Now, fifteen years later, I still dream of the storybook beginning, middle, and end.  Obviously, the grind routine of work isn’t it, vacations are, which is why I work so hard to save up a little extra coin every couple months to open that book, and take a corporeal read through its pages.

So in this edition of California Trachts, we opened the book…the story book of Carmel, California.  From the crystal blue beach break peaks set in the waters off the legendary Pebble Beach golf course, to the Lamplighter Inn and Suites Bed and Breakfast, to the Flying Fish Grill and the Forge in the Forest restaurants, we moved, like fiction characters from one “wow” to the next in a town that seemed created by a story-teller for mom, dad, and the kids, surfer or not.

In Carmel, at least from what we’ve found as a surf family, if you want the ultimate storybook experience, you call the Lamplighter Inn Bed and Breakfast and book a room with the owner Bobby or one of his awesome staff, you just do!

Now if you’ve never been to Carmel, to me, and especially my wife, it is one of the most quaint towns coupled with one of the prettiest beaches we’ve ever been to in all our travels around the world.

Bobby is the owner of the Lamplighter Inn B & B and has become a friend of mine.  This is the exact reason why I always book rooms at his B & B, and why my wife and I love staying at B & B’s when we are scavenging for great locales of both waves and quaint family get-a-way towns up and down the coast.  When you stay at a B & B, you not only get a free breakfast, which is one of the best parts, but you become a part of the hotel for the night.  B & Bs are almost always family run, and their livelihood depends on the success of their Inn.  For that reason, owners, like Bobby, and the rest of the staff make you a friend even though you’re in a foreign town.

As far as the rooms at the Lamplighter, they are a legitimate 10 out of 10 in my book.  Storybook, English cottage styled on the outside, and, at least in our room, the Porpoise Room, the interior was sort of a Cape Cod decor that left my wife and I with jaws dropped and hearts warmed.  We walked into our room in awe, having not taken a vacation that inspired us in a long time… Then my three year old pushed passed us and threw his bag of cars on the floor and my baby cried, but that didn’t ruin the night, the mood was already set.

At night, the wood burning fire place in the room was great for smores until the kids went to bed, then as it simmered down, the burning coals helped keep the room warm to a evening cup of coffee.

As far as proximity to surfing, the Lamplighter Inn is the best place in town for a surfer.  It’s the closest hotel or Inn to Carmel Beach, only three blocks away.  Not to mention that it has a killer outdoor shower for when you are done with your session and you walk back up the street, feet sandy, and hands cold.  As for surf, this is one of my favorite beach breaks in California because of it’s crystal clear Hawaii-like water color, and the sublime backdrop of cascading wooded mountains to the south, on the Big Sur side.  On it’s day, glassy and head high, this wave produces barrels and speedy walls as good as any beachie I’ve ever surfed.  It’s often inconsistent, and when the wind comes up perfection is quickly eroded, but if you time the conditions right, this long beach has plenty of peaks to seek out a lonely wave to yourself.

On the romantic/stoke your wife and kids out side of things, proximity is also top-notch.  Being that the B & B is right on the main drag, Ocean Blvd, it’s just an easy stroll, within a few blocks to the main shopping area.

One of the great restaurants we found and loved was The Flying Fish Grill. It sits uniquely cascaded down a small stairwell on Ocean Ave. and Mission St.  The food represented an artistic display of seafood delicacies.  It is a great date restaurant, but the ambiance was fun with the kids as well in the early evening, around 5: 30pm, when we seemingly had the restaurant to ourselves.

Another one of our favorites restaurants, and maybe my son’s favorite due to desert cookie that was pan baked and as big as our plate,  The Forge in the Forest, was not only family romantic, but family friendly for our small group of four.  The service was friendly and relaxed, and the outdoor patio seating had a great forest-like feeling.  The food was well, comparable to a perfect tube ride.  The salmon left my wife stoked and thanking me for a great trip, and the t-bone steak melted in my mouth and hit the spot of a “man’s steak” after a good morning session down the hill surfing Carmel beach.

Shopping-wise, guys, you must take your girlfriend or wife to Lush, a soap and body store, and I was stoked on Liquid Surf Shop, the surf shop in town (if you go by, tell the owner Sean we said hi, he’s a killer guy).  As far as stoking out the kids, if they are old enough to surf and you want to get them out there in the water so you and the wife can have a couple minutes to yourself, send them to Learn to Surf with the Carmel Surf School” run by Noah Greenberg.  Noah is one of the best surfers in the area, and a few of his camp instructors are professional surfer’s too (Johnny Craft to name one).  Conversely, if you’re kids are small like ours, there is a quaint little toy store in the middle of town.

All in all, Carmel has become a go-to location for my family because of it’s quintessential vacation feel.  Your mental trajectory slides softly into to another world and the stresses of your everyday life become left behind. The town is quaint, clean, romantic, fun, and filled with epic beach break potential, which is why Carmel is sure to satisfy all qualms on the western front.

]]> http://www.surfinghandbook.com/2011/12/california-trachts-carmel-edition/feed/ 2 http://www.surfinghandbook.com/2011/09/california-trachts-malibu-edition/ http://www.surfinghandbook.com/2011/09/california-trachts-malibu-edition/#comments Tue, 13 Sep 2011 12:54:09 +0000 Shawn Tracht http://www.surfinghandbook.com/?p=2402

California Trachts: Malibu Edition

A Surf Escape Guide for Family Surfers

By Shawn Tracht

As a surfer, grazing daily at the newest surf magazines and internet websites, we are constantly elbowed in the face with more and more travel journals from guys and gals who have taken off around the world and scored perfect barrels in warm weather.  The problem with this for a family dad, is that the idea of surf travel begins to create an itch in you that can only be satiated by getting out there and finally taking a trip. That being said, when you have a family, ditching the wife and kids to go on an fully inclusive surf trip to Indo or Central America probably isn’t the best way to nourish a good family life.  Omniscient of that fact, some sort of surf escape get-a-way must be devised at least a couple times a year.

So… in an effort to help with some ideas to get you out there, and bring the family along, one answer is to to take off a couple hundred miles up or down your coastline to spots that you know are going off, and are also romantic for your significant other and are family oriented for the kids.

In this addition of California Trachts, we followed the South swells of summer to Malibu, and found just what we were looking for: an epic little Inn and restaurant steps from the beach and with in striking distance of Malibu’s legendary point breaks.

The Waves in Malibu

If you’ve never been to Malibu, it is the hippie scene of Los Angeles.  Even though the conglomeration and pandemonium of a city that houses almost 10 million people lies just over the hill, Malibu, is only accessible by the two-lane Pacific Coast Highway, so the slow drive from the city keeps many wannabe ocean-lifestyler’s stuck in the heat of the inland valley.  That being said, though the percentages of beach goers are low, near 10 million people thinking about the beach still crowds a perfect point break.  Over a hundred people strewn down the point is still a normal day at Malibu Point when the South Swells are pumping.  However, this is one of those places where when you get on the right wave, you’ll be racing and carving for 300 yards plus!

Malibu Is One Of The Gems Of The Californa Coast

Another thing about Malibu Point is that it has three main breaks, so even though the line-up looks unmanageable from the beach, if you spend a couple minutes studying the point, you can usually find your niche.  You’re probably not going to show up here and get thirty waves in two hours, but the few you ride can really be worth it…if you don’t get dropped in on that is.

First Point Malibu is closest to the road, and this is more of the longboard wave.  Second Point is further up, and is noticeable because of the big gap between the longboarders and where the shortboarders are sitting.  Third point is all the way up at the top, and is more beach breaky.  Some guys will even go left on a few a-frame peaks at third point.  Moreover, when your on vaction and the weather is hot, the water is warm, and the swells are pumping, the crowd sort of fades out of your mind because you’re not stuck at home in one foot slosh anymore.

The good news is that Malibu Point isn’t the only good wave in Malibu.  As long as you time a good South Swell, there are a few perfect cobble stone points right off of the highway.  Maybe my favorite is Leo Carillo.  North of Zuma Beach, it breaks right off of these two huge rocks that stick up out of the ocean, and the wave peels all the way to the beach.  When it’s big, the sets actually break behind the rocks, and the dudes sitting outback have to clear the rock section when they take off deep.  If you surf the place all day long, like I did, every hour or two a guy will get held up in the lip on take off and end up in the rocks, “awe dude, I just went through the cheese grader man, did you see that? …How’s my board?  I think I just ruined my wetsuit.”

Leo Carillo

My best bet for catching a lot of waves here was sitting just inside of the rocks, waiting for the guys on the outside to pull out of set waves that they were afraid of taking off on due to the rock factor.

Lastly, if the swell is small, County Line is a really fun beach break with a point that can also get going.  It’s located at the north end of Malibu.  As the swell gets over head, other spots like Big Dume and Super Tubes have been known to churn out some amazing barrels, however, these spots, like most good barrels, are localized.  Topanga Point is also a great wave, and if you don’t want to surf a main spot, Malibu is literally point break city, with random great points viewable from the highway and within a lengthy hike in.

Where to Stay

Lush grounds, Southern California warm weather and an ocean view completed the tri-fecta of a perfect vacation location.  At the Malibu Country Inn, a spacious suite with a fireplace and an ocean view made us feel free.  In the room, we had a jacuzzi tub and a king size bed.  This was perfect for the kids to bathe, my wife to be pampered, and a bed big enough to fit us all comfortably, which is unlike home where we all cram into our queen bed.

Ivy was the hotel manager, a Hawaiian who was born and raised with the Aloha spirit.  This is another reason I love going to small Inns and B & B’s.  The staff thrives only if the hotel does well, thus, they’re generally always friendly and welcoming.  The Malibu Country Inn was no different.  We were stoked with our room, and would just suggest you ask for one of the suites or the newly renovated rooms, as they were the best.

Steps from the Beach

Just steps from our suite was Zuma Beach, which pounded with some heavy beach break barrels.  Growing up in Southern California, I remember and miss the lengthy soft sand beaches scattered with lifeguard towers.  In the early morn, my son, on top of my shoulders, and I strolled down the hill and along some mini trails to the open beach.  Again, cell phones and electronic devices turned off and left at home, he got all of my attention, and we were both stoked.  We raced up and down the beach until I got tired, we sat on lifeguard towers gazing into the sea, and I told him about when I was a kid and how I thought life was best lived.  This time made me happy, and it made the whole trip worth it.   It is a memory that when I dream back of it right now, makes me jealous of my own past.

Our Favorite Place to Eat: Kristy’s Wood Oven And Wine Bar

Both because of it’s decadence, affordability for such a nice restaurant, and welcoming atmosphere, we always had lunch on the property of the Malibu Country Inn at Kristy’s.  The food was elegant, yet filling, which is core to a surfer’s appetite, and for lack of a better cliche, mouth-watering.  For me, taste and a full belly was essential. For my wife, presentation and taste…and all were fulfilled.

We started off with crispy calamari, stacked finely, and topped with a drizzle sauce.  Each bite reminded me of how proud I was to be the dad who could bring my family on a summer vacation and treat them to such a meal…even though I was just a middle class surfer.  From shrimp scampi to a burger that topped a good steak at most restaurants, we couldn’t have lived the dream any more than we did at Kristy’s Restaurant.

Ensuing Weeks After the Trip

Though a surfer always dreams of perfect waves in exotic foreign countries, taking off by yourself on those trips when you’re married with kids just doesn’t fit the genre of family life.  That being said, we surfer’s still need to fulfill our needs for great waves and travel, and this jaunt down the coast definitely did just that.

As for the family, they couldn’t have been more stoked on dad!  I was able to add variety and vibrancy compared to the summers in the past which were stagnant with normal routine.

In final, the ensuing month or so around home brought a renewed sense of companionship and fun with the family.  The memories of running the beach with my son and treating my wife to some romantic dinners kept the stoke of life alive.  I scored head high perfect waves, and even though it wasn’t in Indo, I didn’t really care.  I took care of my own needs as a surfer, as well as my family, which means I’ll hopefully be getting to do this mini surf travel thing a heck-of-a lot more, and hopefully you will too.

Happy Travels!

Contact Information:

Malibu Country Inn: malibucountryinn.com  (877) FUN-N-SUR (Reservations) – Telephone: (310) 457-9622

Kristys Wood Oven & Wine bar: malibucountryinn.com/kristys  Telephone: (310) 457-2602

Jungmun Left // photo: Dan Kojetin

That being said, our little island was a pretty good training ground. The northern coast occasionally caught some decent swells being funnelled down between the mainland of Korea and Japan, but it was usually short period wind chop. The south coast was open to the Pacific, and every now and then a rocky point would light up with some beautiful peeling lefts. Most of the island’s coast was made up of jagged volcanic rock, but there were sandy beach breaks at fairly regular intervals.

When I moved to the island I was terrified of the ocean. I had been a bookworm as a child with a fascination for sharks, and years of reading accounts of attacks and shark biology had led me to respect those noble animals so much that I stayed the hell away from them at all costs. It got so bad that I couldn’t even go into fresh water without panicking. However, the beaches on the island were so gorgeous that I finally began forcing myself to wade into the turquoise water from time to time, but I always received a great deal of ridicule for my peculiar habit of backing out of the water to avoid being snuck up on.

The Girl

Then I met a girl. She had a smile that stopped my heart and an 8’6”longboard that she lugged over from Santa Cruz. We quickly became inseparable – except when she went surfing, and eventually I got tired of sitting on the beach feeling stupid. I got wind of someone selling a board down south, and I snapped it up. One wave later, and I was hooked. As the girl (now my loving fiancée) later said, and now often says, she created a monster. There were a few surfers who lived near us on the north side, and a few more down south, and our board-laden old cars became a common sight on the coastal roads.

Dan, Issac, and Hugh

Travels With Bongo Dan

The waves were notoriously hard to predict. There is a bad joke in Nova Scotia that also applied to Jeju: Don’t like the weather? Just wait fifteen minutes. Conditions were constantly changing, and as a result, we logged a lot of driving time in a typical day, catching a few waves at one beach, relocating to another when the surf got blown out or died. But the weather was only one of the challenges that we faced.

Surfing is a very new, and very misunderstood sport in Korea, and perhaps even more so on Jeju. Despite living on an island, most of Jeju’s residents cannot swim, however, beach recreation has exploded in recent years. What this leads to, sadly, are several drownings each year. The most popular beach, called Jungmun, is also the most dangerous, with strong rips and a heavy shore break. The lifeguards are usually young kids who pay very little attention to the swimmers. On one occasion, a friend of mine had to go pull a kid out of the water while the lifeguards were busy burying each other in the sand, laughing hysterically. When he angrily pointed out their negligence, they apologized profusely, then ran off down the beach to play soccer.

Because so few islanders can swim, it often set off a panic when we foreigners would paddle off outside of designated wading areas to surf. Whistles would blow from the beach, megaphones would call out to us, and eventually police boats would come and buzz around us, all to save us from getting killed in small, mushy surf in three feet of water. It would have been comical if it wasn’t so annoying to have a boat nearly run you over while its occupants try to tell you that what you are doing is too dangerous. There were times when we would be surfing in isolated spots far away from any beach crowds, and drivers passing on the highway would stop and call the coast guard.

Korean swimmers could also be a hazard. Because surfing is so new to the area, most islanders had never seen anyone surfing before, so they were extremely curious. It was not unusual for a group of swimmers to follow you around in the water or tread water directly in front of you, and they would be completely oblivious to the fact that they were getting in the way and putting themselves in danger. It was sometimes hard to deal with, but it was usually only a problem for about two months out of the year. Koreans have a very particular beach season that lasts from July 1^st to August 31^st, and hardly anyone goes near the water outside of that window.

Korean Beach Warnings

Another obstacle was the Korean surfers. After a couple of years a surf club opened up at Jungmun beach down south, and a group of about six or seven Korean surfers laid claim to the point break. There was a great deal of animosity between Koreans and foreign surfers for quite some time. From what I was able to gather, and was ashamed to hear, there were a couple of foreign English teachers who lived near the beach that had been sneaking down in the early morning and “borrowing” boards from the club to catch some waves before anyone showed up. Not only was this very ignorant behaviour, but it also reflected badly on the foreign community as a whole. When the Koreans found out, they were understandably upset.

What followed was a lot of bad blood and misunderstandings. There were many stories of run-ins in the water, with Koreans trying to force foreigners off the point. It was a strange situation because some of us had actually been surfing on the island a lot longer than most of the Korean guys, so it was debatable as to who the “locals” actually were. There were people on both sides taking things too far, dropping in, dropping threats, etc. I heard that one guy was even chased off the beach with a speargun. Those of us who had not been directly involved in the board-stealing debacle did our best to keep our distance from these incidents, but it was a small island, and tensions continued to grow. What resulted was that all of the foreigners thought that all of the Koreans hated us, and all of the Koreans thought that all of the foreigners hated them. In reality, there were only a few people with legitimate grudges, but it took some time for the rest of us to figure that out.

Typhoon swell // Photo: Dan Kojetin

One Korean surfer was particularly intimidating. He was small, but dark and wiry. He was heavily tattooed, which was extremely unusual in Korea and normally implied mafia ties. He was a fantastic surfer, and always wore a very intense, serious expression. One day, out of the blue, he simply paddled up to my friend Isaac and me and said, “We think you guys are okay. You should say hello sometime. Everyone thinks the foreigners are not friendly. ” After that, every time I paddled out, I would spread my arms wide, give a bow, and yell “Annyeong Haseyo!(Hello!)” as loud as I could, and it was a relief to finally see those guys smile and nod. I’ll always be grateful to that surfer, who turned out be a really nice guy who spoke excellent English. He went by the English name of Gabriel, and he deserves a great deal of credit for finally extending that olive branch and ultimately dissipating much of the tension between the two surfing communities.

There were some amazing moments out there. Jeju has a wonderful tribe of diving women called the Haenyeo. These women are mostly in their sixties or seventies, and still free dive every day for abalone, sea urchins, octopus, and different marine plant life. Their gear consists of old wetsuits, masks, a knife or prying tool, and a float up at the surface. They can hold their breath for a few minutes at a time and dive to depths of five meters or more. They have a unique habit of whistling whenever they come up for air. I never found out if this was a breathing technique or simply a way of letting the others know they were okay. These wrinkled little women are some of the toughest and jolliest human beings you will ever encounter. One time I saw a tiny old woman trudging up from the water carrying a huge bag of seaweed and shells. When I offered to help her, she just started laughing and stumped off down the beach, grinning and shaking her head at the silly foreigner. I also heard that these women formed their own militia and fought against the Japanese during their occupation. One sunny morning we were surfing the point when we started to hear faint whistling coming our way. Sure enough, little round floats started to appear, and wrinkled little faces started popping up around us, whistling and flashing gapped, gold-toothed grins. My friend Chandra quickly paddled in to shore and returned with a mask, and we took turns diving alongside the Haenyeo, watching them work. Eventually they passed by us, and carried on down the shore. It was one of the most incredible experiences I had in that place. Those little women are quite literally a dying breed, and I felt very fortunate to have been able to witness an ancient profession and tradition that may not be around much longer. It was something that very few people have had the opportunity to see, and it is something I will never forget.

The Haenyeo // photo by Dan Kojetin

Later that year, Gabriel contacted me about a surfing competition that he was helping organize down south. He really wanted to have a foreigner division, so he enlisted me to round up the troops. I got quite a few guys and a few gals signed up, and we all headed down, not sure what to expect. It turned out to be a great weekend, although the swell didn’t really cooperate. There were surfers from the mainland of Korea, Japan, and a few from China that had flown in, and we were all put up at a great little hotel just above the beach. My friend Chandra from Pacific Grove, CA, danced all over the women’s division and won a nice little shortboard for her trip to Indo, and one of the South African guys took the men’s title. There was a very friendly vibe the whole weekend, with bands playing on the beach at night, some great food, and huge barrels full of beer and rice wine on ice.

In The Hotel For The Surf Competition

Another thing that I’ll remember was a night-surf with my fiancée. Jeju had a fleet of squid boats that fished the north coast of the island, and each boat had bright exterior lights to attract the squid. They could usually be seen at night just on the horizon, lights bobbing slowly on the open ocean swell. One evening we were surfing a small beach break, and were getting ready to call it a day. It was getting dark and my shark-sense was just starting to tingle when the squid boats came chugging along. They set up a few hundred meters offshore, lighting up the beach in a gentle glow. The incoming waves shimmered as we slid quietly along their faces, grinning at each other. We both still talk about that night, and how lucky we were to share something so unique and special. It was the only time I ever saw those squid boats set up that close to shore. I always thought of them as friends afterwards, and would think of them and wish them safe returns whenever the weather would turn bad.

Jeju squid boats // Photo: Dan Kojetin

When we finally left the island, we reluctantly sold off the collection of boards that we had amassed. The trip home was too long and we already had luggage, guitars, and a dog to carry, so we grudgingly let them go, making sure that each buyer promised to give them a loving home and plenty of exercise. I still think about those boards, and those boats, and all of those finicky island breaks. That island was an amazing place to live. It’s where I met the love of my life, and where we made so many memories and lifelong friends. It wasn’t the best surf spot in the world by a longshot, but it was the place where I fell in love with the sport, and it will always be a part of me. So if you ever find yourself in Jeju-do, and you happen to see a Hot Buttered board with a triple stringer lying on the beach, give it a pat and a message from me. Tell it I said, “Hello, old friend! Thanks for the good times. Be safe, be sound, and happy surfing.”

The boy and the dog

About five years ago, my girlfriend, Lauren, and I traveled to Iceland for vacation. Although the cold and windswept island nation is perhaps not the first place that springs to most people’s minds when planning a pleasant getaway, it had nonetheless long fascinated me, and I had wanted to go there for quite some time. As it happened, Lauren, with her fascination for geology, had expressed a similar interest. So we went.

We spent two wonderful weeks circumnavigating the island, sightseeing, hiking, camping out, river-rafting, whale watching, bird watching, sampling exotic Icelandic cuisine, and generally having a ball. It was a trip I’ll never forget, and one that, though five years have passed, keeps cropping up fondly in my memory.  I have only one regret: I didn’t bring my surfboard.

Prior to the trip, like any surfer contemplating the prospect of visiting a locale with miles upon miles of virgin coastline, I toyed with the idea of bringing along my board and wetsuit. Although Iceland isn’t typically known as a surfing destination, I knew the place had waves. I’d read the odd article here and there about some adventurous soul braving the chilly arctic waters, and I was intrigued. I had even found a website that chronicled – in text and photos – the surfing adventures of a US naval officer who had been stationed in Iceland for many years. His website, now sadly defunct, described a sort of cold-water version of Hawaii, with volcanic sand beaches, desolate lava flows, and tubing waves breaking over crenulated reefs.

Iceland's Rugged Coastline

Unfortunately, Lauren wasn’t as enthused about the idea as I was. Not being a surfer herself, she simply wasn’t keen on the prospect of me surfing some isolated stretch of coastline while she sat waiting on the beach, shivering in a down parka. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that Lauren isn’t adventurous. Far from it – we’ve had our share of thrilling adventures together. But as she pointed out, this was going to be a “together” vacation, rather than a “Tom-gets-to-go-surfing-while-Lauren-waits-dutifully-on-the-beach” vacation. We were going to do things we both enjoyed – together. So, to make a long story short, I didn’t bring my board.

Still, despite having had a fantastic trip, the fact that I hadn’t surfed there – the fact that I hadn’t been able to experience the whole Iceland surf extravaganza – gnawed at me. I felt I had missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. In short, I felt deprived.

A jagged coastline means ample opportunities to find hidden points and reefs

All this angst came flooding back to me a few days ago when I chanced upon a website offering what appeared to be surfing trips in Iceland. At first I did a double-take. Was this true? I asked myself. I had to read more, so I poured myself a cup of tea and hunkered down in front of my computer screen.

As I soon discovered, the site, which is www.arcticsurfers.is/¹, is run by two Icelandic surfers and, does indeed, offer surfing excursions in Iceland – both packaged and customized surf trips. There is even a surfing/snowboarding option.

According to the website, the company was started in 2009 by Erlendur Magnússon and Ingólfur Olsen, two former employees of Arctic Adventures – the largest tour operator in Iceland. Both men are experienced tour guides and avid surfers with over ten years worth of experience surfing Iceland’s rugged coastline. The pair also runs a surf camp near Reykjavik, apparently the only one of its kind in Iceland. They claim that the Iceland surf experience is filled with everything from black sand beach break and peeling point breaks to heaving reef breaks and adrenaline-inducing slabs. Basically every type of wave a surfer – whether a beginner, intermediate, or advanced – would conceivably want.

With my overactive imagination working in overdrive, I pictured these two guys as latter-day Vikings with flowing blond hair and spear-like surfboards paddling out through row upon row of tempestuous north Atlantic swell. I pictured myself right there with them, matching them stroke for stroke, battling the storm-tossed seas, clad in a thick 5-mil wetsuit.

Eventually everything returns to the ocean

What really attracted my attention, however, was the customized surf trip, a venture which promised the “die hard, adventurous surfer” the opportunity to explore the island and find the “best possible surf.” With just under 5000 km of coastline and open to every possible swell the Atlantic Ocean can dish out, Iceland sounded like it offered the true wilderness surf adventure – empty lineups, world-class waves, and dramatic backdrops. Needless to say, I was intrigued.

As I continued browsing the website – reading the testimonials, perusing the photo gallery, and watching video clips – I once again felt that old familiar stirring. The thought of an arctic surf adventure was more a reality now than ever before.

Maybe one day, I told myself, maybe one day.

¹It should be noted for the record that the foregoing is not intended as an advertisement for, nor an endorsement of, www.arcticsurfers.is/. Nor am I affiliated in any way with their enterprise. I am simply a guy who stumbled on their website, liked what he saw, and wanted to share it with anyone who might be interested. In short, I want to encourage guys like Erlendur and Ingólfur to keep doing what they’re doing. Skål!

Southwestern Oz (June 1990)
My surfing had been reduced to once or twice a year due to my career as a Naval Officer.  I could not find the time, or be in one place long enough to get me and my surfboard to the beach.   I had surfed in high school and a little in college.  But when I joined the Navy, and was going through flight school, surfing was the last thing on my mind.

As we readied ourselves for my first deployment to the western pacific, I did think about surfing now and then.  But not enough to bring a surf board on the aircraft carrier…space was at a premium, and as it was, I already had a bicycle in my stateroom just in case I had the opportunity to ride during one of our port calls.  When our port call list was made known to the ship’s crew and squadrons of Carrier Airwing 15, I noted that Perth Australia was on the list.  I did wonder if there was surf in that part of Australia.

Once at sea, I lived in a four man berthing.  Three other junior officers and myself, all from VAW-114 (A squadron of Airborne Early Warning and Control Aircraft), it was a smallish space (Navy for room) where there were two stacks of two unit bunk beds and also four wall lockers which doubled as desks.  I am not complaining, this is luxurious by Naval Standards, enlisted men live in berthing with up to 300 other men in a space.  We had the PLAT camera (where all aircraft launches and recoveries were recorded and shown live), a non-military TV with a VCR, and a stereo. Oh, and there was a sink for brushing teeth and shaving.

About half way through our 6 month deployment, the senior roommate moved out.  He got a better room (a two man), and we had a guy from another unit move in.  He was older than us, his callsign (Nickname) was “YB”,  which was short for Young Bob.  It fit, YB looked 15 even though he was probably 34 or so.  He was a surfer from San Diego and he was pretty serious about it.  He had brought with him, a board, VCR tapes of surfing which were set to excellent  music like Dead Milkmen, Butthole Surfers, Concrete Blonde, The Sex Pistols, and the Ramones….just what I needed to get my surfing juices percolating again.  Guys like Jonny Boy Gomes and Martin Potter ripping the tops off waves with their powerful vertical cutbacks, this really made me want to surf again.

Gracetown, where we surfed the first two days

Shipboard life is like groundhog day for 6 months.  Anything different is good, and the injection of surf thoughts definitely fit the bill.   Other than working (which was ground job and flying), eating, working out, and sleeping…there wasn’t much to do.  So we watched surf flicks.

We had been off the coast of Oman for a month or more and we were counting down the days until the next port visit, Perth Australia.  YB was talking about hiring a professional surf guide and going south to Margaret River for a couple days if we could each get leave.  Things worked out and YB, Trey, Nigel, and I, were all able to take four days leave and travel with our surf guide named Ian, to Margaret River.

As we were all getting off the big ship anchored in out in the bay off Perth, the seas began to rise, and boating on and off the ship was soon secured.  This was unfortunate for those crew members  still on the carrier that wanted, and had permission, to go ashore.  Boating was secured for almost three days.  But we lucky few, were all off the ship early as we had a pressing engagement to show the flag, a cocktail social with the local dignitaries from Perth.

We all woke up hung over and thirsty from the party and some additional bar hopping in our uniforms.  They make lovely beer in Australia, XXXX (pronounced “four-ex”) and Victoria Bitters to name just a few, which were both up to the task and went down all too smoothly.  At any rate, we were still pickled when we were picked up at our hotel by Ian in his Toyota Twin Turbo Diesel Land Cruiser.  In tow was a trailer with eight or ten surfboards, sleeping bags, barbeque, wood, wetsuits, and who knows what else.

The four hour trip was spent with us spinning sea stories and Ian telling us stories of 15 to 20 foot Margaret River, and the trip he just returned from guiding Martin Potter and some friends up the coast from Perth to somewhere north of Port Hedland.   Martin was held down and shoved under a reef on this trip, the hold down dislocated his shoulder  and he almost drowned.  Ian also casually mentioned the “Man in the Grey Suit” around Margaret River, which really had me on edge.

We all knew the seas were up since there was a huge storm in the southern sea, and Ian told us we were in for a treat.  Big Margaret River…The Bombing, Main Break Margaret River was where we were going.  I had heard about this place from YB, supplemented by Ian, I was nearly shaking when we pulled onto a narrow double track and made our way down to the carpark (dusty parking lot in Aussie).  By the time we got down to the golden cliffs overlooking the Bombing….we were all ready to surf.  However, one look at the bombing, almost a mile offshore, and I was shaking my head no.

Ian was chuckling and getting wetsuits out of the trailer for us….I told him there was no way I would try surfing, could try surfing the bombing.  Ian told me “No worries mate, we can surf over there.”  He pointed to the west and said there was a cove that broke nicely when the bombing was firing.  Sure enough, a little ways away, there was a cove that was a mile or so in diameter cove that had a reef in the middle, it was perfectly producing 3 to 5 foot A-Frames.

The water was cold, clear, and the reef was not all that shallow.  It was perfect all day, every day that we surfed there.  I had not surfed in more than a year, and even I caught a few small rights.  During one ride, I carved up and down the crystal clear wave until I caught my front rail, flew head first towards the water, and got smashed down on the reef.  I distinctly remember opening my eyes and seeing the blue-green tentacles of anemone as I pulled my face away from the reef.

After surfing until dusk, we went to a local motel that specialized in feeding and bedding down surfers.  We had all the beer we would need, dinner, camaraderie, and slept four to the room in wooden, rough framed bunk beds.  I think Ian slept in the Toyota to increase his profit margin.

I got up early the next morning and went running, a luxury away from the shin fracturing tie down chains that keep eighty million dollar aircraft secure in rolling seas.  It was seriously cold for someone who had just spent the spring and early part of summer along the blazing hot and windless equator.  But the rolling and open terrain, and smell of giant eucalyptus that lined either side of the road kept my interest off the cold.  I headed towards the beach which was much farther than I was going to run, but I ran a couple miles and turned around.  There was a dead animal on the side of the track (Aussie for dirt road), I could not tell what it was, just that it was very dead.  Aussies haul the mail when they drive.

After breakfast, we went to the same cove again and had mostly the same results.  Beautiful A-Frames that two guys could takeoff on simultaneously and head right and left.  It was sweet.  We surfed for about five hours, got out and ate something Ian made us (I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was actually vegemite sandwiches).  After an hour or so, we all put on our wet, cold, wetsuits and surfed until our shoulders were completely blown.  The Bombing exploded the first two days we were there, but none of us dared.  Ian paddled out, promptly picked off several, and came back and said there was nothing to it.

Dinner and beers followed, there was a distinct lack of female companionship around, and the single guys were a little bummed about that.  That night, we met two young Aussie professional surfers that Ian knew.  YB knew them as well as he kept up with this sort of information.  Ian asked our group if we would mind bringing the pro’s along the next day?  None of us had any issues with that, and there was ample room in the Toyota.  We would be going farther south in the morning to surf a new spot.

We went to a place near Black Point and as usual, it was preceded by the long drive down the typical dusty double track after leaving the highway.  As soon as we got parked, the pros were firing up and asking us if we wanted any smoke.   Well, we told them we were all in the US Navy and there was a zero tolerance policy, not that any of us would have anyway.  But they were as high as kites hitting the surf….I guess it works for some people, because they ripped like I had never seen anyone rip in person.

I did not ride one wave (I got smashed a number of times), but I watched these pro’s, they would absolutely tear the tops off each and every way they caught.  The water was even clearer if that is possible, and light green, being a beachy (Aussie for beach break), it also felt more exposed to the open ocean.  I was seeing shadows all the time and got completely skeeved out!  I decided I’d finish up my day watching the pros from the sandy cream colored beach.  The trip back to Perth was uneventful except that before we got the pros out of the water and into the Land Cruiser, they both had to fire up again.  I have no idea how anyone could function like that, but these guys were truly amazing to watch.

Ian thanked us, and we thanked him for a great trip.  We had another month and a half of cruise, and who knows how many missions to fly before getting home.  It was good to unwind in Southwestern Australia.  The people were friendly and unassuming, the food and drink was good, inexpensive, and the country was more beautiful than I can put into words.  I’d gladly go back again if I ever had half a chance.  I wish I could find Ian’s last name, I’d like to hire him again if he was still guiding “seppo’s” and other surfers around Western Oz.

I first read the book “Pipe Dreams” by Kelly Slater when I was 22 years old and desperately striving to write a mini-thesis on my favourite subject– the sport and the man.  The autobiography justified my adoration for this amazing athlete and confirmed my underlying suspicion that I’d never make it as a professional surfer.  After all, I only had my first taste of the sport a year before and that was 15 years too late.  Nonetheless, the desire to savor in reality what we have only read or seen in the surf magazines and books led us to the surf-haven of Hawaii. My encounter with Slater’s dreams in his book resulted in the trip of a lifetime–watching performances by surfers among the likes of Kelly, and simultaneously soaking up the culture on the Hawaiian archipelago–and surfing some of those waves myself.

Hawaii: pronounce it with a heavy emphasis on the “w-a” and a truncated “eee”.  It imitates somewhat the expression that kids shout as they ride down an exhilarating slide- “Wheeeee!”  That was exactly how we felt as G and I touched down at the Honolulu International Airport–in high spirits.  “Sunny” is an apt description for the weather and the people of Hawaii.  Traditionally, we would have gotten lei’d* at the airport had we signed up to stay with a renowned hotel–that was how malihini* to the Aloha islands are welcomed by the kama’aina*.   The tradition of donning a lei was brought to the island by the early Polynesian travelers from Tahiti and its customary usage was to beautify and distinguish between classes of people.  Different types of lei were exchanged between the ali’i* to symbolize affection and the accord of peace between them. Common-folk don leis not only as a symbol of love, affection, and class divisions, but also in worship of their gods.  Naturally, modern-day tourism has reduced all the other significances of lei-giving and lei-wearing to merely one of extending a welcome.  G and I, though, opted to uncover the island, its traditions, the waves and its people unfiltered and on our own terms.  We did not get lei’d at the airport.

Waimea pumping!

The reputation of the North Shore of Oahu preceded any of our actual experience with it.  Our preconception was that it was a playground only for the professionals and the heavily experienced, i.e. the locals.  The reefs, the winds, the currents, the breaks, the tides, and the interactions of all these conditions combined were an inscrutable mystery to us.  But me, I had a predisposition towards risk, a kind of “go big or go home” attitude.  At times, it was a bane that landed me into some sticky surf-related situations, but I knew that locating ourselves anywhere else (Waikiki etc) would simply not allow us to experience the island fully.  And with that, we found ourselves based near Velzyland on the North Shore for the first week.

Velzyland, or V-land as many choose to call it, was named after a Californian surfer-shaper, Dale Velzy.  A preliminary beach patrol–something that became a part of our daily regimen–on one of the days led us to believe that the V-land’s break population amounted to almost no one but locals-locals that rip and shred it to pieces.  A quick online check told us that while V-land would give you right-hand waves, tubing walls, and hollow barrels, it would also give you strong currents and a coral reef bottom, neither of which are a beginners’ best friend.  First thought was “No way, we’re not letting ourselves get shredded upon..”- neither by the locals nor the reef. Especially since duck-diving is the weakest point on my surfing learning curve.

Me at the Billabong Pipe Masters- a competition that we also missed due to unpredictable conditions!

As chance would have it, the timing of our visit on the island in December was perfect to do the only other favorite pastime of surfing adherents– watching others surf.  On the North Shore of Oahu you can be certain that most of the time that person on the break who makes those Rip-Curl /Quiksilver/Billabong wetsuit tops look so good as well as surfing look so deceptively easy is none other than your professional competitive surfer on the ASP world tour.  Competitions like the Billabong Pipeline Masters, the local Sponsor Me Sunset and the Quiksilver’s Eddie Aikau were either already rolling or would be rolling within the coming weeks.  We traversed Sunset and Pipeline beaches frequently as a routine, aiming to understand the breaks better, be awed by some of these skillful practitioners and ultimately, hoping that it would inspire us to be better surfers.  The sun was always out shining brightly but at times, the waves did not co-operate and the waters were flat (by Hawaiian standards of course!).  But these did not stop the surfers from getting out there–either they had the inability to discriminate between good waves or bad waves, or they were simply dedicated to perfecting their craft despite the non-conducive conditions.  I’d like to think it was the latter.

Who I didn’t miss though- Jeremy Flores(Pipe Masters Champion 2010) after his freesurf session at Sunset

Our first actual foray into the waters took place, though, not on North Shore Oahu but on South Shore Kauai.  Kauai is like the neglected sister of Oahu when it comes to waves but it certainly does serve up waves just as intense and fun as Oahu.  Poipu Beach Park had several breaks that were friendly- Left Lefts, Waiohai and Lemon Drops to name a few.  The beach was especially packed on weekends–as packed as you can imagine Waikiki to be on a Sunday.  While G had fun usually being the only one on Left Lefts, I had to contend with many teenage longboarders on Waiohai.  Their age did not belie their experience though for many a time, as my shoulders locked into position, my hands grabbing and pushing off my rails, my abdomen lifted inches off the board, my right knee starting to bring itself in towards my chest, I had to abort the whole process as someone from 5 metres to my left went “Wheeee…” sliding down that wave face.  However, the atmosphere was such that a generous rather than murderous thought came to mind, “Better they be having fun here with water than on the streets with some ice.”  And I’m not talking about the flavoured shaved cones here.

The flavoured shaved cones, however, did make up a big proportion of our diet while on the islands. Something that is so functionally delicious- it quenches your thirst under the hot Hawaiian sun, and yet unlike those isotonic drinks it satiates your tastebuds with flavourful sweet goodness to leave you craving more.  We were Brennecke’s Shaved Ice’s best customers, but on days when the trail hiking itch bit us we’d patronize the best shave ice store in Kauai- Jojo’s. On North Shore Oahu though, the one tourist activity we simply could not avoid was hanging out at Matsumoto’s along with scores of others in queue for what is arguably Oahu’s most finely shaved ice.

Our sojourn in Kauai came to an end towards the end of December, and we returned to Oahu with bated breath in anticipation of the Eddie event. The Eddie Big Wave Invitational was created to honor Edward Ryan Makua Hanai Aikau, a dedicated Hawaiian lifeguard who was fearless in saving lives on the treacherous waters off the Hawaiian coastline. It is said that even in 30 foot waves, you’d see legendary Eddie braving it out to save lives and that when no one would dare head out, he would, thus the popular pithy phrase, “Eddie Would Go”. The really special thing about the Eddie event was that since its inception in 1985, it has only ever been held 8 times due to the exceptional conditions that need to fall into place- a minimum 20 foot open-ocean swell needs to come through Waimea Bay (i.e. at least a 30 feet wave face be visible consistently to the eyes of the organizers).

The subject of my thesis- Kelly Slater, just getting out of Waimea

And so we woke at 6am of 20^th January, breathing the cool, misty dews of the morning. It was still dark and yet, as we walked along the Kamehameha Highway towards Waimea Bay, throngs of people were hastily making their way, all decked out in hoodies, slippahs and iceboxes filled with food and drinks- once you’ve booked your spot on the beach, you would not want to leave it! As we walked by Sunset Beach and Sharks’ Cove, we were accompanied by thunderous sounds of humongous waves crashing onto the rocks. “Oh good, this is very promising. It could only mean that Waimea will be pumping big ones too!”, I mumbled.

We snaked our way past the crowds on the beach and found ourselves a strategically nice spot just next to the tow-in jet skis. I say strategic because this was where every one of the invitees to the event would have to register themselves before making their way into the waters i.e. a photographic opportunity dream come true for a fan.  Or, a photographic opportunity dream come true for those who’d like to be caught by cameras for the live televising of the event- seeing some of the young, pretty girls all dolled-up at this ungodly hour in the morning, made me believe this conjecture was true for some.

Quiksilver’s Eddie Aikau competition stand

And so we sat and watched the clock go by.. 715am no call. 745am no call. 815am no call. 915am STILL no call. The waves, meanwhile, pumped like we’ve never seen before. At least to this pair of greenhorns who had only seen Waimea on flat days, the surf was death-defying. Some uninvited bodyboarders were playing around near the shore-break and were chased out by the lifeguards. They had better things to watch at that time than to watch over some rogue bodyboarder repeatedly attempt to escape safely out of the pummeling shoreline.  Up on the horizon, we saw some surfers drop in on some huge wave faces and shouts, hoots and applause would thunder from the beach. It was a majestic sight and extremely dramatic- a slight wrong footing could send you tumbling down a 25 foot wave face–and this was not an uncommon sight either.  Some worrying incidents warranted the jet-skis to head on in a couple of times but nothing serious. Fortunately.

The lifeguards of Waimea doing their duty diligently

Unfortunately, though, 2011 was not the year that Eddie would be held. For reasons of maintaining the integrity of the competition that specify coagulation of some strict conditions, it was a freesurfing day. The waves were pumping at 1-hour intervals but with 45-minute heats, this was not a good enough condition for the organizers. But what did we have to complain about- we still got to see some big names giving it a go out there!

After all the excitement of seeing big wave riding, G and I decided that we should give Makaha a try.  Makaha may be overshadowed by the popularity of the North Shore, but as many insiders and locals know, this ‘ferocious’ wave breaks comparably big to Sunset or Waimea, given the right conditions.  As it so happened, on our day, the wave was breaking at 18 feet (Hawaiian scale). Like any prudent surfer, we checked out with the lifeguard on duty, about the conditions before heading in. After being given a green light, we went out there to find ourselves in the company of some really friendly locals- contrary to the stories we heard of local protectionism.  When the waves were a little too thick for me to paddle into with my small arms, I got a friendly shove by a local named Kaleo and really, it was thanks to him that I had an unforgettable day in Makaha. I may not have surfed Pipe but I sure did felt as if I did on that day.

Feeling zen and happy after Makaha session.

I want to take you on a surfer’s extraordinary journey to Mexico.  But let’s start with something a little different.  It’s a bit of an eye-opener when you travel long-haul and see abject poverty for the first time.  The type of poverty far beyond the shabby downtown areas of the West; kids eating off the street, covered in dirt, lying in some doorway, wild eyes staring at you, starving, scared.  I’ve seen many street kids the world over, mostly passing through on surf trips, brief glimpses of sadness en-route to some comfortable beachfront hotel.  I’ve often wondered where they come from and how bad things must be to live a life on the streets.  I’ve felt the fleeting urge to help but until now, many miles and surf trips later, I’d done nothing.

I recalled the stories of a buddy of mine who has combined his passion for surfing with working for an aid organization.  His seemingly incongruous tales of turquoise barrels and volunteering was part of what inspired me to take up the onerous task of helping those less fortunate (and hopefully scoring a few waves to boot!).  So I booked a ticket to Mexico, to the Misión México orphanage of Tapachula, Chiapas to offer my time and my help.

Upon arrival, I was surprised to encounter a bunch of surfers from many different places and as many walks of life all here to help out and try to make a difference to the lives of some 50 plus orphans and street kids.  Misión México was founded by Pam and Alan Skuse, an Australian couple, who have been providing love, care, education and a home for orphaned and abandoned street kids for ten years.   It´s inspiring stuff and they do amazing work.  You have to go and see it for yourself to believe the patience, commitment and effort that goes into caring for these children and see the progress they’ve made.  Alan and Pam are well used to seeing surfer volunteers come through their doors particularly in the past two years since the surf movie Somewhere Near Tapachula.  “ It’s a great opportunity to come help the kids and make a difference,” says Pam, “but we like the volunteers to keep in mind that their duties come first, the surfing is a bonus!”

Getting His First Rides - All Smiles!

Perhaps most amazing though is the surfing programme they provide for the kids at the weekends.  Every Sunday morning, some sixty kids and volunteers pile into two vans and make the bumpy journey through town, jungle and farmland–stereo blaring–to the beach to catch some waves.  It’s pretty hilarious squeezing thirty kids into every available inch of each van complete with boards and all, but to say the kids love it is an understatement!

Sunday surf trips are definitely the highlight of the week and a welcome distraction from school-work, chores and worries.  The kids are absolutely stoked on surfing and the beach; they happily talk to you about different waves and maneuvers they pulled off all recounted with wide eyes, animated, re-living the rides they’ve had.  Some of the teenagers surf exceptionally well, gouging big turns, throwing buckets and making barrels.  The whole atmosphere is very relaxed and at the same time fantastic fun, it’s all good energy.  The younger ones are very brave and eager to learn, you see them charging the powerful beachbreak and shrugging off wipeouts that made me wince with a shake of the head and a smile.  Looking around me and seeing such a big bunch of happy surfers made me realize that surfing and volunteering go hand in hand.  It’s a pretty fantastic way to see some of the world, get a few waves and I guess, give a little back.   We as surfers are a pretty open-minded bunch by and large and we should all try and be conscious of these things particularly in this changing world of ours.

Yimi On An Overhead Bomb

Having experienced through surfing how we can help others less fortunate makes me understand what a wonderful gift this pastime of ours is.  Apart from the sheer physical pleasure of riding waves it runs much deeper.  Surfing allows us the chance to explore new lands and meet new people, to make a difference.  When we use surfing as a vehicle to reach out and help others, it becomes a way of transcending boundaries, a way of crossing cultural and economic divides.  It is such a positive force.  I definitely felt a sense of this after spending time with the kids at the beach.  Seeing them laughing their little heads off, elated from catching waves is wonderful!  Surfing and the ocean sets them free from their difficult pasts, if only momentarily and they are liberated from worries, anxieties, and bad behavior!  “Surfing is a vital factor in their development and one of the things that keeps them grounded”, Pam says.  I found myself nodding my head.  It’s true: surfing is an integral part of helping those kids experience a bit of straight-up-joy out of life.

For me, getting out there and catching a few waves together with the kids and the other volunteers was a really golden experience.  The happy, uplifting vibe in the water, hooting, laughing and calling each other into waves really makes for a refreshing change from the often egoist and macho line-ups that can typify the sport today.   There is a strong and positive energy surfing with those kids in Tapachula–or Taps as it’s affectionately called.

The surf in Taps, Chiapas is not on par with the more renowned neighboring spots of Oaxaca or Michocan, however, we scored some punchy, glassy lefts on more than a few occasions.  The rides for the most part were short but fast, a steep drop and a racy section that threw out and formed the odd barrel for those quick enough to pull in.  Tapachula is about 30 miles north of the Guatemala border, it’s a sparsely populated area so there is a wealth of empty coastline to explore.  Mostly powerful, hollow beachbreak but there are some points that work with a larger swell.  I saw many a smile to testify to the quality of the waves!

Chiapas has remained pretty much untouched and untainted by mass surf-tourism, and a major plus is the crowds–or rather, the complete lack of them.  Every day we surfed we were the only ones out.  This may change in the future as Moacir Zeldon, 20, (standing, far right, group shot), Pam and Alan’s eldest, plans to start a surf school, “Mission Surf”, in the area in early 2011.  I can only think of it as a positive step forward both for the orphanage itself and for the aspiring local groms who will enjoy this stunning coastline, gain an introduction to surfing and expand the surfing population in Chiapas.  The Mission Surf surf school is a vital step for the orphanage.  It will allow Alan and Pam to make steps towards becoming self-sufficient and provide employment opportunities for the kids in the future.  “We hope with setting up the surf school business that the kids will have a job and a future in Tapachula,” says Alan who himself is a surfer.  Personally, I think it’s an excellent idea and I wish them every possible success as it will cater for the futures of many of these kids for whom life without Alan or Pam, or indeed surfing would have been vastly different.

Somewhere Near Tapachula...

My experience was very memorable both for meeting those kids and sharing some of the epic waves and I’d definitely do it again. One of the volunteers who I worked, Hamish, a surfer from the Gold Coast, summed it up perfectly for me: “Surf trips can be quite hedonistic, if everyone could give some of their time just once to volunteer to help on a surf trip it would really be something”.  I couldn’t agree more.  With so many aid agencies, orphanages and refuges with coastal locations it´s no wonder some surfers are taking up the opportunity to volunteer.  I´m not saying you should don a veil and start handing out bread on the high street à la Mother Teresa but I mean who wouldn’t want to do something adventurous and meaningful and get some waves into the bargain?!!

So just before you jump online to book your next boat trip consider throwing a bit of volunteering into the mix.    I can guarantee you a challenging and most rewarding experience.  Moreover, when you find yourself smiling that secret little grin of contentment after a well-deserved surf,  trust me, you’ll know you”ve done something really special.

——-

For more information, please visit the Misión México website.

A couple of weeks into our stay on the island of the gods, an itch started to fester and needed to be scratched.  With the unlatching of all commitments–beginning with the biggest one of all: our jobs–came also the release of all those desires that had been tucked away and postponed.  While the desire to master surfing alone did impose on us a certain discipline–requiring us to be up at early hours of the morning and to return to the shore at near-sunset each day–another aspect of surfing did nothing to restrain the restlessness that resided within us: the prospect of attempting a different spot, and potentially discovering the ultimate wave of our lives.

We decided to head over to Lombok, another island on the Indonesian archipelago.  After reading and hearing of Lombok being an untouched Bali, or “Bali as it was 30 years ago” and with waves aplenty, we felt compelled to make our visit.  As neither G. nor I have reached that numeral age-wise, “Bali 30 years ago” was a non-existent conception.  Images of virgin beaches, solitary peaks, rolling waves and everything that Kuta and Seminyak was not started flooding our brains.  Adrenal gland overdrive!

Contemplating on the journey from Bali to Lombok

Lombok was a mere 30 minute flight away from Ngurah Rai International Airport.  But what fun would traveling back in time be if you did not experience the older mode of transport and route: by sea?   With that, we undertook a 2 hour ride to Padang Bai harbor where a massive ferry could transport you across the Bali Strait.  The ride was long, however, with the incessant chatter of our friendly yet knowledgeable Balinese driver it seemed a slight bit more bearable.  The suffering did not stop there, however.  Oh no no no no.  As soon as your feet land on the sandy and bristling hot tar of the street near the harbour, the hassling begins. “You going to Gili? We can take you Gili- cheap and fast!” “Oh you want go Senggigi? Same same- cheap and fast!” “Where you want go- we take you!” Now, if you were in a rush and you did not mind paying about $30 USD per person, you could get to the island in about 2 and a half hours.  But if you were like us, with a liberated, unlimited and unfilled schedule in view, you could pay $1 USD and hop on a ride with the rest of the locals, reaching the island at a leisurely, life-enjoying pace of 5 hours.

The ferry is a monster of a vessel, with vehicle spaces on its bottom-most deck and three upper-level decks for passengers. It was open-air with very sporadic benches and tables.  There were prayer rooms for Muslim passengers and even rooms where you could take naps in.  We could not figure out how these nap rooms were administrated, though, as we kept seeing people walking in and out.  I suppose these rooms were for passengers who frequently made these journeys and were therefore tired of the scenery.  For G and I, crossing the Lombok Strait was a completely eye-opening and novel experience–even if all we saw after the slow disappearance of the Bali coastline and mountains was an empty infinite horizon of blue ocean, listening to the sounds of the vessel engines humming and the rhythmic crashing of the waves onto the sides of the vessel.

The disappearing view of Bali coastline

We found ourselves at Lembar harbor in West Lombok, scrambling for a transfer to Kuta Lombok, the southern part of the island where most of the known breaks are found. Lady Luck fortunately was smiling on our side, as we found a group of other same destination travelers with whom we split the ride.  Eight of us were cramped into a seven-seater van, non-airconditioned and having to bear with a bumpy 2 hour ride into the South.  At first sight, Lombok did seem a tad under-developed. There was hardly any organized transfer counters at the harbour as you would find in Bali.  At certain points of the journey the road became an unpaved, dirt stony one that was flooded occasionally.  There were some signs that indicated that progress and development had indeed reached the shores of this forgotten neighbor–the streets were in the process of being widened and many roads were closed due to road work.

Just another ordinary day for these locals

People were friendlier here than in Bali.  The kids and adults we saw along the streets seemed surprised at seeing a bus full of foreigners passing their way and a spontaneous overflow of “hello!” coupled with exuberant hand waves was a common sight. G noted that it seemed that the less incursions and fewer sightings of foreigners, the more genuine the smiles and the hand waves.

The skies were turned vermilion orange by the time we reached Kuta Lombok and it was beginning to get dark.  The streets in Kuta were still one lane and narrow, with no street lamps except for the little blimps and light overspill from the shops and waroengs that line the streets.  If you’re looking for high-level accommodations, you’ve come to the wrong place.  The only resort and brand-named hotel in this area is the Novotel.  Apart from that, everything else was either homestays or individual-owned bed and breakfasts or inns.  We visited a few along the street and after gawking at the decrepit state of some of the accommodations, finally settled on Surfer’s Inn with its gracious host, we refer to only as ‘Pak’.

The waters in Kuta Lombok itself

We heard so much about Gerupuk and the kindness of the waves there that we figured that had to be the first spot we tried. About 7km east of Kuta and a 30-minute moped ride, you will find yourself in the fishing village of Gerupuk.  Most of the houses here are still wooden and simply built with dried coconut leaves as roofs but we saw a few that were brick-walled, and even a small resort in the midst of construction just outside the entrance to the village that led us to believe that the surf tourism to this area has somehow contributed to some of the economic improvements to this otherwise poor, fishing village.**

The local kids enjoying the simple pleasures of condensed milk and bread in Gerupuk

Paddling into Inside Gerupuk, or what is also known as Bumbang Bay, was as welcoming as a cup of shaved ice on a roasting afternoon.  The boat ride to the break was quick, with fresh clean ocean waters spraying into your face and cooling off the effects of a scorching sun.  You could not be more grateful for that!  The waters were as warm as can be expected of the tropics, and the swell coming in from the southwest lends itself to the creation of some very nice sets of a right-hand breaking waves.  We were accompanied by about 6 other boats anchored just outside, and were grateful that we chose 7 foot mini-mals and could remain outside with the long-boarders.  Our boat drivers only had small shortboards, but seeing their tanned skin told us that they have had enough practice on these waves to be able to catch them whenever and wherever.  As I was paddling into position and about to take off on an oncoming peak, I heard a wheezing sound and felt a spraying of water to my face.  I turned my head to my left and had to sit back up and drag my board back from taking off.  The man who took that wave turned out to be Edie of Gerupuk, who owned the shop we rented our boards from and the boats that took us there.  More than grudging that he ‘stole’ a wave from me, I was secretly grudging the life he has–surfing all and any day!

The fishing boats that double up as surfer transporters

After quenching our thirst for surf, we searched for a nice-looking place to fill our hunger for nourishment.   We stumbled on something more than that.  Ashtari Inn is solitarily located on the top of a hill, overlooking the bays of Kuta.  The food was monastic but the views were magnificently extravagant. Lounging on the mats, leisurely plunging organic food down our mouths and occasionally walking into the balcony for the views, each one of our senses felt truly stimulated and alive.

Mawi

The next day, it was a road trip hunt for Mawi. We did not have a map with us, and equipped with only our sense of direction and the knowledge that Mawi was west of Kuta, we ventured on the old, potholed, single-laned roads of south Lombok.  Luckily there were subtle road signs–probably left by previous visitors to the spots–to show us the way.  Mawi is a nice reef break that offers hollow lefts and rights on small days, but on heavier days it was rumoured to be a “heaving left barrel, with elevator drops and heavy hold downs.”  On that particular day, it was ranging somewhere in between 6ft and 10ft and being undecided about the conditions ourselves, we were happy to watch some of the local and foreign surfers rip it up.  Perhaps next time when we return I will have gathered enough experience and balls to go in myself!

Surfer on one of the small sets at Mawi

**Building Sustainable Communities Gerupuk http://www.bscaustralia.org

– an environmental and community-uplifting initiative began by a surfer who visited Lombok.

Two months into our jobless phase, and John and I found ourselves scrambling for a suitable living arrangement in Bali.  Finding cheap accommodations in Bali is not a difficult thing to do.   Scattered all along the stretches of Kuta and Seminyak are plenty of bed & breakfasts, new, old and upcoming hotels, and those luscious, luxury-like-but-at-a budget-type villas. Oh no no no..not a difficult thing to do at all!  What is mind-wrenching is finding a nice affordable villa that is ideally located near the not-so-crowded surf breaks of Bali.  And “ideally located” means not more than a few minutes moped-ride to get ourselves past the Bali traffic on the two-lane, narrow, winding tarmac that they call roads, and paddling out into the peaks we have chosen, before the line-up count breaches forty or before the first ray of light hits the waters.  Yes- a massive congregation of men and women, young and old, novice and expert, surfer or standup paddlers all out in the waters by 7am to pay their respects.  On any given morning, the sermon seemingly delivered to us by the waves that come a-crashing is that of sharing nature’s bounty.  On such mornings, especially, we also learn the importance of the human-imposed rule of priority in surf.

Speaking of priorities, there was some shifting of it to be done in our lives.  At least 2 years’ worth of debating and mental preparation had preceded this globe wandering act of ours.  We were tired of letting our then-jobs be the gods of our lives, dictating every daylight hour and shifting all our other interests around it.  Surfing was one of these other interests which we could only manage on one of those rare extended weekends when a Friday or Monday was a national holiday.  Bali’s economy flourished from the contributions we, and many others like us, made on those partying and surfing weekends.  But we needed more!  Not the partying but the surfing.  Despite being new and irregular at it, we both shared an unexplained fascination with the act of catching and riding waves–so why not embark on an adventure of a lifetime to ride all the waves we could find while trawling this planet?

And so it was on the 1st week of September 2010 that we found ourselves, with our lives (reduced to only the bare necessities) in our luggage, straddling the customs lines of Ngurah Rai International airport.  As my country is a member of ASEAN, I was granted a free one-month visa pass to stay in Bali while G, being a French citizen had to buy the visa from the authorities.  Legally of course.  We have heard and read on the Internet of how such visas and subsequent extensions can be easily purchased as long as you had a “connection” within, and other corrupt acts that persons-in-authority were capable of.  We, however, found no such thing and certainly had no desire to implicate ourselves, especially since we wanted to live on the island for a considerable period of time.  We had both bought a return ticket on Jetstar–one of the numerous budget airlines that ply the Denpasar-Singapore route at not-pocket-emptying prices–with no intention of utilizing the return portion. Well, not at least, until we master the art of surfing or our visa runs out–whichever comes first!

B-A-L-I – is an Indonesian island, lying between Java to its west and Lombok, to its east.  It lies there as an anomaly amidst the majorly Muslim archipelago of Indonesia, it is the only island where Hinduism is the main religion. In fact, 92.9% of Bali’s 3.9 million inhabitants are Hindu adherents.  Bali is also known as the largest tourist haven in Indonesia, renowned for its arts that include dance, sculptures, painting, leather and metalworking, and music. Of course, it is also known as the surf mecca of Asia.  Thousands of surfers make their pilgrimage to this island each year–be them competitive surfers or free surfers–to pay homage to the numerous lefts that peel all along its southern coast.  Not to say that there are no right-breaking waves here, but simply an overwhelming number of waves that choose to go the opposite way.  Bali is a goofy heaven.

More than 30 known surf breaks are found along its coastline.  An important feature that we looked out for was what lay waiting for us at the bottom after the pounding whitewash- was it reef or was it sand?  As newly-inducted surfing adherents, we do not downplay the critical nature of this, especially when we read the cautionary tales of reef cuts by other surfers on online sites, or even see these cuts manifested as ugly keloids on the backs, hands, or even faces of the surfers we see on the street.  Indeed, it would be a tale of misfortune for our adventure to be cut short by an injury.  Thankfully, we found plenty of sand breaks to satiate our addiction to the endorphin-related high we get from riding a wave.  Most of these beach’s breaks lie along the stretch of coast that is called Kuta/Seminyak and naturally, these beaches are where majority of the hotels, the bars, the nightlife, and the surf schools operate.  And naturally too, we stayed as far away from that as we could.

BERAWA AND CANGGU

We found a nice little villa in the Canggu- Berawa area, nested amongst the locals’ residences.  In Bali, most of the so-called villas are built relatively and almost claustrophobically close to each other.  But once inside the compound, however, the perimeter high walls that serve to enclose your villa give you an expanded sense of spaciousness, like you are in your own little bubble.  It was fairly big, with a picturesque view of a rice field and a nice small pool.  But most important of all, it was located a 1-minute ride from the beach break waves of Berawa and a 3-minute ride from the waves of Canggu Beach.

At the sound of my phone alarm beeping at 6:30am in the morning I shook John out of bed, and by 7am we were amongst few surfers ready to begin our worship. I call it worship because you sit out there on your board, usually meditating out into the Indian Ocean and uttering underneath your breath, some words along the likes of “Please come again and soon” or “Please let me ride the next one good.”  I don’t know what other surfers could be thinking of while balanced on their boards, but I certainly know that some sort of balancing in the mind is occurring simultaneously for me.  Berawa, according to sites like Wannasurf and IndoSurfLife, is a consistent, year round left, and depending on the swell you catch it on it could be a hollow, fast, and really fun wave.  Indeed, it was not long before it became one of our favourite waves in Bali.  Not only due to the relatively easy paddle out (there is a channel to the right of the peak) but also the friendly locals who became familiar faces at the spot.  Being locals, they know the waves best and most times, would almost always be perfectly positioned to rip the big ones that come–but they are not hesitant to let you have one too.  Typical boards that you would spot are shortboards, fish–no longboarders or stand up paddlers here.

Another of our favourite spot lies between Berawa and Echo Beach.  This spot consists of waves breaking at multiple different places and, if you are not fussy, you could find your own peak there.  A multitude of genres of people come here ranging from the residential expats who have lived amongst the locals for decades and who consider themselves as locals, to surf school beginners, to individuals from Germany, Australia, France, Austria, Italy, USA, Japan and Holland.  Surfing is the sport where at one location you could hear multiple expressions of “stoked” in different languages.  Unfortunately, it is also the sport where at one location, on those bad days when hardly anyone is catching a wave, you would learn the seediest word of each language.  Verbal altercations are part and parcel of social interactions, and at this spot we learned a lot about the kindness and rudeness that we are all capable of.  The best part about this spot, however, lies on solid ground where the little warung* located on the beach serves the juiciest, sweetest banana milkshake and mie goreng- the typical breakfast of a surfer living in Bali.

Myself along Canggu beach

Those are not seals! This is what the lineup looks like on an ordinary day.

MEDEWI

If you are not averse to driving 4 hours along the narrow Bali roads, crossing scenic and beautifully landscaped rice fields, and overtaking countless lorries, vans, trucks, you could find yourself at one of the most consistent and longest left-breaking wave in the world.  It was on one such day that John and I watched the Rip Curl Grom Search competition.  While there seemed to be only a small pool of boys competing, it was clear that those that did had a tremendous amount of surfing capability as well as incredibly supportive parents who stood by them, some with telephoto lenses focused on their respective offspring.  Rain or shine, nothing could stop these young upstarts from displaying their skills and getting a shot at competing at the bigger surf events.  John, being the goofy-footer and seeing the incredible,long, peeling left could not resist entering the water himself for a shot at showing off his new-found riding confidence to me.

Rip Curl 2010 contestant

A very entertaining host

One of the winners

Medewi is not a sand break and he had to walk on smoothed out volcanic rocks for a certain distance before he could start paddling out.  As it is far out from the tourist areas and it takes someone with incredible dedication to set himself on the long journey from the airport, we were hard-pressed to find really nice accommodations here.  The peaks are thus mostly populated with the local Balinese or truly committed surfers. Nonetheless, a longer-than-ten-second ride on a slow-peeling wave certainly made it worth our journey.

Big, smoothed over volcanic rocks in Medewi

When Medewi peels good

A typical warning sign in Bali

NORTH OF BALI

There are times when during the wet season (Aug-Mar) when the clouds will conspire to rain a whole sea down on you.  Those are the times when the rivers would swell and the contents of the drains of Bali would find its way to the mouth of the river and into the ocean. Those are the times when surfing is not impossible but simply not worth the potential skin scrapes and bacterial infections.  Those are the times when we organized ourselves in a rented van and drove up north of Bali for some cultural inspiration in Ubud, some diving in Amed or Tulamben, some panoramic views of Mt. Batur, some waterfall hiking and ricefields trekking in Munduk.

All done under the beautiful hot sun and wet, fresh mountain air of this place they call Island of the Gods.

———-

*warung, or waroeng- food stalls
*mie goreng- fried instant yellow noodles with shrimp and vegetables and traditional sweet Balinese sauce

The hawk flew over the hood of my car.  I slowed down a bit, and watched as it perched on a fencepost, a squirming rattlesnake in its talons.  The snake’s tail flailed around desperately—with obvious terror—as the hawk bent down, and in one swift motion tore off its head. The hawk then began to voraciously rip away chunks of flesh, as the snake’s tail continued to writhe about sporadically. It eventually stopped moving.

That was the first thing I saw when I arrived at Big Sur.

Named long ago by the insightful Spanish explorer Gaspar de Portola for its vast uncivilized expanses south of the relative security of Monterrey, el pais grande del sur (or Big Sur) stretches nearly 70 miles from San Simeon to Carmel.

Even with the introduction of paved roads in the 1920’s, and electricity in the 1950’s, Big Sur is still a wild place, complete with colossal redwoods, roving mountain lions, and daunting cliffs straight from “The Land Of The Lost.” That rugged beauty has attracted pilgrims of all kind over the years: from common tourists and naturalists, to artists like Jack Kerouac, and even movie stars like Rita Hayworth; all drawn to this shrine of unadulterated natural magnificence like moths to a flame.

Sand Dollar State Beach

Yet, there has always been one particular facet of Big Sur’s isolated nature that especially fascinated me: the possibility for untapped surf.

With mile after mile of exposed coast—devoid of the crowds of Los Angeles and well outside the nagging shadow of Point Conception—an adventurous surfer should be able to find ample and epic waves, right?

Well, according to Surfer Magazine’s Guide to Central and Northern California, of the 70 miles that comprise the Big Sur region, there are only a half-dozen known surf spots. For those who are geographically challenged, that is comparable to driving from L.A. to Santa Barbara and witnessing only a handful of gas stations. To me, those numbers seemed ridiculous. There just has to be more surf spots waiting to be discovered.
I couldn’t let go of the thought, that somewhere, hidden in some primordial cove, guarded by a posse of scarred white sharks and toothless locals, were these mammoth waves breaking cleanly over lush kelp forests, just waiting to be ridden.  Save from the possibility of ending up like Quint from Jaws, nothing would deter me from finding my surfing Holy Grail.

I had only a short weekend in November to go on my trip. I was taking work off on a Friday, driving up from Los Angeles all day, and spending the night in San Simeon. I would surf most of Saturday, camp for the night, and then come home the next day. With such a short time frame, I wouldn’t be able to do much exploring, but I should be able to a get slight taste of Big Sur surfing.

Surfari Day 1: The Road Warrior

The day of my departure arrived, and after saying my goodbyes (and receiving a request to say “hola” to Mr. Whitey), I left home and headed north.

230 miles, five hours, and two Cliff Bars later, I was in San Simeon.  What had once been stunted chaparral when I left L.A. had given way to rolling green hills and thick forests. In the distance, low clouds clung tentatively to the towering Santa Lucia Mountains, and the coalesced smell of pine trees and salt filled the air.  I checked into my motel in the late afternoon. With a few hours of daylight left, I decided to head up to Big Sur for some surf reconnaissance.

I followed the snaking highway north, past endless rows of barbed wire and herds of meandering cattle.  I paused momentarily at an elephant seal rookery to take in the sights (and the surprisingly nauseating smells), and I watched as overhead sets pounded coldly offshore, possibly hinting at what was waiting for me.  I continued driving, past the abandoned Piedras Blancas Motel, where a dozen or so sheriffs—including one who bore an uncanny resemblance to Chief Wiggums—stood glaring at several trespassers.

Piedras Blancas Lighthouse

As soon as I left San Luis Obispo County the avian sideshow and a rather sudden downpour welcomed me to Big Sur.

The road rose sharply, and clutched tightly to lofty cliff faces.  Even from up high I could see powerful sets rolling in, crashing violently against lonely sea stacks, conjuring up thoughts of an albatross necklace, and then the unavoidable contemplation of whether or not piracy would be a good career move.

After passing the town of Gorda (you can wave to the entire population as you drive by), I made it to my first surf spot: Willow Creek State Beach. Standing in the parking lot, soaking with rain, my stomach immediately sank. The waves were double overhead, spiteful and unforgiving, closing out swiftly on a shallow rock bed. Not a soul was in the line up. At this point, wet and alone, I was contemplating writing “shark bait” across my forehead.

Two others joined me after a while. One grabbed his short board and rushed out into the water. He caught one wave, and his leash snapped. He eventually made it back to shore, looking as battered and broken as a punch drunk boxer.

The other individual, his face and hair crusted with sand and dried salt, told me he was short on cash and gas.  He then offered to sell me some of the homegrown weed he had stacked in his trunk, of which he had obviously been partaking. It wasn’t the morale boost as I was looking for.

I drove back to my motel, and prepared for the next day.

Surfari Day 2: Big Wednesday (actually Big Saturday)

The next day the dreary cold had retreated, the sky was clear, and the sun was shining.  Ol’ Neptune had obviously taken pity on me.

I checked out of my motel and hit the road.  I avoided Willow Creek, and headed even further north.  Eventually, I arrived at Sand Dollar Beach.  I hiked a ¼ mile down from the parking lot and saw an empty line up, but very promising head high sets.  After donning my neoprene armor (full 4/3 with hood and booties) and waxing up my trusty 6.2 thruster, I paddled out into the frigid water.

Somewhere North Of San Simeon

The water was clear, and bull kelp lay strewn lazily across the bottom.  At first, a lone elephant seal (whom–in a bout of twisted humor–I named Chum) and I were on the only ones in the water.  But a sizeable crew of local surfers later joined us, which was quite surprising. Being a large beach break, the waves and line up at Sand Dollar were constantly shifting, keeping me on my toes—or stomach—depending on your point of view.

As the day progressed, the sets gradually became larger and began to close out, and the line up thinned a bit. I was lucky though, and was able to finish the day on a stoke-inducing right, pulling a quick cut back and off-the-lip that left me smiling.

With the sky getting dark, I decided to make camp at Plaskett Creek.  As soon as I pitched my tent, there was a sudden shower.  I spent the whole night listening to the thudding of the falling rain, feeling content with my waves and hearty dinner of chicken noodle soup.

Wet Camp

Surfari Day 3: Homeward Bound

The next morning, I awoke to find the roof of my tent sagging with rain. With the reality of a workweek setting in, I drained the water off my tent and packed it up.  I said adios to Big Sur, and started driving home.

On a whim, I stopped by the pungent elephant seal rookery again, and remarkably, in a nearby cove, there were several surfers in the water. There they were, decked out in rubber head to toe, ridding freezing waist-high waves, completely content with sharing the line up with several dozen blubbery shark snacks.  When I had driven by this area yesterday the waves had looked too chaotic to ride, so I had ignored them.

“And we’ll all sleep together in a real pile!”

Thus, like cold ocean spray to the head, the realization rushed over me.  If there were waves here, what other spots did I (or others) simply write off as being poor?  What I had surfed yesterday had represented a tiny fraction of the possible surf resources in Big Sur.  I had spent two days here, when in all reality, I could have spent a whole lifetime searching every cove in the region for surf.  Those waves are there; the challenge is just getting to them.  The weather is harsh, the swell can switch from ship-sinking to perfection overnight, and you risk the chance of being eaten alive, but the sizable crew of local surfers proves that good surf can be had.  I found surf at Big Sur, and I was only there for a weekend.  The only thing preventing the discovery of new spots are natural obstacles, and with determination (and a bit of bravery), they can be overcome and more waves can be had. Just be smart and don’t do it alone, or you too might be privy to the same fate of my surf buddy Chum.

Surfer At Willow Creek