Crappy New Year

Yes, I will stop complaining

Late Nights with the Earl of Cheddar

Wow, this guy is a chip off the old block.  He laughed himself into nearly choking last night (and consequently me too) as we watched episodes of Tim and Eric and East Bound and Down into the wee hours.  These late nights aren't easy when you wake up at 6:30 am no matter what time to go to sleep, but it's worth is to have him here.  He is still asleep and it is nearly noon!

Oops, I did it again

Hoo, Boy!

Did you get what you wanted?

I did!  The Earl of Cheddar is here.

Merry Christmas, Bitches!

The Last Day in Panama

Friday, December 14th

Mike tried knocking on Richie's door three times this morning, called his name because he said he wanted to go with us early this morning.  Oh, well, looks like we are going without him.  The boards are loaded up in the boat, the engine is purring, damn, I wanted to surf with him, it's my last morning!

It was gloomy out early, less white water on the other side of the bay. We head to Ponch, since Mike said it's my last day, it's my call.

NO ONE OUT??  WHAT?

It's 2-3 feet plus, light offshore winds, sneaker sets with eight foot faces!?

ALL MINE.

Mike was feeling cold and tired, his shoulders are sore from all the surfing. Can you imagine?  But, I feel like I have hit my stride.  I wonder what it would be like, to live here, to feel this healthy and alive and energized every single day.  Would I get jaded, more picky, less enthusiastic?
  

I guess the end of the swell is when you want to get here, because Mike explains the lack of surfers to everyone being sated, tired, sleeping in.  Hurray for me.  One guy paddled out after about an hour.  He asked me, "Why is no one out?  If this was California, where I'm from, there would be 20 guys out!"

"Ha!"  I said, "If this was Florida, where I'm from, there would be 200.  This is like our best day!"  He smiled and we took our pick of the lefts and rights rolling through.

Mike didn't last long.  He paddled over to the boat and went to sleep!  I could not believe my eyes.  It was just insane!  Here I was, having the time of my life, getting wave after perfect wave, all alone in tropical paradise. For sure, it was less consistent than yesterday, but the big, emerald green walls feathered up and pitched into rippable walls you could do anything you wanted to on - and make everything.  I had so many roundhouses this morning, it was the perfect ending to this trip.

My last wave was the best one of all, a macking left that lined up all the way to the inside. I finally paddled to the boat, not because I was tired, but because I felt guilty for holding everyone up from whatever they wanted to do back at the place. I knew Richie might be waiting on the dock, like a puppy dog, anxious and bummed that he had missed the waves, and miss it he had.  He would have lost his mind on these waves.

Just before we had paddled out, Mike told me about Matty's birthday party last night.  His girlfriend had assembled a garbage bag full of crap, or "sugar and toilet paper,"as Mike put it.  I assume he meant a bunch of trinket stuff for shits and giggles.  So, Mike wrapped up the camera that Matty had left on the dock in his drunken stupor the night before. I had seen the camera on the end of the dock when I walked out early to check the waves. Just as Matty was about to open the big cardboard box from Justin (with a three foot long live crocodile inside), that he was curious about because he kept hearing scratching sounds coming from it, his girlfriend said, "Wait!  Go get your camera, Matty, I want to get a picture!" (She knew what Mike had done)  So Mike says, "Hey, first open my present!"  Matty opens Mike's gift and starts laughing, "OH, MAN!  I have been looking all over for this!!"  Just then, they shove the cardboard box at him and he opens it and yells, jumping back as the crocodile jumps out and scrambles across the counter, landing in the sink.  HOLY CRAP, GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK, WHY DON'T YA!?

"Happy Birthday, Matty!"

When we got back, there was Richie, looking sad, but smiling, pacing in the boat house, anxiously wondering what he had missed. "I don't know what happened!" he said, "I got up early, but I must have dozed off again!"  You snoze, you lose - literally.  I sat on the dock, looking sadly across the bay, trying to lock it all into memory.  Mike walked up carrying a plate of oatmeal with fruit and, as he hands it to me, says, "Now, no tears in your oatmeal this morning."

He sat down and we talked about life here.  He said it was a job just keeping everything up and runnning.  When things break, you have few options, and you have to use mainly cheap Chinese stuff that you have to buy ten of before you get one that doesn't crack or break before you even finish the repair.
 
The dampness wears on everything.

I had an hour before we were going to surf again, so I went to buy Andy and Deb some coffee beans.

I had to get cash for taxi fare, exit tax, etc. too. It finally looks like it will be a rainy day.  Raindrops begin to fall and I have no umbrella, so I duck under store awnings as I make my way down main street.

Soon we were headed out to surf again, Richie was so ready! Mike decided to take us to Old Man's.  I had never surfed it yet, had no desire to because I figured it must be slow and fat.

SURPRISE.

It was anything but.

It was more protected from the wind, and at first seemed weird, looming up like a left, but the right ... oh my.

I had never seen the right from my vantage point at Black Rock. WHY DID YOU NEVER TAKE US HERE BEFORE NOW, MIKE??  "Because it's always had tons of people on it!"

I feel like I am Leslie Knope and he is Ron Swanson.

The right would jack up and race along - steep as crap and fun as hell!  It took awhile to figure out, until Mike said, "Sit here, look for the bump, and then paddle hard toward the edge of the reef ... see where the sand ends?"  Oh, yeah!

A surf school was leaving just as we arrived.  A couple from the U.K. paddled over, the girl was learning and Mike helped her while Richie and I had a blast riding them way in and hooting at each other on the way back out. The water was warm, the winds were offshore, and the waves were that ever-lasting shoulder high to head high size that is my eternal favorite.

It is starting to rain.  It makes the water feel like a bath. We are hungry.  We jump in the boat and return to the boathouse, where Mike prepares a delicious lunch of fried fish with rice, cucumbers, and slices of pineapple. It was the best meal yet.  He said he wanted something "special" for my last meal.  Richie said, "Nancy, I want to get a picture of you!" Ugh.  Oh, well, he took one of me and my board that I know will be totally awful. He seemed happy, so that's all that matters. Richie, I will miss you.  You are truly one of the tribe of my people.

Rain, rain, rain... so, this is what it's like.

I feel suddenly down for the first time all week. Maybe it's the weather, the backdrop for the thought that it's really over.  I retire to my room to read.

Masi is calling my name and I open the door.  They are all going to dinner tonight and want me to go.  Okay, I say, instantly regretting it.  I will say I am tired, when the time comes, as if anyone would believe that.  I just imagine feeling sad and being a downer.  I hate endings. Masi tells me he wants to go surfing with us for the evening session.  Am I in, he asks?  Hell, yes!

We leave later than I'd like, but when you are with a group, you learn to flow.  Old Man's again, woo hoo!  We all go this time, all five of us, a perfect last session.  When we got to the break, a Kiwi was the only one out, but he left so soon I never got to talk with him.  Dang. I am focused on getting my last waves in Panama.  It is STILL pumping, just unbelievable. Head high peaks and bigger!  Mike is a wave hog, as always, but he does help Masi catch a few.  Everyone is stoked.  I love it when Richie yells out again, "Here comes one for you, Nancy!"  Mike is relentless with Masi, telling his to keep his legs together, that he looks like a French Prostitute when he paddles.  We end up laughing so much this last session that it makes it even more sad to think that it is over.  I catch one last good one as darkness falls, and paddle to the boat one last time.  The only thing that helps is believing I will return again ...

Frost on the Ground

It was butt cold this morning.  Frost on the rooftops, frost on the ground.  But we were going surfing anyway.  We waited until 11 am to paddle out, when the air temp rose to a balmy 59 degrees.

I hate winter.

I miss Bocas.

Andy and I paddled out at Summerhaven just before lunch, and after about ten so-so stomach high waves, we went in.  It was a pretty day, yes.  The sun made an appearance for awhile.  But once six SUP'ers arrived on the scene, something about is all became suddenly a bit too depressing.  I kept pretending I was at Ponch, that one of those lefts was going to raise up outside and storm across the reef.  But, I am back to uneven sandbars, cold air, chilly water, and waves that can't decide what they want to do.  I will just have to start saving once more for real waves.  Now I know where they are most consistently breaking... and it is definitely not here.

Thursday, December 13th - Panama

I thought I might have heard Michele puking last night.  I was glad I declined the invitation to go out with them last night to a newly opened restaurant, and figured they had done some heavy drinking.  Turns out that no, they were not drinking at all. She thinks she got food poisoning at the restaurant.  Masi was fine, so he figured it was just what she chose: crabcakes.

I walked out on the dock and felt some sprinkles of rain and looked up to see a blanker of clouds, ugh.  It is finally going to rain, I thought, and it did for most of the day.  I was already missing my friends, had decided I just could never move here without them.  I could never live the lazy island life for long.

I heard Mike say my name and went outside to where he stood outside my door.  We discussed conditions and decided to wait until later to surf. The next guest is due to arrive from Costa Rica at 8 am, and the tide is too high right now, anyway.  I mentioned "Wizards" and "Long Beach," which only got me a look of negativity. "Those places are not good on this big of a swell," he said. "It's all close-outs."  "Well," I said, "some guy told me it was going off there yesterday."  He brushed that right off with, "Tony and those guys always say that," smirking.  I liked Mike better with the beard he had grown for "Movember," I thought,  missing the one he had when I arrived.  This morning he shaved it off and got a haircut, making him look gaunt and more stark somehow, like a blonde Abe Lincoln.  He seemed more wise, and more handsome, with it.

Michele stumbles out of her room and says she was sick 5 or 6 times during the night.  She apologized when I said I had thought I heard her during the night.  "Don't be silly," I said, "I was just worried about you, thought you had been drinking!"  No, she said, not at all. I told her I would go to the pharmacy to get her some Pepto Bismol, which she had never heard of.  She said she had taken a "tablet," and that was helping a bit.  She thought some Gatorade might help, too, so I said I would head off in search of some.  I walked out onto the street and the first thing I saw was a huge vulture, just standing in the street, staring at me, unmoving. "No sir, not me," I said, "not yet, anyway."

Nothing was open, so I headed back to the boathouse where I met Matty, who had slept inside the boathouse on the couch last night after locking his key inside his house.  He was covered in tattoos, about 30 years old, and stuck out his hand to introduce himself, saying he was a chef.  Mike said, "Then get to work, earn your keep!" and Matty began to make me breakfast, of French toast bathed in coconut sauce with fresh papaya and bananas.  Michele came out, looking a bit dazed. She said she had just told Masi, "Nancy is a nanny, I'm going to see her." I patted her shoulder gently and said I would take care of her, to get some rest while I headed into town for something to help her.  She smiled and said thanks.

The Pharmacy was still closed.  For crying out loud, people! What gives? I finally found some Gatorade (even cold) at the Chinese grocery store.  Not seeing Pepto, I asked if anyone spoke English.  The girl at the counter called out and an elderly man appeared and nodded when I asked.  Someone pulled some from out from behind the counter and I smiled and said, "GRACIAS!"

Michele was resting in bed when I got back with everything, apologizing for the messy room.  Are you serious? Come on!  You are sick and on vacation.  No cleaning allowed.  I leave her and Masi to go see when the ETD is for surfing.

Just then, "Richie" walks in, a tall handsome guy with closely cropped black hair in his late 20's, with the biggest grin I have ever seen.  We shake hands and I know instantly we are going to have a good time.  We talk.  He has a 7'10" Donald Takayama surfboard. He's from Sydney, Australia and has been living in NYC for the past 5 years working as a bonds trader. He just lost his job along with 1,900 others and decided he was going on a six week surfing safari before heading back home to Sydney.  He had just been to Costa Rica, surfing at Hermosa.  He is hungry and tired, so Mike makes him some French toast, too, while we talk.  I can't wait for Michele to meet him!  A fellow Aussie! Then it is time to surf.  Richie is too beat to go just yet, so it is just me and Mike.  Just like old times.

First we check Tiger Tails.  Two guys are out and it looks a bit fickle, with some rips running through it.  Eh.  Lots of water is moving around and for the first time it feels a bit spooky.  With the skies grey, it had an almost ominous feel.  We go over to Ponch. Ugh. Nine people out.  Let's look at "Dumps" Mike says, farther up the point.  Yeah, I say.  That wave looked sketchy.  There was a big rock pile on the inside at the end of the ride that looked a bit treacherous, and I felt suddenly ashamed of the fear I felt.  When he said it could get a bit "Teahupooy" at the higher tide, I knew I did not want any part of it.  He said this was the spot he surfed most. The crystalline turquoise tube looked inviting on the steep take off, but was I up to it?  I wasn't feeling confident.  When he said it might be too much for me, I winced, almost wanted to go out there to prove to him I could handle it, but something told me ... no. Who cares what he thinks? Plus, it looked like there were only one wave sets, and knowing how he was a wave hog, I knew my wave count would be minimal there.

We decide to go back to Tiger Tails.

Whoa, wrong move.  It was shifty and bigger than I thought.  Once you committed to the wave, there was no escape.  I had my worst wipeout of the entire trip there this day.  I had decided I needed to quit wimping out, backing out of the jacking powerful lefts that were marching through in thick ledges exploding inside on the shallow reef.  Boils were everywhere.  I took off on a big right. Mike was hooting and that made me almost have to go.  I made the drop, but almost to the bottom, I hit a weird ripple and realized I had no where to go but down, down, and down.  I went cartwheeling, flashing instantly on what Mark Foo did when he died, feeling sure my board was going to hit me. I finally scratched to the surface, gasping for air, relieved to the skies I had not hit my board.  Then I proceeded to get caught on the inside as wave after wave slammed the reef with me stuck and not getting anywhere.  I paddled and paddled, watched Mike get barreled, the other guys catch some overhead bombs only making half of them.  The walls were warbling, not anything like the quality of all the other spots we had surfed.  I just wanted to get back outside and rest.  Once I did, Mike asked me if I wanted to go check Ponch.  I paddled right to the boat.

PONCH!

Oh, man, this was the ticket.  SO much cleaner, with walls of smooth determined green.  The crowd wasn't bad.  It was late morning, so the early crowd had thinned out.  There were a few rastas, a guy with a GoPro camera on his board, the Kelly Slater look-a-like (grumpy!), Robbie, a 66 year-old guy I met who moved here from California 8 years ago, and a handful of local kids.  If you were in the spot... OH, MAN!

This session turned everything around.

I got one huge right, overhead and clean and peeling even better than the other day.  I was so thankful I had not said what I was thinking immediately after that Tiger Tails session, that I really just wanted to go back to the boathouse.  Because now, it was just wave after overhead wave rolling in with perfect offshore winds.  Robbie said this directly offshore wind direction was rare, that usually it was from the NW, which is side-offshore.  He said that Ponch was also his favorite wave in Bocas. He agreed with Mike, that all the best waves were close by.

The sun broke through the clouds then to reveal the best session of the trip.  The crowd eased, the conditions got primo, and I was in the groove, every wave felt like it was coming right to me.  The waves looked blue-green in the sunlight, my perfect surf dream. I got another amazing left, a big outside one that swallowed me on takeoff, but I felt confident and held on. I popped out of the white water to see a tapering wall ready to be slashed apart.  Joy. Over and over again - for hours!

I thanked Mike profusely when we finally got back to the boat, for suggesting we go check Ponch. He said it was so hard to leave, and I felt like I had finally arrived at that point where I felt like I could surf for hours and not feel fatigued.  But, I was getting fried by the sun.  My lips were beginning to blister.

It is 2:10 p.m. now.  The boat is floating in front of me, the water lapping at its sides.

Latino music is BLARING from the giant speakers the neighbors have on their back porch/dock. I look over and see clothes hanging on a clothesline. This loud music is annoying Mike and Donna (the woman that runs the spa on the property).

"I am getting that BB gun and shooting those speakers!" she says, seething, her eyes wide.  It doesn't bother me. I think it's actually kind of funny and it feels right, somehow.  I decide to get a pedicure and learn so much from the woman who gives me one that I wonder why I never thought of doing this earlier. She was full of ideas on ways I could move here and make a living.  She loves it here, is from Canada, met a local man and is getting married during Christmas here.  Her family is flying in on Christmas Eve.  While I get my pedicure, Mike and Donna call the police on the guy next door.  The music goes down a hair for about ten minutes, then goes back up even louder after that.  Mike and Donna are shaking their heads in disgust. "Wow, this is war," I say under my breath.

Michele came out wearing a scarf and sunglasses, looking tired, but said she was getting better.  Masi looks not so happy, and I wonder if this trip has been a disappointment to him.  If I wasn't a surfer, I sure wouldn't stay here.  I wonder what they think, paying so much money for a cabin with no AC, a shared bathroom, two shared outdoor showers, no clean sheets for a week, not even a clean towel.  As for me, all I think about are the essentials: food and surf, and came up with an A+.

Now it's time to surf again!  It's me, Mike, and Richie.  The winds have died and the water is gorgeous.

I think Richie wins for most stoked surfer EVER.  He kept looking around the bay as we headed out, saying, "THIS IS AMAZING!" over and over in his awesome Aussie accent.  A big smile is forever plastered on his face.  When he jumped out of the boat he said it again.  When he caught his first reef wave ever, he said it again.  He had been nervous about surfing over reef, but he found out, like Mike and I told him, it's the best, and easier, and so much more predictable, than beach breaks. On my first wave, he yelled out, "Great ride, Nancy!" across the line-up, unable to contain his joy.  A few really good waves powered through this evening that were just world class fantastic. I so wished my friends had gambled with me and come along.  I felt so in tune with my board this evening.  I dread going back to winter at home.

Tonight I went to the Golden Grill and scored a veggie burger, lemonade, and a slice of chocolate cake, all for under $5.  I sat there, watching people walk by on the street and thought, this day was worth everything.  This day was a day I felt like I was living life to the fullest.  Tiger Tails worked me to the bone, but it only made that session at Ponch more golden...

My last day here approaches.

Surfing Summerhaven

Me, Andy, Mark C. and a guy named Derek were the only ones out there today.  The morning reports were calling it half a foot, but by mid-afternoon some real waves started rolling in and at 15 second intervals!  It was hard to tell from the bluff, with no one in the water, how big it was, but when we all paddled out we could see it was definitely bigger than it had looked.  Shoulder high and bigger sets were rolling through with emerald green water groomed by a lightening WNW wind.  It was chilly out, a front moved in last night, but the water temp is holding at 62, so it felt relatively warm out there.  It was no Bocas, but it was something, and we had some laughs!

Then there was Bocas...

12-12-12

Wednesday.  The rooster wakes me again.  Mike already has the boat house open. "Still waves?" I ask as I enter.  "Yep!" he smiles.

We crossed the bay in the boat under partly cloudy skies.  Whoa!  We just jumped a wave that I think surprised even him.  We sailed up and over the crest of it and slammed down so hard that the anchor flew into the air and crashed down onto the bow with a thunderous CRACK!  "Woo-hoo!" I yelped.  Later, I heard Mike tell his friend, "There was a lot more wave action out in the bay on the way out this morning."  

I think the swell may be peaking.

It looked smaller to me when we got closer to the point, but still way more wave action than the first two days.  Once at Ponch, we could see one guy out, but here comes another boat, Justin and his friend from yesterday.  Justin is smiling, "Let's go!"  I just am not seeing those sets. "Just wait," Mike says, and we jumped into the warm water.

I was feeling more tired today, but after seeing a couple lefts bowl up and fire off, I got going pretty quickly.  It seemed less consistent.  I picked off a left that was fun.  After a few more, I found my groove and began to realize that the biggest ones were the best - so I moved farther outside and waited.  I got two of my best waves of the trip today.

One was a  monster left that jacked up way outside so gorgeously... I stroked, it backed off for a second and then crested and ledged up and I charged down into it as the wall began to bend and heave and I pig-dogged into it to better manage my speed and position. Realizing I was in the foam ball, I knew I was committed - and it was just relentless!  I held on, realizing I was locked in the barrel.  I finally saw the crystal green lip toss over my head and then - out I flew!  Stoked!

The other one did the same thing.  It happened after a few more guys showed up and one of them turned to paddle like he wanted it, but then hesitated because he knew better. It was all mine! The thing jacked, I stood, and the train took off with me holding on for dear life, sliding into the pit pig-dog style. The whole thing started heaving over, but I knew I could make it if I held on tight.  I could see a bunch of guys sitting on the inside, but far enough over that I knew I had room to go for it.  The wave threw over me and I made it out just as another section unloaded.  I pulled up even higher and raced it as it fell on top of me.  I came out a bit unsteady, but clearly safe, and cut out of it. I was so happy at that moment.

Then people started paddling out from everywhere.  Some tattooed guys moved over to where I sat.  I saw one of them take a horrendous wipeout.  He paddled for a freak set wave, the biggest wave I had seen all day.  He wasn't out far enough, but with his buddies hooting he had to take it.  He almost got sucked over, and if he had, it would have been bad.  As it was, he barely missed it - and good for him that he did. Mike told me later that he knew those guys. "They are from Panama city and show up when there is a swell, look all bad ass with their tattoos and shaved heads, and still live with their moms."

One of them looked just like Larry Bertleman from the old days, and he started to do the same thing his buddy just had.  I knew he was never going to make the wave, but bless him for not backing out.  He tried to stand on that freakishly big wave, even bigger than the last freaky one his buddy had missed.  Only, this guy caught it.  He was launched so far out that I felt sure he had been maimed.  I kept looking inside to see if he came up in one piece.  It was one of those full on cartwheel death dives.  He was laughing when I finally saw him, reaching for his board in the swirling foam.

Then some blonde guy paddled over to my peak and planted himself on the inside of me and proceeded to take every wave like a helicopter, paddling like it was the last wave of his life.  This made it hard to do my old 'pop the board thing at the last second,' which had been working nicely for me all morning. With him paddling so furiously, it just didn't work because I guess he didn't think I was going to get it.  I moved over to the neglected right, but soon after a Kelly Slater look-a-like just started to drop in on me as I was in the peak of a sweet right.  I had to say "Hey!" to get his attention, but after that I think I was on his shit list.  I never saw him smile once, despite all those beautiful waves.

Add 18 more people, and I decided to paddle to the boat.  I was very, very satisfied with how the morning had gone up until that point, had my two best waves of the trip so far, and just watched from the boat as mint green lines exploded into brillantly white water along the reef.  There were clearly not enough of them to go around by then.  

Mike paddled over and I got my first real compliment from him. "You got a good barrel, huh? I saw you take off and get in it and then stumble out!"  He seemed clearly happy. That comment made my morning complete.

Back at the dock, Michele was doing yoga while Masi slept.  Mike made us all banana pancakes with coconut syrup, and all was right with the world.

For lunch, Mike made us all grilled tuna steaks with coconut topped rice and green beans.  After a break, Mike, Michele, and I loaded up mid-afternoon for a session at Black Rock. The wind really died, but there was a surf school at Black Rock so we went over to the 'Point of no Return' again.  There was one guy on it, on a FireWire longboard, who looked just like Mr. Hooper from Sesame Street.  Mike kept snagging all the set waves, pissing me off.  Damn local knowledge!  Michele got one really long left that she rode all the way to the inside and threw her hands into the air - she was so stoked.  I had a few good ones, too, but felt a certain sadness descending at the prospect of only two more mornings to surf.  

The sunset this day was amazing.

I walked into town for dinner later and ate at "Om," the Indian restaurant that Mike said was good, and right he was.  When I was walking back, I heard someone call out my name. It was Kurtis, riding his bike into town.  He smiled, "I heard you got a barrel today!" I laughed and said it was involuntary, and asked how he knew.  "News travels fast in this town." He told me to tell Mike that some guy had said we should go to "Wizards" or "Long Beach" tomorrow, but not to tell him that he had said that.  I told him that if it's a longer boat ride and to beach breaks, it probably wasn't going to happen. "You know what ..." Kurtis began, and then seemed to think better of it. I am at Mike's mercy, so I will have to take his word for it when he says he knows where the waves are breaking best. I am having the time of my life, and would never expect that everything would, or even should, be revealed to me upon my very first visit to a place of surf breaks galore.

PONCH

Tuesday, December 11th

This morning was what I came here for.

Yeah, Mike, maybe you are glad I wanted to go out early this morning at 6:30 a.m.?

We crossed the bay at dawn, and at first I wondered what the hell he was doing heading for the white water directly across the bay.  But I have learned.  Keep your mouth shut when it comes to wave spots.
He knows what's up.

Turns out we were headed to Tiger Tails.  It looks bigger everywhere, and I thought about how perfectly timed this trip turned out to be.  The first swell of the season, and I had had two days to tune up.

Tiger Tails looked a bit ripply and undecided.  He said it would be more hollow here, but we turned to look at "Ponch" and saw a guy riding a clean left that looked like a dream. "It's a mushy wave," he said, "but let's go check."

We pulled up and I could see it was ultra clean, the winds were perfect for the two foot overhead bowling winding lefts.  Only two guys are out.  The closer we got to it, I could see it was a lot better than I expected. The bigger sets were four feet over the guy's heads.  We could see an empty right on the other side of the break that was throwing out into a steep tapered wall.  Holy crap, was I dreaming?

Two of Mike's friends pulled up in a boat just then, Justin, a dark-haired guy in his late thirties, and a guy about my age.  We exchanged greetings.  We ended up surfing for an hour before the crowd showed up.  Justin smiled at me after my third left that just rolled through all the way from the outside to the inside. "Looks like you're having fun!" he said. "Oh, my God, yes!" I grinned, "This is better than our best day at home." He asked where I was from and then said, "Well, they say the best surfers come from Florida!" Justin moved here from Hawaii, and when I asked him which spot in Bocas was his favorite, he said, "Right here."  I could see why.  Machine perfect long lefts, shorter fast steep rights, winds nearly always offshore.  His buddy asked me where I was from when I paddled farther outside where he sat.  He vaguely knew where St. Augustine was, but was more familiar with Jacksonville.  He was from New York.

I kept getting wave after wave, you could tell the swell was not fooling around and had seriously begun.  The Dominator is custom made for this wave.  You could sit way outside, almost to the point of insanity, and just pop the board and go.  The way outside had these larger bowls that jacked up quickly then hit a slow spot and then proceeded to unload all the way in a steep wall ripe for round houses and off the tops all the way to the inside where you could get a smaller barrel.  Sometimes the larger ones would barrel on takeoff, making for some spectacular visuals, like something out of a dream, blue-green pitching lips in the sunshine with a wide open wall as big as I would ever want.  They said it does the same exact thing when it gets really big, about five times a season, and it clears the water fast.

I was thankful later, when we sat watching it from the boat, that we had gone early.  It looked like there were at least 30 guys out when we left and someone was always in the way there at the end.  Mike had caught a million waves on his little twin fin, and was exhausted.  More boats kept showing up and he said there would be 50 people out soon.  A local regular footer, who had been out there earlier, told me that this was the first real swell, so people were hungry.  He was one of the best surfers I saw, and he sat way outside with me and snagged a bunch of jacking rights that I was lucky enough to witness up close on take off. I saw some of the most comical wipeouts of my life, too. One that stands out was this black rasta dude who took off on one of the biggest lefts of the day and just got pitched out with the lip.  All I saw was this gorgeous left rise up perfectly as he stroked a little too slowly into to it and didn't get to his feet fast enough.  He just went flying through the air, cartwheeling down the face end over end.  OUCH! But, he came up laughing - along with all his friends who had witnessed it from the inside.

When we got back, Michele was doing yoga on the dock, and said Masi was still asleep.  They had slept great and she was in no rush to get out and surf, especially when she heard it was bigger than yesterday.  Mike made us another amazing breakfast of Johnny Cakes (a sweetish yeast roll english muffin thing) topped with a fried egg, some delicious sauce, green onions, and hiding underneath it all, a slice of warm grilled pineapple.  Then it was off to Black Rock, so M&M could get in their morning session.

I knew Black Rock might seem mundane after the perfection of Ponch and, feeling totally satisfied and stoked, I didn't want to mess with it.  Plus, the sun factor weighed heavily on my decision to ride the bike over to Ponch to take photos from shore.  Mike understood, and said I was smart to wait for the afternoon session which he knew was going to be worth waiting for.  And, I wanted to see if the waves were really as big at Ponch as they had seemed.  It was hard to tell because they were so easy to catch and ride. It was deceiving, and was still repeating in my mind, over and over, just so... perfect.

Mike told me to take the other bike, that it had been tuned up and that one was a better size and in much better shape.  By the time I got to the point, the tide was washing over the dirt road making for some real havok with puddles and wash outs.  But, it was worth it all to see all those spots I had seen when the swell was small become heaving masses of churning angry white water.  Oh, it was as big as it seemed.  In fact, it looked like the swell had come up even more with the high tide. My photos do not show it, but there were some sets that, from shore, would have spooked me to enter from the land.

It was an adventure of a bike ride, crossing a river, seeing a guy get seriously pitted at Tiger Tails near boils and rocks that were balls out scary.  The water was a lovely shade of pale teal and many of the waves spit out as they exploded inside.  If you rode the wave too far it was a battle with the turmoil of seething foam.  I stood there watching as the guy caught two or three more and then I moved on.

Farther up, a stone's throw away, I found five guys riding the other end of Tiger Tails.  It was more of a peak, more forgiving, but still fierce stuff.  Death pit drops.  I was so glad we had not surfed here this morning, as Mike had been inclined to do.  At Ponch, three or four boats were still anchored outside the break with about 15 surfers in the water.  There were some serious sets marching in. Yes, it was as big as it had looked.  The tide was making it more bouncy now and not as lined up.  Only kooks were out, and late risers on logs getting creamed.  Guys were trying to do maneuvers and flailing, and it was fun to watch. A young rasta guy looked up as he was tip-toeing out of the water through the rocks and smiled.

It looks like rain out over the sea.  I hear thunder and decide to head back, but it hasn't rained at all yet during the trip.  I decided to go into town when I got back, and it was comical. I am sure, if you had watched me trying to figure out the system of how you are supposed to line up, you would have had a good laugh at my expense.  The girl behind the counter looked smart and professional, but had to ask someone to help me when I asked how I could get cash with my credit card because NO ONE seemed to want to take a credit card in Bocas. A nice black guy told me to go to the Rosa Blanco Farmacia and buy something and they would give me $50 cash.  Okay, that just sounds silly, but I did it and it worked!  As I rode along the main street, I just felt sad at the lack of pride in this small town.  Trash is everywhere, no one seems to care.  I am sure recycling is out of the question as I see plastic bottles here and there in the grass and along the dirt paths.  Everyone seems to be wandering around like zombies.  There is a decided lack of energy, focus, and everyone walks or rides their bike with absolutely no rules.  It looked like some kind of controlled chaos.  No one seems to even look when they cross the street.  There are so few cars to worry about, I guess, they have no fear.  I am sure that when I was in my twenties I would see the best in all of this, but all I see now is a sad malaise, a lackluster spirit, reflected in everyone's eyes.

After a stint in the hammock Mike invites me to go meet his best friend, Kurtis, who is living in the first house he built when he first moved here.  He gives me instructions on how to get there that, of course, I royally screw up - and three times.  He says his friend wants to meet me, that he is waiting on the porch.  I feel a bit suspicious.  Is Mike trying to set me up? I wonder if he just wants to show off his construction skills, because there are clearly not many things he is not an expert at.

I finally find it, and there is Kurtis, smiling and calling my name and immediately takes me into his arms in a big bear hug. "Mike tells me you're an awesome surfer!" is the first thing he says. "What?" I say, confused, "All I seem to do is annoy the hell out of him!  All he ever says to me is CALM DOWN!"  "Oh, no," Kurtis smiles, "He really loves you, says you're great!" Well, well, well, I think.  Mike sure isn't letting on anything of the sort to me.  But, that was a relief, because honestly, I felt like he hated me.

Kurtis, on the other hand, was like something out of a documentary based on eccentric island characters.  Mike had said Kurtis was a musician, had played in Hawaii and all over the world for 30 years, professionally, and I recall the name George Strait was mentioned.  Kurtis was humble, and full of personality.  He gave me a grand tour of the place, showed me some Alaia boards he made (Mike rides these well, he said), the downstairs where his kitchen was, the upstairs where his study, bedroom, and bathroom were. He reeked of alcohol and was feeling quite happy with himself, even played the slide guitar for me when I asked, and the sounds that rose from that guitar gave me goosebumps.  He showed me his pet gecko. "Watch this," he said, taking a spoon from a drawer and scooping out a tiny dab of yogurt and tapping it on the counter.  A few moments later, an adorable gecko with big staring eyes emerged from beneath the toaster over and with a few flicks of its pink tongue, began lapping up the glossy treat.  How I laughed!  Kurtis looked the part of the old surfer, about 60 plus years old, leathery skin, an expanding midsection, and shaggy blond hair with streaks of grey slowly taking over.  What a sweet, sweet man.  But, the day was fading.  I knew he would understand.  We were going surfing.  "Have fun!" he said, and, "Come back anytime!"

Back at the boathouse, Mike told me he almost scored a Dominator.  He said he had found a guy who was selling a 5'8" for $300 - and Mike said come right over.  When the guy showed up, it was 8 years old and looking every day of it. I think he really wants one.  I caught him showing one of his buddies mine just the day before.

We ended up going to Black Rock, Mike, Michele, and I, and I ended up having a freaking blast.  The waves were really walling up steep and vertical, making for some non-stop lip bashing!  Michele was feeling tired, got caught inside.  Mike had one too many beers and was egging her on mercilessly. "Paddle like you mean it!" he yelled. When she got back to the boat, she was stung by a bee to top it off.  In true Aussie spirit, she never complained.

On the way back the sky was positively brilliant.  We somehow ended up talking about friends, and Mike said he only really had a few. "WHAT?" I said.  "Everyone here seems to know you and ride over on their boats to talk to you or wave and hoot from the docks!"  He looked across the water and said, "Acquaintances. I really have about five true friends." I thought about that before I said, "Well, they say if you have five really good ones, you're lucky."

Michele and Maximo invited me to go with them to La Casbah for dinner tonight.  I ended up having the best time with them.  They are truly the nicest couple I think I have ever met.  So happy, upbeat, and intelligent. The conversation was great.  I learned about Masi's job as a lawyer, life in Switzerland, how expensive it is there.  The time just flew - and the food was amazing.  I was so happy as we all walked back together.  I couldn't help thinking about how glad I was that I had pulled the trigger months ago, said I was going to Bocas no matter what and alone if I had to.  I had been so close to changing my mind. A shiver went up my spine thinking how all this might have never even happened.

Here comes the swell!

Monday, December 10th... Dawn. Out on the end of the dock, I see someone stretching.  It's Michele. "I've found the perfect spot for doing yoga!" She is smiling, the sun is shining, and we talk about Switzerland.  She works for an organization that helps alleviate the problem of billions starving in the world versus billions of obese.  I feel guilty, as if it must be America that is to blame, but she says it is not just us.  Switzerland is by no means perfect, and is "elitist," she says.  At 15 years of age you must decide if you are going to go into academics or a trade. Then you set off on training that will last until you are 30.

Okay, as we talk I can't help but notice, over there across the bay... more white water, much more than yesterday.

NEWS FLASH - THE WAVES HAVE COME UP!

Michele says she noticed waves coming into the bay this morning that weren't there yesterday.

GET UP MIKE, LET'S GO!

This morning would be a lesson in "tranquilo."

In my defense, I came here to surf and have waited months for this.  But being here at the moment is a bit like being stranded, because I am at the mercy of someone who has the boat I need to get to the waves - now.  Yes, I want to go now.

Being part of the group means waiting until the others have had breakfast.  But, who better to wait with than Michele?  We talked about everything, and had so much in common, and her mom sounded like someone who would be my best friend.  She even made one of my crazy dreams her reality.  She has alpacas!  Maximo, or "Masi" as she called him, stumbled out, ready to go surfing. Was I ever happy then.

It is something that I can't comprehend at first, this no need to rush out early to surf.  Mike says it is better to wait, to let the trades kick in and groom the surf a bit more. We got out there early enough, just in time for the tide to drop, making the waves break - and break really good.  Boats were buzzing past everywhere.  Mike said everyone knows now, with the internet, when the waves arrive.

When we all first pulled up at Black Rock, I felt duped. I couldn't see it, but Mike just grinned, said he had tried to stall, but that I was too antsy, and that I should trust him ... "It will get good."  And, yes, this would be the best session yet.

After about fifteen minutes, the lines started bowling up in long, crystal green lines, shoulder high, and as fun as could be. Michele was riding them all the way in on one of Mike's longboards, stoked to be back in the water, warm and surreal after having just left snow. The Dominator was in its element, just so responsive and loose on those long peeling rights and short bowling lefts. Masi seemed jet-lagged and tired, but did manage to catch a few. Mike caught a ton of waves on his FireWire.  He was taking off fin first, and Michele asked me why he did that.  He's a show off, I said, and she laughed.

We stayed out until the wind turned onshore, a couple hours later.  Masi had drifted out to sea during the last hour and Mike had to go rescue him. I was feeling it, totally spent after the constant waves that kept coming in sets of four or five.  There were about 10 people out over at "Old Man's,"just to our left.  I kept hearing them hooting and saw some nice lefts peeling off every now and then.  One boat came over to us and circled a bit too close, ruining the smooth line-up, but Mike knew them and smiled.

Now it is lunchtime.  Mike just brought us our plates, of grilled fish with papaya salsa over rice with a cabbage slaw with papaya dressing.  How amazing it tasted I could never convey. We were all impressed.

After a break in the hammock, it was time to head back to the surf - and I was more than ready.  

The wind began to back off in the late afternoon, and we raced over in the boat to Black Rock, but a surf school was in session. Mike steered the boat past Old Man's and up the point, to a spot between that and Caranera (a super popular left at the top of the point that he wanted to avoid due to crowds).  He said he and his friends had named it the "Point of No Return," no reason given. It turned out to be AMAZING.  I had my best rides of the trip there so far.  I could not believe how every session was just getting better and better.  The lefts would jack up and ledge over, spooking me at first because I kept thinking the wave was going to pass me by, but I forget how waves that break over reef break as they should, not like at home.  Once I figured out how to just throw myself over with the lip, I fell in love.  Every single time I did this, I would find myself in the perfect position to pull into the barrel and pig dog through with the lip flying over me, or else bottom turn and aim for the lip, over and over again.

This break clearly scared Michele, her eyes wide, and she kept asking about how shallow it was.  She did not like the rocky cliff so close to us and asked about sea snakes.  When she asked about booties, I told her what someone had told me long ago, that wearing them was selfish and harmed the reef.  Better to learn how to skim the water upon entering and take care to fall flat if you must.  I never bought another pair after that day.

Darkness came all too soon this day.  The waves are only supposed to increase, according to the forecasts. Mike told me this evening that we can go out early tomorrow morning, just the two of us, for a dawn patrol... 

Day Three

December 9th, 2012 ... Didn't sleep much last night.  Between thinking about the possibility of the waves coming up and the crib-like, hard mattress, it was a long night.  At least there was one squishy pillow.  And, no mosquitos at all.  Bonus.

Damn rooster started crowing at 5 a.m. Mike said it was 4:45 a.m. Another bird was making some weird high-pitched Wheeeee-wheeee-wheeeeee! sound, amid the tranquil sound of the Caribbean sea lapping at the shore just outside my window, whish-whash, whish-whash ... nice.

I have the room closest to the water, the orange cabin, lucky number 13.  The set-up here turned out to be a bit more "rustic" than what I had expected.  The cabin is a basic, wooden structure about 10'X10' with two windows that have shutters that you lift and prop open with sticks, and one door.  We all share the one bathroom next to the two showers that are outdoors.  At least the showers are powerful enough, and have endless hot water.

I realized that I am already plotting.  I am thinking I could move here, paint watercolors to sell to tourists, get rides to the surf with Mike ... always dreaming.

When I went outside early this morning, I saw that the skies were grey, but it wasn't raining.  Clouds could maximize time in the water, I surmised, the sun beating down would only be brutal on my pale skin. There was a cool tropical breeze blowing.  All is quiet except for the animals.  I open the door to the boat house and walk out to take a look at the surf.  I don't see much happening across the bay or out at the point. Not much white water is breaking anywhere I look, but I know it is probably on its way.  Mike walks in soon, and we greet each other and he starts breakfast.

We need to wait for lower tide, he says. I can see the water is high up on the dock pilings, not good for Black Rock, his go to break when it is small.  I am sitting in the chair on the porch overlooking the sea when he arrives carrying a plate of food for me.  I am amazed at what I see, a papaya-filled crepe with coconut syrup, half of a passion fruit (which I have never eaten in its natural state) with a red hibiscus flower beside it.  I am famished, and this seems like something out of dream.

I ask about bike rentals, thinking I will explore while the tide drops, but there is no need.  "Take the blue one," he smiles, and I do.  It's too small. I feel like a kid on her little sister's bike, creaking along while looking at the rusted basket. I end up going all the way to the other side of the bay, probably a four mile bike ride at least.  Everywhere I looked had possibility, and I had to keep searching to see what was around the bend.  It all reminded me of Costa Rica, in particular Limon, although it was much dirtier, with trash strewn along the road, plastic bottles here and there. There were very few cars, as boats are the way to go here.

I find a sweet little left, machine perfect, and I wonder what it will do when the swell comes up.  There was a series of lefts, actually, revealing themselves with each bend in the coastline.  I suddenly wish I had brought my surfboard, because now the waves are looking more and more rideable.

I find the best wave in front of the Bocas Surf Bar/Restaurant/Surf School.  Turns out this is "Tiger Tails," although I didn't know it at the time.  I watched as a slate green, glassy peak kept rising up and wedging into a right and left that looked to be waist high.  My heart suddenly began pumping.  Must get back and tell Mike we need to go, I told myself, this place is breaking!  No one is out, no one even walking around.  There are so few houses around here, and lots of land for sale.  Dreaming.  This spot was protected from the wind, smooth and glassy as could be.  I turned the bike around and started peddling, hard, back to Azucar.

In my excitement, I push the bike too hard and the chain comes off.  No problem, I fix it, but my hands now look like I have just given a cow an enema.  A few blocks later, it happens again.  I fix it, then, two blocks later, it happens again - except this time the chain becomes impaled on the back cog.  I try knocking it out with a rock, no luck, then a sturdy stick.  I resign myself to a long walk back and then decide to try one more time and manage to wrestle it free.

So, what did we learn so far?

1. Locals here are not especially friendly.  I made a point of saying hello to everyone I met on the way back, with little response.  It might have been my poo hands when I waved.

2. It's good to strike out and explore. You find surfbreaks!

3. There is something unexpected that the indigenous Indians here do when riding bikes.  They seem to ride beside each other whether they know each other or not.  Maybe it was because I was a woman, but this guy rode beside me half way to the first break, and no matter how I sped up or slowed down he stayed right there, close beside me, sometimes smiling, sometimes just staring ahead.  From what I gathered, it might be something in the way of protection for women, but it was so odd I had to keep stifling a giggle the whole time.

It's just the "weird culture" here, Mike said.

When I get back to Azucar, Mike's right hand boatman, Tony, is there grinning, saying, "Hello, Mi Lady!"  He is young, probably all of 23, black, quite handsome, with short dreadlocks and a big smile. His girlfriend, a pretty light-haired girl about his age is staring at him, smiling. I tell Mike about the wave I found, and he and Tony discuss it, saying, "Paki's?" Then he told me I had found Tiger Tails, the first place he had ever surfed when he arrived here eight years ago.

We jumped in the boat, and it looked flat at first from the boat as we approached.  I apologized.  Mike had a great attitude about it. "There's white water, there's waves, let's go!" We jumped in and paddled over to find some waist high peelers, a bit weak, but fun.  It wedged up just like I had seen, and rolled down the reef, lefts and rights.  Mike rode his Firewire Free Flight longboard and rode it like a shortboard. He is a great surfer. We talked between sets.  He has so many stories.  He said I surfed better than he had expected. I wondered, later, what he said to Tony because when Tony saw me he said, "So, you are a good surfer?" "Ha ha," I laughed, "Just because you ride a little board doesn't mean you are good!"

I learned that Mike has broken many surfboards here.  The waves are apparently very powerful in Bocas. He said the waves actually remind him of Indo. "Thin lips, but cracking," he said. Before long, hunger drove us back to the boat.  I kept thinking about the tube I had yesterday that I wanted more of.  This was just a tease.  Mike said the forecast was still holding, and they were calling for waves through Friday.

After a hot shower, I was sitting on the dock again when out Mike came with another plate of food; shrimp curry with carrots, onions, green onion slices over rice, and fresh sliced papaya.  SO good...

Tony came walking up onto the dock later where I lay almost comatose in the hammock.  Sheeesh, I am feeling so lazy.  Maybe it is the travel, or the lack of sleep is catching up.  He wants me to go see dolphins, and for $20 he will take me, along with a girl from Argentina who wants to go.  He says the tourist places charge $65.  I feel sunburnt already and I'm tired, I say, maybe later.

Mike drags out his SUP, asking if I want to paddle around.  Yeah, maybe later, I say.  Right now, right here is where I want to be.  I am slowing down - for once.  Later, I wander into town.  Funny how all the grocery stores here are Chinese-owned.  They are neat and tidy, everything crammed into place.  When I return, I see the two new guests have arrived.

Michele and Maximo are from Switzerland are as nice as anyone I have ever met in my life.  She was originally from Australia and still has the accent.  She is quite pretty, blonde, blue eyes, in her early thirties.  He seems shy, is handsome and smiling with dark hair and eyes. She does all the talking.  They settle in, and I feel like I have been drugged.  It as if I have been injected with something that makes me just want to become horizontal.  I pass on the evening session, in part to let M&M have some time with Mike to get to know him, in part because I want to save my energy for what I feel certain is coming. I spend some time exploring the streets of Bocas Del Toro.

Ho hum, not a lot of excitement here.

When I get back, M&M&M are pulling up to the dock at sundown in the boat. "Did I miss anything?" I ask Mike. "No way," he said, "It was even smaller than last night!" I looked up into the sky to see stars. Maybe tomorrow will be sunny.

Day One, Panama

Friday, December 7th: The first part of any journey always begins with those little nagging doubts. Mine went something like this. Will this end up being a mistake?  Should I really gamble all this money on the chance of finding good waves? Will my car make it to the airport?

Luckily, there is rarely ever a bad surf trip.  Can't think of one I have ever had, actually. Once you step outside the realm of the usual, you encounter risk.

The risk of missing something you could only dream about if you had stayed home.

The first part if this trip had some good omens, at least I took them that way.  Yes, my car made it to the Orlando Airport. Mapquest sent me on a crazy roundabout and stress inducing loop-de-loop, but with the help of some very kind souls working at gas stations ("I would be happy to help!") I was redirected only twice and made it to the airport on time.

American Airlines: You should be ashamed.  Charging $150 one way for a surfboard bag that weighs all of five pounds and is the size of the average American's totebag.

How interesting.  All it takes, sometimes, is a kind word or two.  The hostess at the airport restaurant was a nanny of TRIPLETS.  Wow, did we ever have a great conversation.

Okay, here we go.  My flight to Costa Rica is ON TIME, thank you!  I am sitting in my seat holding a copy of "The Glass Castle" by Jeanette Walls. As the other passengers file slowly past and then stall, a pretty girl looks down at me, practically gasps with joy, and smiles, "I read that book!" We discuss it for a minute before the lady sitting next to me, leans over and smiles, "Can you tell me the title of that book?  I am always looking for a good read!" Suddenly the stewardess is asking loudly, snickering, "Whose bag is this with this tag: NOT YOUR BAG?" I confess.  Thanks, cousin, for that thoughtful gift last Christmas. Your humor was much appreciated by her as she laughed, "I LOVE it!" I cannot top your gift selections, ever.

We land in Costa Rica, the wind pushing the plane around like always does in the valley. I am spending the night here, because it was the most affordable way to make the flights work. They don't make getting to Bocas Del Toro from St. Augustine exactly easy. Andy and Deb told me about a hotel they liked in San Jose, The Riviera, so that's where I stayed.  A middle-aged, dark skinned man was waiting, smiling, holding a big sign up with my name in big bold letters, making me feel important for a second. He drove me to the hotel and we tried to communicate with little command of each other's language which always makes for some mild comedy. Mostly it was just smiling and nodding. I checked in and wandered downstairs to the very nice restaurant there, not knowing the exchange rate and hoping I was not making a mistake by ordering a grilled veggie sandwich and pineapple juice.  The place looked a bit swanky for me, but the bill was more than fair.  Now, it is waiting for the morning light, knowing I will be surfing soon - if all goes well.

Saturday, December 8th: I wake to roosters squawking, cats fighting, and what sounds like someone  drumming on garbage cans. At 5 a.m. something that sounds like a cannon goes off. Welcome back to Central America!

Outside, the temperature is perfect... the wind is blowing and the smell of rich, dark coffee fills the air.  The guy at the front desk is obviously just waking up, I see him trying to hide the fact that he is brushing his teeth.  The same taxi driver is there, waiting for me.  I had to pay $20 to get to Pavas Airport, as transfers only include the Santa-Maria one. Oh well, just get me there. We try to communicate once more as we drive, but all I could make out was that he has been working for La Riviera for 6 years and that his wife's name is Hazel.

Now I am in the Nature Air terminal, just paid another surfboard baggage fee, but this was more reasonable at $30.  I realize I have time to eat breakfast and this fact makes me extraordinarily happy.  The woman at the counter is obviously amused when she sees how very excited I am at the prospect of being served my favorite, "Desayuno typical," or typical Costa Rican breakfast of beans, rice, eggs, and toast with the bonus of fried plantains. But, it is a disappointment. There is no toast, the beans and rice are tasteless, and the plantains are rubbery. I was glad I had ordered two eggs instead of one when she asked.

Now flight 520 is headed down the runway and I am literally finally getting excited about the whole prospect of going to Bocas as I stare at the over-sized windows of the small plane holding about 10 of us.

WOW!

That flight was one of the most awesome experiences I have had in a long, long time.  We flew low over green hills, snaking rivers, all under an ominous cloudy sky.  I was preparing myself for what I expected to be a rainy week.  I told myself it would be good, that I would be able to surf longer with a blanket of clouds protecting me from the harsh rays of a tropical sun.  But, as soon as we began our descent, my heart began to beat wildly.  We dropped right out of the clouds and down into a dreamlike landscape of tropical paradise; lush green foilage, deep blue bays, islands sitting in the sparkling clear Caribbean Sea, white water lining the curving and irregular shorelines, all bathed in sunshine...

I made it through the slow line of immigration and then saw it.  My surfboard.  I was in.  Surfing could be moments away now.

As soon as I came through the exit door, a hefty white guy with thick dreadlocks under a knit rasta cap greeted me with a bored, "Taxi?" "No, thanks!" I ask, "Azucar?" and hear, "That's me!" and look over to see a handsome, tall, bearded guy with a smile exposing a big set of white, white choppers. "Michael?" I ask. "Nancy?" he says, and then we are shaking hands and I realize he is about to re-break my right hand. Give me a sec, I say, as I race to the bathroom and stifle a scream of agony as I massage my right hand, reliving the move out of my old apartment and that fateful trip up the stairs when I slammed my right hand into the wooden stairway.  Arrrrgggh!


We step out into the sunlight (IT'S SUNNY?) and I realize we are WALKING to his surf resort from the airport.  It's only a five minute walk, he says.  WHAT?  I instantly imagined no sleep with the airport so close (not ever a problem) and feeling also like this is some freaky dream I am still having back at the La Riviera.

I ask him his story as we walk.

He came to Bocas SIGHT UNSEEN.  After 911, he re-evaluated his life (like we all seemed to do), quit pro wind-surfing, left his six figure yacht captain gig, put ocean charts up on the wall and decided to risk everything on a new life, sick of work, work, work.  He was living on Maui.  He looked at Costa Rica, went there to check it out and said, "Eh, I don't get it... brown sand beaches with only average quality waves, and all beachbreaks. What about Panama?  He knew a famous tow-in guy on Maui who had ideas, a girl from Figi born in Panama... wait a second... she said Tom Curren had gone to Bocas and LOVED the waves there. That was it.  He moved lock, stock, and barrel ... and never looked back.

We arrived at his place and I realized it really was right on the water.  The dock connected to the main body of the place. The boat was waiting, the trade winds blowing softly through the boathouse that serves as kitchen, hangout, dining room, and surfboard storage hanger. "Don't get me wrong," he says, "Things aren't perfect here, nothing ever is."

I am so excited at this moment.  Within one hour we are going surfing.

He tells me that I will be the only guest for two days! SCORE!  We motor out in his boat with the Yamaha Enduro 60 engine pushing us along for about 30 yards before we run out of gas. "I can't believe it!" he says, "In eight years, this has never happened with a guest!" He is clearly embarrassed.  I smile, "That's the kind of lottery I win!" It was okay, I said, this is an adventure.

We end up rowing back to the closest dock and he runs up the road to borrow a few gallons from a friend. Then we have to go to two different dock stations before we find someone that has gas to sell.  That I am getting anxious is an understatement. Turns out it is Mother's Day in Panama, and any occasion is milked to its fullest here as an excuse to close up shop and take one or two days off.

But, we finally get to "Black Rock" as he likes to call it, a break in the middle of the bay he discovered, he said, that is hard to see as you race to and fro. I can't see it, am disappointed.  I see waves peeling off to the left of the bay and ask about them, but it is bigger here, he says, and that I need to just calm down and I will see. It looks a bit wobbly and weird to me, and not at all what I expected in my dreams of Caribbean fantasy waves.  We jump overboard.  He tells me that as soon as the tide drops I was going to see what this wave can do.  We jump into the swimming pool clear water and I am paddling my board ... in the warm crystal blue waters of the Caribbean Sea!  As I move into the lineup, I see that the wave is shaping up before my eyes, a right that pops up suddenly, chest high, a peeling right that just races along the reef the same way - over and over.  I watch Mike catch one, the white foam bright against the blue-green wall, shoulder high and peeling off in the sunshine. This is amazing! I could ride this all week, and the swell is not due for another two days. I let out a squeal, I was so happy.  I felt like I was suddenly, truly living.

We traded waves, the horizon going dark every now and then as a new set approached.  It was a bit of a challenge staying in position, as the current seemed to keep pulling us out.  I used the boat's bow as a guide, as well as the sand line along the edge of the reef that Mike pointed out.  A young couple paddled out, Europeans, he said, without a clue, who seemed to be more of a hazard than anything, getting in our way.  He finally talked to the guy and told him what they needed to do.  He instructed them to go farther inside. Way inside. Thanks, Mike!

We surfed for a couple hours before the wind came up a bit too much and by then we were hungry and decided to leave.  On the boat ride back, he stopped to say hello to his friend who lives in a house built on stilts over the water.

This was one of my favorite moments, pulling the boat up to this guy floating on his back on his surfboard, wearing huge sunglasses, waving and smiling like he had just won the lottery as his wife and kid paddled around in the clear water of their backyard.

More to come...

A Warm Welcome Home

Coming back from great waves is never easy, but seeing friends again, and surfing with some of them, is the best thing ever.

I have to say that Panama was one of the best surf trips I have ever been on for quantity and quality of waves.  

I will detail each day, one by one, here over the next several days.  Because I never want to forget a single moment, well, except for when I unpacked my board and found a huge ding on the rail, but I am hoping my journal will take you there, the ones I wish had been with me, on this fortunate journey.

I was welcomed back with a fun little wave at Matanzas this morning.  Andy, Bob, TB were there, and I have to say a special thanks to Andy, for letting me borrow his Potatonater.  My board will be out of commission for awhile, so having that 5'8" to ride, instead of my 6'10" fun shape, was a gift...

This morning I was here...

Wishing I was back here, in Panama...

Off into the great unknown!

WIll update when I can...

Fifteen Minutes

That was it for me this morning. Thinking I was clever, I waited around until 8am to paddle out, having been fooled into getting up early the last few mornings - only to miss the later, much better sessions.  Today, ha ha!  I would win!

Nope.

It was the cleanest I had seen it in months early this morning, but by the time I got into the water and rode about three or four waves, boom, the wind turns onshore.  It just went from really quite good to crap instantly.  If only I had gotten out there before dawn, like I easily could have...

Oh, well, at least I got in the water. And, the few waves I had were good ones. There's a philosophy about life in there, by the way.  Just try and find it.  Oh, yeah, it's the voice of the loser.