysmal. Small and fat. I watched it a few minutes, then walked all the way back to the beachbreak and paddled out. I surfed that for forty-five minutes. What I should say is I sat there for 44.9 minutes and caught one wave that didn't close out right away. I had to finesse my way into it and did a crappy snap on the end section from which I rode away.
I decided this sucked, walked ALL the way back to the pointbreak and watched it for about seven or eight minutes. Nary a set broke. I turned to walk back, intent on paddling back out at a different part of the beachbreak (it had been slow but the tide had dropped and maybe it would start working).
I decided to turn back for one more look and I saw a set! It wasn't much but my stoke threshold had been dropped to almost nil from the morning's festivities so out thar!
Long story short, I did one pretty sick snap on a wave and that was it. The good news is I had gotten exercise and been outside.
I braved the road from town to La Libertad after it had been further battered by the monsoon-light's dousing.
Aaron was leaving today so I took advantage of school having been cancelled (and freeing me from taking Lucia) and got one last session in with him.
I borrowed a voluminous but very short board. Long story short (*snort!*)...
I caught zero waves of note. The highlight of the session was just before paddling out I saw a dead mouse floating to and fro.
Aaron went in to pack and I mostly floated/somewhat paddled to the beachbreak. When I used to surf El Recodo half my life ago, I assumed the waves down there were all rocks, given what lay beneath me. It turns out it's beautiful, forgiving soft sand.
I found this last tidbit out after deciding to abort on a late takeoff. I was worried about the rocks so I jumped off and did a shallowish dive to the side of the wave. I gingerly put my foot down upon surfacing and it was that great spongy stuff!
I picked up Aaron from his pad in El Tunco and we drove to Mizata. There was a house for sale there that I wanted to see, because it was suspiciously cheap.
We drove through three of the five tunnels toward Mizata, admiring the waterfalls from the deluge as well as some small landslides and fallen trees.
Eventually we reached an impasse. A cliff had fallen and there was no way to get around it in a car.
So we flipped a bitch and headed back, stopping once so Aaron could take a look at a point break, from the road, that was kind of breaking.
I took him to San Blas, the beach at which I'd spent a lot of time as a kid. It was semi-rideable. Every once in a while a reeling right would break and stir our loins.
I drove him down to El Recodo, a point break at which I'd surfed a lot in my summers away from my pizza delivery gig (which is where I first met Aaron). We didn't have a good angle on it but Aaron was amping at the potential.
We ended up surfing for just under three hours.
This was my first time surfing this spot without one of da boyz (either Pando, Chamba, or Chuleta) guiding me into the surf.
Using the river as an ingress point has several advantages:
Extra cushion of water. If you slip, your fall will be slowed by the extra water.
River push-back. The onslaught of water coming from the ocean is relatively slowed down when it meets the constant river outlet
The express. Once you do start paddling (and taking advantage of the extra water cushion), you will be shuttled out to the water much faster.
On my first wave I was able to levitate onto the lip and while up there, a local, older grom was right in my path. I grabbed my rail and leaned back, away from him, and hard. He duckdove under me without issue though the wave was blown.
The wind was onshore and the waves were bumpy, but within forty-five minutes, the wind stopped and then flipped offshore! These are the rewards of paddling out during a storm. The rain would
I caught a couple of waves on which I did some pretty sick initial turns. I believe my record for maneuvers on a wave was three. I could have had longer rides but I was intent on doing a roundhouse cutback. I blew at least three of these, though I did slide the fins out on one attempt.
I also managed a turn on which I got hung up on the lip seemingly forever, slammed my hand down onto the deck and leaned forward, then somehow found a way to biff.
On the way back to the car, we had to navigate the river. It had gained some breadth since we'd paddled out given all the extra rain. Every time you picked a foot up, it would be moved towards the ocean. On a left foot put-down, it slipped on a rock and I kept sliding while looking for footing. I got about halfway to doing the splits before it found purchase in a crevasse, leaving me with a couple of cuts.
The previous day's lower tide showed that El Palmarcito could bare some teeth with a little less water waterboarding it. I was close to paddling out since there was only one dude out but the wind kept getting worse and I was over it.
When I got to the sand this morning I thought it was flat. I kept walking because I thought I could paddle around some since I'd made the trek down. Eventually I saw some action at the point, but it was underwhelming.
I knew if I got lucky on the timing and if a slight surge in swell showed, I could get something rideable for more than five seconds. So I walked that way and paddled out to it.
There were two highlights. I caught a right that seemed to keep growing as I dropped down (not saying much as it was about three feet when I popped up). I turned up, then down, quickly, then again. I then got clotheslined by the lip I hadn't seen because of the glare.
My last wave was better and I actually completed my first turn in over a month, though the wave could have been more into me. It didn't push back as much as I'd hoped and while I successfully completed the maneuver it wasn't as satisfying as I would have liked.
It's interesting as a surfer how a wave can break a certain way and you can get a flashback to a certain session about which you'd forgotten. That happened to me on the way in; as the waves sloped a certain way, I was reminded of a day at the Del Mar beachbreak when I was in my early 20's.
My in-laws were coming down and I booked a pad for them to stay and enjoy El Salvador's beaches.
My goal was to find a place within walking distance to surf that would have wi-fi, a pool, access to facilities, and would allow our mutt to stay there.
The above really narrowed my price range but we got into a place that was a bit dodgy-looking in the pics. Thankfully it wasn't bad once there.
El Palmarcito is a wave about which I hadn't heard up until a few years ago. It wasn't a mysto spot, and it's not a new discovery. It's a very unpredictable logger wave.
I first paddled out where I'd seen some locals messing around the previous afternoon. I had jumped into the water to bodysurf and had an EddieSurfs first: I accidentally pooped myself in the water (I'd been battling a stomach bug since Wednesday and had already murdered the McDonald's toilet prior to leaving for the beach).
I caught a disorganized left and pumped on it but couldn't get in rhythm.
I eventually drifted down towards what I'd gathered was the actual point break. I caught a quick close-out and then I paddled up to the point a bit more.
A couple of false starts later and I caught the wave of the day. I got a couple of backside pumps on it before it fizzled out. I went in and had a bitch of a time doing so! I had to do the awkward ride-a-wave-in, but-jump-over-the-shorebreak dance a couple of times and my left big toe got smashed when a cobblestone rolled onto it just as I was preparing to leap.
Pando has purchased a lot just down the way from the my ex-stepdad's former beach house. He said we could come and visit his development so we wouldn't be subject to the 'consumo mínimo' issues at hotels/restaurants, in which we'd have to spend a certain amount of money to warrant their allowing us to use their facilities.
Due to what I'm hereby christening as Salvapathy (the gatekeepers wouldn't call the office to confirm Pando had followed proper protocol in establishing us as his official guests, despite proof-in-hand), we were rebuffed and we sought shelter at nearby Rancho Playa Bruna, a converted beach house which is now a hostel/restaurant. We had to consume at least $20 ($10/adult) of food and beverage so that we could post up and use their pool.
I did something I hadn't done in Lord knows how long. I trekked to the water without first having checked the forecast/tide/wind. It reminded me of when I first started surfing, twenty-one years ago this month, and I would drive to the beach with only what the Del Mar Lifeguards' often-erroneous forecast said, in my head (courtesy of San Diego Union-Tribune).
The waves were better than last time. Where I first paddled out they were pretty slow despite the lowish tide. There was a crowd of four out. I could tell they were foreign by their pale skin but it wasn't until I drifted closer that I ascertained as to their being from Germany.
The absolute highlight of the session was an outsider that bowled over as it hit the inside sandbar. I may have gotten covered up but I had zero faith in making it due to it being low tide. I raced ahead of the lip and tried for a snap but I was too late and I ended up on my ass.
I had another wave on which I slid the tail out on a snap and suffered a similar fate.
My session count has been predictably decimated by our distance from the water. Though I do look forward to more variety and am definitely enjoying the lack of crowds.
I hadn't surfed this, the beach on which I'd spent many weekends during my formative years, since 2005. We pulled up to a place so the girls could eat and I could paddle out.
The waves were as good as the breakfast! And the breakfast was bad... 😑 My wife, who has an addiction to salt in her food, said the eggs were too salty!
Although by myself, the session was barred from being a magical one due to the close-outs. I think I got one look at a wall, and it was too quick for a surfer of my caliber.
I went in earlier than I'd wanted, as I wanted to make sure the girls were happy; my biggest one was suffering from oversalted eggs.
My surf mojo was going through a crisis of consciousness. I'd previously enjoyed lightly fettered access to a reliable and sometimes magical beachbreak. All I'd had to do was grab my board and go.
Now I was thirty kilometers away, in a borrowed car (which I'd be parking out in the open).
Several factors had stymied my attempts to paddle out sooner. Massive swell coupled with a brutally low tide was the first. The swell models predicted a slow marching-down in size and I made plans to surf.
The gods had other plans for me. That Saturday evening, I ordered a pizza and in my haste to meet the pizza guy I ran barefoot on these wet too-smooth stepping stones. My index toe curled under the pad of my foot and was crushed into the sharp edge of the awaiting next stepping stone. I thought for sure I'd broken it and cautiously canceled the next day's session.
On two occasions, massive thunderstorms and their accompanying rain derailed my plans.
And finally, on a very dark Friday morning, the stars aligned so I could presumably bring you this blog entry!
As previously alluded to, I was in a borrowed car. I didn't know if the key had a chip so I couldn't risk getting it wet by taking it into the water with me. This meant Punta Roca was out. I realized if Chuleta was at the hotel I could surf La Bocana and it just so happened he'd spent the night there!
I was really surprised at just how many rocks I'd have to dance on to paddle out. There was also a suspicious smell in the air as my toes hit the remarkably warm water.
I caught five waves. I had a massive lull before I caught my last one, by far my best. Since I hadn't caught anything in so long, I went on a questionable one as I was really late. I got a massive amount of speed and hooted myself as I made eye contact with a local while adjusting my course so as not to hit him. I connected on the inside but I had no speed when I tried to bonk off the oncoming section.
I took a lot of beatings out there as it was really shifty. Unfortunately, though the waves were still big, they were mostly all drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The Journey from Nica to El Salvador~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I got my wife and daughters out of there on June 18th. They took a puddle jumper from right outside our development to Liberia, Costa Rica. I tasked myself with getting our belongings (which had come down with us in Opie), Chucho and yours truly, out of Nicaragua. My goal was mid-July.
I was reaching out to people, friends of friends, for ways to make it out. I even dreamt up the possibility of going by boat. That would have been M U C H preferable to the journey I undertook.
I reached out to Yasmil, who is the preferred shuttler of people in and around Hacienda Iguana through Facebook. I had a big ask, I needed to charter a microbus (Toyota Hiace, pictured below) and have a driver take me across two international borders, and they had to drive back. He said he didn't do that, but he knew of someone who did.
Enter Ariel, he said he would do this (I came to find out he had never done this, not a big deal) but he couldn't do it because of the tranques (roadblocks). I understood his reluctance. The dudes at the roadblocks were concerned with guns coming through because, though guns aren't illegal in Nica, they are HEAVILY restricted. So if guns came in the population of that town could be sitting ducks. How long would it take to unpack and search a FULL Hiace? Hours. This could be repeated as we weaved through towns.
He quoted me $550, which was very reasonable. This included all permits and gas. But the main issue was I had no idea as to when, or if, he would drive me because of the nebulous situation with the tranques.
I looked into chartering a small plane to take off from the little airport nearby and land at Ilopango, El Salvador's main airport up until Comalapa was put into service right around the time I was born. There were two main issues with the plane route:
They would only allow 850lbs, including Chucho and me. No surfboards either, so I'd have to sell those in Nica. The weight limit was a problem because it meant I'd have to store the remainder of our stuff.
They wanted $3500!
I was slowly resigning myself to having to drop the dough on the plane.
But oh so interestingly, fate intervened....
I asked my neighbor Barry, from whom I'd been borrowing the bike, how he ended up renting the bike. He told me his driver Agustín had rented it to him. The name rang a bell. It was the name of the driver we'd had during our very first trip to Nica in 2014. I asked Barry some questions and confirmed it was the same guy.
He and I had gotten along really well in 2014. I celebrated him daily upon our return back to Oceanside as his ringtone was set to the chorus of this classic. I would sing the chorus and do the handclaps:
I got his contact info and reached out to him. He claimed to remember me and said he would do the trip for $1100. Bastard was trying to gouge me! But the good news was I'd have someone who could conceivably take me to El Salvador, so at least I'd save more than $2K.
Then, the unthinkable happened: God smiled upon me! Ariel wrote me on Facebook all pissed off that I'd been talking to other drivers. I said, dude, you passed! He said, "Yeah, back then I did!".
Apparently Agustín had been bragging about the half-Gringo/half-Salvadorean he was ripping off and his hubris cost him and saved me!
I didn't give Ariel a hard time because I wanted to possibly salvage our deal, since he seemed to have renewed interest. I said, "I'm willing to honor our deal if you can take me by July 15th". He said "ok, I just need to have the bank sign off and my leaving the country with the Hiace (he still owed on it)".
We made tentative plans and then solidified them. We would be departing around two am on July 10th.
In the interim, I got to surf somewhat. I was able to squeeze seventeen sessions into twenty-one days. Most of these were abridged due to Chucho being a pussy and yelping for me. I also officially was cooking for myself for the first time in my life. I enjoyed cooking so much that I lost almost twenty pounds in twenty days. I would do one meal a day with a snack in the morning. I weighed in at 147 lbs and some might say SMOKING HOT, if you're into the praying mantis look.
HNNNNNNNNNG 😋
I had already been packing and repacking our stuff as some of the Colorado boxes were falling apart. I moved everything to the main living room area so as to better organize everything. I took some trips into Rivas (when I knew there'd be no roadblocks) to hit the vet with Chucho so he could be certified as being importation-worthy.
I had a really tough decision to make with the car. I'd purchased it in January, it was a too-nice Toyota Prado, which was similar to the Lexus SUV. I decided to buy that car because the alternatives were the Toyota Fortuner (about which I'd heard various bad things), and the Toyota Hilux (a pick-up with a rough ride that would have made Solani upchuck within ten minutes).
I tried to sell it for over a month. I ended up getting lowballed by the husband of a female former pro surfer (her name rhymes with Bolly Heck). He told me he "may be interested for $9K". I wasn't going to sell it to him because the guy was a morph but Nica being what it was I got one other bite, total. I'd resigned myself to the idea that I was either going to take a lowball offer or have to store it and pay out the ass in monthly storage fees. This approach would also necessitate a trip back to Nica, in possibly an even worse situation, and staying for an undetermined amount of time until I sold it, not to mention the further expense of the trip back.
Then I got an idea. I bought the car from a car lot in Managua. I reached out to the guy and he said he could hold it in consignment and pay me when he sold it. This was quite a fun decision to make. Was I really about to trust a used car salesman, in a third-world country that was in the middle of a massive political destabilization?
The answer, when compared to the former option was a resounding yes. But there were warning signs. He was supposed to come down with a buddy to take it the week before I left. He flaked both times. Then he promised he would be there on Monday (I was scheduled to leave Tuesday, the tenth). He never showed and this was adding massive stress to one of the most stressful situation I'd ever been through. His solution? Have me meet him in Managua on or way up north.
I was pissed. I didn't want to drive a nice car through Third World nastiness at two in the morning, but it was still the best option money- and hassle-wise.
So the night of the ninth, Ariel is supposed to show up before nine. Nine comes and goes and I am steaming. I'm calling him, WhatsApp'ing him and nothing. Finally at 940 he tells me he is in the complex. He asks for a live location pin and I send it to him.
He arrives. The plan was for him and his buddy to sleep here until two and leave in the morning, once we'd packed. He ended up showing up with two dudes. He asked upon our having met if we could just go now. I'd told him of the arrangement with the car dealer and I had to shift that back, which I was able to do. I still had little doubt he'd flake on me again, leaving me in the middle of Managua, on my way to El Salvador with a car that was not in my name (people in Nica who aren't residents keep the car in the seller's name and prove ownership with a bill of sale). If he was going to flake again, I wouldn't be able to import the car into El Salvador as it was more than eight years old (I'd looked into what it would have taken to "alleviate" that situation in El Salvador and apparently it's damn near impossible to do unless you are connected).
The car dealer swore he would be there and we loaded things into the Hiace from three flights up starting at ten at night. I told Ariel that I didn't think all the things would fit (he'd neglected to remove most of the seats, as per my request) inside but he thought they still would. About a half-hour later, he realized his mistake and we had to reposition things. There was a cramped seat-and-a-quarter for the dog and me to suffer. We stuffed ourselves in, the two guys up front, and thankfully, one guy driving the Prado behind us, and headed off into the night just before midnight. My last view of Hacienda Iguana was enshrouded in darkness.
Ariel's cousin was driving, the third guy was invited because he'd made the trip before and knew the proper route. We weren't on the road an hour before we hit our first snag. We got pulled over. I was really tired and apathetic about it; I just hoped they didn't ask to search the car. My blood boiled in anger when it was found out the guy who was driving the Hiace DIDN'T HAVE HIS LICENSE! After the guy was apologizing to Ariel he reasoned he'd left it in his car. He ended up paying a bribe of less than $4 for us to be let go.
The monument to Hugo Chavez, arguably the godfather of the destruction of Venezuela (Pic from Twitter)
We hit Managua, my first time seeing it in the dark. Near the disgustingly gaudy monument to Hugo Chavez, who at the time of its construction was giving so much money to Nicaragua, we saw what the boys identified as a transexual prostitute.
The conversation went like this:
"That's the kind you pick up, bang, and then "she" says, 'My turn!'".
I added, "And then "she" still charges you full price!".
They loved that comment.
We pulled into a gas station in the middle of Managua at two in the morning and shockingly the car dealer showed up in his own Prado not two minutes later. I filled out some paperwork, eerily giving him power of attorney. He forgot one thing and had to go back. The guys who were driving me were quietly freaking out, looking at every passing car as they came through every minute or so. A week earlier, there had been a government-sponsored shooting at a different Puma gas station a few kilometers away. I would have been gnarled out if I hadn't been so tired. I was physically drained but also mentally so; after weeks of worrying as to how I was going to pull this off.
I felt better after the Prado had gone with Perreira (the car dealer) even though I had no clue as to my legal recourse if he reneged and screwed me over. He offered to have us have breakfast at his resort within a couple of miles of the border. It was a place for middle class families to stay and I wasn't really sure if there was a market for it, being so far north.
I tried to sleep, but I didn't. It was a rough ride and I was squished
in. The guys up front were gnarled out. There was a small commotion in
the cabin when they said they saw a guy with his face covered with an AK-47
resting on his shoulder, aimed at the sky. I didn't see him and I was not really caring, just wanting to get out of Nica ASAP.
We stopped at this gas station in the middle of nowhere to fill up at about 4AM. I got out to stretch my legs and snapped this picture. A street dog and a senior citizen security guard armed with only a machete looked on.
Nicaragua, frustratingly, operates exclusively on metes and bounds as a way of giving directions (turn left at the ceiba tree, right at the purple church, etc). We weren't sure if we were at the right place and considered shining it completely in favor of getting a start on the border to Honduras. We eventually found it and we had breakfast and coffee.
This handsome guy kept yelling at us that this was the correct gate
Perreira Resort: The trees lining the perimeter are from India. They're relatively new to Central America and are supposed to keep mosquitoes away (probs bullshit because I got lit up by them while there).
We got back on the road and began the nightmare that was the border crossing. I got my passport stamped as having left Nicaragua and then asked about the dog. I was told to take him to the Animal Export branch. Chucho and I walked there. The guy in there was gruff and said I had to take him to the main office so they could fill out his exportation paperwork. He motioned to his right and I said, "How far a walk is it?". He said it was a few kilometers and I could take a taxi. I was bumming.
The dog and I got into a cab and I was charged double for him, which pissed me off but I was too tired to fight the extra sub-dollar difference. I was dropped off at this seemingly abandoned parking area with a bunch of truck trailers chilling. I asked multiple people, all but one giving me bad directions and got into the office just as it opened.
I told the woman there what I needed and she said OK. She then went on her phone for forty minutes. This is not hyperbole. I prodded a couple of times and she said she was getting to it. I wanted to go off on her but I figured that would likely do more harm than good. If she refused to deal with me I could conceivably be stuck there, unable to get Chucho out of the country (legally). Eventually her hot texting convo cooled down and she asked me for the bank receipt.
What bank receipt?
She said I had to pay $1.80 or so to the bank. I said, "where's the bank?" and she replied, "At the border".
My exhaustion didn't mask my lividity. I asked, as calmly as possible, if there was ANYTHING else I needed from the border area before I came back. The lady looked at me and shook her head no. I walked out without making a scene. Nicaraguans, during my time in their country, are without question the most apathetic people I've ever met. Nicaraguan government workers would have aced AP Apathy.
I went back to the road with Chucho and waited for a cab. It was at this point that he decided he'd had enough and laid in the dirt. I coaxed him back onto the road but he wasn't having it. I couldn't tell if it was the hot asphalt despite it still being relatively early in the morning or maybe he'd stepped in some broken glass.
It took a miserable twenty-five or so minutes for a cab to take a chance on Chucho and me. The cab stopped and I had to lift my him into the cab. He dropped me off a solid quarter-mile from where I needed to be so he would be higher up in the rotation to pick people up. I straight up carried this awkward nearly-sixty-pound black fur coated load the whole way, taking a couple of rests during which I removed my backpack to further "take a load off".
I found the Hiace; they'd completed the vehicle importation paperwork and were ready to roll. I left Chucho with them in the shade as I waited in the bank line for about a half-hour. The good news there was that it was air-conditioned, something I was sorely in need of due to our death march.
I went and got the dog, then carried him back to the taxi area. Along the way, I heard Nicas snickering about the Gringo carrying his dog everywhere. I was getting sadder and sadder about Chucho's health. I'd seen him give up on walks before but his hips were all screwy when I plopped him down. He was kind of doing the stance bitches do when they urinate. Dog bitches.
We got back in a cab and made it to the main office. There I waited another forty minutes, but this time the supervisor was there. He helped Ms. Incompetent fill out the form. I watched helplessly as they pecked individually at the keys.
Waiting at the Animal Export Office after an all-nighter with a lame dog: One of the most miserable experiences of my life. Shout-out to Missed-It-Mike for the Hale'Iwa T-shirt
Eventually they bid us adieu. Another twenty minutes passed until a cab took us. This guy parked a little closer but wouldn't go further, claiming he wasn't allowed any closer in his cab. I carried Chucho all the way to the gruff guy at the Animal Export shack, he stamped my paperwork and more than five hours later, we were granted access into Honduras.
Nicaragua, the land of vibrant colors but muted personalities... Immigration Building
I was relieved to be back in the car but really sad about Chucho. I was wondering if I was just going to have to put him down the day after we made it to El Salvador. Five-plus hours later we left the border area and officially entered Honduras. I apologized to the guys for having made them wait for so long as we waited in line on foot to be granted legal access into the city.
Chucho refused my attempts at giving him water. This was unfathomable to me given how hot he'd been at the border and for so long. My fearing of the worst solidified.
We only lasted about two hours total in the entirety of Honduras. We were pulled over once by a soldier in a beret. He was really nice, asked us a few questions, and had a great sense of humor. We passed the hotel at which Chucho and I stayed on the way down. Honduras in general seems like such a bummer, or at least during that section of road.
We arrived at the border to El Salvador and I geared up for more bullshit. Not sure what the guys did or said but this time they just x-rayed the Hiace with Chucho inside and we were done within an hour. Yes, we exited Honduras and entered El Salvador in that span of time! It didn't cross my mind that we'd crossed Chucho into El Salvador illegally until weeks later...
I got pulled into questioning and the guy was doing a full-court press on me. He kept asking why I had so many Salvadorean stamps in my passport. The first time he asked, I said, "I am a Salvadorean citizen with a DUI (Salvadorean Universal Document of Identification, needed for just about everything including voting). He kept pestering me, he uttered various versions of "What are you doing entering and leaving El Salvador so many times?". Since I'd already told him I was a citizen and that didn't do squat, I told him I had family there and visited them/came down for a wedding/came down to surf. After an umpteenth iteration of the above question, I'd had it.
Site of the interrogation
I raised my voice and said, "I am a citizen of El Salvador and I have a DUI. What is the problem?!? Is there a legal limit on how many times I can visit a country of which I am a citizen?".
Apparently he hadn't heard me initially when I'd mentioned my dual citizenship. He softened up and let me go. He said next time to just tell him I was a citizen right away. I said ok, obviously not worth mentioning I had.
Waiting for the Hiace to be cleared by Customs. We sat down here and I bought the boys some bubbly (Cokes) to celebrate our final passage.
We mounted up when the Hiace was cleared. The dog was still refusing water, though he did partake in maybe five capfuls total when I insisted. I sat back in my seat, dog at my feet, and admired the San Miguel sunset as tears streamed down my face behind my sunglasses.
Working our way to Tecla
I asked Chucho to please make it to my birthday. I could tell his hips were bothering him even as he laid down on the floor of the Hiace. We went through a couple of towns I'd never visited. Night fell and we stopped for gas again. Ariel asked me to front him partial payment as he didn't have the cash for gas. I obliged and we got back on the road.
I asked Ariel to let me tether my phone to his, just so I could connect and let my wife know I'd made it. It took him over an hour to grant my request, but eventually I was able to message her.
Eventually, we made our way to our destination, Santa Tecla. I'd made a reservation at a self-storage facility and we emptied the vast majority of the Hiace at the facility, as we'd discussed. I guided them to my uncle's (formerly my mother's) house, paid them the remainder of $640 (the extra was a tip) and sent them on their way.
I carried Chucho in and plopped him on the bed. I'd been awake for over forty-two hours, but it still took me a while to pass out.
I was eventually paid a little under $13K for the Prado in two wire transfers. Chucho has made it nearly three-and-a-half months past my birthday, with only two shot regimens for his arthritic hips
Our last Iguana sunrise, taken from our balcony on the third floor of the Golf Condos
The doggo and I beat feet to the beach. He took his time sniffing stuff, getting one last inhalation of the path to the water. I let him dally on the sand when I paddled out.
It wasn't too crowded. I think a lot of people were lulled by the late arrival of this swell. According to magicseaweed we were to get a pulse in the morning with constant reinforcers all day with the swell peaking today. Yesterday was a complete bust. I waited until the afternoon to go and it was so gutless I didn't bother to paddle out at the swell magnet that is Panga Drops.
There was way more energy in the water noticeable upon my first southward gaze into the Pacific.
I caught a left pretty quickly and got covered up completely, too completely. I kicked my board in front of me to lessen the chances of trauma.
I immediately began getting attacked by the baby jellyfish, including a particularly painful string of them wrapping around my forearm. It felt as though a low voltage charge had coursed through my extremity. Painful, but not as bad as the Pangas "Just Get Welts" sesh a couple of months ago.
A light squall showered us and a rainbow formed. I gazed at it while two surfers were particularly close to one another framed by the rainbow and thought what a cute gay surfers couple's pic that would make.
I caught a right that lined up ok. Had I not been dropping in blind from the wind and the glare I might have noticed it was going to tube. I pumped and snapstalled but did so too high/late and as I crouched down I got pitched.
My last wave was a really late small right. I had paralysis of analysis and ended up crabgrabbing as the wave unloaded its Napoleonic fury on my head.
The dog had been barking it up for a while and I had stuff I needed to button up so I went in.
I spent the rest of the day finishing up the packing and waiting for what would likely be a bitch of a time.
We moved to Nicaragua because at the time of planning it checked so many of our boxes
Warm water and good surf within walking distance
Decent school with US accreditation nearby
Established community with little kids running around
Relatively cheap
Safe. From October 2015 (when I started planning the move) to April 2018 it was considered the safest country in Central America by far (yes including Costa Rica, which is dealing with a terrible rise in crime and corruption)
Striking distance to US
The school thing turned out to be a bust as we got insider info while here that it wasn't up to snuff. So even if this political strife hadn't happened Raquel had decreed we would stay here through Lucia's first grade year at the latest.
Point Five is the biggest catalyst for the move, obviously. If we were staying now the next few months would be the time to put money down on a lot or home. We pulled out of our lot purchase and ended up eating the deposit (though we are supposed to get half of it back...).
Everything else was pretty sweet. The waves weren't as good as I'd hoped, meaning the close-out/too-fast-too-make situation didn't sort itself out for as much of the season I was here.
Ironically, had the political issue not ignited I'm pretty sure the crowds might have turned me off and possibly away (as they did in California).
The biggest bummer about being here, and one of which we were aware before the move, was getting supplies. Each trip to the grocery store was a three-hour endeavor pre-roadblocks. Roundtrip driving alone was 100 minutes and waiting in line was twenty on a decent day. Going to Managua for (Pricesmart, VERY similar to Costco) shopping and to get our investment property check was a seven-hour grind. I insisted on doing both Rivas and Managua trips on my own because our youngest has a penchant for puking when in a car for more than a half-hour. I got it down so I would only have to go to Rivas every twenty or so days and Managua every forty-ish days.
So we move on from the Nica dream to our next station in life, El Salvador. 8065 days will have elapsed since I left El Salvador as a full-time resident to return as one. I have been back to visit nineteen times in the interim, so I have a feeling as to what to expect.
A few of the differences between El Salvador and Nicaragua:
In El Salvador, we will live in the San Salvador metro area (I consider Santa Tecla to be part of it because of the sprawl). Everything will be more convenient (hospital, grocery stores, doctors, schools; hell I'll even be able to go to a full gym again) with one tiny exception: The beach will be a little less than an hour away.
This convenience comes at a price. Where we had been living for the last eight months was in very rural Nicaragua. We will be in very urban surroundings of San Salvador. Nicaragua has six times the land area and fewer people total than El Salvador.
When it comes to infrastructure, we will be in the lap of luxury relative to Nica. The power and internet will go out much less often and the roads are actually asphalted and maintained there.
The biggest bummer we'll encounter is the muro-to-muro lifestyle. Everyone there lives behind walls and you go from your set of walls to others'. We can mitigate this somewhat by living in a complex with a bunch of kids so we'll see how that works out.
Surf-wise, there will be a lot more variety than here (point breaks galore, beach breaks, rivermouths and so on all bigger than in Nica for some reason) but with no offshore it's pretty much an early morning only situation. The nice thing is they're doubling the capacity of the road to the beach so no more chewing on diesel exhaust on the way back up the hill.
We'll have blood relatives there and the can of worms that goes with that... 😆 I also have life-long friends I've known, in some cases, since preschool.
No more worrying about obtaining residency! I am a full citizen with all of the benefits that entails and can stay as long as I'd like. Here in Nica we had to leave every ninety days to get our passports stamped with new visas. In ES, I'll have to get the girls legal but that will be a lot easier than having to get the four of us residency.
In CA, I was burned out on working but I must say I'm getting the bug to start producing hard again. Once Chucho dies we will likely be leaving El Salvador unless we fall in love with it.
When I was living there, I couldn't wait to get out. This was pre-internet, pre-driver's license, pre-surfing, so my entertainment options were extremely limited. I was also in a dysfunctional situation at home which was a constant bummer and the pervading vibe was emotional instability.
Conclusion to the Opie chronicles
The van I drove down was nicknamed Opie due to its license plate having OP as the first two letters. I bought it and drove Chucho and a fair amount of stuff down from Colorado, with the intention of giving it away (because it was too old to be imported).
I asked around on the expat groups and the first person to respond was a woman from Dallas who does a lot of charitable work in Astillero (where some people take pangas to surf up north).
Your Faithful Surf Blogger and Da Astillero Boyz in November
I received a message this morning saying how much the van has helped the community as well as a pic of Opie in action!
"I want to share with you how much this van is helping many in the community. The baseball team has been able to transport the team 2 weeks in a row! Olinyer takes care of it and the surf team has used it to feed the elderly in nursing homes etc. we are very grateful thank you and your wife for this gift."
The wind was blustering and it made for a bad combo with the smaller waves. Smaller waves, generally speaking, have a tighter window during which you can catch waves and getting hung up on the lip robs you of the already low percentage you have to make these poorly angled waves.
I caught three waves.
On my first, a left, I pearled on a pump. While I didn't get hung up on the lip at takeoff I managed to put myself in that position and my nose went pearl diving.
I was in position for a juicy right. I got hung up on the lip and airdropped. While I was airborne, I saw a dark local grom bail and leave his board out (I presume he feared I would smash into him as it was tight). He needn't had worried, I stomped it and for my reward I was presented with a section folding over in front of me cutting me off from the rest of the wave. To boot, the guy who'd last given me a ride in his golf cart had gone and had reaped the best section of the wave.
Chucho was being good on the sand, only barking when people came in from the surf.
I got another left. I made it around the initial cascade of a section but what lay before me beyond that was too fat. I managed some pumps and a half-hearted bonk but that was it.
The dog was really running around now so I went in to chill with him hoping the drop in tide would make it get better. We messed around on the beach for about a half-hour and it got even worse. I told myself if the crowd count got to a -3 (meaning three more surfers left the water than entered it in a specific span of time) I would paddle out again. It peaked at a -1 and we bailed.
I lucked into having my neighbor Barry watch the dog AND he let me ride the bike he's renting.
I pulled up to PC and there was a set detonating. It was big and beautiful looking, but as a surfer it was ugly. I could picture getting hung up on the lip as the wind's invisible hand denied you descent while the liquid guillotine of the toothy curtain rained terror from above.
There were about ten guys concentrated at the main peak. I chose to be a little on the inside, to score some of the ones that might swing wide. I'd had a bitch of a time paddling out. My timing fairy dust from the previous paddle-out had worn off and my timing fairy dust dealer was out to collect with a vengeance. To add to the beatings, the boardshorts my in-laws gave me, 31 in waist, were falling partway off of me thanks to my unofficial fasting which began when my lady bid me adieu. We're apart geographically, but we're still together together (I think, though I am reluctant to check my IM).
I caught two quick waves both close-outs. I had a shot at several more with more open faces, but there was a dude in priority each time. On one instance, I watched the guy paddle his ass off, pop up, and go over the handlebars.
He came up, paddled towards me and said, "the wind".
I told him, "I know. You have to put your weight all the way on the gas and then the lip holds you up and over you go. It's happened to me before and it will probably happen to me again, this session.".
He took me by surprise and said, "Thanks man".
Long story short, I didn't get the chance to endo. I eventually took a close-out in as surf and crowd conditions deteriorated.
But before that happened...
A guy who went to high school not far from the condo where this very surf blog was founded is known around here as an a-hole. I've only surfed with him twice as far as I know. He thinks he's local and he's claimed in the past that the house in which he lives is his when his parents built it and he manages it. He has on many occasions dropped in on people and then harassed them when they confront him, on some occasions threatening to call the cops when they ask him to go to the sand for a chat.
I knew he was out because he was shouting as a set approach; something unintelligible, I couldn't quite make it out. Within ten minutes of my having noticed him I saw him take off on a wave with a rider (who'd had priority) already on it, then proceed to loop around him. The guy who'd had priority understandably was spooked as he had no idea a close call had been imminent.
The aggressor in question paddled back out and words were exchanged. The Argentinean guy (if my accent detection skills are still up to snuff) let him have it. Believe me, he couldn't have held back much more than he did considering a direction change could have put both riders' bodies in jeopardy.
The long and short of it is, from what I could gather from one party's bad Spanish, is that the aggressor accused the Argentinean of backpaddling him (if it happened, and I doubt it did because of the relative distance between the two when the Argentinean stood up). He then said this was HIS wave. The Argentinean said this is the ocean, which teaches us all humility and your arrogance will do you no good (it was getting harder to hear as they were paddling away). The Argentinean reached out for a handshake to which the aggressor reluctantly obliged.
The aggressor then paddled in a ways. I made eye contact with him about five minutes later and couldn't help but smirk (I tried not to). Some say it is this smirk which intimidated him into paddling in for the sesh...
Overall, it was a waste of having had a dogsitter since I've caught more waves when Chucho's been on the sand.
The swell was good-sized but the conditions (an unfortunate combo of too much wind and poor swell angle for the bathymetry) conspired against us having a good session out thar.
