Tag: surfing

Only a Surfer…

Edgar, surf, Surfing, Travel

TSY recently shared an awesome adventure.
When it hit the Facebook bunch it received a lot of attention, some of which was very favorable, and some that came in the form of an ugly attack.

I’ve heard a phrase come up many times in and around the surfing community. “Only a surfer knows the feeling.” This phrase is a bit abstract. It is a bit inviting and sends several messages. 


After reading Leigh’s bear hunting article, I see the phrase in a new way. For most of surfing’s life, it was frowned upon. Surfing was thought to be a waste of time and simply not productive. Only a surfer knows, was sent to the folks judging and berating. It was a message that said, “Hey, you ever surfed?”  It asked “Could you, even if you tried?”  It said, “If you made the commitment that I made to do this thing, your perspective would not be what it is.”


When I spent more time with it, it echoes other sentiments found in the Indian’s Prayer. Do not judge your neighbor until you have walked a mile in their moccasins.  It is says judge not, lest ye be judged.


These simple ways of respecting one another have a common thread that seems to be lost in our cyber space.  I’m certain the cyber bullying would diminish if it were not cyber. In a one-on-one session, cowardice would silence this hate. With no accountability, some folks simply can’t behave or don’t understand how to control themselves.


We don’t all agree on everything and that’s good. The world is a lovely melting pot of ideas and pursuits. That’s beautiful, until ugly hate is allowed to creep in.  This is the stuff that perpetuates ill will, and we can control it.
If you can’t say anything nice, zip it.


It’s very simple.
If you are not able to apply some empathy, learn.


Only a surfer knows the feeling is not exclusive to surfing.
Only a Yogi…
Only a Vegan….
Only a Woman…
Only a Hunter…
Only a whatever…don’t be ugly to one another.
One more interesting point, and please fact check this, if you look at the hate-filled childish comments, they seem to come from a crowd that touts inclusion when it’s trendy.
Interesting to see who says what.
Enjoy what you do, and let’s all just be little sweeties.
If you can’t find sweet, then just zip it up.

Surfboard Run: Day Seven

Leigh, surf, Surfing, Travel

The following is a recap of Day Seven of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed Day Six you can catch up on that here.

We kept a fire going all night long and stayed nice and toasty under our wool blankets. In the morning we got a tour of the rest of the property from one of the employees. Simon and his two children walked us down to the rope bridge, which Kevin had told us about in our previous visit. This time, we had a demonstration. Simon carefully climbed on the rope to show us how it was done… slowly working his way across the water and to the other shore. It looked very challenging, and Simon clearly did not expect any of us to even attempt it, but Edgar decided to give it a try.

No one else was feeling strong enough to jump at that challenge, so we thanked Simon and packed up our rig to head down the road for a tank of gas and a bite to eat.

Breakfast!

Edgar and Marie had tacos from a roadside stand, while I visited the horses in a nearby field. My stomach wasn’t quite ready for tacos, but I am always ready for a little neck scratching. Our morning complete, we headed on to Monterrey. The traffic in this city is ridiculous! It took some fancy navigating and map searching, but we finally found a hotel at a reasonable rate and checked in. We thought we’d order pizza instead of venturing out again, but didn’t think our limited Spanish vocabulary would cut it over the phone. We went back to the desk to ask the clerk for help. She was happy to call it in, and we enjoyed the veggie and meat lovers options.

We brought the leftovers to our new friend at the desk.

Our road trip across Mexico was nearly complete. Day eight would see us head for the border crossing, where all manner of items are on sale, from sombreros to Virgin Marys, and on to a new project on the gulf.

Surfboard Run: Day Four

Leigh, surf, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

This is a recap of day four of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed day three, you can catch up here.

On day four we decided to soak in the view a little longer, and have breakfast by the water. We ordered lattes and shared this plate of pancakes with fruit. It was as delicious as it looks.

We could have spent the day there just enjoying the view, but we also wanted to get to Sayulita and maybe find a wave. Sayulita has grown as well, in the 3-4 years we’ve been visiting. The official population is about 5,000, but there were tons of people in the streets and walking around the town square. We stopped off at Casa Aves to drop off the boards, but we were unable to stay as a nice family from Canada was renting the place for the week. Instead, we booked another place in town and then hit “Wild Mex” a coffee/surf shop across from a local break. They’ve expanded too, going from just a coffee stand, to a restaurant with lots of tables and open air seating.

The break, called “Burrows”, was pretty busy but we found our spots… Edgar hit the lineup and I headed down the beach where it was smaller and less crowded. I was comfortable in my shorty (wetsuit that comes to the knee) – the water temperature was on the way up but not bath water yet. We caught some rays and nice waves and enjoyed the beach.
We always seem to be starving after a surf session so we hit the showers then hit one of our favorite beach-side restaurants for Mexican pizza. People were still surfing the beach break, wringing every bit of swell out of the day.

Sayulita has a square where people are usually lounging or snacking, or just watching others go by. This visit we noticed a new selfie opportunity. New letters have been added to the square for pictures and there are no shortage of models.

There are a couple of places in Sayulita that serve ice cream and we’re quite familiar. We got our treat and then enjoyed an evening stroll. We spotted the guy who offers folks a seat on his burros for a small fee. He only had one long-eared friend when we first saw him; now he has three. Business is booming, and more and more visitors are enjoying Sayulita’s charm.

Endless Summer in Ghana

Edgar, Surfing, Travel

I recently had an interesting opportunity to surf an iconic surf spot, and when you hear that knock…well, wax up and paddle out.

I got a call early on a Wednesday.  “Can you go to Africa to…” I interrupted w/ a resounding “Yes.”  We worked out the details, well mostly.  There was some uncertainty about Americans being able to procure a VISA on arrival in Ghana, but nothing that some good old-fashioned straight-faced tenacity couldn’t overcome.


Sunday I was roaming around Ghana, Africa in awe and wonder.  Monday brought an onslaught of intense meetings w/ government, clients, shipping lines, etc etc.  I managed to find the time for some google searching, and was reminded that in the Endless Summer film the first African beach surfed was in Ghana.  Target acquired folks.

I started my education on geography, ground transport, swell report, and local safety.  After spending three to five solid minutes researching it, my scheme was in place.

I was flying in country for site walks etc and saw a gap between close-out meetings in Takoradi and flights back to Accra.  Wednesday night I lined out a driver for the next morning, and after I completed my responsible stuff, we were off.  After two hours of some interesting car traveling, we had arrived. 
This place was fantastic.  It had several local surf shops to rent boards on its dirt streets.  The wave was great.  Good solid swell made for a consistent beach break.  The locals were fun.  One of them provoked me into a three-way surfing competition, that just meant we watched each other and openly admired or laughed at the others’ performances.  With only about 12 people in the line up, there were lots of waves to go around.


After 2.5 hours I was surprisingly chilled and had to catch a flight.

I returned the board, dried off, did a wardrobe change, grabbed my driver, and we headed to the airport.  After some more interesting driving, I was at the airport and thinking about all of the unsurfed surf in the world.   After that trip, I know it’s out there.

Edgar~

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Nine

Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Nine of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day eight here.  

The most surprising aspect of the ferry ride was the timing.  We had given ourselves plenty of wiggle room, because we didn’t know if it would leave or arrive on time.  It did both.  We cruised into Mazatlan right before 9am, and everyone lined up in an orderly fashion to disembark.  I joined the exit line, rushed back to return the borrowed movies and remote control, then joined the line again while Edgar went down below to fire up the bug.

I walked off the ramp and met Edgar in the parking lot, where he was holding our exhaust pipe.  He’d lightly tapped a truck during the unloading process, and it was enough to cause the pipe to break off.  Once again our jar of bungees came in handy, and we headed off toward Sayulita with the pipe carefully fixed to the roof rack, while keeping a careful eye out for a welding shop.

At lunch time we found a nice little place right on the water just south of San Blas, selling shrimp and cheese empanadas and the now standard coca lites.  While we wrapped up the meal, we asked around about a nearby break called Stoners.  No one at the restaurant knew what we were talking about, so we went off-roading again.  We found some pretty beaches, but no swell.

We’d spent enough time in Nayarit to know where the swell is located there, so we got back on the pavement and headed in that direction.  In La Cruz we spotted what looked like a welding shop, and quickly turned in.  We used our spanish and a lot of demonstrative movements to explain the problem, and one of the workers said the magic words, “no problem”.  He brought out the torch, and waved off Edgar’s suggestion of a helmet.  A few moments and pesos later, the pipe was once again married to the bug.

We were close to home, but had enough light to check out one of the local breaks, so we took a quick peek.  Burrows wasn’t too exciting, but the pizza joint nearby had a live band.  They sounded good and so did a slice of pizza, so we settled in to enjoy both.

After dinner, it was time to go home.  Casa Aves has the perfect spot for the bug right out front.  We spent time unloading boards and supplies, and giving the green meanie a little dust-off as a welcome home.

The next day, we grabbed a ride to the airport, and a much faster trip home.

Miles traveled on day 9:  245

The story doesn’t end here; it’s just the closing of this chapter.  Thanks to everyone for following along and enjoying the recaps with us.  It was a great adventure and we enjoyed sharing it with you.  We’d love to hear your feedback and/or questions.  What surprised you about the journey? Is there anything we didn’t cover that you really want to know? Have you, or would you want to, make a similar trek?  Would you have joined Fibber McGee for dinner, or adopted a Mexican street puppy?  Share in the comments and let’s keep the conversation going.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Eight

Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Eight of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day seven here. 

Ferry day!  This was the most unpredictable part of the trip.  When we made our plans, the driving part had some wiggle room, but was overall pretty clear.  The ferry leg wasn’t, and we were excited to see what it would bring.

In the morning we walked to a coffee shop for delicious coffee and cookies.  The girl at the register told the guest ahead of us she worked 14 hour days.  She must have put all that time into her recipe for blonde brownies, because it knocked our socks off.  We spent a few minutes happily sipping coffee, shaking our heads and saying things like just how good is this brownie…

Once properly sugared up, we got back on the road and headed to surf Cerritos.  It was a family-filled beach with a lot of kids getting up on big foam boards wearing baggy rash guards and grins from ear to ear.

We rented two boards – an egg for Edgar and a pink foam long board for me.  We headed right out, and I promptly got clobbered on the first wave and banished myself to white water.  Edgar paddled out and got into some better waves.  We were glad we had wet suits, because the water was still pretty chilly.

After the quick surf session we headed for Cabo, intending to surf there too, but traffic was building and we didn’t want to risk missing the ferry.  We gave Cabo a glance and turned back toward La Paz, stopping for some pizza and coca lites.  I thought the restroom signs were hilariously clear.

They really gotta go!

The ferry guys put us back in line to be inspected and weighed, so note to readers, the dry run is not necessary.  We had the same guys at the inspection and weigh stations as we did the day prior; the only difference this time was a fee after we were weighed.  That seemed a little suspect, and we made a few noises in that direction, but in the end we paid it and got in line to drive on the boat.

Only one person was allowed to be in the vehicle  during the loading process, so we split up and Edgar drove the bug on board, while I filed in with the other walk-ons in the passenger line.  We met back up at reception and got escorted to our room. Bunk beds, bathroom and a separate living room area.  Pretty snazzy!

Dinner was being served on the upper deck, so even though we weren’t all that hungry, we went up to check it out.  It was kinda like the dining area on a cruise ship, but buffet style.  We had chicken, tortillas and banana pudding for dessert.

Back in our room, we tried to watch TV but couldn’t get it to work, so I checked at the desk to see if they offered movies for rent.  They did, at no cost, and they had some in English!  We floated across the sea of Cortez while watching the epic struggle to climb Everest, then turned in.  Edgar says he slept like a baby, but I had a bit of a hard time with the rock of the boat, and doors nearby opening and closing.

Miles traveled on day eight: 250 by road and 260 by boat.

On Day Nine: Sayulita and home sweet home.

 

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Five

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Five of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day four here. 

The first thing we did on Day Five, was get out the toolbox and give the bug some attention.  Well, the very first thing we did was get coffee.  I ordered from the hotel restaurant, and used my weak but growing Spanish to say “Cafe con leche. Dos. And….(I mimed walking fingers) vamose!”  It’s rough, but people seem to appreciate the attempt.  The waitress returned with two coffees to go and asked me for 35 pesos.  I handed her 40, and she handed them back to me and shook her head.  I looked down and noticed I had given her $40 Canadian.  Travelers’ problems

We spent about an hour in the hotel parking lot checking oil, reattaching fenders and getting the LED bar to work.  Then it was time to set our sights on Scorpion Bay.  We drove for a while before deciding to stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant.  Tacos, a torta and two coca lites really hit the spot.  The bill was a whopping 131 pesos, or $7.

At a gas station stop, Edgar filled up the tank and I went inside the little store for snacks.  I spotted a little bag of something called Choco Retas and decided we needed to try them.  They tasted like tiny little peppermint patties.  Addicting!

On the way out of the store I spotted a small dog, and of course stopped to pet it.  “You like dogs, amiga?” the man sitting in front of the store asked.  I admitted I did.  “I have puppies for adoption.  You want one?” I said no thank you and held firm, but I had to speed walk it out of there.

We’d spent some time researching the drive to Scorpion Bay, so we knew we would be a while on a dirt road, then take a left at a fish camp, and then we’d have the option to take the salt flats, or the north road.  There were warnings included with both.  Don’t stray from the path.  Don’t go alone.  Take a short wave radio…. and so forth.

Super salty.

We decided to go alone and take candy and a good attitude.  The north road needed a grader and it needed one badly.  It was washboard the whole way.  We tried to weave to a “better” part of the road, but better never really came.  A few times we would run into really soft sand, and we’d have to get a run at it to stay unstuck.  Other times we had to slowly rock crawl and rattle our way across stretches with no sand at all.  It was pretty exciting and we always made it up and out.

A few hours in we spotted a van coming the other direction, and the driver slowed to talk to us.  It was a couple from California and they were coming back from Scorpion Bay.  The driver offered us directions that included go straight, pass a goat farm, keep going, drive through the creek bed…. “How much farther is it?” we asked.  “Oh at least two more hours,” came the reply.  We waved our thanks and put the bug in gear.

All told, we were about seven hours on the north road.  We passed lots of cows, and a group of wild horses.  Of course I wanted to get close, but they were skittish and had foals with them, so they stuck around long enough for a couple long-distance clicks and then took off.   The scenery changed from the salt pools to sand to brush and then tall cacti.  We got a good long look at all of it, since the road conditions only allowed us to go about ten miles per hour.  (by ear)

One of the wild, wild horses.

Finally, we saw lights, and Scorpion Bay was just a right turn away.  The town is lovely… small, and developed just enough to have a few places to stay and one selling gasolina.  The Scorpion Bay Hotel still had rooms and the upstairs restaurant was open.  One note about the temperature – because Mexico is typically hot, the places we stayed had air conditioning but not heat.  If you travel during cooler weather, you might want to bring along an extra blanket.

After dinner, we took a walk and craned our necks to see a sky lit up with stars.

Miles traveled on Day Five: 194, including a decent section of the Baja 500

Coming up on Day Six:  Scorpion Bay delivers on its dependable reputation, and we meet a group of VW enthusiasts with an enormous amount of stoke.  Stay tuned (bro).

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Four

Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Four of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day three here. 

Do you ever eat a dinner so delicious, you wake up thinking about having it for breakfast?  We greeted the two ladies in the kitchen on Day Four and used our poquito Spanish to explain where we’d stashed our leftovers, and to request they crack an egg on each one for breakfast.  Smiles and nods confirmed they understood, and they threw in some tortillas for extra measure.  We drove away munching happily on lobster tortillas, and knowing we needed to get some surf time in pretty quickly before our travel pants wouldn’t button.

It was time to fill up when we reached San Quintin, and since we were told there was no gas station for a couple hundred miles after that, we filled up our gas can too.  We ran into a few other Americans and Canadians at the gas station, and fielded some questions about the bug.  We did some rough math, and figured we could make it to Guerrero Negro if we took it easy.  The gas station employee advised Edgar to keep his foot out of it.  (Even if he had suggested a max speed limit, we couldn’t have adhered to it.  The Green Meanie doesn’t have a speedometer.  You gotta drive by ear and feel.)

Before the trip, we’d scoped out a few surf spots we really wanted to see on the way down.  One of them is called The Wall.   The internet will tell you that this beach is remote.  That doesn’t really do it justice.  We drove and drove and asked around everywhere we stopped, and at a couple friendly-looking security military checkpoints.  (We were never searched, or even paused more than a few seconds just to ask where we came from and where we were going.  Eye contact, smiles and polite greetings go a long way, and are always recommended when speaking to men with tactical rifles.)   Some of the roads south are great, and you can clip along at a speed that sounds to be around 60 miles an hour.  At other times, a swarm of potholes come at you out of no where, and at other points, that swarm contains bees.  Real ones.  Lots.  We smacked into them and left an interesting group of smudges on the windshield, and a group of live ones buzzed right into our open windows.  Luckily, they did not appear out for revenge.  For some reason they were drawn to the gear shift, and one after the other crawled up the shifter and onto Edgar’s hand.  We devised a release method. When the bee got on Edgar’s skin, I would hold us into fourth gear, as the car was still slipping out, and he’d keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to set the bee free.  We repeated these steps a few times until the remaining bees had been sent on their merry way.  We thank them for their non-stinging cooperation.

Our bee kill-and-rescue mission and our search for The Wall nearly had us forget our need for a gas station, but signs for Santa Rosalillita brought us back into reality.  It was a neat little fishing town with a couple of stores and homes.  The first shop lady we spoke to didn’t know about The Wall, but she did know her neighbors sold gasolina just down the road.  Sure enough they did, out of jugs stored in their shed.  While Edgar got that handled, I made sure all the dogs in the neighborhood didn’t miss out on a good scratching.  

Gas station, Baja style

An American pescadora who happened to be doing her shopping was familiar with The Wall, and explained the possible routes to get there.  “Is that your bug out front?” she asked.   We nodded.  “Oh, take the coastal road.  You can go anywhere in that.”

This was a refrain we heard a lot, but knew to take lightly.  The bug has some great tires, and a lot of heart, but she is a ’68.  We gave the coastal road a good once over and decided it was indeed the way to go.  It was sandy, bumpy and seemingly forgotten.  It traveled along the beach, through some ravines and a little inland.  We saw some tire tracks, and got a chance to get up on three wheels, but we didn’t see any other vehicles in the action.  We did see what was later confirmed as The Wall, but it wasn’t working because of two much onshore wind.  What we didn’t see, was an exit.

After bumping along for an amount of time that was just beginning to be concerning, we spotted a camper in the distance.  We cruised up to it and were greeted by a man with a beard, hat, open bottle of red wine and purple teeth.  He put out his hand and introduced himself as Fibber McGee.  He said it like it meant something, but he could tell by our faces that it didn’t click.  “Fibber!  From Fibber McGee and Molly in the morning!”  Nope.  Doesn’t ring a bell.  Fibber told us he was part of a very popular radio show in LA, and that he’d been on the air for years before they let him go over “something stupid”.  He offered us wine from his bottle, and a plate of the chicken and potatoes he was cooking.  “I’ve been here six months,” he informed us.  “I pay a local $100 a month and I live in paradise.”  We declined his kind offer, and he was visibly disappointed, but agreed to point us toward the way out.  Literally.  “You see that feather ridge, over there?” Fibber pointed at a spot about two miles away. “Take a left.”

It was thinking seriously about dark when we finally saw telephone poles, and then a paved road.  It was at this point we realized Fibber’s nickname wasn’t entirely accurate.  We turned south once again and set our sights on Guerrero Negro.  The bug was really hitting its stride when we hit a stretch of mean potholes – swerving away from one just meant smacking into another, and we heard a dreadful noise that sounded an awful lot like a flat tire, less than an ideal situation for 9pm on a Mexican highway.   We found a turnout and grabbed our flashlight for a look.  The tires held up, but the fenders took a hit on both sides.  Thanks to our stash of zip ties, we were able to zip them back on temporarily, and roll into town.  The Halfway Inn had rooms and a restaurant that was open for 15 more minutes.  The waiter explained this when he met us in the parking lot.  He also recommended the surf and turf, which was pretty good, and we turned in with a plan to get up at a decent hour and spend an hour or so “mechanicing” our little hearts out.

Miles traveled on day four: 285 road miles + 30 on sand dunes and dirt + 40 yards on three wheels

On day five, we survived the north road (but didn’t get a sticker) and were introduced to a tiny green Mexican candy.

 

 

 

 

Do You Surf?

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Every once in a while, I’ll mention surfing in conversation and someone will say, “Oh! Do you surf?”

And I hesitate.

You could say that I surf, or you could say that every once in a while I take a board out into the ocean and try not to drown. My relationship with surfing is tentative, which one could accurately argue is not the way to surf at all. But I’ve come to believe that it is wise to approach the ocean with caution. Is it okay?… Is now a good time?… I could come back later, say… when you’ve calmed down a bit…

My first surf adventure began with an offhand comment from a coworker in Atlanta. I was planning my next vacation, and he recommended a surf school in Costa Rica. Warm sunshine, warm water, and a good way to burn off any extra vacation calories. I was in.

I got into my first lesson and learned how to catch white water. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Not too bad. I had balance and body awareness, and thanks to years of gym-going, a pretty easy time paddling and pushing up. The pop up was not the problem. The ocean was the problem.

When my instructor decided it was time for me to surf green water, I felt like I would never get past the break. Even with a decent amount of time between periods, I would always seem to meet the next set coming in, and the next set didn’t like me much. “Get out!” it yelled at me with each wave. I’d get knocked off my board, knocked completely upside down, sideways, take the tumbling washing machine of the current and then pop up, about 20 feet from where I began. “A little farther,” the instructor would yell, from his super cool position kneeling on his board and cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter. Okay. Yeah. A little farther.

(Actual photo of me surfing)

I eventually would make it out past the break, exhausted and coughing up the half of the ocean I’d swallowed. The last thing I’d want to do is catch the next wave headed in the other direction. Even now, I never do. To me, just getting that far is something to celebrate, and deserves a moment to take in. Breathe. Relax. I let my legs dangle in the water and the sun warm my shoulders, and I watch the others paddle into the force that always seem to scare me and beckon to me at the same time. I wait for the burning in my nose and my shoulders to subside, and when I see a little bump come my way I think… maybe this one.  I paddle hard… wait for the ocean to sneak under me and the roar of the wave to carry me… it’s never that I’m besting it, or even riding it… it’s more that we have a tentative agreement. The ocean allows me to come in and stay awhile, and I am grateful.

Exploring a Wave

Edgar, Surfing

The exploration of a wave is an odd concept, particularly for someone who has not considered it.  The landscape of every wave is different and fleeting, but it is a landscape full of folds and slopes and raw power.  Each wave carries its own colors and smells and tastes and sounds unique to its moment in time. In it, is the life and death of a place that is wondrous and powerful.

To explore this land takes patience, focus, and understanding.  It takes dedication and sacrifice to achieve the level of skill required to inspect God’s fleeting artistry.  You must understand where to draw speed, where to take cover, and how to exit. There are many vehicles to explore waves, and all provide a different journey and perspective, often as unique as the wave itself.

As short as a breaking waves’ life is, throughout that span, it constantly changes.  It is a fleeting planet, a falling star, whose exploration takes the ultimate pioneer.

Some say it has all been done, that there is nothing left to explore, those folks don’t surf….

Edgar~