Home sweet home
Deep in Mainland Mex
photo by Ryan Tatar
I trudged through Normandy’s low tide surf, my spats doing nothing to prevent their boots from filling with seawater. The ground shuddered as a mortar sprayed sand and the limbs of fellow infantrymen across the beach. Another succession of more distant booms hit and the M1 shook from my grasp. Suddenly there was the distinct sound of something heading directly towards me…. “Boom!”
I jumped under my sheet and looked around in the blackness. “Only dreaming” I thought.
Just then another “BOOM!” The ground shook and my head hit the wooden roof of the camper. I ran outside naked. Scrambling to the open beach I stubbed my toe. The dull warmth of an oozing wound engulfed my foot as another “Boom, Boom.” It was coming from the ocean. A surge of water came up the beach and rushed over my bloody foot. Some hours later, first light revealed forty foot waves doubling up and exploding on the sand bar out front. The biggest swell in 6 years had come. We left.
The next night I writhed in bed covered by sweat and itchy bites. My buddy Cliff and I arrived in the dark after a day of windy Mexican roads to find the protected left river mouth. Ignoring the incessant high pitched buzz of mosquitoes, I focused on the clean clapping of waves racing down the point. Well before dawn I fumbled around for the organic bug spray that did nothing to dissuade the swarm from their drilling operation. Traversing large cobblestones, I got a clearer look at the waves in the dim haze. It looked fast and perfect. It wasn’t. Waivering from too fast to burgery, by the time I figured it out, the locals had paddled out and the remaining good ones were spoken for.
We left for a notoriously fickle right point up the coast and found an even healthier population of mosquitoes. Two days later we headed back. As I accelerated past the toll plaza on the cuota, the van jerked to the side. I studied the road for ruts but saw only smooth asphalt. Four miles later we sat roadside waiting for a mechanic. I thought back to the week of my 30th birthday. The week it all started.Read More
Cyrus Sutton. Silhouetted.
photog straley/a-frame via surfer’s journal
That hole goes all of the way through the island. We tried to swim through it but 10 foot swells would come thorough it scraping against the barnicle encrusted walls and ceiling. Super sketch
Dane Reynolds on a good one near home. Seems like he was riding longer boards then. 5 years ago on my old Bolex
rights for days