“Leaving turtle country...”

Our stay here in Ostional has been very relaxing and enjoyable. Despite almost drowning last Saturday, and being attacked by a pack of dogs, things seemed to turn around as we got in the groove. I got back out into the water and caught some of the best waves of my life. Just now I have returned from a sunset session that ended with a really long ride with lots of turns as the sun started to dip into the ocean. The wind has been howling offshore all day, so I decided to sleep in a little bit and surf at sunset. We made the adventurous drive into Playa Guiones for a little yoga action. This was my second yoga class, the first being on Tuesday at the same place. Although I’m not one for all the inner-earth supporting your life spirit garbage, it has really improved my flexibility, and according to the yoga instructor, has really opened up my hips. Ladies beware of my open hips.

After yoga we had some delicious smoothies at some hippy raw food vegan cafe, then went and found an envelope and stamp to let our house insurance people know that we did in fact want to cancel our home renters insurance as we had said before we left. They’ll be receiving this written document on the backside of a flyer for a local restaurant, inside an envelope adorned with a green snake stamp. We rocketed back to Ostional, splashing through rivers and drifting around corners, so that Denielle could be home by 4 to talk to her sister Sarah in Australia. I had a couple pieces of toast, and made the short walk to check out the waves. Within one minute of standing on the beach I witnessed two surfers get barrelled. The howling offshore winds were holding the wave faces up until the last possible second, and then all the energy from the wave gets pitched far forward, opening up that holy grail of the barrel. I hurried back to the room and grabbed my board and my Imperial tank top and returned to the beach while Denielle chatted on the computer.

I performed a couple of quick stretches on the beach and warmed up my shoulders while looking out to the lineup. This was the busiest I had seen the waves here, counting 26 people in the water. That may not seem busy compared to the hundreds in the water at Tamarindo, but when you’re used to being the only one in the water, this becomes quite a change. Entering the water my heart jumped up into my throat. Not only was it very windy, but the water appeared to be at least ten degrees colder for some reason. Usually measuring in at a bath tub-esque 30 degrees, it now felt like a cold swimming pool. I quickly paddled out and began to shiver with everyone else in the lineup. Going for a couple of waves I soon realized that this would be a frustrating session. The wind was making it extremely difficult to catch waves as you had to catch them very late, as the wind was pushing you back and making the drop in very difficult. That, combined with the competition with all the others in the water for each and every wave meant that the pickings would be slim.

On a couple of the waves I was very close, but just as you approach dropping into the face, the wind would blow a fierce spray of water into your eyes, rendering you blind. You try to keep paddling forward, but it becomes very difficult to concentrate. You’re used to seeing the waves break at a certain point, but when the wind is this strong, they stay almost beyond vertical it seems for a very long time, breaking much later. You end up wasting a lot of energy trying to catch waves that won’t break for quite a while past you, and pulling up shy on ones that probably would be just right. Especially as the head high sets are looming quite large in your periphery, any hesitation spells certainty that you will not get that wave. After a long frustrating wait out in the cold, cold water, I begin to think that I may not get a wave before the sun sets. At least the view is nice, one of the nicest sunsets here yet as the strong wind is creating a layer of rippling clouds that have now turned different shades of pink, purple and orange as the sun rests precipitously on the edge of the water. And then it comes, a nice head high wave with a good shoulder. Now or never I tell myself and paddle hard. I surge forward, blinded by the spray as though some angry neighbour has turned the hose on me. My body naturally makes the stand up, and as I regain my vision through the watery blur, I turn into the face and ride the wave all the way towards shore, right in front of Denielle whom is diligently taking photos.

I’m not sure why the formerly deserted town is now so busy, it may have something to do with the upcoming soccer tournament and party on the weekend, but we’ll be glad to get out of here and leave the people behind. We’re heading south on the central coast to Playa Hermosa, which translates to beautiful beach. Hopefully the crowds will be thin there so we can enjoy the beach and the waves and prepare ourselves for company coming the following week. Skya and Nicole have rented a house in Santa Teresa, where we had stayed for two weeks prior to coming here, so we’re looking forward to hanging out with them and returning to the tranquil town. After that Nicole is taking some Spanish classes, so I think we’ll be heading towards Dominical, further south of Jaco and Playa Hermosa where we’re headed next.
Tyler.

“Beach confrontation...”

They attacked from behind. Walking north along the beach, the taste of salt in the air was thick in my nose and on my tongue. The sound of the breaking waves precluded me from hearing their advance. I was nearing the far end of the beach, the rocky outcrop growing in the horizon as they came. My head, lost in thoughts as I meandered along to avoid the wash from the high tide, was not prepared for what was to transpire. All at once teeth locked in on my lower right leg as an onslaught of barks circled from behind. Viciously torn from my thoughts, my head snapped down to see what had attacked. A dog snarled as its teeth clenched my ankle. I abruptly pulled my leg back as I spun around to face my attacker. I yelled loudly while I spun, the dog’s teeth sliding off of my leg, leaving small tears on both sides. Two other medium sized dogs waited behind as I stood, somewhat bewildered, on the edge of the wet and dry sound marking the high tide line.

My days at ATCO as a meter reader had prepared me for dog encounters. Many vicious dogs in the city’s north east had helped to hone my skills for dealing with the animals, and showing me how to interpret their behaviours and body language. I used that knowledge now to assess the situation. The lead dog, the alpha, stood with its tail high in the air and a strong posture. It clearly was not afraid. This was one of the worst situations besides cornering, as the pack mentality gave the dogs a sense of strength that would be hard to handle. I raised my hand in the air and yelled at them again, the two dogs making a brief retreat, obviously scared, while the lead dog lunged forward. He definitely had control of this section of beach. I mustn’t let my guard down or lose focus, or surely his teeth would find skin once again.

Quickly I scanned the surrounding beach and found a small stick, but better than nothing. I picked it up and feigned an eminent strike. This held the lead dog at bay. I walked slowly backwards, never turning my back to show weakness as I shouted. The dogs held their position, and as I got further away, their attention turned elsewhere. The lead dog now made an attack on one of the other dogs to assure its dominance. Why had I not heard them coming in the first place? Dogs usually always make some sort of audible threat before fully engaging. Except for pit bulls and huskies, who always seem to remain eerily quiet, most of my vicious dog encounters have started with a fury of barking to let me know the intentions of the dog. I had had no warning whatsoever before the teeth locked down on my leg.

I studied the wounds, only superficial scratches that drew three separate lines of blood. I walked into the water to wash the wound with salt water, and thoughts turned to what sort of hideous infection might come of this random beach dog’s bites. I also knew that I would once again have to cross their path, so I continually scanned the beach for a larger stick to keep the dogs at bay. Soon I spotted a larger piece of driftwood, approximately the size of a baseball bat. This would do. I checked its strength by hitting it on the beach. It seemed strong enough and carried good weight. I continued along to the end of the beach, the rocky outcrop signalled the end of my walk, so I turned back homeward bound. Not entirely clear on where these dogs had come from, I maintained a constant vigilance of the beach all around where the tree line was. No sign of the dogs yet. Further along I spotted a small house with laundry hanging up outside. Just then the three dogs came running down, this time barking at full volume to resume their attack. Following behind them were two more dogs, one of which was much larger than the others, but appeared to be less interested in pursuing the chase. I raised my large stick in the air and yelled to get back. To make myself seem serious as the lead dog lunged forward, I struck the stick on the ground hard and it broke in two.

The dogs kept back momentarily, then tried to advance when I bent down to pick up the broken end of my stick. I continued to yell and swung violently in front of the three dogs to keep them back. I continued along beside them, close to the water’s edge as waves crept up along the beach, immersing my legs up to the knees. The dogs didn’t appear to want to enter the water, so keeping my front to them I slowly walked backwards down the beach. They continued their onslaught of barks and lunges with which I eagerly held back with a strong word or a swing of my stick. After awhile they gave up and turned back to where they had come from. I arrived at home and washed the blood from my leg and applied some alcohol swabs and polysporin from the first aid kit. I won’t be returning to the far end of the beach as they have seen me retreat. I have no dominance over this pack, so they can keep their section of the beach, and I’ll stay on mine. Hopefully the rabies doesn’t set in or Denielle will have to take me out like Old Yeller.

Tyler.

“Caught inside...”

Sunset surf session. Sounds harmless enough. The strong onshore winds are starting to die off and the choppy wind swell messing up the surf should subside any minute. I wax up the board and head to the beach for a brief hour session before it gets dark. The tide is high and the sea looks angry. There is no wind anymore, but the remnants are still being felt in the form of foot high side chop making the waves look ugly and causing them to break prematurely. If I can just get out there, I think, then soon it will glass over and everything will be fine.

I walk out into the water and casually jump the white water of the small waves breaking close to shore, eyeing the horizon for signs of incoming waves. Now waist deep, I jump up on my board and begin to paddle out in the rough ocean, buoyantly being bounced this way and that, it’s difficult to maintain the nose of the board above the water and keep a constant direction as the strong currents pull me one direction while the cross wave chop pushes me another. I soon arrive at my destination and pull myself up to a seated position and wait earnestly for a suitable wave. The waves look small and are breaking much earlier than those in my morning session. Soon a mound forms on the horizon, an incoming wall of water slowly rising in my direction. Nothing too big, maybe chest high, and it looks like it’s going to break right where I’m at, so I turn around, lay flat on my ribs and begin to paddle to accelerate along with the coming wave. The side chop causes the lip to break early right where I am and I surge halfway forward and stand up. The wave hasn’t completely broke yet, an effect of the early half breaking that the ugly condition of the ocean has caused, so I pump up and down with my front foot to surge forward. Now I’ve fully caught the wave and surge forward, turning down the line for a couple small turns before the wave closes out and the ride is over.

Jumping off my board, back over the white water of the recently broken wave, I pull on my leash to bring my surfboard back towards my body, and climb on to paddle back outside. The rest of the set is now coming towards me, each wave in the series breaking before reaching me. Now I duck dive under each broken wave, in so doing being carried back a little when I emerge on the other side. Constantly paddling out towards the horizon, repeating this seemingly futile procedure again and again as the onslaught of waves continues. That’s what you get for taking the first wave in the set, you have to endure this physical battle to get back out again. But these waves aren’t too big, and I feel it’s retribution for getting out so easily at the start of the session, so I endure and soon the set is over and I paddle the still rough choppy waters back to the deeper water and wait.

Not much time passes, maybe five minutes, before the next set materializes on the horizon. I can already tell that I’m in trouble. Much larger than the previous sets I’ve encountered so far, these waves are going to break outside of where I am now. Quickly, but not panicked, I paddle hard for the horizon, slightly away from where I think the peak will be, the spot where the wave will break first. I can already tell that I’m not going to make it, even though this wave is still quite a distance away, but I paddle hard none the less. Suddenly my mind is locked with indecision. Do I bail from my board and dive under the wave, hoping for the best? Or do I attempt to duck dive this monstrosity charging towards me? I know that waiting behind this wave there are more, perhaps larger waves, so I opt to stay on my board knowing that there is some chance of success if I can just hold on. I continue to paddle hard as the face of the wave climbs high and grows smooth, too large to be affected by the side chop as it sucks water up its mighty face. I take one last gulp of breath as I push the front of my board down under the water as the wave breaks directly above. The thick lip of water crashes right in front of me while I brace for impact. Feebly I try to hold on, but the tonnes of water rip me from my board sending me cart wheeling backwards, helpless and out of control. I tuck into a ball, awaiting a hard slam against the ocean floor, still spinning and disoriented, but no impact occurs. I am still being carried backwards when I splay my arms out to stop the reverse momentum and now attempt to swim to the surface. The aerated water provides little resistance against my feverish strokes to claw to the surface, making the task that much more difficult. My lungs scream for air as the water around me grows lighter, signalling that the surface is near. My head rises above the surface and I gasp for air, not knowing where or when the next wave may hit. I gulp in three more times while I turn and look towards the horizon.

My heart is racing and my head is light from the lack of oxygen. The next wave is directly upon me, equally as massive as the first. My board floats innocently beside me as though nothing is amiss. With no time to climb aboard, I quickly amass as much oxygen as I can when the next wave hits. As before, I tumble hopelessly backwards in the dark as the water is filled with black sand swirling all around me. I have to tell myself to relax, not to struggle. It’s the only way I’ll get through this with enough air. Let the wave take you, there’s nothing you can do until it passes, but the waiting is agonizing. Your only thoughts are “when am I going to be able to breathe?” The darkness passes once again as I swim towards the light. Five more waves come through, each as big as the last, and my ability to get enough air is diminishing. I am totally helpless out here, and if these waves don’t stop coming, I’m not going to make it out. After the fourth wave I desperately grab my board and sit atop to regain some air while not having to tread water. A quick respite in the middle of this hell before the onslaught continues.

Finally the outside set has passed and the ocean becomes calm. I find myself standing on the ocean floor, water up to my shoulders, while I look back towards the shore to see Denielle. Does she have any idea what I’ve just gone through? What I’ve just survived? Probably not, as struggling at the base of these monsters I would surely be obscured from view from the beach. What now? I have regained my oxygen, I can breathe, and I am not tired. A rogue set I tell myself, surely. I have only been out in the water for less than twenty minutes of my intentional relaxing sunset session. So like a fool I turn towards the horizon to catch more waves. The big set had cleaned up a lot of the side chop and the conditions looked as though they were beginning to improve. If I could just get back out there and catch a couple of nice easy waves, then I could forget all about what had just happened and enjoy the sunset.

So I paddle out, and continue paddling to try and get into position. But the currents are strong as the water fills the imbalance from the previous surge of the last set. I keep paddling but the waves appear to be continually just beyond me. I race from peak to peak of these smaller sets coming through, trying to get beyond so I can gather some rest before attempting a wave. But I just can’t get there. The wave machine is turned on full and they keep coming, so I keep paddling. As though in a nightmare where you know you have to run but your legs move in slow motion, I keep paddling and seem to stay in the same spot. And then I see it. An outside set, bigger than the last one I narrowly survived, is forming on the horizon. I am now deeper than I was then, but my arms are weak from the constant paddling. With survival depending on it, I muster every bit of strength to make it out before these waves break on my head and force me into the onslaught that I had just experienced not ten minutes before.

The first wave approaches, an eight foot monster hell bent on doing me in. I stride forward with every desperate stroke in the water as the towering wall threatens above. Just as the lip starts to jump forward over my head I pierce the front of my board into the heart of the beast, holding my breath and my hopes in my chest. The lip pounds my feet as I go through the wave. My head surfaces on the other side and I feel myself being sucked backwards towards the beach. Like a madman I paddle to avoid being sucked over while my eyes grow wide with the sight of the next wave. This is the biggest wave I have ever seen from the water. It must be at least ten feet if it was an inch, and now the realization that I am indeed caught inside with no hope of ducking under, a flood of panic and indecision washes through my head. I decide to preserve my energy for the upcoming barrage and sit on my board drawing in the last few breaths. At the last second I take one large breath and jump from my board as deep as I can go. But it’s futile. The full force of the wave grabs my body and sends me backwards and down. Everything is black. I tumble like a rag doll. I try to maintain my tucked little ball for fear of impact on the bottom, but my arms and legs are ripped from my body by the force of the wave. I go limp, as any resistance will do nothing by tear at my joints. I tumble for what feels like forever. Stay relaxed I keep telling myself, but the scream for oxygen is all I can think about. The movement begins to slow, but everything is still black. I can’t tell where I am, which way is up. I start swimming out of desperation until I see faint signs of light creeping through the dark sandy water. Stay calm. Swim hard. The two don’t mix, and soon panic wins out. If I don’t make this last attempt for the surface I don’t think my lungs will hold. All in. I claw for the surface, and my head briefly breaches, enough to gulp in half a mouthful of air and half a mouthful of foam before my board tugs at my leg from behind and pulls me under again, but not far this time. I’m able to surface again and begin to breathe, hyperventilate to get as much oxygen as I can, for there are 5 more waves about to crash on my head.

Fortunately the second wave was the biggest of the set, and my black tumble to oblivion had carried me far enough inside that the remaining five waves broke further out. Releasing the full brunt of their force before reaching me, my subsequent submersions go quicker. After the last wave has passed, I weakly climb atop my board and start to weigh my options in a panicked state. Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, what do I do? If I get caught inside by one of these giant sets again I’m pretty sure I won’t make it. If I paddle towards shore I won’t move as though trapped in some sadistic water treadmill with the currents heading back outside. I have to catch a small wave in between sets. My life depends on it. Soon a wave forms outside. It’s going to close out, but it may be my only option. I paddle as though my life depends on it because it does. If I don’t catch this wave, who knows what’s going to happen. I put everything into the last few strokes as my feet rise up behind me. I surge forward on the brink of catching the wave and being left behind. I rock all of my weight forward and stand, sliding down the face as the rest of the wave breaks around me. I ride the white water of the broken wave for a few moments before jumping down to my belly, riding it all the way to shore. I’ve made it. I’m alive.

Tyler.

“The bee’s knees...”

We are having the most wonderful day today here in Ostional, and I have Peter to thank for it. We had planned on staying in Nosara before our trip began, but Peter told us about Ostional, just north a little bit with good waves and empty beaches and surf. It has also turned out to be a lot cheaper. Just this morning I had the best surf session of my life and Denielle saved the life of a troubled mother sea turtle trying to return to sea. She walked down the beach while I went out into the water, only 100 meters from our place no less, and encountered what she believed to be a big dead sea turtle being eaten by vultures. She approached and scared the vultures away to let the turtle die in peace when she realized that it was still alive. She kept the vultures at bay while the turtle was able to slowly crawl, at a turtles pace, back into the ocean and swim away. Probably to die, I offered, but she felt quite proud of her accomplishment.

I wasn’t expecting much of my surf session as it was low tide and I couldn’t see many waves coming in as I was going out. With only one other person in the water, I used the strong rip tide to get out past the breakers rather effortlessly. Then quite quickly, a big set came in, and the first wave that I caught happened to be the biggest of my life. The steep takeoff to the left had me grabbing my rail to hold high in the wave and I shot like a rocket down the line, much faster than I had ever gone before. Too fast mind you as I had now outrun the wall of the wave and upon turning back found that I no longer had the speed to keep going along. I paddled back out and caught half a dozen more big waves within less than half an hour. I decided to catch one more wave to preserve my strength for an evening sunset session. Not too long later, another big set came through, and I caught this wave very late, getting pitched forward as I was swinging my legs up, but still managing to pull in towards the left. I ducked my head under the edge of the lip and race ahead to the open face of the wave. This wave had a nice long steep wall where I put in a few turns, the last of which inadvertently turned into a floater as the wave broke under my board with the nose of my surfboard up in the air. I rode this way for what seemed like forever, but was really only a fraction of a second. Upon coming down with the breaking section I was able to turn my board around and keep riding with the wave for a couple of turns more. That was definitely the best ride of my life. All of this happened in less than an hour.

After showering up, we got in the car and headed to Playa Guyones to check out the beach and try and find some other groceries that the small pulperias were lacking in Ostional. The waves here were incredible. While I was surfing overhead waves in the morning at our own beach, these were now being shaped by a strong offshore wind upwards of ten feet high with some barrelling sections. No beginners to be found here. It was fun watching some of the more advanced surfers catching these fast hollow perfect waves. We then had some lunch, sweated on the beach for a while in the 37 degree heat, picked up some groceries and headed home through the two river crossings. We have internet at our place, so we may be getting back into contact with some people and updating the blog more frequently. Tonight we may try to go see some nesting turtle action.

Tyler.

“Going feral...”

Bridges? We don’t need no stinking bridges. It took us just over an hour and a half to travel the 22 kilometres from Mal Pais to Playa Coyote. Webster’s dictionary may have a definition for what a road is, but I can assure you that the Costa Ricans on the southern end of the Nicoya Peninsula have never looked it up. Numerous steep hill climbs, rough roads, and no less than 4 river crossings sans bridges, each more perilous than the last, resulted in us arriving at what the Lonely Planet Guide refers to as one of the nicest yet least visited beaches in the country.

The river crossings have become somewhat of a badge of honour, Costa Rican rite of passage, adrenaline response, and test of mettle all wrapped into one. We have devised quite the routine as each crossing deserves its own careful undivided attention. Usually you can sense one approaching as you ease down a steep hill in first or second gear, all the while realizing that there is a definite bottom point to come as the hill in the foreground rises just as steeply away. Then the dry road becomes marked with wet tire tracks creeping around the corner that slowly drift into oblivion, swallowed up by the ever present dust from months with no rain. There is usually somewhere to pull off before full committal to the crossing, so we make use of these spots and exit the car for close inspection. Denielle is wearing sandals, so she volunteers to wade across and test both the depth and substrate composure while I stay on the edge, providing crocodile vigilance from above.

The first crossing was easy in comparison to what we would come across later in our trip. Though one of the longer crossings, this one was not very deep, and the Matrix rolled over the river stones below while Denielle captured photo evidence from the other bank. Each crossing after that became more complicated and required more careful planning for a good exit strategy. The second crossing was quite muddy at the entrance, but soon gave way to stable stones, while the third was the deepest by far at axle height, with a tricky steep exit up onto the road. After careful consideration and a growing want to arrive at our destination as the temperature climbed to a sweaty 39 degrees, we went for it. The crux of this particular third crossing was the deepening of the water for the last 20 feet. The car slowed considerably at this point, as opposed to my heart rate, but crawled through and up onto the other side like a true champion. Perhaps all the recalls happening in Canada and the US are simply cars that have become bored with the daily rigours of boring commuting, and, like a dog, if left alone with no entertainment, must make up its own games and get into its own trouble. If we keep providing the car with adventure, I’m sure it will be good to us and not jam the gas pedal in the full on position.

Once arriving at Playa Coyote, we quickly realize that what the Lonely Planet calls a wilderness beach is lined almost entirely with large private homes from one end to the other. We drive the length of the road until we reach the sandy end at the lagoon which separates this beach with Playa San Miguel. We get out of the car and walk around the scorching hot sand for suitable places to pitch our tent amongst the millionaires’ homes, but fail to find much in the way of shelter, and 39 degrees in a tent would prove unbearable for sure. So we get back in the car and head the other way down the road, pulling into a short beach access road half way down the beach. Not only are we looking for suitable camping areas, but also checking the condition of the surf. No reason to go feral if the waves are no good. Our second stop delivers us to a wonderful location in front of an empty lot, right on the beach, below a few mango trees with ample shade. The carcasses of large coconuts strewn everywhere forewarn of pitching a tent under the shade of one of the numerous palm trees for fear of a late night wakeup call of a ten pound coconut to the head. So we set up the tent, and the hammock, Denielle created a bathroom hole while I dug the fire pit and collected driftwood.

That night under the most amazing starry sky we enjoyed a fire on the beach right in front of our ocean view paradise. Prior to the lighting of the fire, I gave some of Playa Coyote’s finest mosquitoes and sand flies a taste of some true Canadian blood for which I am paying dearly for now in the urge to remove all the skin from my feet every two minutes. Later in the evening we witnessed two people walking down the beach with a flashlight that would stop every once and a while for no apparent reason. Once they had come closer we realized that one person was dazing crabs with the light, while the other would chase it down and kill it with a stick and put it in a bag for who knows what reason. Perhaps crab soup. While the fire was nice, unfortunately we had put up the fly on the tent when we had set up camp, which created an unbearably hot bedtime sauna. After 5 minutes of attempting to sleep while losing a tenth of my body weight to sweat, I got up and removed the fly. A lack of a good breeze however had us falling asleep much later once the temperature dipped down to a more enjoyable 30. I awoke much later in the night when the temperature had fallen to a chilly 25 to flip my sleeping bag over to the warmer plus 15 side, and woke up bright and early to a view of low tide and no waves. One nice thing about camping directly on the beach is that you’re able to check the surf from bed. But that could be traded in favour of a shower, or cold water to drink in the middle of the afternoon.

With no waves on the horizon I went for a walk to Playa San Miguel while Denielle stayed back to tackle her reading of her Crime and Punishment telephone book. The involved crossing the exit of the lagoon, which was only knee deep at low tide. Multitudes of fish scurried away as I thrashed my way ever so gracefully to the other side, weary of the possibility of crocodiles at any moment. I’m not sure if there are crocodiles here, but if I were a crocodile, this sure seems like a good place to be. 2 hours later I returned from the far end of the beach to some sizeable surf, so I suited up, put the fins on my surfboard, and went out to play in the waves. I’m not a statistician, but I would guess that about 1 in 50 of the waves here did not end in a powerful close out with nowhere to ride. That 1 in 50 would then give you a ride of between 3 to 5 seconds before the rest of the wave remembered that it was supposed to be closing out and crash all around you. After a couple of frustrating hours, I came back in and retired to the hammock for some reading. That evening we cooked a wonderful supper over the fire with a stick setup that I had gleaned from my survival handbook. After waiting for the food to cook for a very long time, I shifted the fire and put the pot directly on the coals, which delivered our food hot in only a couple of minutes.

The next day we woke up and had breakfast in front of the beach and got ready for the Speedo Surf Session. Seeing as there was absolutely no one in the water, I had told Denielle the night before that it would be funny to get some pictures of surfing in my Speedos. While we got some decent pictures, waiting in between close out sets resulted in my inadequate sunscreen application coming to complete fruition in the form of a lovely lobster red sunburn. The sunburn was worth it however for my very last wave. One of the rare waves that didn’t immediately close out, I paddled hard as the wave behind me steepened quickly. Surging forward I popped up and grabbed my rail as I headed left on my backside. As I’m sliding down the face of this crystal clear wave, a school of a dozen stingrays pass beneath me, each one the size of a large dinner plate, gracefully flying underwater in perfect formation. This is one of the coolest things I have seen while surfing. I ride down the face, pump a couple of times to try and race past the closing section, but I’m not fast enough and the ride is over. I go straight with the white water and drop down onto my belly to ride the wave into shore. Tired of the poor waves and lack of showers, we packed up camp and hit the road just after noon for Playa Ostional, home of thousands of nesting sea turtles every year.

We arrived around 3 pm after two of the deepest river crossings yet, and quickly checked the condition of the surf from the surface of the sun, I mean the black sand beach, before securing a place to stay. The waves were big, empty, and breaking with a nice clean shoulder on either side, so we walked across the street to one of the few places available to stay and picked up a suite for the week with kitchenette and private bathroom for only 20 dollars a night. While we were waiting for the room to be ready, we walked down to the end of the beach, which appeared to be littered with a cargo shipwreck full of broken ping pong balls. These ping pong balls were weird and squishy, and I soon realized that they were in fact sea turtle eggs. Everywhere. Perhaps one of these nights we’ll go out with the red cover on the head lamp and try and spot some nesting turtles. That brings us to now, where we are both clean, refreshed with cold water, and looking forward to a day in the overhead waves.

p.s. for those of you whom haven’t figured out yet, if you click on any of the pictures in the blog they’ll appear full size. That way you can appreciate the full beauty of the Speedos.

Tyler.

“Nine dollar sandals...”

Today is our last morning in evil country. I set my alarm for 5:30 in the morning to get a few hours out in the water before packing up and leaving. When my alarm went off I briefly considered resetting it for a later time, but the howler monkeys were in full force and I knew that I would not be able to get back to sleep. The first lights in the sky appeared while having my morning banana shake. I quickly put on my rash guard, grabbed my surfboard that I had waxed the night before, and crept out of the house. Locking the door, I then shoved the keys back into the house through the window. The moment they hit the ground I realized that I had forgotten to put on my new nine dollar sandals, purchased just for this very reason. No one is going to steal nine dollar grocery store sandals from the beach, but especially not if you forget them in the house.

So I carefully stepped my way to the beach, with the occasional sharp pangs of pain from a rock to the heel, and skilfully avoiding flashes of glass shards here and there from a wild night out in the streets. A few people were already stirring amongst the streets, now almost a quarter to six in the morning. I arrived at the beach to find no one in the water, and the sun still a ways from peaking over the lush green hills behind me. I quickly stretched, warmed up my old creaky shoulders, and made my way out into the desolate ocean. It’s a unique feeling to have the whole ocean to yourself, shared only with the pelicans gliding along the crests of waves, but also eerie at the same time. Who knows what lurks out there in waiting for the unfortunate lonely fool paddling amongst the breakers.

With the tiny sliver of moon directly overhead and the clouds showing the first signs of warm pink light on their underbellies, I paddle into my first wave. The calm glassy surface allows me to easily catch it, and soon I am up and riding this little wave with no one to bear witness on the beach. It’s always fun and reassuring to catch your first attempted wave of the session. I knew that this morning would go well. It was a full hour before the next surfer appeared in the water, so I had my pick of all the waves coming in. The swell had died down considerably from the past two days, but the smooth surface of the water and emptiness of the line up more than made up for the diminutive waves that were still coming in with occasional chest to head high sets.

Our time here was relaxing and very enjoyable. The other night we scurried over to a local bar after staying too long on the beach to catch the super bowl. Every white person in town appeared to congregate at this one spot, and we soon found ourselves occupying the last available seat in the back courtyard, after moving a makeshift couch. Other late arrivals were forced to turn over empty plastic beer cases to sit in front of the big screen tv on the gravel. A very exciting game ensued, and it seemed like the majority of the fans were cheering for New Orleans. We sat next to a man from New York who said a lot of people were rooting for them due to the whole hurricane situation. So everyone was in a very festive mood when the saints came out on top. After a few too many beverages and many consecutive days of surfing, we decided to take a day off from the beach the next morning and lazed around the house reading.

The next phase of our adventure promises to degrade to a more feral state. After two weeks of living in a nice house, we will now be camping on a desolate beach with only the supplies that we have brought along to keep us going. I’m looking forward to it as a nice change of pace, and an opportunity to leave the crowds behind for a while. Not too long after we should be receiving Nicole and Skya for a while, which should be a nice change of pace.

Tyler.

“Groundhog day...”

Two days ago it was Groundhog Day. There aren’t any groundhogs down here, but I’m pretty sure I saw a mermaid out in the water. It saw its shadow and swam away, so I think that means 7 more months of summer for us. I’m serious about the mermaid. I don’t know what it was in the water while I sat on my surfboard at the edge of the breaking waves. It appeared for only a few seconds, about half the size of a seal, light brown in color, and definitely had a head. I didn’t get a very good look, and after the crest of the next wave obstructing my view passed, it had vanished. My only thoughts as to its true identity are either a sea otter, which I believe are present here but rarely seen, or a mermaid. I’ll let you be the judge.

Whenever Groundhog Day rolls around, I’m reminded of the Bill Murray movie of the same name, where every day he wakes up and has to repeat Groundhog Day over again. At first I never liked that movie as it appeared to be quite repetitive, but over time, as it played near every Groundhog Day since it was created, it has grown on me. My favourite part of the movie is when Bill Murray lets the groundhog that he kidnapped from the festival drive the stolen truck and proceeds to tell it to not drive angry. Well today we had some angry driving of our own.

With muscles feeling tired and weak from many days of surfing in the morning and sunset, we decided to skip a day at the beach and drive down to Cabo Blanco National Park. The fumigation of the neighbourhood that was also a kick in the pants to leave town as the thick acrid white smoke bellowed in through every window of the house. Cabo Blanco was Costa Rica’s first designated protected area, and until the 1980’s, no one was allowed to set foot inside. Today they charge a steep 10 dollar admission, which becomes reasonable when you see as many monkeys as we saw today. After travelling across the peninsula, and then down to the point and back across to the same side we started on, we arrived at the park at noon. The boy at the information hut informed us that it took 2 hours to get to the beach at the end of the main trail and 2 hours back, so we would not be able to go as the park closed at 4. I took that as a challenge, and we set off at a brisk pace in the 35 degree heat and 95% humidity. Those of you in Canada are well aware of the wind chill factor which compensates for the deathly combination of bitter wind and freezing cold to make the temperature appear even crazier than it is. There exists a humidex factor which works in the opposite way, combining temperature and humidity to form a new higher temperature or comfort factor. There’s nothing comfortable about it. Not being that familiar with the humidex, I have compiled my own Tyler Sweatadex factor, and today it reached 100%, or full shirt saturation.

Our brisk walk through the primary and secondary forests, as some of the park is reclaimed farm land which is just now forming young jungle, led us to bats, lizards rushing to duck and cover under every footstep, and two species of monkeys. We have encountered the loud and brazen howler monkeys many times by now on our trip, but today we had the privilege of seeing white face capuchin monkeys. We came across two that crossed our path on the way to the beach, and then a troop of a dozen more on our mad scramble back to beat the closing of the park. We made it to the beach in just under an hour and a half, leaving me time to walk around to the next beach over while Denielle stopped for lunch. The monkeys on the way back were very entertaining, jumping from tree to tree, lifting up leaves looking for ants and termites to eat. There were also several young monkeys hanging around, which were fun to see.

Exiting the park with a whopping 8 minutes to spare, we watched a couple of howler monkeys high above the entrance fighting in a tree. The rough road back brought us to an intersection with a sign for Mal Pais that would cut about 15 km out of our trip, so we gave it a go. I seem to remember renting a bike the last time I was in Costa Rica, making the trip from Mal Pais to Montezuma on this very road. It quickly became apparent that this route would not save time, but we attempted none the less. Five minutes in we were faced with a steep rutted out hill that could only be made with a healthy run in. We waited for two four wheel drive trucks to crawl down, then gunned the engine and roared up the hill, holding on for dear life. Lingering dust in the air from the passing trucks and the low setting sun were not our friends, making vision nearly impossible. Focusing on the steep ditches on either side of the narrow rocky road, we managed to climb to the top and start a fresh descent in first gear. This was one steep hill. I became a bit concerned, as any hill that requires first gear to descend tends to give you problems if you have to return back up that same hill.

Sure enough, around the next corner we come to a river running through the road. With the road turning in the middle of the river, our view of the exit was not available. We decided to turn the car around, Austin Powers style in the barely single lane road. With Denielle’s help guiding, we made a 12 point turn and tried our luck back up the hill from whence we came. With first gear roaring, the car skipped and hopped over the rocks and divots, slipping out here and there, but persistence paid off and we arrived back at the top. Now back at the intersection, we made our way back through Montezuma, only to try yet a different road with the sign Mal Pais indicating certain doom ahead. The main reason for trying these alternate routes is a short stretch, maybe 100 meters, of very difficult steep rutted out dust road. It took us two attempts during our last escape from hippyville. This new route was paved all the way up the steep hill, which we climbed slowly in first gear. Once on top the gravel and dust reappeared, and we raced towards Mal Pais. About ten minutes in I notice a steep valley approaching, much like the last river fjord that had foiled our route previously. Sure enough, up ahead lay about a foot and a half deep river, about 30 meters across, with no indication of bathymetry below.

Frustrated with the thoughts of turning around yet again, we raced forward in second gear. Surely with enough speed even the softest of river beds could be crossed by our mighty Matrix? A mighty wave of water splashed over the entire car as we met the river, and the tires quickly met sturdy rock below. A wave of relief surged through my mind, replaced soon with the fears of cool water cracking a hot radiator or engine block. But the Matrix persevered unscathed, and we arrived in Mal Pais with plenty of sunlight to spare.

Our time here in Mal Pais has been very enjoyable, as our own private house has been very luxurious. We have a black cat missing half its tail that lives in our bathroom during the day, and a very large spider that catches bugs all day outside on our porch. Denielle has also attended a morning yoga class a couple of times now with tales of excruciating stretching and breathing that leaves me no want to partake. Just last night, while reading an autobiography of Albert Einstein, a loud thud emanated from the window behind my head, much like the sound of a robin drunk on mountain ash berries in the fall back home. Part curious, part scared, I ventured outside to see what had struck the window. Sitting on the window bars there was the largest grasshopper that I had ever seen. Shaped like a leaf, complete with veins in the wings, this bright green behemoth sat there cleaning its antennae. I placed a Guatemalan dollar coin, the size of a Canadian Twoonie, underneath on the window sill to give an indication of size. We have just under a week left with all of these creature comforts before venturing north to the secluded beaches of Playa San Miguel and Playa Coyote before meeting up with Nicole and Skya whom are coming down for a visit.

Tyler.

“Personal improvement...”

Light reflects off the smooth ripples of water in hues of yellow, orange, red and pink, flowing together like dark molten glass shaped by the light wind. The sky grows darker with each passing second as the sun dips below the horizon to end another day. With muscles fatigued from hours of effort I lay on my surfboard with my body half submerged in the cool dark water, paddling towards the horizon in search of one last wave. Denielle waits on the beach in the encroaching darkness as I stalk my elusive prey. My body pleads with my brain to just go in now and give up to gain the rest it so desperately needs and deserves. But I know that somewhere, deep down inside each and every cell, there remains a reserve that I can tap into for one last burst of effort. Alas, creeping in from the horizon my prey approaches. What started off as winds blowing ripples in the water far off the Alaskan shores has now travelled thousands of kilometres to meet me now, and soon will have disappeared into the shore, never to be experienced again. I harness this energy with one last burst of my own energy, every muscle in my back and shoulders screaming with objection as I coarse through the water. The water lifts and surges forward and I slide down the glassy face and approach the beach.

What drives me, and many of us I believe, is the want or need to become better at what we do. Personal improvement at whatever task, job, sport, or activity brings a sense of satisfaction, albeit however short or briefly lived. For the moment we improve at anything, we must yet improve once again, or we fall into a state of stasis. Sometimes we take on too many activities or interests, and it becomes impossible to improve at them all, spreading ourselves too thin, so we tend to go on auto pilot from day to day with nothing really changing. I discovered this a long time ago with all of the various sports and activities that I enjoyed. Time and energy are always limiting factors, and soon I discovered that if I wasn’t getting decent returns on my investments of either, that those activities would fall by the wayside. I need to see some signs of personal improvement to truly enjoy the things that I am doing, especially as I get older and the time available to become good or master different things diminishes significantly.

Surfing has become my new raison d’être. For a while I was content in just catching the waves and riding along, making small improvements, but not what I would like with the amount of time and effort I have invested so far in this trip. Everything changed this week when I bought a new surfboard. This board is superior in many ways to my other boards that I had tediously crafted one winter in a friend’s garage, but most significantly it is far more manoeuvrable and agile. While it took a day to get used to the tiny board skittering about beneath my feet, the additional speed and control has now got me surfing better than I ever have. And this has renewed my inner spark and passion for the sport as I can see myself improving by leaps and bounds with every new day. It is this feeling of improvement that gives me great joy as I realize that I am becoming better. But to become better in this sense takes great concentration and devotion, perhaps the reason why this sport is so addictive. Much like biking for me, when I am pushing my own personal limits so close to the edge of my abilities that I move beyond those and improve, I have no time to think about anything else. All of your worries and cares are forgotten for that brief period that you are locked in the moment.

Quite often I think too many people become preoccupied with the past or the future and forget to enjoy the present moment. This whole trip is a big part of getting back to living in the present and enjoying each and every part of every experience and every moment. Using these experiences to improve myself as well, not just in the surfing, but in my awareness of all my surroundings has become a great part of my every day. Taking the time to enjoy the simple being of flower blowing in the breeze, or a pelican gracefully riding the crest of a wave has allowed me to become a more complete person. I enjoy writing about these experiences and hope that in telling these tales others may become inspired to go after their own journeys. You don’t have to drive 10,000km to improve your perspective, although it helps, it is simply making more out of every day by removing the clutter from our lives and trying to make ourselves happy by turning off the auto pilot and improving ourselves one task at a time. Don’t forget to stop every once and a while and simply take in the awe of all the life around you. We don’t live in the past or the future, so embrace the present and enjoy it while it’s here.

Tyler.