On our first day we surfed one of the coolest places in the world. El Zonte is one of many right-handed point breaks off the CA-2 in the Western Coast.
(From the perspective of someone standing on the beach, a wave at a right-handed point break will peel from right to left. Most people are right dominant, they naturally surf left foot forward on their board. This enables someone to watch the wave as it breaks, as well as other surfers.)
We got there early. Sunrise was 5:30 local time. We talked to a couple of locals who advised of the best way for gringos to surf - sunrise and sunset, since they weren't usually good enough to surf mushy waves in the middle of the day.
(At night, land cools off quickly while water remains warm. In the morning cold dense air moves offshore over the ocean, helping to stand up the waves and keep everything clean. By 10am, the southwesterlies would dominate, roughing up the surf. By the same forces, land will cool off quickly at sunset.)
Paddling out here was easy. I knew enough from sea kayaking to pick a lull in the bigger sets, and paddle like hell to get out of the break zone. My board was a 7'6" Al Merrick. Sam picked it out. He said that although it was a little squirrelly and hard to ride, it would be easy for me to get out of the break, since I could both duck dive and turtle it. This board turned out a royal pain in the ass, but made me a better surfer.
(As a wave is about to break over you, there are two ways to keep from getting smoked. If your board is small enough, you duck-dive. As you lie prone on your board, you paddle straight into the break. Before getting smacked by a couple tons of water, you quickly pick up the nose of your board and shift your balance forward, taking a deep breath. Then you push your board down, hug it tight, and let the force of the wave drive you down at 45 degrees. After the wave passes you push yourself off your board, locking your elbows and shifting balance to your feet, and pop out behind the wave. If your board is too large to duck-dive, you need to turtle. Turtling is simple, but hard to do well. Longboards are 8' and longer, and have too much forward mass to duck dive. Instead, the rider will roll off the board and hold it in a kung-foo grip. A good surfer will let themselves get whipped around 360 degrees by the wave, and end up back on top of their board, still paddling. It's simple to explain, but hard to do well.)
We bobbed around outside the break. The sun was just getting up, and a hazy sky was casting a weak pinkish orange glow across the water. Birds were calling from the almond trees on the beach. Behind them, steam rose from a deep ravine, blurring the distinction between backlit mountain and lightening sky. The wind was offshore, and blew a fine mist off the wave as it stacked and steepened. As the wave peeled, the crest would fall forward, slowly. The sound was more like a breeze than a crash. Sitting there on my board it was calm. Tranquil.
This morning I would be introduced to my first sets of waves and dichotomies. A wave is at once both beautiful and terrifying, calm and violent, constant and ever-evolving. A surfboard is both a best friend and worst enemy. And this tranquil scene would quickly turn frantic.
Within ten minutes, the first set rolled in. Sam and Keith caught the 2nd and 3rd waves, respectively. I paddled around, watching to see what wave shape they paddled for and how they positioned themselves. Sets came and went, usually 3-5 waves every 5-10 minutes. Between sets, waves were small and unorganized. After 30 minutes of paddling around and away from waves, I decided that it was time to go for it.
(Waves usually break right around the same point. This is where a surfer will position himself. Occasionally a bigger wave will roll in and start breaking further out - this is known as an outside wave. )
I had drifted East with the others, several hundred yards from where we entered. The drop off was sharper, tide was starting to go out, or the sets had just started getting bigger. Regardless, I was now paddling up or around 6' of water.
(Breaking waves are no mystery. Water depth controls wave shape; waves will pile up when water depth is about 1.5x wave height. Wind, tide, and seafloor shape will all dictate when the wave actually breaks, and to crest begins crashing down. So while a wave will always follow a wave 20 seconds later, small differences in wind, height, or tide will make it react completley differently than its predecessor.)
A new set rolled in. The first wave started closing out, and I aimed for a spot between the crests, rolling up and over the face. The second wave was already taking shape. It looked good. I turned my board to a set of cheers from Sam and Keith, and paddled for it.
(Closing out - when a wave face breaks in two directions. Dangerous, because the two breaks can meet together with you in the middle, resulting in a Noah pancake)
I put myself in too deep. Instead of sliding gracefully down the face, I was suddenly pitching ever further forward down the wave. The wave started breaking over me, and the nose of my board buried itself at the base of the wave. The crest grabbed the tail of the board and pitched me forward, end over end. According to the lingo, I had gone over the falls.
I was surprised by how much damage I didn't do to myself with that first spill. With the first roll, I landed with my heel on the fin, splitting it open. With the second, the nose nailed me in the tricep. If I hadn't been protecting my skull, I'm convinced it would have lodged in my brain. Then after 5 or 6 underwater acrobatics, I was Tombstoning.
(Tombstoning is an ominous maneuver, and for good reason. The weight of the overhead water can force a surfer down, sometimes pinning him to the bottom. He is stuck until the wave passes over. Meanwhile, a buoyant surfboard is carried along, sticking straight out of the wave - like a tombstone. The leash stretches as the body weighs down the board, lipping the edge.)
I was stuck. The wave had forced me down. My tombstone (which a novice might think marked the burial site of a certain Al Merrick) was pulling me forward, keeping me stuck in the same part of the wave. After what seemed like 30-40 seconds (in actuality, no more than 5-10), I hit a sandbar and was flipped forward onto all fours, and pressed to the bottom. In an instant, the weight was off me, I planted a foot, and shot upward into the foam.
"How'd that treat you?" Sam had caught the next wave, and was now sitting on his board without the least expression of concern.
I wanted be tough. I wanted to be funny. But I was also pretty sure that I had peed a little. I could taste saltwater in my upper nasal cavity. I settled for understated truth.
"It didn't turn out like I had hoped.
"Yeah. You put yourself in too deep." With that, Sam turned and paddled back into the surf.
I had been shaken up, and was reconsidering if I should even be out here. But athletes adjust, and I could ponder dichotomy later that evening. There would be more surfing that morning. Besides, I still had my date with Big Momma Roca.
Coming Soon: Big Momma Roca (Part II)
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