One minute I’m the only thing floating in the Pacific Ocean between Playa Grande and the Far East. A general sense of calm, of peacefulness, being one with the ocean and everything around it surrounds my very being. The next minute, like rats from a sinking ship, the ocean is swarmed with people of every shape and size, running to the water with long boards and short boards, fish shapes and fun shapes. I am now surrounded by 32 other people. Where did they all come from? Why have they taken my peaceful solo surfing experience away, and would I ever get it back? Not likely in Tamarindo, or Tamagringo as the guidebook would say.
It used to be that swimming across a river known to contain crocodiles, and walking for 45 minutes along a desolate beach would guarantee you some sort of tranquility. People are lazy, so if you’re not lazy, you reap the rewards of putting in a little effort. In this case the reward in question being a solo, or near solo surf session, unencumbered by beginners launching 10 foot fibreglass missiles towards your head. However, much of Costa Rica has changed, and this somewhat remote beach now has road access complete with luxury hotels and beachfront eateries. So the lazy people come, and I do not surf alone.
32 competitors for a finite resource is not so bad in the context of Tamarindo. Our first night here I estimated well over 200 surfers in the water at the main beach break in front of town. Numbers have died off since then for whatever esoteric reasons. That was a Wednesday. Today is Monday. Will the hordes return to the beach again? I cannot say, nor do I care, for this Wednesday we continue on south for greater things. Our time here has not all been bad, however. The last few days the swell has increased keeping all but the most foolish of beginners out of the water. Strong currents in the water have kept the lifeguards busy blowing whistles and waving flippers, occasionally having to go out far into the water to retrieve some swimmers or surfers on their way to Australia or perhaps Fiji.
Larger waves have given me the opportunity to conquer my fear of going for the big wave. Wave sizes are very subjective and depend greatly upon one’s point of view. A beginner surfer laying flat on their giant board in the water may look behind them, although likely not, and see a towering 2 foot wave approaching and lose nerve. An experienced waterman of many years may look at a 20 foot set peeling in with anticipation. For me, the fear point has always been head high. Anything lower than that and my body and brain know that the consequences are limited and there is no hesitation. Once that waves climbs to 6, 7, 8 feet or higher, my body goes into auto pilot and rejects my conscious efforts to catch that wave. I’ll still get into position and start to paddle, but as the wave carries you up, near vertical in your mind, so that you’re looking at the menacing flat water so far down below, there just isn’t enough gas in the engine to make the wave. It continues on without you and you breathe a sigh of relief, or yell some expletive if other surfers are within earshot to try and portray that actually did want to test fate.
These last few days I have managed to shut off that part of my brain and just go for it. Probably the best advice I’ve received in this respect came from Californian, 9 years ago at a beach just south of where we are at now. He said that you’re going to have to eat it a few times before you make it in the bigger waves, you just have to go for it. So I did. And I ate it. Hard. The thing that I have come to realize these last couple of days is that the difference between making a bigger wave and getting tossed head over heels by a big wave is a very small margin, probably best left to the world of quantum mechanics as surely Newtonian physics don’t apply. You look behind you and see what looks like it could be your last sight here on earth. Surely that big overhead wave is going to break well before it reaches you. It has to. Just look at it. But previous experience tells you that it will be okay, and if it doesn’t scare you by looking like it’s much too late, then you won’t catch it because it’s not ready. The wave gets very dark, and large, and looks like it will block out the sun, but in reality it’s only as tall as you are, maybe a little bigger. You now paddle as hard as you can, anything less and you will get thrown in front with the full fury of the wave landing on top of you, down onto the sand below with very little air in your lungs.
Your feet lift up first as you slide up the face of the wave, still paddling as though your life depended on it. You wait. Your peripheral vision sends panic messages to your brain because it sees what’s coming next to you. The wave beside you has already broken, and the other side looks so steep that there is no way you’re going to make it. But you don’t listen. You’ve convinced yourself that it’s all or nothing. So you paddle harder. And there it is. You start to pitch forward. Fast. In one fluid motion your hands go to your board and your feet swing up as you drop down the face of the wave. Your mind is still recoiling in horror as it braces for certain death when the elevator drop on this death bomb reaches ground floor. You accelerate straight down, almost weightless as you approach the bottom. A quick shift in weight and the fins tear into the wave as you pull up along the face. You have survived. Of course none of the big ones are caught on camera by Denielle on shore. She gets all of the little ones though so no one believes your great tales.
This is one of many of the overhead waves that I have tricked my brain into catching the last few days. The rides are short but exhilarating. Waves this steep on a beach break usually close out quite quickly, and this is no exception. I am slowly putting together all the pieces of the puzzle, and now only require the right conditions. It hasn’t all been about surfing though. Today we ventured to Playa Conchal, frequently cited as Costa Rica’s nicest beach. Armed with flippers and goggles, we made our way along the 2km beach from Brasilito over the point into a billion crushed seashells. To think of all the poor little crustaceans and gastropods that had to die so we could sit and relax next to the turquoise waters of Playa Conchal. I donned the flippers and swam over to the reef to see a myriad of colors, shapes and sizes of exotic fish. Big puffer fish with comical little fins and purple, yellow, and blue fish that looked like feathers darted around below me. Feeling hypoxic after a while due to no snorkel, I returned to the beach and regaled my tales of Jacques Cousteau’s deep blue to Denielle. A nice beach indeed, but to be amazing I believe the surrounding landscape needs to be just as dazzling, and the dry season in Guanacaste has left most of the trees leafless and dull. I think we can find better.
We’re heading south along the peninsula towards Mal Pais in hopes of waves that will hold up for some decent rides. There are a few places along the way that promise to be devoid of the throngs of people we have encountered here because they are not easy to get to and people are lazy. I might finally break out the fishing rod and try and catch some supper.
Tyler.
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