Mysto Soup - Day Three

Mysto Guillermo

We awaken a bit later than planned; as we crawl out of our tents our potential free ride leaves us behind to contemplate our three beers still untapped in the cooler and a long hike. Spirits are up, though, since we know what's ahead and have a more definite plan to handle it.

Exit camp before noon, after heavy carboloading on two packets of instant oatmeal, two bowls of cereal, and a bannana. An extra couple quarts of water and plenty of PBJs, trail mix, and fruit to fuel our journey. Since we'll be doing some paddling, the good camera and tripod (still unused) stay behind. Robert packs a small disposable waterproof camera in hopes of bagging a couple of blurry shots. The new board bag also gets ditched as I opt for less surface area while sacrificing some padding and sun protection for my board.

We've got the hike pretty wired this time, even taking a couple of shortcuts that lop off a quarter mile here and there from our trip and save us from dealing with the worst of the winds on the ridgeline. By the time we reach Nanawani it's about noon. I drop the bulk of my gear under some trees and change into my trunks, while Robert decides to hike as far around the point as he can.

The tide is low and it's the heat of the day by the time we negotiate the cobble beach and lava cliff edge to a small slope near the cliff that we clambered across the day before. By this time I'm soaking in sweat despite the fact that I'm carrying my wetsuit and rashguard and wearing only trunks. I note that there has been a lot of undercutting of the cliff by waves, and we stash Robert's gear high so as not to lose it if a set rolls through. Liberal applications of sunscreen and a jury-rigging of a canteen to Robert's leash and we're in the water.

Again the water is warm, probably trunkable. It feels good to wash all the sweat away and the paddle around the point is easy. From this perspective we can see an easy way down the slope that was such trouble to negotiate two days ago.

From about a mile away the setup looks similar to what we saw the day before; occasional sets closing out across the outside rocks and reef before bowling tight and turning sharply in to shore. There are a few people already in the water. We wonder as we negotiate the heavy rocks on the beach and dodge the shorepound -- it seems to have picked up from yesterday as both of our ankles are heavily battered by baseball sized rocks being thrown about in the swash -- if they'll be surprised to see us. Robert actually handles it pretty well in his booties, while I straggle behind, moving from the dry and hot sandy areas that burn the soles of my feet to the wet and cool rocky areas, hopping from large rock to large rock and bracing for each onrush of whitewater.

Eventually we reach the gulls' beach. I paddle out through a lull in the shorepound while Surfer Bob stashes the water and camera away from the local animal trails and paddles out atop the inside point. There is a small right going just along the rocks there, and he stays to ride it while I head up to the outer lineup, looking for a few more waves to the coffin rock.

A fellow from Oceanside is out there with his son and daughter; part of the group with whom we were hoping to hitch a ride this morning. We have some fun trading off on the small waist high waves that form up horseshoe bowls and wrap hard into the rocks while waiting for the expected sporadic sets. They only come through once or twice in the course of about an hour, and eventually everyone else goes in, leaving me on the outside lineup and Surfer Bob on the inside. The wave has a lot of bowls and little hollow warbles in it, which are fun to play with and sometimes unpredictable. I pearl more than a few times but generally manage to have fun in between the long lulls.

Eventually, Robert comes out and lets me know that an occasional wave is coming in around head high and grinding across the outside of that inner point on some sort of submerged lineup. As he describes it, we see something feather across the inside. I pick off a wave to the coffin rock and another set rolls through as I'm paddling back. They roll up twenty or so yards wide of where I've kicked out, it's a sprint paddle to get over there and then a blind-faith takeoff on what looks to be a closeout. Turns out it was, and all I really get out of the wave is a bottom turn and a kick-out. As I'm paddling back up the point, I see Robert take off on a pretty gnarly closeout set atop the shallow rocks that frame the top of the point. Some people will take off on anything. After that, he heads back inside, with me following about 15 minutes later. Still haven't gotten many waves and have been out for about an hour and a half. A pretty mellow session, no crowd, warm glassy water, and the occasional wave.

Then something happens.

As the fellow to whom Robert offerred the bribe yesterday paddles out (he's come along with the fellow from Oceanside, there's a total of about 12 in their group but fortunately he's the only one left of four who surfs and isn't surfed out), some sets start to crack across the submerged lineup. Unlike the outside lineup which is bowly and peaky, this wave is a fast wall that comes in looking like a closeout but sometimes holds up just enough to drop in, crank some turns for speed, and then even start throwing some harder turns and gouges as it slows before impacting in the shorebreak. The size builds and soon we're getting overhead-and-a-half waves coming consistent, clean, and steady over the submerged setup.

The lineup fills a bit... the first new arrival is John, who passes on the latest swell tracking data to us since we've been out of touch with civilization for a few days now. Turns out that Guillermo -- whom as you may recall I was dubious of as we set out on our first day -- pumped a big batch of hurricane waves and we were just getting the first sets of it out of the SE right now. We continue to trade waves, jazzed on the warmth of the water, the perfect conditions, and the nonexistent crowd. And the waves get better, keeping that unmakeable look but rewarding the latest, sketchiest, most out-of-control hairy drops with a screaming right wall. Keep the hammer down and your arms windmilling and your faith up and you'll make it... feel it in your heart even though your mind is saying "No way!" There's nothing nearly so rewarding as making a wave you're totally certain you'll miss.

Eventually some lulls set in as the crowd fills out to six. Turns out John spent nearly 20 years on the Kona coast of the Big Island of Hawaii, where Bettye and I spent our honeymoon this past December. We swap stories about the few places that I surfed during my time there. Then, true to the aloha spirit, John offers us both a lift back to our base camp after we mention how we got to Canada de Aguaje.

And that's it... our whole trip has just turned itself back around. We both take brief paddles in to get some water and then resume the session. Eventually we are again the only ones left in the lineup as the tide seems to shift and the waves continue to build, now coming in with strong pulses of 3-4 ft. overhead sets that heave and pitch and close out all the way to the shorebreak. The leaps of faith that earlier in the sesh were so rewarding now have become trips over the falls and to the bottom. I'm exhausted.

But that's okay, because Aloha John's offer has turned the feral hike mission into a luxury surf vacation. Beer in the cooler and just a 15-minute trip back to camp as opposed to a 2 1/2 hour stomp. We're like the sponsored pros that move through remote locations without ever getting a blister or a hangnail, one hand always on the Nintendo and the other grasping a ping-pong paddle or the T.V. remote w/ satellite feed. After a couple of stops, first so Robert can get his gear and then so I can get mine, we're back home.

This evening we even have time to put together a camp fire. We kick back the last of our beers and bask in the dull ache of a long and rewarding session. Burritos for dinner, big flour tortillas heaping with the beans-chicken-rice-chilis-and-other-unamed-stuff invention of my bachelor years affectionately called "the mix." Winds push to gale-force in the late evening hours, and the glow of distant wildfires becomes prominent. Tomorrow we head home.

Santa Barbara Surfing -- Last updated 8/30/97.