Up and out early to look for what I thought would be friendly surf. Pulled in to Paraiso to discover beautiful waves and by “beautiful,” I mean, “slabby head-and-a-half barrels.” Now, at this point in my surfing life, I should be excited by such conditions, but our boards were long and my charging motivation was short. Nonetheless, I decided to paddle out. No wetsuit! Eighty degree water! The enjoyment stopped there, however, as the current shoved me down the beach while I was still on my feet. I tried again, made it about halfway to the outside before a wave collapsed on my head like a dynamited building. I came detached from my board and with panic bolting through me. Don’t panic, I scolded myself – never, ever panic in the water. I reminded myself that I’m a strong swimmer, rolled onto my back and kicked and dove and stroked my way to shore among the sets.
Thus chastened, we left for elsewhere, grabbing lunch along the way – my first sign that vegetariano was not a common option in these parts. I had a quesadilla and salad. We then drove north to a spot frequented by locals and accessible only by a dirt road that’d been washed out by the rain in spots. Antonio’s car scraped over rocks, ricocheted through gulleys. Once, we had to get out and push. But when we reached the overlook, perfect longboard waves awaited. Kj relaxed on the beach while Casey, Antonio and I took turns zipping down the rights. Antonio had warned us about La Tigre, a rock we shouldn’t surf past as it meant we’d end up on the reef. After a couple hours, Casey and I decided we’d catch our last waves. Mine was the best one I’d had all day, head-high, fast, peeling for days. Caught up in play, I forgot to watch for La Tigre until too late – I’d stoked myself right into the rocks. Banged up my toe, my knee, didn’t care. The happiness coursing through me kept the bruises at bay.