Wednesday, March 19: Game On - Morning Tres, Midday Gas Chamber's, Late Afternoon Tres

 

Up early, as per plan. Rob’s already up.

Waves

Rob wants to go get a look at it, and he and I drive down to the coast. Domes is a complete mess, and Maria’s is also a complete mess. Everywhere is unsurfable except Tres Palmas, which is breaking with size. First time I’ve ever seen the place light up, and it’s the whole reason I came down here on this trip in the first place. Tres is a phenomenon, and I’ve always been interested in phenomena. The more phenomenal, the better.

Large Tres Palmas, breaking powerfully, top to bottom

I haven’t seen waves this size since leaving Hawaii back in early ’76. Thirty-two years ago. A lot will happen to you in thirty-two years, and though you may think you’re the same person you were before, you’re not. Two strangers, one of whom has overlapping shared experiences with the other, stare at one another across a gulf of time that cannot be explicated, nor conveyed to anyone else, including the pair of strangers. Weird and uncanny are about the only words I have to describe it. They’re not very good words, and I know that, but they’re all I have.

Spectacle at Tres Palmas

Tres and the environs around it is a full-on spectacle. Cars are parked all over the place despite the early hour, and there’s people everywhere. Traffic is el-jammo in both directions for quite a ways. Locals and visitors alike are converging on this temporary Energy Spot to take in the experience, and perhaps collect a little of the incidental energy bleed-off that’s flowing in from the ocean, for themselves.

Paddling in to it at Tres Palmas

The ones who will surf are here to surf, and their pursuit of the day’s activities is straightforward and elegant. Get the board, get to the beach, paddle out, catch waves. Simplicity itself.

Everybody else, myself included, is just a hanger-on.

Rob kindly decided to stick around a while and I took lots of pictures of Tres.

Back to the casa.

Things have been eating at me all morning concerning these waves, and I finally determine to paddle out, and get a good close look and listen at things out where people are riding the wave.

I’m  thinking I’ll probably just sit in the channel and watch. The 9’8” A1A is NOT designed for this sort of thing, and I know it. You’d have to go a pretty long way to find a board that was less adapted for the waves at Tres Palmas today. But it’s all I’ve got, and anyway, I’m just going to spectate

Yes, it's very definitely waves

from the front row seats out in the water next to the break in the channel, right? Right.

I then find myself with the board strapped to the roof, winding down 413 headed to the coast.

Hoards of people are on the road and on the beach. Everywhere. It’s even more crowded now than it was before.

The ocean is HEAVING. It’s got that SOUND going. Big wave sound. I don’t get to hear it much, anymore.

Down at the edge of the water, at Steps Beach, I bumped into attractive middle-aged blonde who introduces herself as Christie, and for some strange reason we hit it off instantly and yapped with each other while I watched the ocean and attempted to figure out what I was doing.

Christie invited me to dinner that evening with her husband and kids. I declined, and she seemed intrigued by that. We discussed all manner of thing, with the raging sea as both backdrop and occasional subject matter for our conversation. What a wonderfully inappropriate little interlude it was.
Finally I entered the water along with Richard and we proceeded to paddle out. LONG paddle.

The view from Little Malibu, in between sets, a half mile away. Looks easy, doesn't it?

Beach rock makes it a little tricky to enter the water. The water inside is all murked up and there’s a goodly rip cutting across, in the midzone. Got to the edge of the inside back off in the rip, and kind of hung and waited and then paddled on through without incident, but there were a couple of substantial waves that almost got me. And I’m nowhere near the actual break. Across the murk, and into clear blue water.

From there, it was a long slog angling outside and to the north with no breaking waves whatsoever. Dip, pull, dip, pull, over and over and over, endlessly, with the shoreline inching farther and farther away behind you. Out ahead of me, Tres is throwing fits in white and blue, and people are being rewarded and gobbled up in more or less random fashion. Finally made it. I glanced at my wristwatch and noticed that it said 10:55am. There were maybe fifteen or twenty guys out,  but only five or six at the head of the lineup. I find that I’m now merely undecided about catching a wave, instead of having no intention to do so. And I also find myself headed right on past the crowd to the farthest outside where just a few people were sitting.

The ocean was fully aroused, and great whacking-big peaks are steaming down from the north, hissing and booming as they came our way.

When the sets poured through, it was some definite no-fooling-around stuff.

Waves were coming in easily triple overhead on sets, and occasionally larger. Maybe quad. I dunno. You find yourself resisting the impulse to overcall it, and it becomes difficult to just call it like you see it. I dunno. A few of the bigger peaks were certainly things to behold.

I’ve been out in waves like this before, but it wasn’t the same. This time it’s scary out there. The sight of those looming avalanches of whitewater coming my way down from the north, gathering themselves up just past the surge of fearfully cupping deep blue water that was cascading over upon and feeding itself with a very loud hissing roar and rumble, sent shivers down my spine and caused me to seriously question what the hell did I think I was doing out there. And then I realized I’d never in my life been in a situation like this at all. That was another time. Another person. And I was now just a trespasser here. I’d snuck in to the show without paying, and security might just beat the living shit out of me, or worse, if they managed to find my unworthy ass.

Great heaving things were coming down from up the coast, way the fucking hell outside, but it seemed to maybe have almost too much north in it, and it was strangely fat and chunked out, despite the fact that it was also coming over like an atomic bomb out there.

I engaged in a little bit of talk with a couple of the guys in the lineup, and they all agreed, too much north, and somehow fat and chunked out.

As we all sat outside in the deep blue water.

Towed-in going left on a small one

Major bombs were coming in, but most of them were too far over to the north and the risk of getting cleaned up was keeping everyone off to the side a little. Waves WERE being caught, but not very many, at least out where I was sitting.

And despite my very palpable fear, another part of me, a stranger inside of me, was maneuvering to catch an outside wave, on a surfboard that was ridiculously ill-designed for such a thing, thinking to itself as I watched from within the same body like some Twilight Zone voyeur, ‘If I can just find one with the correct slope, and keep the nose down and not let any air get under the board, it shouldn’t be much of a problem to make the drop, turn the corner down at the bottom, gently, very gently, and come flying out on the end, vibrating with adrenaline.’

I then find myself making  takeoff runs at some of the set waves, marveling at my crazed audacity even as another part of me cooly calculated all the angles, not for a minute allowing itself to be deceived into going for anything too steep, too critical.

No catches. Caution prevails. But a stranger’s desire goads me onward, veering ever closer to the sharp cutting edge of things that defines the point of no going back.

I’m scared shitless, but I’m still doing this dreadful dance with disaster anyway. Don’t ask me why, ‘cause I really don’t know myself, ok? But it was still just as fascinating as hell, and the thought of taking a drop on one was constantly pulling me toward more waves coming my way. I think I know what a bird that’s being hypnotized by a cobra might feel like, now.

I must really be crazy.

Close call

An hour of fruitless takeoff runs goes by and during that time I have a couple of close calls with outside sets. The damn things rise up blue and malevolent, and it’s me and the rest of the crew all paddling like hell to the south and west, making for the shoulder as well as making for the outside.

The waves feather malignantly and the pit of my stomach rises into my throat as I madly dash for clearance around the roaring mass of whitewater that’s bearing down on us from the northwest.

Strokestrokestrokestrokestroke……… and near vertical over the top as the whole world caves in right behind me, growling, roaring, pelting me with a torrential downpour of water blown back over the top of the beast.

Whew.

Finally, it gets me.

Clean up set, and it’s a big one. For a few desperate moments,  I think I can get over and to the side of it, but it comes over with a demonic crash just outside of me, and squarely gets me and some other people too.

Oh shit.

For a brief second or two, I find myself looking up at that cascade of very angry whitewater coming down at me from so awfully far above, and deeply unpleasant thoughts flit through my head like shades from hell, but at the last moment the stranger inside of me went into ‘deal with it’ mode, and just before the avalanche got to me, I went over the side of the surfboard, and attempted to swim down under the churning inverted cumulonimbi of turbulence, watching with eyes open, even as I swam deeper. For a couple of seconds there, I thought I was gonna make it.

Nope.

At the last moment, I saw that it was going to get me, and just said to myself, ‘here we go.’

The rag-dolling begins, and the cord comes taught, and then goes limp. Shit. Board’s gone.

More rag-dolling and I’m wondering how long this is going to go on, and will I make it. Wondering ‘Will I make it?’ while being thrashed beneath a large breaking wave implies a host of other things, and it’s not a pleasant experience. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. I’m keeping my eyes open, looking for the light, so I’ll know which direction to swim in. And then it suddenly eases up, and I swim for the life-giving light, and quickly break the surface.

Ah, sweet sweet air. Wasn’t underwater all that long at all. A lucky break.

I’m all the way outside, and there’s no more monster set waves coming in. In the far distance, people on the beach are mere specks. Well then, here I am, out in the middle of the goddamned ocean, on my own for real.

I look toward the inside, and see that my board’s about a hundred yards inside of me, floating atop the still-writhing foam on the surface of the water.

The next wave that comes is noticeably smaller, thank goodness, and it doesn’t break on me. But it gets my board.

Shit, now it’s really gone. Now I get to do a very long heavy-water swim.

I’m taking it easy swimming, with slow loping strokes, planning for the long haul, edging toward the channel side of things, watching a couple of other people scrambling up on to their boards which were still attached on the ends of their unbroken cords, and wondering what’s going to happen next, and from out of nowhere, impossibly, a guy on a jetski comes zooming up and politely asks me if I want him to take me inside to get my board.

This is a question? Hell fucking yes take me inside to get my board!

So he loops the ski around, and I hop on the sled he’s got attached behind it, and he floors it and we bolt toward the far distant beach. And just like that, the danger zone is safely behind me and I’m being whisked on a magic carpet to my wayward surfboard. These are well and truly the days of miracles and wonder.

We make it into the rip and murk water in very short order, and he’s looking around for my board and doesn’t see it. He advises that I get up on the ski and do some looking too. Which I do. We circle around a couple of more times and then I get a glimpse of it way down point toward Little Malibu. Fucker covered some ground.

He gets me to the board, and I say I’m alright and he says ok, and I hop off the ski and get my board. He zooms off without so much as another word.

How’s that for total fucking dumb luck?

I’m down point and headed in to an area I’ve never dealt with before, and I just paddle in.

Almost worked, too. Despite large racks of elkhorn coral occasionally sticking clear of the surface inside, I paddle in and catch a soup and have no problems with the elkhorn. Inside, the soup swashes across the algae-covered beachrock at the shore, and I pull back and up into the top of the soup to ride across the rock till I’m deposited safely on the shore.

But my little plan goes every so slightly awry, and along the way the board gets bounced a trifle crossways and the fin reaches just far enough down to provide the slightest little bump you could imagine, at the very end of things.

Stand up on the slippery rock, and carefully walk across it and up on the sand.
Turn the board around and discover both fin and box, dangling on the end of the little string for the cord, (almost all of which was dragging from my right ankle) that protrudes through the hole in the deck of the board.

Shit.

Box and all, it’s a goner.

This is the SECOND time I’ve knocked the box completely out of this board. First time was in the Galapagos Islands, and I’m quite the lucky guy with this shit, I guess.

Oh well, nothing for it now. Shrug it off and hoof it back down the beach. Get fifty yards of the quarter mile walk back to Steps Beach, and lo and behold there’s Christie again, way down here this time, with a couple of friends.

Am I being stalked?

Nah.

But it WAS strange seeing her again after over an hour in the water, too far out to be identified, and then coming in all the way down here.

Oh well.

I show her the fin and box, and tell her the tale. She laughs at the terrifying foolishness of it all, and we launch off into more yapping. She gets her friend’s attention turned around toward us, and has her take a picture or two, with the damaged board featuring prominently in the shots. I told ‘em all my email address, but nobody wrote it down, but if someone remembers maybe I’ll get to see the shot in an email some day. Wouldn’t that be weird?

Ok enough yapping with the ladies, and they depart up the sandy slope, and I trudge back toward the Steps.

Hung around at steps beach for a little while, watching the ocean continue to heave in the distance, and then it’s homeward bound time.

Back at the house, Rob is still painting the signs, and I tell him of my psychotic adventure in the water.

I fart around at Rob’s for a while and then decide to drive up and see if I can get a look at Gas Chambers and Crashboat, up in Aguadilla.

Off I go, with a camera instead of a surfboard.

Traffic was pretty heavy for some reason, but I finally got there.

Take the turn, down the winding road, and park in the full Puerto Rican party atmosphere of the Crashboat parking lot.

What a scene. People all over the place, all having a big time under the tropical sun.

The ocean at first doesn’t even look like it has any surf at all, but eventually some spray coming up from over by the Crashboat pier indicates that something is going on. The wind is offshore and it’s sparkly clean under the afternoon sun.

Walk to the water and marvel at the swarm of people all splashing and swimming around.

Pretty girls and broken board

Up the beach, there’s another swarm of silhouettes bobbing in the lineup at Gas Chambers.

Hmmm.

Alright, let’s walk over there and see what the deal is.

And as I amble in that direction, a set comes through, and lets me know that yes, there’s a wave. Certainly not even remotely the size of what I’d been in earlier, but head high to occasionally larger, and what it lacks in size, it makes up handily in intensity.

Don't get crosswise with the goddamned sharp rocks, ok?

It’s breaking right in front of a wickedly eroded limestone cliff, and it’s tossing a backwash into the next wave that twists and contorts an already goofily hollow wave into some occasionally really bizarre shapes.

And guys are going for it all over the place on their boogie boards. Only one or two surfboards in the whole crowd.

Not many waves get made, but they all produce spectacular rides.

It’s camera time.

I shoot a carload of shots.

Creepy looking worm wave

Unridden perfection

 

Empty barrel

Slotted

 

It eventually gets you in the end		Valiant effort on a surfboard		How to handle a drop in

 

Short and sweet,	a one-two punch

Just a snip	of a ride

 

Distortomatic		It's really fun while it lasts		Sometimes the Gas explodes

Finally I get enough shots from my perspective looking down the barrel of things, and I take a walk down the path that fronts along the cliff, heading toward the take-off zone, and as I’m walking, it’s just surreal.

This stuff could open you right up

And there it was, all laid out before me

The limestone is murderously sharp and stupidly near the wave, and yet people just GO for it. Over and over.

Crazy place.

I walk down the path till it turns and goes up a little ways, and by golly there’s a little road and some houses back here. Right on the wave.

The take-off zone is right there in front of me.

The closer I get to it, the larger it looks, and the more murderous the eroded limestone looks.

Right there in front of my face

Strangely beautiful wave distortions		Deep green and dangerous

Insane.

Left behind from the very beginning		Unridden gnarled hollowness		Run as fast as you like, it still gets you

Another carload of shots are bagged. Sets are inconsistent, and between sets it’s more or less dead calm. Weird place.

Kamikaze surfboard attempt

Look closely for the rail, hidden in the mist

But when the water starts moving, it really rocks and rolls!

Devoured

Finally the heat starts to press down, and I decide to go.

Stopping, of course, to get more shots on the way back, as sporadic sets crack and snap as they rifle down the point.

On the way back, I decide to get a look at the wave at Crashboat. So I walk down the beach with Gas Chambers at my back, over to Crashboat.

Weird setup. There’s this whack-looking pier thing that has interrupted the flow of sand down the coast, and it’s piled up on the north side, and gouged out on the south.

Crashboat. Parting of the waters.

Crashboat scene, three-on-a-wave

On the south side of the pier, the wave comes up and just before it slaps the concrete, it begins to funnel and peel down the shoreline. An absolutely goofy knot of humanity is bunched up next to the pier, and it’s a real free-for-all to see who gets the wave. Usually there’s more than one. And again, it’s far more boogie boarders than surfboarders.

Kind of a shame about the crowd, ‘cause the wave is sweet.

Can’t miss tube ride.

Rare unridden wave at Crashboat

A little smaller maybe than Gas Chamber, but not much.

But every single wave is mobbed.

I’m fully content to just snap away with the camera.

Finally, it’s time to go back home.

On the way back, I determine to go to the Econo in Rincon and get some food, and since I’m going that way anyway, I swing by Maria’s to see what’s going on.

The ocean continues to rage.

Great steaming masses of compressed water are fuming down the coast, and nobody is out.

Wall of Doom. I do not know if the guy on the right, duckdiving (leg in the air), got sucked back over the falls or not.

I observe for a bit, and then continue down the coast.

Big and thick

Late afternoon backlit bombs are going off way the hell and gone outside at Tres.

The road is still completely jammed with traffic. People from all over the place have come here to watch this spectacle, and so long as there’s light left to see it with, they’re not going anywhere.

So I pull over and I nab another zillion pictures. Waves have taken on a beautiful, yet sinister appearance with the low sun. Faces are dark and gloomy, and the spume coming off the tops has an otherworldly brilliant white appearance. Pretty, but scary. Everything is going in that uncanny slow motion that large waves exhibit.

Formation flying		Might not have wanted it		A nice long one

 

Large and powerful		The Wall of Doom

And in the middle of it all, Christie’s friend, the one who took the pictures of me and my broken board half a day ago, suddenly appears right there next to me, camera still in hand. Weird weird weird. We laugh about it, ‘cause it’s funny. But it’s weird, too.

Finally, the sun has gone down, and the camera is straining to keep the shutter speed up to an acceptable level, and it’s time to call it quits.

Almost looks like Pipe

Finish the ride to the Econo, get the goodies, and back to Rob’s.

Sort out the photographs and sit down and bash out some words.

I’m looking down at the little bar, and it says 2598.

That’s enough words for now, isn’t it?

I sure hope so.

\\\\\

Apparently it wasn’t. It’s now Thursday afternoon, and I’ve just finished my second pass at this piece, and the little bar is now saying 3,920. Lotta damn words. Shut the fuck up, MacLaren.

Previous Page Next Page

Return to 16streets.com Maybe try to email me?

Giant Swell of March 2008 - Contents MacLaren's Images & Stories