P.R. November 2005

Page 4 - Third Day of Waves

Up again, early, and it’s down some, but still plenty of surf.

Check and return, same as before. Dome’s is wonky, also same as before. There’s a middle to high overcast deck but no threat of rain. Wind is even lighter than before, so once again we hit it.

The size has come down, but so has the amount of people strung down from the middle peak and today Lisa is comfortable sitting just down from it. Placing herself closer to the main breaking part of the wave on the peak allows her to recoup any size that the swell has given away and she’s now on day three in a row of fairly wedged up peaks, just about head high on her at take off.

Today she’s on a completely new lineup, and it takes a bit of getting used to, but soon enough she’s on her mark and sends me off for more fun and games of my own. To help her out, her two boogie boarder friends are once again in the water, shouting encouragement. At one point, she’s describing to the guy on the yellow sponge about how she fears falling and having her board hit someone somewhere inside of her, and is therefore not taking waves with anybody anywhere near where she may wind up in a fall. He very kindly informs her that they’re all watching out for her on every wave, and even if she falls, they will not permit her board to come their way and hit them, because the know this wave like the back of their hands and will never place themselves into a location where this could ever happen. Lisa, again, is completely taken by the sweetness and encouragement of a crew of complete strangers who had never so much as laid eyes upon her only three short days ago. When the session is over, we talk about the kindness that everyone is showing her, and she is saddened that it’s not the same way back home in Florida where people just grab and grab and grab, with no regard for anything except themselves.

I go over on the peak and there’s a few people there, including a couple of local shortboarders who are surfing well and tearing the place up. My first wave is a left that’s just a little overhead, and it has a looping double section toward the end, with a final hollow pitch that I just manage to wiggle the board through with the lip playing “fingertips” on me between my shoulderblades.

Back out on the peak, one of the shortboarders paddles by and makes kind mention of my ride. Yet another total stranger who stops and takes time to offer words of encouragement.

This is a nice place.

Sitting on the peak today, it becomes clear that I cannot bob way outside. The smaller waves all seem to be breaking in the same place, and it’s obvious that the local boys were meant to ride these lefts.

No worries. A look out toward the point reveals that the group of folks who were riding it earlier out there seem to have all taken a break somewhere.

I paddle over there and sit near, but not right next to, the exposed rock that defines the head of the point at Maria’s.

There is a bald headed gringo guy out past me, but the head high to slightly overhead waves are playing a funny game with him, standing up outside the rock, but then subtly backing off and wedging over toward where I’m sitting, offering very nice pockets for taking off on. The bald headed gringo never seems to catch on, and it’s the bewitching hour once again.

Just as things start to get really fun, a local boy on a shortboard paddles over, and his knowledge of the place allows him to sit PAST the bald gringo and nab waves, with señor gringo never seeming to figure it out. So the two of us proceed to catch everything in sight, trading hoots as each of us switches places between riding waves and paddling out.

Conversation between the two of us ensues, and he tells me he’s actually a longboarder, and prefers old style single fin longboards. He lives inland and does not have his big board with him, so I offer to let him ride the nine-eight. He smiles in agreement, but stays on his shortboard and together we surf the place to death.

For some weird reason, the waves this day are actually opening up, and it becomes possible to get proper tube rides on them. Needless to say, I’m just as happy as a clam about that. As the session goes on and on, a half dozen people sit over on the middle peak, clearly seeing what’s happening with us out on the head of the point, but for whatever reason, they do not paddle over to us. So we surf and laugh and hoot and surf and marvel at our good luck this glassy day.

A couple of hours go by, and I’m done and must come in, exhausted once again.

Lisa is there on the beach waiting for me, all smiles with her own session farther down the point. I mention to her about my friend who likes old style longboarding and my offer to let him ride my board, but he’s no longer in the water and nowhere to be found.

So we sit and hang out, just like before, and soak it all in through the pores of our skin.

After an hour goes by, all of a sudden my young friend walks up to us smiling and I repeat my offer to him.

He accepts readily and soon enough is paddling my 9-8 A1A out into the lineup.

In the interim, the wind has picked up once again, and for whatever reason, the waves over at the head of the point have gone to stink, so he heads for the middle peak.

On one of his first rides, he pulls down and in backside on a left that’s setting up to really throw. As the lip forms and loops over him, he tucks the board into the face of the wave and folds himself low on the board as the lip throws, completely enveloping him in a spectacular back-lit tube that he promptly comes screaming out of, clean as a whistle.

He has a couple of young buddies on the beach near us, and one of them goes ape shit and starts hollering at me in heavily accented English. It takes me a second to understand, but I finally realize that the kid has taken as shot of his buddy’s tube ride with his cell phone and wants me to see the photo.

Sure enough, there on the tiny screen, a backlit barrel with my board silhouetted in its throat. I become as stoked as my new friend and compliment him on the shot he has nailed.

Later on, when my old style longboarder returns smiling to the beach, we talk about his tube ride and his friend’s picture of it. I give him my email address and ask that they send me a copy of the shot if they can. So far, no picture in the email, but who knows, maybe someday.

Completely burnt out from a full day in the sun, Lisa and I once again return to our comfortable quarters and crash early. We have yet to actually go anywhere around here or do anything, but we couldn’t care less. It was waves we came her for and waves we have gotten.