Apr 30 2007
Recognition (Guanacaste Memoirs) — Part III
Initially transcribed: 11-12/04/07 - C.R.
Continued from Recognition (Guanacaste Memoirs) — Part II
By the next morning, the surf conditions had dropped considerably. But they were still head-high with the occasional 1 and one-half overhead sets.
When I went out that following morning, despite the fact the surf had dropped to a manageable 10 feet, it still took me a while to regain the confidence to take off on a wave. Every time I was hovering at the lip of a wave - especially some of the bigger ones - rather than thinking about how I wanted to ride the wave (what I should have been doing), instead I was wondering how deep the wave would throw me down if I fucked up.
Once again, for me (much like for many others I would assume), the function of one's performance is directly related to how secure one is in his or her skills. For that reason, ironically, I was a much better surfer when I was younger because I simply had the courage (or stupidity) to rush into surf that I now know could possibly kill me. I wonder if that's a major reason why many older guys shy away from bigger surf, despite the fact they are much more technically skilled than their younger counterparts.
Regardless, on this particular day, it took some time but I started to work that seed of fear and doubt out of my head, one wave at a time. On my first (almost perfectly formed) wave of the day, however, I assumed a horrible "stinkbug" stance - riding too far up on the board with my legs splayed out far apart - in an attempt to gain the maximum amount of balance.
It was sad. I was angry with myself for letting my own mind screw with me. But it was a start.
After another ugly ride, I decided I needed an hour break to regain my composure (and to get my necessary daily intake of caffeine). I came in to have some breakfast - which. like the vast majority of all other "Tico" meals, consists mainly of rice and beans - before going back out on my bigger surfboard.
By the time I had finished breakfast, the surf had dropped a bit more with the tides. Despite the crowd of people swarming in this much smaller, more manageable break, I was still able to catch several waves that I was again somewhat proud of. My form was getting better, and I was regaining some of my "surf composure."
I concentrated on my form, I worked on my takeoffs and cutbacks, and I continued building up my physical conditioning (given my lack of paddling before the trip, by this time, my shoulders and arms already felt like spaghetti). And once again, I eventually came out of the water having enjoyed the morning session immensely.
I took another couple hours to rest, have another meal - rice and beans - and to write up much of this diatribe. I was considering staying in that town for another day or two to work on that break further, frankly, more for my mental state than for anything else (the break had become far too crowded to have fun consistently).
After speaking with the photographer who took these pictures, I considered a move down-coast for a few days. The surf there may still have some residual size from the swell. However, for better or worse, I knew the surf would probably be smaller.
After going back out for an hour in the afternoon, I decided to leave town first thing the following morning. I was going to Malpais, on the southern tip of Costa Rica's Nicoya peninsula.
Who’s taking the pictures when you are surfing?
His man servant, Kato.
Shark, there’s an ex-pat photographer who goes down to the beach every morning to photograph surfers. Mostly he does it for submission to surf mags; but on occasion he gets some silly American stupid enough to drop $30 for a CD of photos taken of him during the course of the morning.
And BTW, Manny, I got rid of Kato after he turned my apartment into a Chinese nooky factory.
Oh that explains it.
I’ve never really understood the whole fascination with surfing until now. You guys are just fucking nuts. Plain and simple.
I’m sticking to snowboarding .
Yeah, because that’s safe.
Touche.