INTREPID TRIO TRAVELS SOUTH POST TURKEY
By Richard Steadham
You know how
these surf trips usually start out, everyone's onboard and interested
in a new adventure at first. As the trip draws nearer however,
reality
starts
intruding
on most peoples' enthusiasm and one by one they quitely bow
out.
Following true to form once again, the club's after-Thanksgiving weekend
trip to Baja that had originally included upwards of eight members,
eventually winnowed down
to just three by the Friday morning departure time of 5:30 a.m. Undeterred
and pressing onward were Kathy Austin and Lisa Ryner travelling
in Kathy's Mercedes wagon, and your humble editor,
following behind in my little red Ford Ranger pickup. We were a
caravan of two.
After
a quick exit for the women at Palm Avenue down in Imperial Beach
to collect me, we were
just minutes later at the border filing for tourist visas for our
journey. Prior to leaving, I had alerted Kathy that some Baja websites
I had visited
stated that travellers going south of Ensendada, or staying
more than three days, needed to acquire a tourist visa. As we were
doing both this trip, I suggested we get one. I had visions of
Federales
giving us trouble up ahead if we didn't have them. Kathy on the other
hand wasn't sure we really needed one, but relented in the end.
Twenty dollars
each
and a little bureaucratic back and forth later, we were on
our way, travel visas in hand.
About an hour
after crossing the border, our first stop was at San Miguel to
find some breakfast and to see
if any pre-contest stirring was under way. It was to begin the
next day on Saturday and
continue into
Sunday.
Way back when, our club
was planning to send an entire team down for the event, but opted for
the Cuatro Casas surf trip instead. The skeleton team from PB that
did show up for the contest included the Grand Masters duo of Pablo
Smith and Pier
Moore. This being Friday, too early for their arrivel at the event,
Kathy spotted Indy Callaway from the Windansea Surf Club
and told her of our plans to skip the contest this year and drive
further
south for unfettered surf. She also asked, "where do we eat
around here?" Indy wished us luck in our quest for surf, then
suggested a place just down the road called Las Rosas
for
breakfast. When we got there, it didn't
take long for us all to agree she was right—it was very good,
yet a bit on the
pricey side. After filling ourselves up with all things that make
up a good
breakfast, we were back on
the road, winding our way through bustling Ensenada and beyond,
into the hill country south.
We
eventually passed through the sleepy little town of Colonet and
before long found the
turnoff to Cuatro Casas. Several minutes later with 6.8 miles of dusty
and rocky dirt road behind us, we arrived at our
distination. Time, 11:30 in the morning. When we got out to stretch
and check the surf at first glance, we felt like we had dust in
places we didn't know we had places. By 12:30 we were
suited
up and
paddling out into a lineup which included
just
five other surfers of average ability. No problem.
The remnants
of a North West swell provided the energy in the water we were
now enjoying with sets in the waist-to-chest-high range. Water
temp about 64 degrees. You wore booties not for the temperature
of the water however, but to save your feet from the rocks on the
beach and under the surf. The right-hand point break delivered
up some
really fun waves and I
occasionlly
thought I saw a brief left sneak by from time to time. Being a
goofy-foot, if I think I see a left to be had, I'm going for it.
Unfortunately,
Kathy
was
on
my left side when we both took off on one and boy did she give
me the stink eye I'll never forget. She assumed I was going right,
as we were surfing a right-hand point break—duh—but
here I was turning left, right into her! Into the soup we went.
After we had both retrieved our boards and were paddling back out
she
half-jokingly
said it
was a good thing we were friends or it would have been curtains
for
me!
Since
then,
I've learned to keep her on my right side when out in a lineup
surfing together. By three o'clock, the wind was all over it and
the tide down leaving a sloppy
mess. We retreated to the relative comfort of our new home for
the next few days for showers and some much needed relaxation.
The
hostel, which was to be our temporary home, is owned by an American
expat named Richard and his Mexican wife Teresa (I didn't catch
his last
name
while
we
were
there).
Originally from Orange County, he bought the place 18 years
ago
and never
went back, preferring the rugged beauty and endless, uncrowded
surf down there to the masses north of the border. For our planned
three night stay, they gave us reign of the whole upstairs for
our use
which
included
two bedrooms
(Kathy
and
Lisa
in one,
me
in the
other), a kitchen, living room and bathroom.
The downstairs had several more bedrooms (all empty while we
were there), a living room and a big bathroom with a hot shower.
After we had settled in, we took a stroll down to the cove just
below
us
to
see what
kind
of
waves
a group
of about six surfers
were catching. The rest of the
afternoon was spent hanging out on the
upstairs
terrace
drinking margaritas and lounging about the living room
just inside. Later, Kathy cooked up some great hamburgers while
LIsa
prepared all
the trimmings to satisfy our rumbling tummys. In typical male
fashion I suppose, my part in the whole affair was in eating the
feast set before us. In defense,
I did help with the cleanup. Exhausted, we all turned in early,
anticipating the morning dawn patrol.
Saturday
morning finally dawned and a look at the surf in front of the
hostel didn't look
promising. Kathy said, "let's go exploring!" Lisa and
I readily agreed. We came to surf doggonit and surf we were going
to find.
Lisa quickly threw
down a light
breakfast
of milk and cereal,
me an Odwalla Bar and banana. Kathy swished down some coffee which
she called "brackish" after remembering she'd made it
with the local tap water. I usually can't function in the morning
without my "cup of joe", but
after giving the stuff a sip, I tossed the rest down the sink. Yuk.
We loaded all
the boards on my truck and bumped our way down the coast on a
dirt road which hugged the water's edge. Passing a few surf camps
with surfers
bobbing up and down in the water in front of each, we eventually made
it down to a spot called "Shipwrecks," for obvious reasons, there's
a big
wreck
right there in the lineup offshore. Impressive as that sight is,
the surf wasn't following suit. Way out on the point a couple of
longboarders
were catching some knee-high waves that had clean shape, but we wanted
some size with our session. "Let's head back up to Robert's Left,"
Kathy said, referring to a spot halfway back between the hostel and
the place we now stood. "That sounds good to me," said Lisa, a goofy-footed
comrade like me. We had seen some sizable waves there
when we had
passed it earlier, but the break was at the time
being surfed
by what looked like in Kathy's words, "old grumpasaursouses." When
we got back to the spot however, the grumps were gone, being replaced
by some younger
surfers
who were now laying claim to the waves. No problem we thought, we'll
just take the beachbreak peak north of where they were surfing
and everyone should be happy. By the time
we had suited up and started paddling out though, here they came
paddling up to where we were now establishing ourselves.
For close to
an hour we all surfed together without incident—they keeping
to themselves in a rather tight-knit group—us to ours, all going
for the same waves. Eventually they tired of us oldsters keeping pace
with the wave-count-per-side
and
they gave up and left. You take satisfaction where
you can get it at my age and we seemed to have won this round.
We had the place all to ourselves for about
30 minutes longer before
the tides and wind turned it all to crap. While it was firing though,
we had some chest-high fun that kept Lisa
and
me
smiling
with all those
lefts, and Kathy happy to oblige us while surfing backside for
at least one session.
When
we finally got out of the water we were in the mood for more exploring—and
food. We decided to take one of the dirt roads east toward Baja
1, then
head south to
the town of Camalu. After filling up the gas tank at the local Pemex
station in town, Kathy said to take the dirt road next to it and
head towards
the ocean. She'd been here before and remembered that it led to
a good point break. This road was much better travelled than the
coast-hugging one we'd bumped along earlier in the day and minutes
later we found ourselves
in front
of a fairly
new restaurant
and
hotel
called "La Cueba del Pirata", overlooking Camalu Point, a good
break when firing, but not doing so at this hour. A private party
was
taking
place
inside,
so we gladly took a table
on the
patio
outside.
It
was
mid afternoon
when we clinked three Tecates together celebrating our present circumstances
with such a fine view of the point below. Huge plates of Mexican food
arrived in time and the feast was on. We left there full, but feeling
the
need to find
some more beer and tequila to take back with us to the hostel for later.
A Liquor store in Camalu had what we wanted and we headed back to Cuatro
Cases to see what the evening surf would look like.
When we got back,
the surf was zilch to non-existant, the wind taking up where the surf
had once been. Whatever northwest had been in the water earlier
was now a distant memory.
We broke
out
the
alcohol
recently purchased and proceeded to drink our dinner. We were all
still full from the lunch down in Camalu anyway. Another early to bed
evening with hopes of better things the next morning put a period on
Saturday's events.
Sunday morning
arrived with the wind still blowing and waves nowhere to be seen, save
for the wind chop on the water. kathy rounded us all together and
asked if we wanted to stay and
see what
happens, or head back up to San Miguel where we could at least
take in a little contest action before leaving for home a day
early. We all agreed to leave early and made final arrangements
with our host.
(Story continues below.)

The two hour
plus trip back to San Miguel was uneventful, except for the occasional
slow-moving truck or bus we'd have to contend with before dashing
around. We eventually put the necessary miles behind us though
and were soon down at the contest site shaking hands with
Pablo
and Pier,
who
by a stroke of good luck were just getting ready to paddle out
for
their
Grand
Masters
Final.
The surf was small by San Miguel standards and the waves were
breaking near the rocks on the point. Pablo got several good waves,
as did Pier. On what was to be Pier's final wave of the day though,
he kicked out a little late and his board went right up into the
rocks, breaking off two fins and gouging the glass
on the nose and rails in the process. Fortunately for him, the
only thing that was hurt was his pride. The board could be repaired.
After
the guys' final, we didn't hang around to find out the results,
we wanted
to get back up to the border before things got out of hand there. We
wished them luck and said our good byes. When we arrived at the
border an hour later, we were too late. The time was just 2 o'clock
in the
afternoon
and the traffic was already stacking up way beyond the usual place.
I
was afraid this would happen when
we
left Cuatro
Casas
a day early, but thought we could beat the rush to the border. Kathy
had a Sentri Pass and a plan though and led me to where she thought
I might be able to squeeze in, but one of Tijuana's finest had
other
plans
in mind. He
ordered me back to the end of the line, where two hours and forty
minutes later I finally made it back, this time honestly.
It was 5:40 p.m. when I inched
my way past him with a forced smile on my face, and it would be over
an hour later before I would watch the border patrol officer
disappear
in
my rear
view
mirror
at the
border
check
point at 6:45 p.m.
Four hours and forty five minutes! A new record for me and I
resolved it would
be the
last
time I go to Mexico without a Sentri Pass of my own.
Looking back
on our trip now, we didn't score any epic surf or anything close.
We did discover for ourselves however what others had found before,
some
clean uncrowded waves in a country so close, yet so far away.
Here's
to our next
adventure. Hope you can join us!

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