May 24–25
"The sun started showing its face yesterday afternoon while we were surfing the rightmost point at 'Long Beach.' Despite the cold air from the Pacific barreling in over the coast, the sun's out in full and beating on our skin and the camp we’ve set up tucked between the dunes. Not a great place to hang out in the heat of the day, but seemingly hidden enough from the supposed watchful eyes of anyone with a capable vehicle and the hope of burning some Gringos.
This is a marked contrast from the past two days, where I thought California's infamous June Gloom would make Baja feel more like how Bilbao felt or how Pichilemu looked in photos. Despite all of this, the water is still very cold. Apparently it stays in the 50s year round due to deep underwater caves.
Yesterday I woke up stiff and achey—the shoulder injury decided to speak up again. A rooster started squawking at around 3:15 AM and wouldn't cease until well past sunrise. Who programmed this thing? Rough. Need to always keep the ear plugs closer at hand.
Made some coffee and we were in the car by 8 AM. We drove north to see about las olas mejores that the hombre told us about the day before.
Our first attempt making it over that way did not go easily. The road was merely an extension of the beach—dunes consisting of soft sand. We didn't wanna charge on through because the sand and the angle of the slopes only got gnarlier. With nowhere to make a K-turn, Travis drove in reverse all the way back to where the road improved. This caused his engine to nearly catch fire. I continuously inhaled engine smoke while I helped Evan push Travis' car backwards out of the dunes. The smell of burning clutch lingered inside the car for the rest of the drive and turned my stomach upside down.
We got in the water hoping for a clean, well-organized right point break, but it was mostly big, sloping beach breaks with no obvious takeoff or organization. The waves felt much more powerful over here than in the cove we surfed yesterday. They would come in—surging and apparently small—and very instantly would plunge to hard-to-predict waist-to-head high pitchy sections. What they lacked in shape they made up for in volume, and they were quite fun on the longboard with the right takeoff direction.
These were certainly the biggest waves I'd surfed since some of the hurricane swells down in the Gulf of Mexico. I was a bit too inside at one point and while paddling back out I took a wave directly on the head. Before I went under I must have forgotten to take my big breath, and the washing machine had its way with me for longer than I was ready. It felt like I came pretty close to surfacing with a belly full of seawater. The ocean can feel so calm in certain positions, but this was a good reminder that it gets very serious if I'm in the wrong spot. It feels even more serious down here at a remote break in Baja, far from any reliable help.
After this shakeup, my confidence tumbled and I passed up a lot of good waves until about the end of the session, where I started to focus harder on relaxing and breathing well. It worked.
For the second time in a row we had the entire break to ourselves.
As we left the spot, the gloom finally burned off and we gawked at some large, hilly ranches overlooking the ocean. Small yellow and bright red flowers carpeted the ground and felt soft under my feet.
At camp we made lunch and more coffee and napped in the sun, causing the tops of my feet to bake like lobsters. Bummer. Luckily the campground had an abundance of aloe plants. I picked fistfuls of the spiny leaves and rubbed their gel on my skin.
We lounged around until evening and then went into Erendira. That night it seemed downright bustling compared to when we drove in the day before. There were a dozen or so people walking or biking on the dusty streets. There were tiendas with their doors open and a small family-owned eatery with its abierto sign flashing and jangling in the evening light.
It was my first opportunity to practice my Spanish in earnest. There was a family dining in there, their son watching a children's show on his iPad. Like most children's shows, the characters spoke very slowly and clearly. I appreciated this. My Spanish was passable enough to give the family our thanks and graces. I got tacos dorados, which can mean many different things. Tonight it meant fried chicken, and the grease dripped down my chin and onto my pants as I scarfed it down. Not the traditional Mexican meal I had hoped for, but we lacked options. We returned to camp and anxiously awaited any gastrointestinal problems that would follow the next day.
We got back at dark. That night a Mexican family was hanging around outside one of the half-finished houses below our camp. They built a small fire and from their stereo bopped reggaeton songs with catchy melodies.
I went to sleep listening to and thinking about this Mexican family who I knew nothing about.
I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Apparently my 20deg down quilt and hoodie were way overkill for the fair Pacific nights. With my bum shoulder, I struggled to peel off my hoodie and from outside of the tent it must have sounded like I was wrestling with Travis or something. I went back to sleep, cool and clammy on my plastic sleeping pad.
The next morning I heard Travis and Evan getting stuff ready. I gave myself an extra 15 minutes of sleep. I needed it. Once up and moving I realized Montezuma exacted a small share of revenge, and I did overtime in the campground’s bathroom.
We decided to go back to the same spot as yesterday, only this time we'd surf the southern end of the zone. Similar conditions as the day before except a bit bigger and with better shape. The sun was out in full force and illuminated the wave faces cool green. The first hour or two of the sesh was quiet—sets were infrequent and the waves were harder to predict. They would often double up, or surge, crumble, and then resurge. The water was clear through to the bottom, which was nothing but sand. Such a nice day to be in the water.
3/4 of the way into the session it started pumping chest to head-high, and I caught some of the biggest waves I think I've ever ridden. The 9' let me catch them far on the outside and hang out in the pocket for a while before standing up. I think the move with that 9' is to hang in a prone position in the pocket for a little bit, stand up, and cruise down the face with speed. After getting to the bottom of the face, I distinctly remember that my best waves involved me choking down on the board above the fin, making a hard turn either left or right, and then choking back up and riding the line. It was nice to go face to face with such beautiful, green waves on such a stable, fun board. This was my best session so far.
Tonight we camp above this beautiful break that we surfed today and the day before, tucked inconspicuously within the dunes. I'm apprehensive about camping in such an isolated spot and am hoping for the best. I've heard bad stories about people in Baja camping off in remote zones only to get held up at gunpoint during the middle of the night. Hopefully these are just the exceptions and not the rule.
Tomorrow we hope to surf here again in the morning, head into town for some birria, drive back on the MX-1 into Valle de Santo Tomas for some vino, and eventually surf a different break just north of us. Viva Baja.
JG
5/26/2022"
