Maybe Mexico: Part Three

Karissa made quite a big breakfast this morning. Scrambled eggs, onion, peppers, potatoes... She split an avacoado and buttered some bread. Damn, it was delicious. After a couple of cups of coffee - belly full to the brim - I put on a pair of Katin traditional trunks, the black rashguard I bought at a dive shop in Seattle, and paddled out. A little late to the lineup. Eight or nine people already out. It’s been small the last few days; nehi soda with the occassional shoulder high set. There was little to no wind and lots of waves that won’t make you miss home.


As the tide receeded, the wave made an almost half-moon shape as it rolled in. A slingshot for those that could pick it up at the peak. Made riding the nose an interesting experience. You pull high into the pocket, two or three steps till you find the front, trim from the tip, then, as the wave begins to wrap around the reef, stumble back and stall. Then start over. We surfed for four hours, then paddled back to the house for some Nutella and a banana on brown bread.

The last few days have been fantastic. So much so, I can’t find time to write anything. Honestly, I’m not sure how many more we have, but I can tell you a bit about what has happened...

We’ll start with the boat. Captained by two older gentlemen; Santos and Guieremo (sp), our Panga arrived at a friends house just down the beach shortly before daybreak. There were five of us, not including the captains - Mike and his wife Tracy, their son Ben, myself and Karissa. We loaded our boards into the bow of the boat - my 9’8” Bing BN Lightweight filling the front - everyone else had opted for something a little shorter.

It was cold! First time I’ve felt anything like it since we’ve been here. As we raced across the glass goodness of early morning on our way to an undisclosed location, eagerly anticipating what awaited, we talked very little. Past one place, out around a rock reef, a since fortgotten turtle sanctuary, then, as we came around a corner in some isolated slice of the Mexican mainland, there was a wave. An A-frame.

It was breaking over black rock. Maybe three hundred feet from shore. The right was alright. Fast as you moved forward. A short shoulder. Luckilly, Mike and Ben are both regular guys, so they surfed that side all day while Karissa, Tracy and myself surfed the other side. Goddamn it was good. A tall triangle thing. Appearing almost out of nowhere. But the peak picked you. It pointed right at you - “I’ve come for Captain Coffey, now surf this shit!” The dude abides. So I surfed it. A steep drop, that fast face, those big sweeping bottom turns, the short shoulder that kept on keeping on. And so it went. Four hours, five people, one peak. Perfect.

We piled back into the boat shortly after the swells slowed down. Mike had brought a rod and reel and as soon as possible, cast off. As we motored along, line in the water, trolling for some sorta fish, we snacked on avacados and drank a few cold cans of Coca-Cola.

Five mintues was all it took to land our first fish. A twenty-eight inch long Sierra. Silver and blue and spotted yellow with big beautiful fins and a small face (?). Mike caught more. Three Sierra and one Bonita. which apparently tastes a lot like tuna. After a few hours on the water - sunburnt and sore from surfing for seven or eight days, every morning - we motored back to the beach.

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