Holly Beck

Shark Fin Soup in Hainan, China

2011-02-08T04:04:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting around a big table in a private dining room at the luxurious Le Meridien in Hainan, China, listening to the mayor tell me through a translator that he grew up swimming in the shorebreak of the beach in front of his village. He’s got that distinctive relaxed confident smile of a waterman so I believe him when he tells me he occasionally swims the 2 miles out to the coral fringed island sitting just offshore. Still, I’m a little surprised when he mentions his interest in sharks and diving, two of my recently developed passions, while insisting I down another glass of red wine. The translator, a young Chinese girl who learned English and culture in college in the UK, asks me if I’m involved in any conservation organizations. I nod and list a few, then slurp the last spoonful of what I think is a bowl of hot and sour soup. She asks me how I like it. “It’s good.” But I happen to notice she hasn’t touched hers and send the question back. “I don’t agree with it,” she says. And I look across the table at my friends in horror, realizing that we’ve all just eaten shark fin soup.

Visiting China is a mixture of the expected and unexpected. Having been bombarded by news stories of the rise of China’s economy and frantic pace of development, I expected to see the construction industry working overtime with cranes, bulldozers, and cement mixers swarming like a plague of locusts as quiet people in woven hats lay out grains to dry in the sun as they’ve been doing for generations. Rusted motorbikes with nicotine-stained handlebars narrowly avoid being bumped off the newly constructed highway by expensive logos ornamenting sparkling clean four wheeled signs of a new blinging middle class. The Le Meridien is only two years old and still a little lonely, but I’m told that four new, big brand name, five star resorts will be built alongside in the next few years to comfortably sleep the hordes of international tourists that the Wanning region’s government has hired us to help attract. They may enjoy shark fin soup, but the government is hip to surfing and the track record of surfers of igniting the spark that turns into a tourism fireball. We’ve been hired to explore for waves, get the shot, and spread the word that Hainan, the Wanning region specifically, is a surfing paradise worth visiting.

During our first few days on the island, which is referred to as “the Hawaii of China” complete with trains of tour busses belching out camera wielding couples in matching aloha pajamas who stand in line to pay $10 to get a printed photo of them sitting on a camel on the beach, I doubted the possibility of success in developing a strong market for surf tourism. The white sandy beaches, relatively clean clear water, and steamy temperatures were all there, but the surf seemed weak and inconsistent. A regular trade wind blows from the NW, bombarding the NE coast with constant wind swell. During the typhoon season, the potential for real groundswell to make the points come alive exists but is unreliable. We spent a few days surfing an onshore shore dump, coincidentally the mayor’s local spot, that was certainly entertaining but not enough to justify dragging a surfboard across the planet. We saw plenty of points and rocky ledges with potential. We searched for good coffee, learned to say beer in Chinese, and filled our bellies with shrimp, mussels, and other unidentifiable seafood. We pushed a few very excited middle aged Chinese men wearing speedos, goggles, and swim caps into their first six inch waves in front of a wall of camera-firing local journalists insisting on a surfing demonstration despite the nearly complete lack of ride-able surf.

Then we went for a long hike around a headland coming up to a dilapidated half-constructed point-perched building allowing a view down along an empty stretch of beach. It was offshore, filled with peaks, and appeared to be almondy hollow. We ran the rest of the way, paddled out eagerly, and lost ourselves in the unexpected. Pulling into a surprisingly thumpy and hollow left reeling over a sandbar, my perception of the place completely changed. There are waves worth traveling for in Hainan that I would actually prefer to keep to myself, but I promised the mayor that I’d tell you about them. Now if I could only get him to promise to stop eating shark fin soup…

Click Play below for the video highlights!

Second Beer Blush Pinkening Sunset

2010-09-22T18:19:00.000-07:00

Second beer blush pinkening sunset and only days to go

While the scurrying above me calls for bat-proofing 2.0

Two soft young dogs, bookends nightly

Ten legs and 1.5 tails

Sprawled together in bed-cushioned happy repose

As last month’s trash pit tadpoles hop and loudly moan

Over a fallen ramada near where a cement house has grown

Only photos and detritus of shade for drinking friends

A fading memory of another suspended

Book-reading then,

Now long gone

So it goes

Broken bottle of red and dog piss on the floor

In a few days time no more green orange keys in the door

For now…

Feet worn dark and rough by weeks of bareness

Volleyball chasing scurries over hidden green thorns

Beach walks, stone steps, and wax gripping galore

Leash-bruised while pushing people to surf standing success

Too easy on purpose

Good luck on your own

Too skinny, a little sunburnt, and very very tired

4:30am coffee

Back and forth, 1^st gear in four wheel drive

10pm again, headed home

Low tires brail reading a pockmarked, cowcluttered path

As wipers do their double time

And I wish for a moment in the future that will look a little like a recent past

Relaxed behind a waterfall on a dark damp porch

Sebu silhouette

And I’m not going quite yet

Instead buzzed and bouncing along to the jumping dogs waiting

Stones under tires, out of my head, and from inside the speakers

You can’t always get what you want…

Olive oil, garlic, and onion in a hot pan

The smell of constancy in all places, all times.

From here to next

The calendar scribbles are just as you’d expect

Nonstop

Still half wishing for 100 hours of solitude

Always

Time

Distracted by smiles of new friends

While already mentally adjusting for another world

Good beer, varied food, fast internet

Sisters 4

A side-winding Sector 9 skateboard, my favorite escape

To feel the wind smile and shiver in a cooler country

Pink Floyd headphones

Barefoot in jeans

My feet are rough and ready

Nothing else

...but if you try sometimes

you just might find…

Eventually -

You take what you need

Jamming with Kids and SYRV.org

2010-09-22T11:38:00.000-07:00

SYRV.org is an non-profit dedicated to making good happen. Over the last few years the SYRV crew has been working hard to create a community center to benefit the people of the Northern Nicaraguan town of Jiquilillo.

This time around I teamed up with the group to donate musical instruments, jam out with the kids, help release recently hatched sea turtles, put the finishing touches on the community center, teach some new friends to surf, do a little yoga, and share some good vibes.

Check out the video highlights below...

Test of Faith

2010-08-14T11:12:00.000-07:00

At some point in any love, religion, or great pursuit your faith is tested. It’s not as easy as it once seemed, promises aren’t kept, passion fades over time revealing annoying habits and bad morning breath. My paradise is still defined as a small house off the grid, barefoot walking distance to a thumping beach break, with four dogs that eagerly wait for the echoing sound of surfboard wax application and leap with excitement to chase each other down the path and through the shorebreak.

Time does bring comfort. My Spanish is better now, my backside tube riding more confident. Last year’s tomato garden yielded tiny sprouts that never reached maturity while this year’s boasts at least ten healthy plants, and while I don’t want to jinx myself, there looks to be a delicious crop of organic tomatoes on the way. I even have a planter box of spinach that has so far resisted the hot weather, constant rain, and swarming bugs.

But this year more than last, the challenges have been many. Starting in mid April the rainy season began will all the energy saved up during last year’s oppressive drought. People, animals, and trees prayed for rain. The heavens answered by opening for weeks on end, flooding roads, soaking through roofs, and washing away recently planted crops. We lost five papaya trees that were just starting to bear fruit, and before we fixed it there were so many leaks in our roof there was no way to position the bed in the small house so that it stayed dry. The rivers rushed sand, wood, and other unidentifiable detritus to the sea, and the brown water and strange green foam made surfing at some spots a health risk. Too much sand built up enormous sandbars damaging the quality of waves at my favorite beachbreak, hopefully just temporarily.

Weather and waves aside, nearby personalities became daily stressors. My boyfriend got sick with a fever that lasted ten days, so I stepped up and took over the 45 min (each way) drive to town to suck our daily limit out of the ATM to pay for cement, blocks, bricks, workers, and palm fronds (that are laid out all over our lot but won’t dry because the rain doesn’t stop). Our heavy delivery truck made the already muddy puddle-filled road nearly impassible, so I’ve gotta pull money out for the repair of that too. The internet access I relied upon at the hotel next door suddenly skyrocketed in price, but only for me.

When the 4runner we call “the beast” started making a loud clicking sound when turning in 4 wheel drive, we took it to our mechanic who replaced the CV joint. Three months ago I had had the whole front suspension re-done which cost me $1,000 in parts. It’d broken down 2 hours away so I had to use a different mechanic from the one I trust. He seemed like a good guy, came highly recommended from several other gringos, and gave me a Nicaraguan nickname. But when our regular mechanic looked at the list of parts that we had paid to have replaced, he told me none were new. He thought the other guy had just had us buy new parts, but only fixed the rubber and cleaned up our old parts, essentially totally screwing us. I called the guy. He said he was honest and it was just that the salt air and mud by the beach make the parts age quickly. Probably true, but not true enough.

On top of the town runs and car dramas there are the dishes, the laundry, and the house cleaning all handled by hand, by me, local style. It’s probably a good thing the waves haven’t been epic because I haven’t had time. We have solar panels so the lights are on past dark, which is easier than this time last year, but the well still needs to be pumped for water for all that washing, and showering, and toilet flushing. At least with all this rain, drawing water takes less energy since it’s closer to the surface. I’m looking for the bright sides.

Then one of the dogs got sick. I didn’t even know dogs could get fevers until I noticed that her head and belly were clearly hotter than those of the others and some research online revealed that anything over 106 in dogs is a sign of something very serious. The vets at the local town gave us penicillin and parasite killing pills. Two days later, after no improvement, we carried her to the car and made the three hour drive to Managua to a real vet who gave her a couple of shots and set us at ease. While my sick boyfriend and sick dog comforted eachother in the backseat, I drove three hours home in the dark, in the rain, struggling to see unmarked turns and people and horses in the road, completely exhausted from all of the above.

My boyfriend went back to California yesterday. Back to work to earn more money to pay for this house we’re building, the road we’ve been assigned to fix, the car parts we didn’t receive, and all of the daily dramas that arise that can only be solved with money. I’m still here for another month at least to finish nursing our dog back to health, oversee the final steps in the construction of the first floor of the house (they pour concrete for the ceiling of the first floor / floor of the second today), and making sure the super muddy road becomes passable by a small car in 2-wheel drive. It’s not easy, but I’ll admit that I sort of love it. I grew up amongst so much drama that I love the challenge. On top of everything else, seven friends arrive today, so I’ll be adding surf tour guide to my list of “things to do” for the next ten days.

Wish me luck, and send me positive energy. I’ll need it!

Surf, Yoga, Volunteer with SYRV and Holly Beck 8/30-9/6

2010-07-03T07:07:00.000-07:00

We are excited to announce that August 30 - September 6 (Labor Day Holiday) will be SYRV's Surf Yoga Volunteer Adventure VI with your hosts Monique Evans, Holly Beck, Christine West (Yoga) and our awesome ground crew Gerry, Luis, Mike and Jane.

Our team and past travelers have accomplished so much this past year!

We have now almost completed building the community center which will store BioSand filter materials for clean water, computers, sewing machines, art & music supplies, sports equipment, organic gardening, English classes and more.

We'll be headed to Jiquilillo for 4 nights and then south to San Juan del Sur for 3 nights.

Expect amazing (beginner & advanced) surf, yoga, heartfelt volunteering and great company!

We will be working on the completion of the SYRV Community Center, clean water projects, feeding the children that live at the dump yard, giving out donations and more.

As for extra activities, we will have surf, fishing trips, volcano hikes, kayaking, horseback riding, zip lining and more!

Get in the water and learn or enhance your skills with a pro!
Private sessions with Holly Beck available for supplemental fees -
One hour Surf Lesson (guaranteed to have you standing up) $75
One two-hour Coaching Session $100
Three Coaching Sessions $250

All inclusive prices (airfare not included) start at $1100. Airfare is approximately $500-$600 from LAX.

All details available at - www.syrv.org or email monique@syrv.org

This trip has limited space so if you are interested fill out the registration form on the site.

For a recap and photos from our last 3 trips check out this link -

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=225413460192

SYRV is partnered with Project Lagoon (nonprofit w/501(c)(3) status focused on Nicaragua development). All donations and a portion of your SYRV trip to Nicaragua are tax deductible.

TRIP TESTIMONIALS

"What a profound journey, life altering experience, and eye opening adventure. My perspective is shifted and my body is still buzzing!"

“The experience is beyond amazing. I invite anybody even just THINKING about it ... GO! it may just change your life in the best way imaginable.” –Kim R.

"This trip really gave me the opportunity to use my skills and knowledge to give back to the community, as well as enabling me to experience the beauty and culture of Nicaragua in a very hands-on and personal way. Donating just one week of my time I was able to collaborate with a great team to provide clean drinking water for hundreds of school children for many years to come. More than any other project I have completed during my career it was the water purification shelter that made the years of education at architecture school worthwhile. It is amazing to see how even the most modest project can have such a significant impact on the lives of those that are in need." – L. Hoad

"An eye-opening, and wonderful trip." --Shayla Paxton

"Make no mistake: you will have fun on this trip, but more importantly, you will never forget the experiences you have and relationships you forge, and having made a real difference in people's everyday lives, you will return to your own with a new understanding of what you really need." -Hank O.

"I can't say enough about the connections we made with each other and the personal growth I experienced while on this trip. Every day, while learning about this new culture and each other, I was also learning about myself. I'm so grateful for that." - Jennifer M.

"Words cannot accurately describe my recent trip to Nicaragua. It was fulfilling in ways that I could not imagine. Unexpected surprises occurred daily and friendships were formed during some unforgettable excursions. The volunteer work we did turned our surf/yoga retreat into a divine spiritual adventure. Many of us were overwhelmed by the children in Jiquilillo and Chinandega. It didn't matter what they were receiving-- a bowl of soup, a surf lesson, a new pair of Adidas tennis shoes or even a toothbrush, the kids were always grateful. And despite having very little--- their hearts would be busting with joy every time they caught a glimpse of us riding down a dirt road, in an open vehicle. Sharing with others less fortunate, communing with nature and getting to know new people made my entire experience worthwhile and I would not hesitate to do it again." - M.De Ruse

Drop Zone Fiji Journal Entries

2010-07-02T16:24:00.000-07:00

June 20, 2010
Drop Zone to me means Alex Gray antics, Cheyne Magnussen’s smiling supercharged surf sessions, and endless amounts of waterborne adventure. This time I’ve got a wing-girl in Maria Del Mar, a Puerto Rican reggaeton dancing damsel that’s always up for a good time. The four of us showed up in Fiji, piled our boardbags high on a small rental car and lashed them down with surf leashes since no one thought to bring any board straps. We made a few circles ‘round a roundabout to fully admire a Hindu temple then found our way to a dirt road that led us to Seashell Cove – home base for the first few days of surf and diving adventures.

photo: Justin Lewis

I’ve heard from too many people that Cloudbreak is one of the best waves in the world. Despite several trips to Fiji I’d never surfed it and was in denial. Yesterday Maria and I sat in a boat over the incredibly clear water fringing Tavarua Island freaking out - dancing, shaking, and yelling - while the rest of the group took their sweet time. Finally, all loaded up, we powered out to the outer reef and scrambled over each other to dive in and paddle out to butter smooth head high peeling blue lefts that barreled over hollow reef. Four hours later, the four of us had had more waves than we ever could have hoped for and I can now agree that Cloudbreak is one of the best waves in the world.

Surfed out and satisfied. Photo: Justin Lewis

June 21, 2010

The only thing I really want to see underwater is a shark. I like colorful coral, schools of fish, turtles and all that but honestly I’m down there for the sharks. After the incredible shark-swarming dive experiences of Drop Zone Tahiti it’s a little hard to get excited about a couple of three foot white tip reef sharks. Last October I did a trip to Mexico that included swimming with whale sharks in the Bahia De Los Angeles and then one of the peak moments of my life; getting up close and personal with great whites off Guadalupe Island (See video from this trip here). When I was told that we would get a chance to dive with tiger and bull sharks on this trip I got really excited, and then a little disappointed that we’d have to wait until the second half of the trip to do it.

photo: Justin Lewis

Diving off Seashell Cove with Scuba Bula the last couple of days was fun. We swam through a few underwater arches and explored some reef crevices, but I’ll admit I was a little bored. These dives just seem like warm-ups and time-killers until we get to meet the big toothy critters.

Jumping from the Tui Tai. photo: Justin Lewis

Now cruising aboard the Tui Tai to a dive site called Rainbow Reef that has been dubbed “the soft coral capital of the world”, I’m content. It might have something to do with finally getting a real cup of coffee after days of instant imitations. It’s too windy to surf so we’re preparing for a day of three dives followed by a village visit. All that sounds good but once again it’s hard to take my mind off those sharks we’ll get to meet in a few days.

Body Glove donated mask and snorkel sets to a local village, so I had to help the kids learn how to pose for photos while wearing them. photo: Justin Lewis

June 22, 2010

Bede Durbidge is one of my favorite surfers. Good looking, great surfer, super nice guy. So when we were paired up to dive together for his second dive after certification I was excited for both of us. We were supposed to dive the Great White Wall named for its special collection of white soft coral but there was so much to see at the start of the wall that we never made it past the first swim through. Filming the Drop Zone means that while you’re diving you’re working. Sometimes that’s walking back and forth on the beach with your board but yesterday it meant swimming back and forth through a cave that started at 40ft deep and let you out at 60. Each loop for the camera revealed some new detail within the cave culminating in a pantomimed conversation with a cute little yellow fish that was not afraid of us at all. Fiercely dedicated to defending its territory the palm-sized golden yellow little guy even charged at Bede as if it was planning to bite his regulator.

Bede Durbidge likes diving. Photo: Justin Lewis

Post-dive we cheered for Cheyne as he was hoisted midway up the mast by the crew. He then carefully scurried out along the slippery metal spreader to jump. The guy is fearless so I knew it was intense when he seemed a little sketched. He had to wait up there for at least ten minutes for the cameramen to get their equipment together, the anticipation building. Cheyne jumped and the spectators went crazy, so Alex got inspired to get up there and jump off too.

photo: Justin Lewis

PADI superstar and one of my personal role models Kristin Valette pulled out a couple stand-up paddleboards and we took off over the flat water into the sunset. After red wine and lobster by candlelight on the beach, I fell into bed exhausted, gently rocked to sleep by a calmly rolling sea. Good day, good night.

photo: Justin Lewis

June 22, 2010
I like sea critters, particularly large toothy sea creatures that let you swim with them. Manta Rays don’t have teeth but still easily fall into the large sea creature category. Yesterday afternoon we loaded into boats and set off towards the reef hoping to find a few mantas to swim with. The choppy seas made us less than sure we’d get our chance, but Cheyne, Alex, and Bede back-rolled overboard armed with weight belts, spear guns, and a hunger for sashimi. Maria and I stayed dry with our eyes peeled to the water around us looking for shadows below. Surprisingly, Bede and Alex came up cheering and pointing. “There’s heaps of mantas right here!”

all manta photos by Justin Lewis

We motored over but by the time Maria and I jumped in with the boys, the mantas were gone. Back in the boat, shivering in the wind under a cloudy sky, I was ready to head back to the Tui Tai for a hot shower. Kristin Valette the optimist suggested one more pass along the reef and just then our dive guide spotted a manta not too far away. I jumped in eagerly with Justin our still photographer and Scott the video guy. Soon a big black shape emerged from the darkness below me and I was surprised by the size of it. I’ve seen a manta before in the Maldives, but this guy was much bigger, easily 6ft wide from wingtip to tip and our guide called it a small one. He was cruising just above the sea floor about 40 feet below me, and after all the kicking to keep up, I was winded. Justin was at my shoulder, camera ready, pointing down and motioning me to dive down alongside but I just nodded and waited. Up ahead the reef grew a little closer to the surface and as the ray swam up over it, I swam down for a quick moment of synchronized swimming. The ray looked over at me for a moment and then swam off. We found it again and I got one more chance, this time lasting a little longer. It was just enough for Justin to snap a few frames of the Manta and I side by side, swimming together. I spread my arms out to the side in my best effort to imitate its graceful wing-flapping swim. Finally I pulled myself back onto the boat incredibly grateful that we’d taken the chance on one more pass. It was definitely worthwhile.

June 23, 2010
I like to get barreled. In fact lately, improving my tube-riding skills has been my main focus in surfing. There’s nothing better than positioning yourself inside of a wave and then coming out unscathed. I don’t even mind crash tubes where you get a short view before the inevitable pounding. But that’s over sand. Pulling into big tubes over shallow sharp reef is an entirely different thing. It’s scary.

I had surfed Frigate’s Pass before and it was thick and sketchy. I was a little nervous about surfing it again, especially since Bede had checked the swell models and said it would be pumping. Motoring out to the break the wind made whitecaps on the surface of the sea and I figured it would be blown out and no good. Once we turned the final corner around one of several small islands, we could see that the wind was actually offshore. The reef was still far off but we could see a succession of waves peel along and spit powerfully, indicating big hollow waves. I was instantly really nervous.

We scrambled over each other to pull out boards, put in fins, and apply sunscreen as the boat rocked in the rolling sea, then hopped from the big boat to a dingy to jet out to the surf. The boys were frothing and screaming but Maria and I were nervous. We took our time getting out there. I was still psyching myself up when Maria spun and went on a mid-size wave. The boys on the inside were hooting and she pulled out with a smile. “It’s not that bad,” I thought to myself. I stroked into the next one and tried to stall for a tube that didn’t materialize then nearly spun out on my bottom turn. I flipped my board over and saw I was riding a twin-fin. Oops! In my haste to get out there I must not have screwed my middle fin in all the way and it had fallen out.
I switched boards and caught another wave that didn’t tube, but helped my confidence a bit. Maria and I nervously paddled around looking for smaller “cute” ones while dodging the gnarly sets that the boys tackled fearlessly. They were laughing and high fiving. It was awesome to watch and I started getting frustrated with myself. I wanted to laugh and high-five after pulling out of a big bomb. “Screw it, I’m going!” A set approached and Alex and Bede each took one, but there was one more coming and only Maria and I still in the lineup.
“You going, Maria?”
“No, you go!”
I turned and started paddling. It was big, but it had a nice tapering shoulder and I was determined. I paddled and paddled and right before I started to think about standing up, there was so much water moving up the face of the wave, the only way to get into it would have been to throw myself over the ledge. I hesitated for an instant, saw Cheyne spinning around on the inside, and pulled back to let him have it. The wave barreled down the reef and he ended up getting pounded. I felt really happy about my decision not to go and then even more timid.

photo Justin Lewis

        Maria and I were sitting a bit further in from the boys and Scott Smith our water filmer suggested we try to take off on some of the inside ones. Just then we saw a set approaching, one of the biggest of the afternoon. “Shoot!” I started paddling frantically straight towards the horizon while Maria took an angled path more towards the channel. I yelled at her to go straight ahead as we both duck-dove the first wave. The next one was bigger and already starting to break so that it was clear we wouldn’t have time to get under it. I was only about ten feet further out than Maria but that made all the difference. We both bailed our boards and swam for the bottom, but I popped up outside and she got dragged in. There were three more waves behind that one, all breaking a little further out. Each time I dove for the bottom and looked up to see churning whitewater above me. On the second one I felt my leash pop and break. Without my board dragging behind me I was able to dive deeper and get under the wave cleanly. After I’d made it through, I looked back and couldn’t see Maria anywhere. I was shaken up, without my board, and getting pulled up the reef and out to sea by the strong current, but I was ok. The dingy came and picked me up.

       On our way to the other side of the reef to look for my board I saw Maria climbing into the other dingy where the photographers were sitting and I was relieved to see that she seemed ok. The boat guy took me inside of the reef and we waited a few minutes for my board to wash in. We spotted it, collected it, and then started heading back to the big boat. On our way I noticed a big brownish white object floating on the inside. It looked like a big tree at first, then the back of a whale. Finally I realized that it was a boat upside down. “That’s weird,” I thought. It turned out our boat had flipped taking out two photographers, two cameras, and poor Maria who had just climbed into it thinking she was safe! See below for a few aftermath moments...

June 24, 2010
         Bull sharks are amazing. I’m on my third beer – a new type called Vonu which is much better than the standard Fiji Bitter – and it’s still hard to process the feeling of kneeling on the ocean floor 86ft below the surface while staring down an approaching bull shark. I added quite a few shark varieties to my list the other day which now includes whale, great white, white tip, black tip, grey, lemon, nurse, and bull. We had hoped to also encounter the illusive tiger, but at least I have a reason to return. Even without the tiger shark I was not disappointed.

shark photos by Justin Lewis

Bull sharks have that classic shark look. Close your eyes and imagine a fat scary shark and that’s a bull shark. I had several swim right at me, our eyes locked, that came within a couple of feet to my face before turning to make another circle. I wasn’t scared. I did feel a few moments of adrenaline as my body reacted to the sight of a big predator headed straight at me, but it was fleeting. The enjoyment was too great. The only problem was that the dive was too short. Twenty five minutes of bliss then a big Fijian was giving me an aggressive thumbs up sign (probably because I had already ignored the last five “head to the surface” signs he’d given). I just didn’t want to leave.

We had two dives, the second at 60ft. In between dives I told the master that I am obsessed with sharks and had done multiple shark dives. I was hoping it would lead him to pull me closer to the sharks. Once the feeding started I was chosen first to kneel next to the feeder. The sharks made circles, took the tuna head on offer then swam right past me as he chewed and swallowed. It was awesome watching such a powerful creature that is so linked to man-eating and fear swim right past me, peacefully.

The sharks got closest to Cheyne. Either they liked the red hair or they could sense his fear and needed to look him over closer to see why he was afraid. After a few incredibly close passes, much closer than to anyone else, he gave the camera the “I’m over it sign” and cruised back to a safe distance.
I could go on and on about how much fun it was and how much I wish we got another chance. I could have stayed down there with the sharks all day…. but my beer is getting warm.

for more stories and photos from Drop Zone Fiji, check out the Drop Zone Fiji blog!
Special thanks to Air Pacific, Body Glove, PADI, Scuba Bula, Tui Tai, Beqa Resort, Seashell Cove, Tavarua, and the beautiful people, waves, and sea creatures of Fiji!

We Love Sharks!

2010-06-29T08:19:00.000-07:00

A film by Scott Smith about sharks and our obsession with them. On a trip to Mexico, Holly Beck got to swim with whale sharks and dive with great whites.
http://www.bodyglove.com/

Can't wait to get back home!

2010-06-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

          It's been almost a month since I left and I'm desperate to get back. I've savored hot, high-pressured showers, the feel of carpet under my feet, a well-worn cushy bed, lightening fast internet, quality face to face time with sisters, and good hop-infused beer. I spent almost two weeks in Fiji surfing over shallow reef, scuba diving through coral-crusted caves, getting face to face with sharks, and drinking kava. It's been fun. But i'm ready to get back home.

         I miss this little dog more than I can express in words. Saying goodbye to her, I couldn't hold back the tears. I came back to California and told my sisters all about her. I thought about her while breathing compressed air in Fiji. I dream about her. I can't wait to pick her up and give her a big squeeze.

          After a really frightening surf session from a boat in big thick waves over shallow reef, I'm really looking forward to late takeoffs over sand where there's a lot less consequence involved in not making the drop.

               I'm excited to spend some quality time with my boyfriend Ryan.

        I can't wait to take these four dogs down to the beach and run in the shorebreak with them. I miss that little Ardilla the most, but I couldn't tell you which of the others I miss least. I'm more than ready to re-take my place in the pack.

            Sunday afternoons can go back to being all about volleyball with friends and cold beers a long healthy bike ride away.

       And at the end of the day, watching the sunset from the porch with my best friend in the world and no worries except what the surf will be like in the morning.
I can't wait to get back home!

5 New Pretty Painted Rusty Surfboards

2010-06-15T16:50:00.000-07:00

I love surfboards!
Ever since I was 13 years old and desperate for a surfboard of my own, I've loved them. Now that I'm 29 and have had quite a few to call my own over the years my obsession with surfboards hasn't diminished. I'm an dedicated collector with an impressive stash. I even keep a lot of boards that i've broken in two pieces. I get attached them to them!

Luckily, since I was 17, Rusty Surfboards has been hooking me up with boards. I've tried a few from other shapers along the way, but Rusty boards always have the high quality that I rely on. Rusty, the man himself, is also one of the most intelligent and innovative shapers out there. He listens to feedback and incorporates it into new models. He experiments with materials and fin placements. He keeps it interesting.

It had been a while since i'd gotten a new quiver, so recently I ordered up 5 new boards. Now that i'm no longer competing or worrying about forcing turns on waist high mushburgers for the judges, all I want to do is get barreled. I've also been really loving the quads lately, particularly my 5'4 Dwart. So my most recent order was filled with tube riders, quads, and a brand new Dwart.

Of course, white surfboards are no good for photos, so the first step was to bust out the spray paint and get to work! My boyfriend has built a shaping room in our garage and equipped it with board rack, lights, masking tape of various widths, rolls of paper, and a selection of spray paint colors.

The first step is to put in the headphones, pick a favorite album (in my case it was Pacific Dust by The Mother Hips) then start by taping off the Rusty logo and around the rails (so that paint stays on top and you don't get over-spray onto the bottom.

I like to keep my sprays asymmetrical, so the next step is to use some paper to block off half of the board. I also like to keep some white, so I use thin tape to cover a few lines of white. I sprayed 4 boards before taking this photo and I recycle the tape, so that's why the tape is so beautifully colored.

There's a lot of thought that has to go into the layer on layer paint and tape routine. It can be tricky to visualize how it will come out depending on which color goes on first.

Pulling the tape is the most exciting part!

For the other half of the board I made a star stencil.

And finally..... ta-da! They're done!!!!
From Left to Right:
1. 5'4" Dwart quad
2. 5'11" GTR quad
3. 5'11" Kompressor quad
4. 6'1" Traveler thruster
5. 5'6" Slayer thruster

I'm heading off to Fiji tonight and bringing all but the Dwart, so I had to take out a couple and test them out before carefully stacking them in the boardbag. Here are are a few snaps by local photographer Alex Shea of me riding the GTR at my local beach.

This is one of my first waves on the GTR and I was just trying to feel the slide of the quad. It felt great!

I was a little worried about pulling into this little double up tube. I didn't want to buckle a brand new board!

Feeling good! I can't wait to get this thing into some big tubes in Fiji!

Construction Begins on the Big House

2010-06-07T06:12:00.001-07:00

So far we have two small houses on our lot. We built the first one for our caretakers then liked it so much we claimed it for ourselves and built them another one. Both are little studio-sized houses. Now we are finally starting to build The BIG House - a proper 2 story, 3 bedroom house with big outdoor patio/bbq area, balcony, etc. Check it out!

Dogs and Tubes

2010-05-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

Every morning i grab my surfboard and 4 dogs follow me down to the beach to play in the shorebreak while i paddle out and hopefully score a few tubes.

Music: http://www.motherhips.com

Nicaraguan Town Run

2010-05-07T14:32:00.001-07:00

Getting supplies isn't quite as easy in Nicaragua as it is in the states. In California I can hop on my skateboard and choose between several grocery stores. In Nica, stocking up on essential items takes quite a bit more effort.
Click "play" below!

Battling Bats

2010-05-05T08:51:00.001-07:00

It's always an adventure in Nicaragua....

Call me Olga

2010-04-20T14:05:00.000-07:00

Cleanliness is relative. Fresh out of a bucket shower because I didn’t have time to fill the solar shower before my run to town, I feel clean though the bottoms of my feet and fingernails may lead you to think otherwise. I spent the afternoon sitting in the dirt talking Latin American politics, relationships, and sharks with my mechanic’s brother while he meticulously cleaned and dried his bicycle. He likes Daniel Ortega. He’s afraid of sharks. His girlfriend of three years likes clean bicycles.

A symptom of the suspension problem that led to the mechanic visit.

When the 13 year old neighbor kid named Carlo asks me my name, I tell him Holly. He can’t quite get it and asks again so I say Olga, the name my mechanic gave me since Holly is hard in Spanish. To which he nods and smiles, then produces a ball made of electrical tape the perfect size to be hit by a bat which starts with a game of catch, then I hit it out of the park on his second pitch. The ball irretrievable, I pitch cashew fruits and baby mangoes that explode on impact, sending pieces of fruit flying everywhere followed by laughter and the search for more fallen fruit. When the second ball, this time a small stuffed toy dressed as a baseball is hit into a tall mango tree by my mechanic’s brother, Carlo produces a flat and heavy soccer ball to demonstrate his moves. We take turns playing goalie in front of a concrete and corrugated aluminum wall and he blocks all my shots but one. Lester the mechanic has still not returned.

At last, in the car, 30 minutes before dark with nearly a two hour drive between me and the dogs I love, I drive off assuring Lester it’s ok he couldn’t fix the horn. The suspension feels great, the tires are new, that back window rolls up without a prayer, and the cold air from the AC vents feels amazing. A smile and a wave and I’m on my way. AC off, windows down, music up, savoring the now familiar smells of burning trash, road kill, and rain.

The rain is coming early this year. Last year it hardly fell at all in the rainy season and after six months of official dryness, my trees are thirsty. Thunder clouds gather and make noise but aren’t quite ready for the full act tonight. Just another dress rehearsal.

My favorite dog Ducha wimpers in welcoming joy when I step out of the car. Her 5 month old puppies Ardilla and Cola jump up and scratch my legs with their nails on their way to licking my face, then turn to sniffing the grocery bags for signs of meat. Even our caretaker’s dog Medy who has somehow worked her way into the pack follows me up onto the porch wagging her tail wildly.

Headlamp in place I shuffle buckets around, put groceries away, fill bowls to reward sits and stays, then settle into a plastic chair for a few big deep breaths.

It’s good to be home.

I don't want to leave.

Feeding and Clothing Kids at the Dump in Nicaragua

2010-04-18T17:17:00.001-07:00

When I started my Surf and Yoga Retreat in Nicaragua, I wanted giving back to be a key component. See below for photos and a short video from our day at the dump.

After hurricane Mitch, the Nicaraguan government relocated newly homeless villagers next to the dump. Without land to farm or any way to sustain themselves they took to scavenging. Anything still with life in it is put to use. Bottles and cans are sold for pennies per pound for recycling. Clean water, like most other resources, is scarce.

Despite their unfortunate situation, the people are beautiful.
A church group sets up a food kitchen at the local school once a week to feed community members who show up with bowls, buckets, anything to hold the little bit of food. The day we visited the meal consisted of chicken noodle soup, with chicken heads and feet as meat. The kids made a line, said a prayer, and were grateful for the food.
We brought clothing to donate and plenty of smiles to share. It was an important reminder for all of us of how good we have it.

For a short video clip of the experience, click play below:

Help us feed these kids.

Holly Beck Volunteers with SYRV.org in Nicaragua

2010-03-29T14:39:00.000-07:00

For the full post, check out my other blog: SurfLifeNicaragua.blogspot.com

Surfing, Sharks, and Waterfalls. My life lately...

2010-03-23T11:45:00.000-07:00

My mom thinks I'm wasting my life. Im 29 years old. Not married. No kids. No mortgage. I've spent the last 10 years traveling the world with my surfboard. This past year has been particularly epic. My mom doesn't spend much time on the computer but if I wanted to show her a video to prove she's wrong about me "wasting" my life, this is the one i'd show her. Click "play" for a few highlights from my life recently....
Life is good.

music:
http://www.motherhips.com

And... I'll be spending the next few months in Nicaragua.
Check out my other blog : Surf Life Nicaragua

The Mother Hips are Awesome (but keep that to yourself)

2010-03-13T10:18:00.000-08:00

"Are You Free" - music video

Over the last few months, The Mother Hips have provided the soundtrack to all my adventures. Rock scrambling, shark diving, well-pumping, waterfall sliding, mountain bike riding, desert camping, California surfboard and skateboard riding. Even between the peaks in the action, my adrenaline levels have been kept high with an incessant loop of Mother Hips tunes either played through headphones or sung out loud in the shower, in between duck dives, and while washing dishes. Over a career spanning 18 years, the Hips have recorded so many amazing tracks that there's plenty of variety to be able to listen constantly for months and still not get burnt out.

What amazes me is how few of my friends have heard of them, but maybe that's why they're so cool. There are some things that you want everyone to get involved with like picking up trash at the beach, buying organic, and skateboarding instead of driving. Other things become less cool once they go mainstream, like that secret sandbar down the beach, Ugg boots, or the mustache.

When I get excited about something I want to share it, but in this case I think it's wise to hold back. If you like Sierra Nevada swilling, cowboy boot wearing, and California coastal cruising, you will love The Mother Hips, but do me a favor and don't go out and tell everyone. Instead, go to the website, download some tunes, load up your van with single fins, firewood, and a good set of hiking boots, grab a few friends and take off on a road trip with a soundtrack that will keep you jamming the whole way there and back again, then come back and let me know what you think (see below for the behind the scenes story of filming the video and a playlist of my favorite Mother Hips songs).

Lead singer Tim Bluhm's wife Nicki did my makeup for the shoot since I am totally hopeless at makeup application. She also happens to be an incredible musician. Check out her website and download a few songs from her too!

My boyfriend turned me onto the Hips years ago. We started with the Back to the Grotto album and I dug it, particularly Track 3 - Run Around Me. Then, last year my buddy Todd Walsh hooked me up with Kiss the Crystal Flake and I fell in love. I listened to it on repeat the whole six hour drive from San Fran to Redondo Beach. So many songs resonated with my lifestyle, TGIM, Time We Had, and No-Name Darrell particularly. How often do you get a new album and become obsessed with every single song right away?

Tim, Dave, Nicki, and I waiting for the first shot.

At the point that my obsession had become to consume me, I realized that Todd was friends with Tim Bluhm on facebook. I sent him an unabashedly gushing message that went something along the lines of "sorry to sound like a silly obsessed fan, but I think you guys are freaking amazing and just wanted to let you know." I was so stoked when he responded and we started communicating back and forth a bit.

Alex Greene, Rheyman, Tim, and I in Chinatown

I was in Nicaragua when I got the message asking if I might like to "star" in a Mother Hips music video. By then the new album Pacific Dust was out. I downloaded it the day it was released and had been listening non-stop, already memorizing lyrics to sing while surfing. The song "Are You Free" was my first favorite on the album. Reading that message, I literally had to fight back the tears of excitement. "Um, yes!!! I would LOVE to be in the video!!!"

Alex Greene sings in the band Walking Spanish. Find them on Facebook!

Driving up to San Fran for the filming, I was incredibly excited. Tim Bluhm came up with the concept for the video which would involve me stealing a live fish from a fish market in Chinatown then being chased by two fish mongers all the way to Ocean Beach, where I would set the fish free.

We spent a day and a half running. I knocked over a box of oranges on a busy corner in Chinatown which caused a frenzy of confused shoppers. We ran along rooftops, up and down stairs, through a park, over tree stumps. It was tiring, but really fun.

On the second day it was time to film the skateboarding.
The director, Patrick Murphree, told me they had a stunt double lined up to do some of the skateboarding and I freaked out!

"I don't need a stunt double!"
"I skate!"
"I have a skateboard sponsor!"
"I do stunts!"
"I'm not ok with that."

He assured me that the hill he wanted me to bomb was too gnarly. It was steep and he wanted me to bomb straight down, no speed checks. He said it was too dangerous for me. I started believing him that it might be too heavy. Despite an acute adrenaline addiction, I'm not totally crazy. I figured when the time came i'd take a look at it and if it looked at all doable I was gonna go for it before he could stop me.

Greg Loiacono and son Noah, ready to hand off the Sector 9 so I can make my escape from the fish mongers.

After all the running, it felt good to hop on my favorite Sector 9 skateboard and carve down some nice wide smooth hills. I was stoked.

Then it came time to bomb the hill. After all the buildup I was probably a little more nervous than I should have been. Patrick had put doubt in my head and it took a few moments to overcome that. I stood at the top and looked. It was steep and rough, but it was short.

I closed my eyes and told myself I could do it until I believed it. Then stepped on, pushed off, and went for it. A quarter of the way down the speed wobbles started, but I just stayed light on my feet and believed I would make it.

Safely at the bottom, everyone was stoked, but most of all me. We tightened up my trucks to eliminate the wobbles and I bombed it a few more times, with more calm and confidence each run. By the end the adrenaline was pumping and after the hugs and high fives from the crew I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

Towards the end of the second day there were only a few more shots on the list. Patrick said he wanted to pick up one more skate shot with the ocean in the background so we went to a different hill. It was wide, smooth, and not nearly as steep as the other. I was a little tired, a little unfocused, and a lot overconfident. I didn't take the time to look and pick my line. I just jumped on the skate and started jamming.

I was going fast, trying to make it look cool for the camera. By the time I figured I was far enough down the hill to be out of shooting range I had picked up so much speed I couldn't stop and the hill kept going. I was totally in control, no wobbles, but going way too fast to just jump off or drag a foot to slow down.

I saw an intersection up ahead and figured i'd turn the corner, get off the hill, and scrub some speed to be able to stop, but the stop sign was on my street, not the cross street. Not able to see cars coming, I didn't want to risk turning right into one, so I went straight until I was far enough into the intersection to see there weren't any cars, then tried to make turn.

Unfortunately, since we'd tightened up my trucks, by the time I tried to turn, I didn't have the tight turning radius I needed. I barely avoided hitting the corner of the curb but the parked car forced me to go up into a driveway and hitting the transition from street to sidewalk at that speed, launched me.

I landed on both feet and tried to run out of it. It all happened so fast. I ended up sitting with my knee ripped open but essentially zero road rash. My knee started bleeding immediately. The guy who lived there saw the whole thing and happened to be a nurse. He took one look, said I needed stitches and should go to the hospital.

With all the adrenaline, I didn't feel any pain, plus the sun was setting and we still needed to get one more shot, the most important for the story, the actual fish release. So we bandaged up my knee and I hopped in the car.

By the time we got down to the beach the adrenaline had worn off and I realized the knee was the least of my problems. Both feet hurt like hell and I figured i'd probably sprained both ankles. I focused all my energy on trying to walk normally, and painfully made my way across the Great Ocean Road, up and over the sand dunes and across the beach. Each step hurt worse than the last, but I kept telling myself I just had to get through another twenty minutes then I could relax. (Watch the video again. All that stuff on the beach and the shorebreak was done while fighting back screaming bolts of pain. Can you tell?)

I made it to the waters' edge, pulled a huge live Cod out of a cooler and wrestled with it into the shore break, got the shot, watched the sun disappear, then gratefully accepted help from the boys to half carry me back to the car. Tim volunteered to drive me to the hospital and waited while I got xrays and 4 stitches across my kneecap. Nicest guy ever. Then he and Nicki welcomed me into their home, fed me dinner, and let me spend the night. It certainly wasn't the way I imagined getting to hang out with the members of my favorite band, but as I fell asleep to the sound of Tim plucking on an acoustic guitar, even though my feet were incredibly angry with me, there was a smile on my face.

Greg's son Noah is the most intelligent and well-spoken kid i've met in a long time, not to mention super cute!

So stoked to hang out with my favorite band.

Ok, now go download those tunes!!!

My favorite albums:
Later Days
Kiss the Crystal Flake
Pacific Dust (if you download Pacific Dust from the Mother Hips website you get a 6 song bonus EP that is super epic!)

My favorite songs playlist:
1. Raining Gravel - Pacific Dust Bonus EP
2. White Falcon Fuzz - Pacific Dust
3. TGIM - Kiss The Crystal Flake
4. White Headphones - Kiss The Crystal Flake
5. Are You Free - Pacific Dust
6. Cheer Up Champ - Pacific Dust
7. No-Name Darrell - Kiss The Crystal Flake
8. Later Days - Later Days
9. Singing Seems To Ease Me (acoustic live) - Pacific Dust Bonus EP
10. Gone Gone Gone (acoustic live) - Pacific Dust Bonus EP
11. Do It On the Strings - Later Days
12. Payroll Peter - Later Days
13. Lion And The Bull - Pacific Dust
14. Time We Had - Kiss The Crystal Flake
15. Esmerelda - Later Days
16. Hey Emilie - Back to the Grotto
17. Gold Plated - Later Days

Here's one more music video set to a Hips tune. This one I made myself with the help of my GoPro camera.

Holly Beck Opens Women's Surf and Yoga Retreat

2010-03-01T05:50:00.001-08:00

Photo by Nikki Brooks

After spending the last ten years traveling the world for contests and photo shoots, pro surfer Holly Beck will combine her passions for surfing, yoga, and inspiring others to present a unique opportunity for female surfers. Ladies of all ages and surfing abilities will be invited to travel to surf uncrowded waves in warm water while receiving professional-quality coaching and friendly encouragement from one of the icons of the sport.

Suave Dulce Women's Surf and Yoga Retreat will initially be based in a beautiful beachfront home in Nicaragua, but will eventually offer multiple locations throughout Central America and further abroad. Guests will spend time surfing, practicing yoga, eating deliciously healthy cuisine, and also be presented with opportunities to interact with and positively impact the lives of local community members. Beck is partnering with several non-profits already at work within the country to allow visitors the chance to make their vacation more meaningful by doing some good and sharing smiles. Some possible projects include making art and music with local school children, bringing lunches to the poor kids that live at the dump, building water purification systems, and planting trees.

Another main difference between Suave Dulce and other camps is the experience and abilities of the founder. Unlike other women's surf camps where the instructors and guides are often only intermediate surfers themselves, guests at Suave Dulce will be coached exclusively by professional surfers including Holly Beck and her friends.

"The thing I miss most about doing the tour is going surfing with my friends, who happen to be some of the best female surfers in the world. I'm really excited to have this opportunity to bring them down to Nicaragua to surf great waves in warm water and help me inspire other ladies to achieve their goals in surfing while also having a positive impact on the local community," said Beck.

Suave Dulce will open in April 2010.

For more information, see www.surfwithhollybeck.com or contact at suavedulce@gmail.com.

I Love my 5'4" Rusty Dwart

2010-02-26T15:26:00.000-08:00

Let me introduce you to my little friend. This is my Rusty 5'4" Dwart.
It's full dimensions are 5'4" x 19.85 x 2.05. It has four fins, and it likes to fly.

I didn't always like quads. I thought they were fast, but for some reason I didn't like the way they felt when hitting lip. A solid off the top on a quad didn't feel like it had the same satisfying *smack* that I would get from a thruster. Now that i've gotten used to the feeling of the quad, the speed and looseness has more than made up for anything I used to think was lacking.

It's a perfect small wave board, but lately i've been riding it in hollow waves too. The short little board can take off so late and just drop straight into the tube.
Unfortunately I don't have any photos of this yet. But hopefully i'll be posting a few soon.
Thanks to Chris Grant at Jetty Girl for these awesome photos.
And check out Rusty Surfboards to order your own super flying Dwart!

Winter in California

2010-02-12T16:36:00.000-08:00

photo: Randy Ruby

Between mid October 2009 and mid January 2010 I didn't spend more than five consecutive days in my own bed. Sometimes only two nights at home separated a couple of three week long adventures. Sharks in Mexico, well-pumping in Nicaragua, waterfall climbing in Fiji, the holidays in Baja, posing in Panama. It was amazing. But it was exhausting.

photo: Randy Ruby

By February, the best winter for surf in So Cal since i've been a surfer was going full steam. Back to back to back long period swells, days and days of pouring rain. At one point I just stood in the kitchen, stepped away from the sink with a soapy plate in my hand, and stared at the rain pounding the earth in a sudden drenching for the fourth or fifth time that day.

photo: Mike Balzer

It feels good to be home.
I wake up at 5:30 and my boyfriend brings me a cup of strong coffee to sip while I geek out on the internet until it starts to get light. I use a fit ball as my computer chair and every ten minutes or so I roll backwards to glance out the window, checking the flag for wind direction and strength.

Black turns gray and I pull on a beanie knit by my sister, grab my Sector 9 and skate a few blocks to the beach. If it looks good I'm pulling on my 4/3 Vapor and booties, grabbing a Cliff bar to eat while running back down, sneaking under a fence, and trying to block out the ice cream headaches to get a few empty waves before the sun brings the crowd.

It's not always great out front. The waves are exciting but short. A quick little view then a sandbar slamming. But I like not having to get in the car to get there. No parking meter conversations. Running back home to take my wetsuit off under a hot shower.

photo: Dave Hall

Sometimes the afternoon will inspire me to take a long walk down the beach to an overly-crowded rocky point. I've been surfing there since I was 17. The first time I surfed it my high school boyfriend got sent in by a scary local. In a surfing magazine interview from over a decade ago I called it my favorite spot.

I list a different spot in interviews now, and that scary local from long ago is now a friend. I remember a time when beginners and kids stuck to the inside, the shoulder, or didn't show up at all. Priority in the lineup was based on dedication to the spot as much as surfing ability, and if the main guys in the lineup didn't know your name you wouldn't even think of paddling for a set wave. I wish it was still like that. I travel all over the world, sit on the shoulder, take the scraps, bow down to the locals. When I'm at home I take set waves.

It's been about a month now, the longest i've been in one place since September. I'm starting to get antsy. I'm ready to get back into warm water. I want to see the puppies that were born in Nicaragua the night before I had to leave. I'm looking forward to getting my hands on that well pump. There's been a serious drought down there this year and a lot of wells nearby are dry. I've heard mine still has water, but I want to see it for myself.

photo: Mike Balzer

One more month of photo shoots and meetings in California and Taiwan and i'll get my chance. I always seem to be counting days....

I'm Not Afraid of Great White Sharks

2010-01-24T09:58:00.000-08:00

Twenty hours from Ensenada on a boat that rocked ceaselessly, so that even friends who grew up on boats and claimed they’d never been seasick were green, we awoke to a cold sunrise that set rugged vertical brown cliffs aflame in gold.

Waking up to the sight of the barren rocky cliffs of Guadalupe Island, I was shaking with excitement. I was about to be in open water with Great Whites!!!!!

Coated from neck to toe in thick rubber, 7mm dive suit, 5mm booties, gloves, but no hood (wouldn’t look as good in the video), we climbed into cages just big enough for five of us to stand shoulder to shoulder. Something like eight feet long by four feet wide by ten feet high, made of smoothly rounded steel bars, a three foot square trap door in the roof and a metal ladder that allowed access to the open top deck.

Super stoked on my dive buddy Jenna Meistrell!

With a hookah regulator in mouth and weight belt on waist, we are dropped to forty feet like bait in a cage. A small burlap bag of fish parts turns the immediate vicinity blood red when shaken or kicked with a “thunk, thunk, thunk.” Our eyes, searching the deep blue emptiness for shadows. An insistent tap on my shoulder and I turn around to see Jenna pointing into the distance off the corner and all of us cram to that side, eyes wide, as the outline takes shape. A fifteen-foot female great white shark.

Photo: Bernie Campoli

She swims closer, casually. Slowly. Tail graceful and strong, waving side to side propelling her towards us. Mouth relaxed, just open enough to hint at rows of pearly daggers. She passes and disappears.

“Shit, where’d she go?” Searching. Split up to the four directions, and one looking down below. Desperately shadow hunting as our hearts race.

I hop to reach the bottom of the ladder, just slightly negatively buoyant, and pull myself along its rungs ‘til I’m standing. There’s a single waist-level railing along three sides, the fourth totally open. I stand there on top of the cage, my toes hanging over the edge of the fourth unprotected side and soak in the adrenaline. I’m open and exposed in great white shark filled waters.

The initial sensation of delicious danger fades into the emptiness and I try to catch the silvery fish that swim past in a school with my gloved hands. They’re too fast and while the water temp is about 65 and I’m coated in a thick wetsuit, without moving around the cold slowly seeps in. Arms crossed tightly for warmth, I straddle the railing, gripping with my legs as the current and stormy surface above jostle the cage.

Suddenly there’s movement in the cage below. Everyone crowding to one corner, pointing, and I look in that direction. There she is again. She comes from below this time, swimming at an angle up along the cage to pass not more than three feet from me. I could reach out and touch her. Give her a friendly stroke her as she passes. Her big eye close and clear, showing intelligence, curiosity, and confidence. Not one hint of aggression. I’m there within easy striking distance, open and unprotected, but she makes no move to harm me. Just looks. Then keeps on swimming.

Photo: Bernie Campoli

I feel like Timothy Treadwell aka Grizzly Man. There’s a quick moment of almost fear as she comes so close and then intense respect and love as she keeps going. I’m not afraid of being eaten. Even less so now. There are so many ways to die, car crash, plane crash, earthquake, drowning, illness. I wouldn't mind going by shark bite, becoming nourishment for something so awesome.

Jenna Meistrell, Scott Smith, and I with a couple of the crew of the Nautilus Explorer.

Looking for sharks with dive legend and Body Glove founder Bob Meistrell

For a couple videos I made from the experience, click here:

I Like Spending Ten Days in the Same Pair of Jeans

2010-01-21T18:37:00.000-08:00

I like spending ten days in the same pair of jeans. Wiping the knife on my thigh and calling it clean. Getting a solid ten hours nightly – plenty of time to dream.

I like big smooth cobblestones covering the beach. Building fire pits and wind blocks and props for my sore feet.

I like Christmas without presents spent around a campfire. Appreciating that what I have now is all I desire.

I like surfing a wave that goes on forever. Leg burn and arms tired and still more un ridden, paddling back to the top of the pack to be called by name into another without looking back.

I like sand dunes with a line of footsteps and hidden pools of shells. Cacti, and desert emptiness, and myths of danger dispelled.

I like a beanie instead of a hairbrush and no need for a shower. My hair smelling of wood smoke and sea salt instead of a flower.

I like the friends that I met that like these things too. Beach fried turkey, baked brownies, and foraged clams with chanterelles stew.

I like the light of a big blue moon. The Ultimate Warrior waiting his turn, and sea shanties told as the party balls burn.

It was a magical setting that you would not believe.
I like partying with pirates on New Years Eve.

For more from this trip and other adventures check out The Super Camper blog.

I'm not a model, except when I am

2010-01-18T14:56:00.000-08:00

I don’t own a full-length mirror. It was one of the first things I gave away after deciding to radically downsize my “stuff” in preparation to move to Nicaragua. Down in Nica, my house doesn’t have a mirror at all. Not even in the bathroom. If I decide I need to see what I look like, I’ve got to go sneak a peek in the car window reflection or twist my head to check out my mug in the side view mirror. I do own a few sticks of mascara and a tube or two of lip gloss, but their application is reserved for auditions exclusively. Otherwise, I never wear makeup.

Shoveling manure for fertilizer and relaxing with a cold beer and dirty injured bare feet at my other home in Nicaragua.

        I prefer to allow my feet to be rough, tough, and naked. I bite my nails. My body is covered in an increasing number of scars from impacts with surfboards, tropical reefs, and suburban pavement. I’ve never had a manicure or pedicure. My boyfriend cuts my hair with a pair of kitchen scissors. I buy organic, and love a salad made from the garden, but basically I eat whatever I want in large quantities. Fortunately, I have good genes, plus a serious adrenaline addiction that keeps me active enough to burn through an almost-daily enormous burrito prefaced by chips and salsa.

        I’m not a model. And yet, for some reason, people keep asking me to pose as one.

        It started when I was only sixteen, in Cabo, on a trip with Rusty Surfboards. Through a random series of events I found myself the scabby-kneed, boardshort-tanned, totally clueless, un-self-confident surfer amongst a trio of gorgeous, manicured, dyed and bleached, tanning-bedded, food-conscious models. I survived, and was rewarded with a photo of me in a red bikini holding a surfboard that appeared in numerous magazines and a surfboard sponsorship that has lasted twelve years and counting.

The photo that started it all (above) was on this magazine cover, in a Rusty ad in Surfer and Surfing mags and used on Rusty products like school notebooks.

Since then I’ve been on surfing and fitness magazine covers, and learned the subtle and seemingly hypocritical art of ignoring the camera while being conscious of it. I’m well accustomed to walking back and forth, laughing on cue, and staring into the sun without blinking. It’s not really that exciting. I don’t particularly like it. It’s surprisingly exhausting and I’d really rather be surfing. But we all have to “work” sometimes.

Like everything in life, it’s all about the people. If the photographers, stylists, and assistants are supportive, communicative, and sharing positive energy, it makes all the difference in the world. If you feel comfortable in the clothing, even better. If those factors are present and the posing involves a physical challenge then I can say I am actually having fun.

I love photo shoots that involve a challenge. I'll scuba dive with sharks, climb waterfalls, bomb hills on a skateboard, whatever. Give me a physical challenge and have the camera ready!

On my way home from a quick trip to Bocas Del Toro, Panama for a catalog shoot for Athleta I almost wish the shoot was lasting another week. We woke up at 4:30am daily to begin the process of having tangles removed and replaced with curlers. Faces and eyes coated in powdered color. We changed outfits every twenty minutes and were asked to wear sandals constantly, even on the sand. I had a stylist’s hand inside my bikini top and bottoms, constantly adjusting everything. My retinas were repeatedly burned while staring into the sun. I laughed and laughed and laughed at absolutely nothing whenever the photographer asked, which I guess was pretty funny. Sometimes it was a million degrees in the shade and sometimes we had to fight to keep the shivers from taking over. I was reminded of the aboriginal belief that a camera will steal your soul, and while I didn’t feel particularly soul-full, neither did I feel completely soul-less.

Pre-sunrise makeup and curlers.

It rained. The boat broke down. We nearly capsized in big storm surf. I rode a piece-of-crap skateboard switch-stance on a roughly paved road strewn with deadly gravel while carrying a surfboard and looking over my shoulder laughing. I carried an open umbrella while riding a bicycle and posed as a hippy in a hostel while the real hippies ate pork and beans out of a can and stared. I passed up stand-up left tubes at a reef around the corner to pose on a longboard in mushy two footers. BUT by the end, while you might think I’d be desperate and relieved to hop on a plane and jet back to my normal life of pro surfing, I actually felt reluctant to leave.

This is how I felt when I finally got to go surfing!

The large group of people assembled by Athleta and our hosts at Tranquilo Bay were interesting, intelligent, entertaining, and there was not nearly enough time to spend getting to know them all. Despite my momentary feelings to the contrary, it was a lot of fun and I am hopeful that I’ll be invited back on the next shoot.

Adventures in Fiji

2010-01-06T06:46:00.000-08:00

In November 2009, I spent an incredible ten days on the Tui Tai exploring the Northern Fijian atolls. We had so many adventures that I scored a ton of footage and epic photos that I haven't even finished getting through. Here are a few of the highlights. For your own adventure, check out the Tui Tai!

River rock scrambling

2009-12-16T11:30:00.000-08:00

Photo: Chris McLennan

Right at this moment, sitting hurts. I lean against the wall, both legs flat out on the sun bleached wooden walkway, toes just slightly hanging over the edge, but leaning perceptibly to the left. My right butt cheek is bruised like it hasn’t been in quite some time and so I enjoy this rare moment of repose balanced carefully between relaxed pleasure and excitement-numbing pain.

It was a rock that started it. A large black stone worn smooth by the constant flow of falling fresh water lurking beneath the water flow to slow my descent and give me something with which to physically remember the river. We stepped off the boat to find a fleet of mountain bikes perched on seats and hand grips just begging for a workout. Naturally we obliged their wishes, flipping over, hopping on, and pedaling away up a steeply paved road to a monument celebrating the crossing of the International Date Line.

Jenni Flanigan, Kaley Swift, and I, goofing around somewhere between today and tomorrow.

Back on the bikes, back down the hill, giddily savoring the first scent of adrenaline in an at least a week, particularly after noticing my back wheel breaks were all but inoperable. Turned a corner then up a steep dirt track with loose stones and sand that caused my back tire to spin uselessly despite my focused effort. Finally at the top we ditched the bikes in the thick bushes and followed a trail along a river as it wound through alternating pools and falls. Our guide vaguely gestured up river describing waterfalls that could double as waterslides allowing us to glide down the smooth worn stones.

I took off eagerly, barefoot, in just bikini top and boardshorts, to take part in one of my all time favorite activities – tropical river rock scrambling. I purposefully avoided the trail preferring to use both hands and both feet to climb, scurry, leap, cross-step, side-step, and shimmy my way to the top. So caught up in the moment, I went well past the designated starting place to the more intriguing fall at the top. Once I stepped to the center and carefully lowered myself to sitting, letting my legs dangle over the edge, caressed by that cool water, I had my first doubts. It was high and looked a bit rough. The landing didn’t appear as soft as described.

I yelled down to the guide who was just out of yelling range, trying hand signals to ask if it was ok to slide here? His response was ambiguous and I paused a few moments longer, allowing the two photographers to take their places. Cameras raised, they encouraged me, and eventually I suddenly decided to go. I tried bracing with my feet, but it was smoother than it looked and I sat back, mouth open in an exuberant smile, til that rock popped up to give me a slight bounce before splashing into the pool. Ouch!

Photo: Chris McLennan

The pain was forgotten in a flush of adrenaline and pure moment-embracing delirium. I slid and climbed and splashed and sauntered and scurried until the bruise started stiffening and the pain set in. Other than the mountain bike-perched descent down that loosely packed dirt trail at a speed just below out of control, the ride was done while wincing through a dull but growing pain and now sitting here I try to focus my mind on feeling it, on savoring it. I mentally connect it to the feeling of living. I could just as easily be sitting here without the again re-opened scrape on my shin, the slightly stuffy sinuses still hosting river water, and the tender tush, but then again, I also wouldn’t be looking out at the passing island with these electrified eyes.

To see the video from the adventure including video footage of the fall slide that led to a bruised backside, click play below:

Rejuvenation in Fiji

2009-12-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

I am alone.

Sailing on a gently swaying ship I sit with a smile on a bed just for me, looking through a sliding glass door that I can close to keep out the world. Granted, the world is nice here. I gaze through a lightly tinted floor to ceiling window at a textured royal blue ocean occasionally fringed with white as the rolls collide with boat hull or rocky outcropping, and a landscape of smoothly serrated lush green island that parades past unending. After only an hour atop the deck in the sun my shoulders carry the odd scent of sun-scorched flesh that tingles in the surprising coolness of the breezy shade.

this and the next two photos by Tim Burgess

We leapt in turns from the top deck of the boat at a height just enough to send a delicious spike of adrenaline flowing and plunged into the water submersing several body lengths below the surface, to re-immerge in laughter. Internally and externally rinsing the accustomed resigned monotony and grunge of long hours spent waiting and traveling. After a jolting cup of French-pressed caffeine, the collective realization and embracement of our new relaxed situation topped off with a gourmet lunch served outdoors beneath the sails, I retreat and slide my glass door shut, flopping onto the bed to let out the sigh that I’d been holding for days.

I had wanted to escape weeks ago. With four precious consecutive empty calendar days at my feet, I packed up my car with surfboard, skateboard, tent, firewood, books, notebook and pen, and started driving North, alone. Two hours in, my mission thwarted by a phone call from someone wanting something from me I felt obligated to give, I doubled back disappointed. Defeated. Denied. And the solo time my soul was craving vanished with no opportunity in sight for several whole calendar page flips.

The sudden unexpected situation in front of me is therefore even more delicately delicious than could be expected from a ten day surf-focused boat trip to the little explored Northern Fijian atolls with old and new friends. Having spent most of the last few months meeting and traveling with new people (mostly male), to embark on a journey with familiar interesting intelligent females is like a sweet dessert you didn’t realize you were craving until someone suggests you take a bite. The bonus surprise of a private room that I can escape to and relax is the chocolate sauce swirled on the plate.

Surfing in the Rain

2009-11-03T08:32:00.000-08:00

Another excerpt from the novel I'm working on writing. Comments welcome!

It couldn’t start without coffee. Soothing dark brown richness. This and every morning’s first thought. Coffee coffee coffee! The silent symphonic thought mantra that leads me out of this warm familiar bed. Lately I’ve been rejoicing in simple pleasures. This bed that even after more than ten years still cradles me comfortably, even after numerous long months spent apart, often in longing. Strong coffee, readied in the machine the night before, begins brewing at the touch of a button. The bed has its way of rolling me to center and the coffee machine slowly leaks its daily pool of water onto the counter, but I know that about them and accept them for it. The flag out the window speaks to me in a coded language only I can decipher and the treetops echo a second opinion. The Internet is fast and always on, allowing the Santa Monica Bay buoy to offer its statements matter-of-factly. With each glorious sip of coffee the distinct elements of data are interwoven, wind speed and direction, swell height and period, producing an invaluable cheat sheet with which to approach the test of morning. Choose the correct board, get to the right spot, be in the water at sunrise for a rare opportunity to savor this world alone, if only for a few moments.

This morning the flag is screaming, the trees dancing their agreement, the buoy always sober, stately, even with good news, and while those things on another day might make for tongue burning coffee gulps, I’m slowly sipping, concurrently energized and relaxed by the loud rhythms of rain on a thin roof that tells me this morning there’s time.

Even so, excitement gets the best of me and just as it is light enough to see raindrops filling puddles through the window, I pull a thick but stretchy wetsuit from a hanger in the shower. It’s mostly dry from yesterday afternoon’s session. Warming it in front of the wall heater for a few moments, I slip in, one limb at a time, naked underneath. Then toes wriggle into booties that always remind me of Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle feet.

I feel like a ninja in my stretchy rubber suit, padded and protected from the reef, my board, the cold, even the sun. Some people hate wearing wetsuits but I don’t really mind. It eliminates the warm water hassles of head to toe sunscreen application and between duckdive bikini adjustments, and there have been plenty of times a wetsuit-padded sudden sharp impact with surfboard fins left only a colorful bruise instead of the need for stitches.

Stepping outside, surfboard under arm, leash coiled cleanly in hand, I skip down the wooden stairs taking two at a time, squeeze through the small space in the bamboo fence, and saunter down the alley stomping joyfully through ankle submerging puddles. Turning the corner onto the avenue I break into an even jog to more quickly cover the two blocks to the beach. The streets are empty. The café on the corner, quiet. The rain has slowed but the offshore wind is howling, trying to pry my board from me with insistent gusts. The first sight of the surf causes me to grip tighter and run faster. I let out a giddy laugh because there’s no one around to hear and the strong wind is making my usually dismal home beach look like somewhere worth traveling to. I hop a thigh-high wooden fence, slide with control about fifteen feet down a sandy slope then duck down to sneak through a hole that’s been cut in the chain-link fence before charging over the bike path to be finally slowed slightly by the soft sand. The rain is falling strongly again and it’s so delicious and energizing that I can slow down for a moment, take a look around to appreciate this place, this empty beach, the multitude of waves beckoning.

As soon as I hit the water the excitement dulls momentarily and I let out a yelp through clenched teeth. “Geez, it’s cold!” The hands complaining first, then the face and forehead as I duck under an approaching cascade of whitewater. The blood vessels in my head lock up and their excruciating whines stall me for a moment, but I push through the pain and the oncoming waves, helped by that offshore wind and this friendly riptide.

Finally outside, I’m still in awe of the shape of the waves. This beach is definitely not known for shape. It’s where I struggled to learn to surf on short powerful closeouts not well suited for learning. It’s where I spent so many hours dreaming of being somewhere else, somewhere imagined perfect and warm. Then, having traveled to nearly every surfing paradise on earth, spent more hours dreaming of the easy familiarity and appreciated imperfections of home. This morning, however, is one of those rare days where the imperfections are a little more subdued. The short period wind swell brought on by the closely passing storm, breaking up the normal long walls that fall all at once preventing any length of ride, into tapering peaks held up by the strength of the wind long enough to make space to ride inside them, sometimes even allowing a free exit from the tube.

I paddle for a few waves but am blinded by powerfully blown salt spray, preventing a clear look down the line and an accurate judgment of the probability of success. I finally commit blindly to a right with one extra paddle, pushing a little harder to get over the ledge, left hand on left rail, right leg in front bent at hip and knee, left foot placed perpendicular and firmly on the tail, right arm out, hand reading the face of the wave, crouched down low as the lip throws out overhead, enveloping me. I relax and enjoy the view, accustomed and loosely braced for the inevitable thump that comes when the wave runs its course and collapses onto the sandbar with me inside.

The body heat generated while paddling back out slowly warms the sand and cold water that has just been flushed inside my suit during the spin cycle. There’s hardly time to sit up and appreciate the previous ride before an approaching line of sky-reflecting cloudy dark water sends me paddling to the North. With no other surfers to contest me, I push up to my feet, this time facing the wall, left hand reaching, standing tall to enjoy the view of the sandy brown water rushing up and over again. The hole gets smaller and my body reacts in imitation, crouching lower, fingertips in the wave, but that wind is working it’s magic and the hole widens just enough to let me out before the walls come tumbling down.

“Woo-hoo! Did anyone see that?” A look up to the street reveals a lone white van, headlights on. Could be a friend, or just someone needing their own daily look at the ocean, the rain keeping them inside. Out in the water, only a seal for company. Swimming past probably on his way from King Harbor to the rocks of Palos Verdes, popping his head up to stare at me inquisitively. I, taking the time to return the look, to send him my good energy, give him a friendly hello and wish him well, nearly missing another good right coming my way. I take off deep and air-drop to the bottom, but set my rail just in time and it lets me inside again. The open hole with a view of the house-lined hill quickly fades to sand churned foam and I bounce, back first, onto the shallow sandbar.

No harm done besides a little runoff in the sinuses, more sand packed into the ears, and I paddle out thankful for all the mothers warning their kids not to surf after a heavy rain, the lazy community college kids still snoring in bed, and the cold liquid euphoria swirling beneath me and falling from above.

Suddenly, the horizon is looking less oily. There’s a wind line trying to creep around the peninsula and I know my time is limited. The cold is starting to win its hard fought battle with my wetsuit anyways, and I straighten out on a drop into a more expected closeout, and let the shorebreak chase me onto the sand. Walking home slowly, the streets are less empty now and I notice the eyes of drivers stopped at the crosswalk. Everyone reacting a little differently. There’s impatience, but I think I also see admiration. Incredulity and possibly even envy, as I strut through their morning commute smiling, soaking wet from rain and ocean, at eight am on a blustery Tuesday morning in January.

Save the Waves Coalition

2009-11-01T16:26:00.000-08:00

If you love waves and want to protect them, don't worry you are not alone, and yes you can help. But first, a little back story-

Will Henry

Once upon a time there was a nice man named Will Henry who loved riding big waves and wasn't afraid of a little cold water. He picked up on a secret tip from a friend who told of a magical place with big waves, cold water, and very few other surfers. Will bought a plane ticket, traveled across a continent and an ocean to an island many people have never heard of and found the rumors were true. He rode waves and fell madly in love, keeping the secret mostly to himself.
Of course, there's no story without a good villain, a bad guy lurking behind the scenes, hatching evil plans to thwart our hero's enjoyment. In this case (as in so many others) it's a government in the black cape with sinister plans to construct a new coastal road complete with a seawall to protect it from the large waves, which would surely create backwash and alter the lineup. Will's one true love was in danger, but what could he do?

Will went home and tried to get help from other organizations dedicated to these sorts of causes, but found no one to fight along with him. He was forced to form a brand new organization and Save the Waves was born. Tragically, he wasn't in time to save his love from harm, but is now all the more determined to prevent the loss of another.

Save The Waves Coalition is a global nonprofit organization dedicated to protecting and preserving the coastal environment, with an emphasis on the surf zone, and educating the public about its value.

Of course, it all comes down to money. You can gather all the bearded tree-hugging hippies and Che Guevara t-shirt wearing college kids you can find to chant and sing and wave signs to no avail. But turn up with hard data assigning a dollar figure to a resource like a world-class wave, and you might start getting some attention. Which is exactly what Save the Waves and some partners have been doing.

One of the first studies focused on California's big wave jewel, Mavericks. Rather than paraphrase, I'll just cut and paste the press release right here:

Save The Waves Releases “Surfonomics” Study on Mavericks
Study concludes nearly $24 million per year in economic value at the fabled break

October 29, 2009, Half Moon Bay, CA – Save The Waves Coalition announced the preliminary results from its second “Surfonomics” study, a measure of the economic value of the world-famous big-wave break at Mavericks in Half Moon Bay, California. The study found that the surfing site and area has an estimated economic value to visitors of nearly $24 million per year, based on approximately 420,000 annual visitors.

“Mavericks is an iconic, world-renowned surf break that’s truly unique,” said Save The Waves executive director Dean LaTourrette. “This study provides evidence of not just its environmental value, but of its economic value as well. This further reinforces the notion that it and other special coastal areas around the world need and deserve to be protected.”

The study combined the economic value visitors place on the wave with intrinsic or cultural values of a coastal location with a world-class wave such as Mavericks. An important goal of the project was to build a model that can inform decision makers in coastal communities with important waves around the world. While prior studies of the value of waves have focused on the economic impacts of a contest or industry to local economies, this study looked at the benefits that surfing provides to surfers and observers by focusing on the value they place on the Mavericks wave through what they give up to experience it, as well as their qualitative comments.

The study, entitled “The Value of a Wave: An Analysis of the Mavericks Region,” was conducted by University of Hawaii Economic Research Organization, in partnership with the Center for Responsible Travel at Stanford University, under the guidance of Save The Waves Coalition. The study was made possible by a grant from the Morgan Family Foundation, and Mavericks Surf Ventures as well as contest sponsor Jim Beam helped promote and support the study.

The results come just in time for the 2009/2010 Mavericks Surf Contest® opening ceremonies, which will take place at 2:30pm on Friday, October 30, 2009 at Mavericks Beach followed by a reception at 4:30pm at nearby Oceano Hotel & Spa. Save The Waves will be on hand at the event with more detail about the study.

Summary of Key Findings:

1) The wave at Mavericks has an estimated minimum economic value to visitors of $23.9 million per year.1

2) The average visitor is willing to pay a minimum of $56.70 per trip to the Mavericks surf area.

3) Surfers visit the area nearly five times more often than non-surfers and thus accrue more value from the area.

4) The study did not include the Mavericks Surf Contest, which has drawn anywhere from 10,000 to 50,000 people to the area on contest day, and thus results in additional economic value to visitors each year.

5) Almost 90% of the respondents labeled surfing an ecotourism activity, and thus important to the cultural and environmental health of the community. Respondents believed that Mavericks helped to positively define the Half Moon Bay area.

1 Based on estimated visitation levels of 421,431 per year

It's about the waves, but it's also about the people.

And besides doing such great work to protect waves all over the world, the Save the Waves people also happen to be super cool to hang out with. We recently cruised down to Gaviotas for a weekend community building conference and scored perfect weather and pumping surf. Think these guys have good karma? 85 degree weather and overhead swell seem to prove they do!
Check out a few photos from the event. Photos by Sachi Cunningham.

Save the Waves Executive Director Dean LaTourrette

Having a beer with Save the Waves Environmental Director Josh Berry.

Sunset view with plenty of cold cervezas and new friends to get to know.

Did I mention the surf was pumping? By lunchtime on Saturday I'd already surfed for 5 hours, but seeing another perfect set had me fired back up again!

As Dean says, it's all about building community. I was super excited to meet Kathleen Egan and Sachi Cunningham, two incredibly intelligent and inspiring ladies.

Morning coffee talk.

Josh Berry, the Environmental Director for Save the Waves got us all caught up with a few of the projects in the works, as well as representatives from Pro Peninsula and the Ensenada Chapter of the Surfrider Foundation.

After the serious business was finished there was the business of emptying the bottles of tequila and listening to this very important public service announcement on proper spanking technique put on by neighbors. Very educational.

Want to get involved????
Go to the Save the Waves website by clicking this link.
Become a fan of Save the Waves facebook
Hope to see you at the next event!

Life after competitive surfing is a bit greener

2009-10-26T17:11:00.000-07:00

This is home. No electricity, well-pumped water, plenty of hands-on chores to fill the time, a happy little dog, enough land for fruit trees and a vegetable garden, and my favorite surf spot in the world right out front. I can't wait to get back home.

Tow In Wipeout Tahiti circa 2000

2009-10-24T16:24:00.001-07:00

I'm in the process of writing a book. I've been thinking about it for years, and finally started typing out the words, one story at a time. It's fiction. Names, timing, and some details have been changed to protect the innocent (and not so innocent), but overall it is a relatively true account of the stories that have made me the person I am today.

In order to practice getting those stories out there, I figured I'd post a couple on this blog. Below you will find the story of my first tow-in session in Tahiti. From the photo shot by Jim Russi that became a two page spread in Surfer magazine and poster as an advertisement for my then sponsor OP, you can see that the story is true. Although, to make it fiction I have changed the names of the other characters. Comments welcome.

This morning’s orange soda feels like a bad idea and the water bottle at my lips isn’t soothing the boat bumping or my excessive internal carbonation. I’m trying to absorb the shock with my legs, ten tan toes spread wide on the white fiberglass floor. Elbows on knees, noting the scrapes and scuffs from the reef that pulled skin from my shins. Not as bad as Jaqui at least. We’re all wearing headphones. Each of us plugged into our own soundtrack for this ride through the most beautiful water I’ve ever seen. It’s ‘golden hour’ and John’s freaking that we’re missing it. The sun is adding gold to the green of the dramatic mountains behind us, and I don’t really want this ride to end.

The wind in my face warms as the boat slows and gives us a first look. There’s a big wave breaking fast. Without any reference, it’s hard to judge size, but it’s easily bigger than any other wave I’ve ever considered surfing. Teva is driving the ski with Kelia sitting behind him. They’ve been watching it for a while already. They see us and jet over. I’m trying to read her face but she’s already waxing her board. Chris asks if she wants to wear the lifevest, just in case, but she declines. John has already discouraged it. “Won’t look as good in the photos,” he said. I still haven’t made up my mind.

The biggest wave I’ve ever seen is exploding in front of us, sending an invisible wall of energy straight through me. I can do this. I’m scared, but I can do this. Kelia is up on her feet now, holding the rope. They’re circling outside, disappearing from our view as a wave stands up and folds over unto itself, reappearing, still circling, then disappearing again. A blue wave detonates into white. There’s another blue lump behind it and their circles have stopped. The ski is moving fast now from left to right. Kelia is about 15ft behind, holding the rope as the wave grows. It’s still a lump but it’s starting to feather at the top and she lets go of the rope, takes a quick pump for speed, leans down with her back to wave, looking ahead, right hand to outside rail, left arm straight in front as if reaching for an invisible line that will pull her through to safety. The wave starts to fold over her, I hear the rapid-fire clicking of John’s shutter, feel the collective intake of breath of Jaqui, Megan, and myself. The wave is pitching and she’s leaning forward, looking for more speed, I can’t quite see her face, but in slow motion I think I see her eyes, big, and then she’s gone. The wave turns white and there’s another behind it. We’re on our feet now, looking for a head to pop up through the soupy whiteness as the second wave detonates. Megan points and the ski darts in, but can’t get to her. We see her take a breath and her head go below just as an avalanche of saltwater steamrolls through. There’s another wave on her head before Teva picks her up. She climbs into the boat still coughing up water, big eyed, red faced, visibly shaking, she has just started telling the story in short bursts between breaths when someone says it’s my turn. I look at Jaqui and Megan and neither are volunteering. Chris asks if I want the vest and I don’t even think twice. Yes. I grab it and my 6’4”, attach the leash to my ankle, and step from the safety of the boat to the back of the ski. We ride to the outside during a lull and I tell Teva firmly, “I want a small one first”. He laughs as I jump off into the water and tells me to “get ready!”

I sink the board with my hands, balance on my feet while holding the handle of the rope as it goes taught and pulls me to a stand. We circle a few times, let a few lumps pass, and I’m trying not to think. I can do this. He turns back, says, “ok, this one,” and starts pulling faster. I see the lump and smile, maybe. It’s not that big. It’s ok. I can do this. The lump is getting steeper, it starts to break behind me, but ahead it’s a gentle blue slope, a sunny safe bunny hill. I let go of the rope and drop down easily, I can feel the power on my back but I’m safe. It drops me in the channel and there are cheers from the boat. I did it! A rush of energy tingles through me, and now I really want it. I want another one.

I grab the rope and Teva pulls me to the outside. We choose another lump and I let go a little earlier this time. The adrenaline is better than any I’ve had before. I’m in the channel again safely and both arms are up in the air as I yell at the sky. I want another. This time at the bottom, I look over my shoulder at the gaping hole behind me, a vortex of energy. It’s perfectly open. I want to be closer to that. And I don’t need this life vest. I haven’t fallen. I don’t want to be the only one wearing the stupid vest. I take it off and throw it into the boat. John smiles and gives me a thumbs up. The girls nod encouragement.

We head back outside and I tell Teva I want to get barreled. He says I need to let go of the rope a little earlier, do a deeper turn at the bottom to slow down, then pull up into it. Ok. I can do this. I can do this. There’s a lull and I sit back down on my board. It’s peaceful through my jittery excitement. The water is deep blue and calm. The mountains are a gorgeous lively green. The energy infuses me. I feel strong. Alive. I can do anything. I can definitely do this. This is my day. I’m about to get the wave of my life. There are photographers on the boat, my heroes watching. And Teva looks back and says, “get ready”.

I’m on my feet. We make a circle and I see the lump. It looks good. We’re in position, I’ve got plenty of speed and as the lump starts growing I let go a little earlier. The wave is steeper from back here but I get to the bottom and stall a little, draw out the turn, then point back up slightly, I bend my knees and lean forward into a crouch as the wave starts to fold. I’m connected to the blue on one side and a crystal clear blanket of water is up over my head, then falling onto the other side, until I can see the boat framed by an almond-shaped porthole. It’s the most amazing view I’ve ever had. A fantasy realized. Perfection. And then the hole closes and I’m underwater.

I pop right up and the ski picks me up immediately. No problem. I’m safe. That wasn’t bad at all. I can do this. I want another one. I want to make it. I need to see that view again! I tell this to Teva. He says the smaller ones are pinching. I need a bigger one if I want to make it. “Just do the same thing you just did, that was perfect,” he tells me, “we’ll wait for a bigger one now.” Ok, I can do this. I’m imagining the photos, the video, the high fives. I’m about to get spit out of the biggest tube I’ve ever seen in real life. I’m about to get a wave I’ve never even dreamed of. Teva is sitting side-saddle on the ski, relaxed. He’s lighting a joint. I can smell the sweet smoke and I wonder why he’s doing that now. And then suddenly, joint between lips, he turns and grabs the handles, says, “ok, get ready.”

I’m on my feet again and I’m looking at the lump approaching. Not just one this time, but four or five in a row. We start to circle and I figure we’re gonna wait for one of the last ones but he’s already turning and starting to pull in a straight line. He looks back and yells, “this one, go!” I’m looking at the lumps approaching. So much energy stacking, inevitably approaching. If I don’t make this one, I’m taking the rest on the head. If I don’t make it, it’s not going to be as easy. If I don’t make it….
I let go and drop down. It’s bigger than any of the ones before and I’m further back. I’m doing the same thing I did last time but this one isn’t the same. I get to the bottom, slow down a little, then pull back up and the whole ocean is bottoming out, rearing up, folding over me. The entire Pacific Ocean is swallowing me whole. I see the boat again in front of me, but it’s too far away. The wave is jacking and I’m inside the barrel of my life, but there seems to be a bend in the wall in front of me. If I don’t make it…. I panic. I freeze. I’m not thinking. A misguided instinct pushes me off my board and into the wave face. For a split second I’m motionless in soothing warm water. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet. I unreasonably think I’m safe. Then I’m being lifted up slightly, moving laterally maybe, and then falling, falling, falling. Falling for a really long time. Falling long enough to actually think, “wow, I’m still falling!”

I don’t remember the impact. I do remember feeling strangely calm. I was underwater, deep, spinning, but strangely relaxed. I wasn’t sure which way was up, but felt for my leash and then pulled myself along it, the buoyancy of my surfboard leading me up towards the surface. I broke through the foam and took a big breath, which somehow totally ended the relaxation. Maybe it wasn’t the breath but the next, bigger wave, breaking right in front of me. I looked for the ski. It was right there in the channel but that wave was surely on a path to get to me first. Teva yelled at me, “take off your leash and dive!” But, my leash was what brought me to the surface on the last one. I ignored his advice and dove. It hit me suddenly and spun me upside down, sideways, and in ways I can’t recall. I tried to relax, tried not to fight it. When the turbulence slowed I grabbed for my leash and climbed it to the surface again. By this time I was pushed a litter closer to the channel but there was another wave coming, Teva yelled again and this time I listened. I reached down, un-strapped my ankle and dove. When I came up, the ski was right there. He pulled me up behind him and I wrapped my arms around his broad back, shaking. “That was a good one huh? What happened?” he asked, laughing. We picked up my board and he dropped me in the boat.

Surf Stronger Fitness and Performance Camp

2009-10-02T06:28:00.000-07:00

Remember camp? You went away for a little while, made new friends, hung out in a different part of the world, pretended to listen while the camp counselors made their little speeches, and totally exhausted yourself with all kinds of games, late night antics, and maybe even developed a crush on a fellow camper.

Those were the days, right? Too bad camp seems relegated for junior-highers only.....

Wrong!

The Surf Stronger Fitness and Performance Camp is an innovative fun-filled weekend where kids of drinking age can come together, make new friends, exhaust themselves, listen to camp counselors (although now they are called coaches) give speeches, and possibly develop a crush on a fellow camper (or even a coach).

There were bonfires, BBQs, plenty of alcoholic beverages, and enough Guayaki Yerba Mate to fuel a solid 48 hours of surfing, stand-up paddleboarding, yoga, TRXing, soft sand runs, buoy swims, video analyzing, and general good time having.

More seriously, the Surf Stronger Fitness and Performance camp is a way for surfers to get a chance to spend a weekend working on improving both their fitness and surfing ability.

I've said it before, and i'll say it again.... I "heart" camp.

Surf Stronger coach Scott Adams psyching to start up the weekend.

The group getting to know eachother on day one.
Surf Stronger co-founder Todd Walsh with super bro Jason Leggitt.
Camp began with a light yoga workout.
Coaches Scott Adams and Holly Beck, talking strategy and goals for the weekend.
Jason Anderson and Jim Hernandez BBQd up some amazing organic pizzas. So good!

Team NY, getting to know eachother.
Bonfire surf stories

Coach HB, loosening up.
Scott led the crew in a pre-surf dynamic warmup.

As the crew hit the water, Scott manned the video camera to film the session.
Indy is a ski racer from Colorado who was excited to come out to California for a little cross training and to work on his surfing skills.
Indy, getting a few tips from coach.
Nick lives at Ocean Beach, San Francisco and wanted to work on his wave selection. Here he is selecting a nice one.
Brendan, working on his cross-step.
Crawford Pierce is Indy's ski coach, who was stoked on the opportunity to be coached by the Surf Stronger team.
Holly, demonstrating the art of walking the nose.
Crawford and TW getting ready to do some stand-up paddleboarding.
Coach TW explains how to hold the paddle.
HB leading Nick into the shorebeak.

Coach Holly, demonstrating for the ladies.

Tom, loving it!
After a four hour surf session, a light lunch, the stand-up paddle board lesson, it was time for a killer 90 minute workout incorporating the TRX.
And finally, a little relaxation!

Team Colorado, stoked!
The coaching staff, all smiles.
Sunday morning pre-surf warmup.
Tom and Samara, sharing a moment.
Coach Scott took a break from the video camera to catch a few waves.

Samara would be napping right now if not for the delicious energy boost from Guayaki Yerba Mate.
Coach HB, surf satisfied.
Holly and Kristen, going over the results of the weekend and goals for next time.

Didn't make it for this camp? Don't worry, there will be more!
Check out the Surf Stronger website for updates or become a fan on facebook by clicking here: Surf Stronger fan page!

Looking back on a former world view

2009-10-01T09:13:00.000-07:00

In the summer of 2000, I was in my second year of college at UCSD. I'd only been surfing about four years and it had already become the biggest thing in my life, and all-consuming passion that drove every decision. I was getting paid to surf, almost enough to live on. I'd won my first professional contest, starting traveling a bit to compete. I had sponsors, photos in magazines, and people wanting my autograph. It was all very new and exciting, trying to find my place within the pro surfing world that I desperately wanted to be a part of.

Somehow someone chose me to be the subject of an episode for Voice of America - a US run propaganda machine that pumps out human interest stories for the rest of the world to admire. A reporter with a camera followed me around for a couple of weeks and filmed my life. I had mostly forgotten about the whole experience until I came across the tape while cleaning out some old boxes of keepsakes. I imported it, added some of my own commentary, and uploaded to YouTube.

silly little me....

California is Beautiful Roadtrip

2009-06-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

Eager as a headlight on a northbound train
While running on rubber through Steinbeck country
Beneath greedy gray clouds
Hoarding their stash of soothing rain

California is beautiful.

It hadn't been too long since I'd taken a drive up the California coast. A few months before I loaded my two high school aged sisters in the car and introduced them to Big Sur, Santa Cruz, the Monterey Bay Aquarium, tent camping, and 'smores over an open fire. Still, my energy had been focused on making sure they were having a good time, rather than quietly taking it in for myself.

On a cloudy Saturday morning I set off with a mug full of coffee, ipod full of new music, and an eager smile, looking forward to spending a long drive in the car solo.

My first destination, Los Gatos, to meet up with the Surf Stronger crew.

Scott Adams and Todd Walsh of Surf Stronger.

The boys at Surf Stronger have put together an innovative series of warmup, stretching, and workout tips and techniques specifically targeted to surfers that are available on their website. Definitely check it out! Their next project is a surfing specific workout using a new piece of equipment called the TRX.

Designed by a former Navy Seal captain who needed a way to keep the Seals in top phsyical shape while waiting to deploy, the TRX is a workout solution that is lightweight, totally travel-ready, and can be used anywhere to train the total body. Attach it to anything overhead, a tree, lifeguard tower, door, even an SUV roof rack, and you are ready to go.

They needed a test dummy for the video and I volunteered. I do not like to workout, but I figured it was a good excuse to take a road trip to San Francisco, so why not?

Luxury accommodations at the Nob Hill Motel.

Todd Walsh was nice enough to draw me a killer little map of the must-see sights in that part of the city. I was super stoked to find the Fields Book Store - "Soulful and scholarly books from the world's spiritual traditions" - definitely my kind of place. I spent about an hour inside and ended up walking out with an armload of books.

I didn't buy this one, and right now I am definitely regretting that. What was I thinking passing up a manual of practical teleportation and time travel? Damn!

San Franciscan sights...

Fast forward to the following afternoon, in the TRX training center for the video filming.

Coach Scott Adams and I, verbally rehearsing.

It might not look like much, but the TRX provides a gnarly full body workout!

After six hours of filming and only a few exercises needing to be done over because I didn't "make it look hard enough" (it's not hard when you're having fun!) the whole crew was smiling.

The next morning with the job done and the schedule open, Todd Walsh volunteered to give me a walking tour of a few of the coolest places in the city.

I then took the opportunity to visit my Aunt and Uncle in Fremont and savor some of Uncle Gary's famous smoked meatloaf. Amazing!

After a night with family, I took the road South, choosing the 1 along the picturesque Big Sur coastline.
Driving down a windy road lining fog-filtered cliffs
Light reflecting
Waves of emotion
Breaking through the mist.

Next stop, my college roommate Katy Walker's home in Los Osos to sample her husband Brett's homebrew. Good stuff!

Finally, I stood on stage as a guest lecturer and told a class of UCSB Geology of Surfing class students about my trip to West Africa.

Professor Stuart Sweeney tried to talk me into hanging out and surfing Campus Point afterwards, but as you can see, it didn't look very enticing. So I got in the car and kept on driving South.

Quite a few empty mysto LA County nooks nearly inspired a paddle out, but after getting a call from a friend saying the surf at home was pumping, I raced back to the South Bay to find booming beachbreak windswell.

Excited to be home, I threw on my wetsuit, ran down to the beach and pushed through thumpy closeouts with tired muscles. The water was warm, salty, and invigorating.
A couple of days later after the muscles fully recovered from that six hour workout, I felt stronger than I ever had before.

I don't like to workout, but I want to be surfing stronger and can no longer deny that working out is necessary sometimes. Fortunately with the TRX, it feels a lot like play.

Surf Stronger TRX workout coming soon....

Check out Surf Stronger videos so you too will be surfing stronger...

Surf Stronger Vol 1
Surf Stronger Vol 2
Surf Stronger Complete Workout

Filming for Beautiful Wave

2009-06-23T16:01:00.000-07:00

I've tried to be an actress a few times. There was Jr. High drama class, one year of high school drama, a few skits back when I was going to church camp in the summers, but nothing too serious. As a blonde-haired surfer girl living in LA with that "classic Californian" look, I've been invited to audition for a few commercials. After I was at the top of the pack but still turned down by Coke, Dodge, and NetZero, I had pretty much given up. I even read for the lead of Blue Crush and a few other pilots by the same director with no success.

Finally, last summer Microsoft thought I was cool enough to use and I had my first acting job. All I had to do was ride a longboard at tiny Leo Carillo and read a few lines like "I'm a PC and I ride longboards". It was a fun day, I made a little money, and was stoked for the next few months every time I deposited a residual check. It also built up my confidence a bit.

When a friend of a friend called to tell me about a new independent feature film called Beautiful Wave, "a coming of age story about surfers but not necessarily about surfing," it caught my interest. I was asked to drive to Burbank to read for one of the main characters. In the past I shied away from those sorts of things, but this time I really liked the character and embraced the opportunity.

I felt confident at the audition and left feeling good about it. The director even emailed me the next day to let me know that I was his first pick for the character but that the money guy in Dubai would be making the final decision. I was cautiously excited.

Of course, the money guy in Dubai liked another more experienced actress better even though she didn't surf at all. The director apologized and promised to write me into the script somehow.

I ended up playing the part of a lifeguard that gives the main character a couple of tips in the water at Malibu and pushes her into a few waves. Once again it ended up being an incredibly fun couple of days with great people including the orignial Gidget, Kathy Kohner Zuckerman. Stoked! I can't wait to see the finished project.

Beautiful Reaper

2009-04-17T13:11:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Chris Lundy's Beautiful Reaper

Beautiful Reaper

Slow motion moment
Brushed color in parceled time
One step closer…
Head tilted just a little to the side
Noticing surprising undulations rippling along
What is no longer emotional flatline

Colors that soothe
Still strangely arresting
Silent energy that tantalizes
With deep neuronal activation
Touches the body and intrigues the mind
And arouses a giddiness -
That giggling addiction of tip-toeing off kilter
A visual representation of sensations
That I’m for some reason ceaselessly subconsciously seeking to find
Foci amidst distraction
As time continues it’s unwind

--

Heart beats
beat beats
beats faster
pounding deck
blurring lines
arms pumping
lungs drumming
sudden realization
of vital water becoming unkind
caught helpless
in temporary trepidation
then all but appreciation, resigned
in the realized perfection of present moment
brushed in color
psychosomatically sublime

--

heartbeat
beat beats
of another
serendipitous split second seduction
that sparks a fantasy into branching time
attracted by misperceived and exaggerated beauty
with a forced denial of reality’s brine
as deep blue molecules are rising
catching the hopeful paddler
in a familiar drama
again mistimed
another martyr to the beautiful reaper
yet somehow energy still attracting
as a look to the beach reveals
a seemingly endless parade
of pitiably pretentious paddlers
eagerly clamoring in line

Visible Connections

2009-03-26T08:12:00.000-07:00

tall trees reaching upwards
all we see are stalks
grown thick and gnarled with stubble
perching points for hawks
standing tall in timelessness
a maze for scurrying squirrels
a ladder towards the heavens
for a barefoot adventurous girl
a connection to the Source
for those of us dreaming below
visual reminder
of that which we already know
connections forming between us
and higher and higher we grow

Contagious Newness - North Shore 2009

2009-02-24T10:26:00.000-08:00

Rocky Point

I first sunk into the thick grainy sand of the infamous North Shore of Oahu a little over a month after my seventeenth birthday, back in 1997. I had just gotten sponsored by Rusty and before the dream of seeing Pipeline had even formed in my young mind, I found myself staying at the legendary Jerry Lopez Pipe house with a view of the wave from my bedroom window. I was in awe. I remember meeting Joel Tudor. He stood on the front porch and asked me if I had ever tried to surf an entire session switchfoot. I'll never forget it.

I've made the pilgrimage every year since then, spending anywhere from a quick ten days to a full two months. I've surfed Pipe myself (albeit very small), had my bikini bottoms ripped off on a heavy duckdive during a photo shoot at Log Cabins, gotten one of the tubes of my life at very crowded Gas Chambers, spent hours and hours paddling against the current at Rockies, scared out of my mind at Sunset, competed at Haliewa, Pipe, and Turtle Bay, bounced by the backwash at Makaha, and scraped on the reef at V-Land. I've scored countless breakfast sandwiches at Ted's Bakery, Teriyaki chicken sandwiches at Wailua Bakery, pupus at Haliewa Joes, and mourned the loss of Taste of Paradise, Kammie's Market, and Sunset Pizza. I've watched the North Shore grow and change, been apart of reality tv shows, Triple Crown house parties, and generally been another regular performance in the annual circus.

The North Shore bike path

This year, I didn't want to go. After elleven years of the same old thing, I just couldn't motivate to make the pilgimage. I needed a break. I stayed home and wore my thick wetsuit. Sometimes in looking at photos posted on friends' facebook pages I regretted my decision. After a particular cold morning of way too many ice cream headache duckdives, I had a minor freakout. I needed warm water! Fortunately, that afternoon I got a call from a friend saying she was headed out to the North Shore for the first time and was wondering if I could recommend a hostel. I quickly volunteered my services as tour guide and travel agent, booked us a house across the street from Rockies, and that was it. I was going to the North Shore afterall - me, and three 18-19 year olds!

sets stacking at rockies

our view of sunset from the balcony

Emily aka "Em-dogs" Wratchskoo

Blue Crush

There's nothing like hanging out with 18 year olds to remind yourself of the pure joy in surfing and surf travel. It was exactly what I needed.

Natalie Anzivino loves Hawaii

the pipeline

Lisa Tuttle just had to get her shave ice!

Em-dogs' broken board

Natalie's 18th birthday

Another blurry morning

2009-02-13T14:18:00.000-08:00

After a solid week of amazing surf, all day offshore winds, and sunny, 75 degree, perfect January-in-California weather, the clouds finally came, bringing rain but not stopping the waves. On the last morning of that flurry of great surf, I was exhausted. I woke up stiff and sore, surf satisfied. Over a cup of Silver Joes coffee, I sat in front of my computer, a morning ritual, and checked the buoy readings, the tide, and my facebook page - waiting for the light of day to send me a signal that it's time load up the car and drive between surf spot options. In the few moments between seeing that first sign of sun and grabbing my wetsuit, I typed out a collection of words that described my feelings at that moment (see below, along with some photos from that wonderfully exhausting week).

Rain drip drops on another blurry morning
Shoulders stiff neck cries
Arms lying that they’re ready for more movement
Ready…
Plenty of options but no solid plans
No plane ticket waiting no airplane gating
No boardbag jet lag rehab calendar dating
Home and the smell of olive oiled garlic and onions
On a worn out pan near a reliable knife
A lovingly familiar comfortable life
Strong coffee mornings waiting for light
The flag out the window tells me is all right
Offshore again for the second week in a row
Red yellow colors still swirling
Pixilated on my computer show
As I sit waiting, watching, considering where to go
Slurping that coffee, cool now, last sip
4/3 and booties still stinking with drip
from yesterday afternoon’s kelp clogged mind-freeing trip
legs still remembering the hike up the cliff
sunset ingrained and the need for a 6’6”
6’1” buckled on an inside cylinder
5’11” speared by a clueless beginner
but there are others in my VW ready for their chance
to glide beneath my feet in an un-choreographed wave dance
there’s a warm sun rising to pinken the clouds
and a familiar song being sung out loud
more lines coming long and true
it’s time to load up, set off, suit up, paddle out, take off, pull in,
and enjoy the view.

photo: Mike Balzer

this and the next 2 photos: Chris Grant/Jetty Girl

photo sequence by Mike Balzer

Crystal Ball Waterfall

2008-09-25T08:33:00.000-07:00

I wrote this a while ago and copied it into a thick notebook with so many other entries for my eyes only. But based on the positive feedback generated by the Galloping Time post, I decided to share this as well.

There’s a crystal ball at the top of that mountain.
I’ll race you to it.

Barefoot feet slip-sliding up red silty mud,
toes dodging rocks dodging tree roots
dodging too much thinking
dodging not enough time.
Birds sing encouragement,
But chorus foreboding.

Just my breath and yours behind
Huff puff puff in the hot heavy air
A trickle of sweat down the bumps of my spine
And a shiver to follow, knowing you’re there,
Not so silently stepping in line

Eyes down to the ground then up to the peak
Clouds boiling storm forming
Suggesting immediate retreat
With a sharp crack of thunder and an inaudible repeat
But its answers at the top I seek

Rounding the bend beneath draperies of vines
Past dark caverns of mystery
With echoes of the past, warnings scrawled inside
A thumb-drumming rhythm for those who seek to rhyme

Now grayness turns liquid
And I raise my tired eyes
Remembering the strange TV-static window display on that last plane ride
Mesmerized momentarily by a drone of droplets
succumbing to a gravity-induced demise
And would you look at that? You can’t even see the tears in my eyes

You pause to find shelter but I won’t turn back
Onward and upward and no looking back
Faster now, up a narrower track
Stepping through thorn-berries so blue they look black
More sweetness crushed beneath my sharp toes
With spiking thorns as well, still up I go
To reach the summit imagined so long
Crystal ball promising a revelation song
To the point I might realize I got it all wrong

Suddenly upon spying the place
That promised to outline every event in space
And time
I stop
To look
In front and behind
Realizing now the words to the tune in my mind

There I stand with eyes shut tight
Hands unclenched shoulders upright
Chin to the sun resting behind clouds
Then hesitantly I start singing aloud
A song for none but me to hear
Remembering now what was once so clear
It doesn’t matter where I go from here

And maybe I will sleep tonight
Remembering
The decision I make is always right

Tahitian Sting-Rays

2008-09-12T13:10:00.000-07:00

I was upside down and underwater at the time, completely ignoring the cameraman trying in vain to get me to move a little slower, when I finally completely shut out the cameras and lost myself in the moment. With each quick delicious gulp of oxygen allowing me another dizzying dive a few feet beneath the surface to dance a rhythmic tantric twirl with a trio of sting rays I took a brief pause to thank that mysterious life force to which most people attribute to “god” for my good fortune to be fit and healthy and interacting with such unusual friends.

It had been a wild ride thus far. Two weeks as a professional contest spectator, one week tackling the waves myself, a handful of frenzied shark dives, and now, free of microphone, surfboard, tank and regulator, let loose in the warm clear water to play.

And oh what unexpectedly eager playmates!

Sure, they are technically no less life-threatening than the sharks. These are the same type of rays that killed the Crocodile Hunter and their powerful barb can be seen extending about six inches from their bodies, sitting flush to the tail. But they are docile and used to being hand fed by snorkelers. They were curious and completely friendly. The tail itself is rough and scratchy but their bodies are smooth and soft to the touch, and when they swim across you it almost tickles. Maybe i'm crazy, but I wasn't even slightly worried about being stung.

Alex, however, was significantly less trusting. The moment he jumped overboard, a pair of large rays rushed him, looking for food. Thoughts of the strange end of the seemingly invincible Crocodile Hunter caused him to break into a protective karate stance to fend off what seemed like aggressive underwater monsters. Fortunately, neither Alex nor the rays were injured in the altercation.

I was given a handful of raw fish to hand feed the rays. They would cruise along slowly until catching a whiff of the treat and then veer abruptly back towards the scent.

The rays don't have sharp teeth, but they do have a hard abrasive mouth that accidentally caught my fingers a few times, only once slightly breaking the skin.

This guy was nice enough to actually give me a ride, pulling me along at surprising speed.

I could insert a paragraph here about the feelings associated with the experience, the pure joy and exuberance felt after interacting with those amazing creatures, I could keep on describing in minute detail exactly what it was like, or I could just let my eyes in the above photo tell the story...

All photos by Justin Lewis
www.justinlewis.com

Tahitian Shark Bites

2008-09-03T07:30:00.000-07:00

all photos: Justin Lewis

From mosquito bites and home cooked meals we motored across the channel to the island of Moorea to indulge in ocean-hovering honeymoon bungalows, umbrella drinks, and the promise of big sharks.

I'm a warm water diver. While I do seriously enjoy the sport, I haven't become addicted as I am to surfing. I'm content to pull out the gear only a few times a year if it means rolling off a boat into warm clear water with big critters. The whale shark in La Paz was large and exciting, the reef sharks in Kona were the first i'd ever seen, and definitely intriguing, but I wanted teeth, and lots of them, up close. I wanted to be a little scared.

Still, it was a little strange to pull up in a boat, look overboard, see at least twenty sharks circling, and excitedly leap into the water. That would never happen on a surfboard, but for some reason, it's different in dive gear.

Cheyne, Alex, and I, throwing hand signs. Even when posing, i was thinking about sharks!

Turtles are cool.

This guy gave my finger a little nibble when I didn't release the food quickly enough!

There isn't a whole lot to do underwater. You breathe in and out, kick around slowly and peacefully, appreciate the calmness underwater, watch fish, look for sharks, and during photo shoots, you pose. As pro surfers, Cheyne, Alex, and I are well accustomed to being filmed, but on scuba without being able to talk to the camera, the challenge is more difficult. We each dealt with it in our own way.

Alex exhausted every pose and hand signal he could come up with. See below:

Cheyne is a hunter. He continually caught Remoras with his hands, and since he was not allowed to use his spear gun, he pulled his knife out and thrust it at every fish that came close enough. (no fish were harmed)

Cheyne did make friends with a big friendly eel and even tickled him under the chin. I even got a pat in myself and was surprised by how soft he was.

An 8ft lemon shark showing his toothy grin.

I was off chasing sharks.

In my initial excitement of seeing a shark larger than me with visible teeth, I just wanted to follow it around. After our first dive the photographers told me not to chase it. He said that if I stayed in one place, the shark would make a pass, then orbit around for another. If I was calm and didn't blow too many bubbles, each pass would be made closer and closer. It was interesting to watch the sharks seemingly disappear and then return in a big circle, over and over.

After the initial fascination diminished slightly, we set to the task of getting "the shot". The goal was to have the shark pass between the cameraman and I, which turned out to be tricky. We spent an entire dive trying to wrangle the shark into the right position and although we got pretty close, we never got the "money shot".

At the conclusion of every dive, the dive masters would empty the tube of fish heads and bait that had been used to attract the live entertainment. Then the sharks would swarm in a feeding frenzy and actually look like sharks, rather than the harmless underwater pit bulls that had been orbiting previously, very friendly but only up to a point. By the time the action occurred however, most of us were low on air and watching from high above at a safety stop. Realizing this was “the shot”, the producers then asked the dive masters to release the bait earlier in the dive in order to capture the feeding action with “talent” (us) in the frame.

Eyeing a hungry reef shark. In the background you can see the dive master holding a chunk of tuna pre-bite while other sharks swarm and Alex and Cheyne hover safely, well above.

On our next dive when I saw the master heading for the tube of bait I followed him and positioned myself about an arm’s length away, although my arms were safely folded close to my chest. As the sharks darted in and out between us, I was in awe and ecstasy. One black tip circled around and charged me at eye level to the point that I thought it just might head-butt me right in the mask, but then turned away at the last possible second. The dive master was holding a big chunk of tuna in his bare hand and one overly zealous shark took an accidental little nibble of human skin along with his breakfast of fish. The dive master surfaced, calmly bleeding from the finger. It was only a tiny flesh wound, not even worthy of a stitch, but technically a shark bite nonetheless. Strange even to myself, I felt a tiny tinge of jealousy. I’m unsure of the type of pathology that would lead one to consider it cool to be bitten by a shark, but somehow I find myself diagnosed in that category. I realize that of the most likely ways to go based on this lifestyle; plane crash, drowning in big surf, or shark bite, I would prefer the latter. I feel that it would make me “one” with the shark, and however crazy it seems, that thought is strangely appealing. Alex and Cheyne both firmly disagree.

Diving is relaxing.

Post-dive smile.

Sunset cocktail.

Next time.... underwater acrobatics with killer sting-rays!

Tahiti 2 - Drop Zone Teahupoo

2008-08-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

After two weeks in Tahiti covering the Billabong Pro for Go211.com, I shifted gears when team Body Glove arrived. From watching, reacting, and discussing the action as a spectator, I jumped into the mix myself as an actor and participant for the filming of Drop Zone - a diving and surfing film produced by Body Glove and PADI.

For this adventure, I packed up my boardbag and moved down the road from the Billabong house to Mommy and Poppy Maoni's home, situated right on the water with a view of Teahupoo.

Photographer Justin Lewis and surfer Alex Gray, show off their accommodations.

Like before, the home was converted into a place for guests by packing the rooms with beds. Boys upstairs (shown above), girls down below.

Team Body Glove and Drop Zone co-stars: Alex, Cheyne Magnussen, and I

Alex is a good lookin' kid!

Cheyne is one of the coolest guys ever, as well as one mean spearfisherman.

Team Body Glove showed up to the dreaded, "you should have been here yesterday" situation. Whereas the day before Teahupoo had been heaving to the point where I was quite content to sit and watch from the safety of the boat, the first morning of the Drop Zone trip looked to be much calmer. The boys were disappointed, but I wasn't. With five cameras on hand to document the adventure (more cameras than surfers!) I wanted the waves to be manageable, especially the first day.

Walking out to board the boat, quiver in hand, smile on face, butterflies in stomach.

What am I listening to? "Stranger Things Have Happened" - Foo Fighters

We motored out to the lineup full of anticipation.

Without the contest circus in town, the channel lineup was much more mellow.

I was thrilled that the waves looked smaller and perfect.

this, and the next 3 photos by: Josh Humbert

Back on the boat, stoked to have scored a few little tubes on day 1.

Cheyne, further proving that there is a right at Teahupoo.

this photo and most others by: Justin Lewis

There were many interviews.

When the swell dropped significantly, we had the chance to try to get "the money shot". Since the goal of the trip and the film was to highlight the wonderfully complementary sports of surfing and diving, the producers wanted to capture a shot of both at once. I was chosen to be the diver with Transworld Surf's Justin Cote as the surfer.

I never thought I would be scuba diving on the reef at Teahupoo!

The view from below was worth checking out!

Here, i'm trying not to be tumbled onto the reef by the wave action, as Justin takes off above.

No, that isn't a gas mask.

Next up, underwater interviews! I was fitted with a specialized mask and microphone that would capture my words underwater. It was a little strange to be scuba diving without a regulator in my mouth, but once in the water the mask was actually really comfortable. In order to be heard I had to press a button on the mouth area.

My first underwater interview for filmer Tom Holden aka "the legend"!

Another day of small surf led us to look for other photogenic experiences. Local black pearl farmer and surf photographer, Josh Humbert, suggested we boat around the island to hike up to a waterfall. A massive fan of barefoot hiking, I was thrilled.

On the way, we spotted a rocky cliff to climb and jump off. Cheyne and I dove in immediately, swam over and began to scurry up.

Cheyne went for an insane backflip, but I just did the standard feet-first, loud-yelping jump.

We then swam from the boat up to a rocky beach.

Barefoot hiking over large smooth boulders might be my favorite non-surfing activity. These rocks were just textured enough to be easily toe-grippable and smooth enough not to hurt, so we ditched our sandals and let our toes do the exploring. We stepped through soft leaf covered reddish brown mud that squished delightfully through the toes, then into shallow cool refreshing pools, on our way to the towering waterfall and cold deep pool at the end.

The energy was delicious.

I didn't want to leave.

this and many of the preceding photos: Josh Humbert

Raimana is "the man" in Tahiti. One of the original local surfers and still one of the hardest charging when Teahupoo is huge and life-threatening, we were lucky to have him as our guide. He knew the lineup perfectly and was priceless when it came to getting waves. Seeing me struggle to be in the right spot and score waves from the aggressive boys, he paddled out and sat next to me. He would say, "stay close to me, babe," and I listened. When he told me to paddle, I paddled, then he would say, "this one, go, go, go!" Having him there removed most of the fear and all of the need for thought. Instead of spending too much time analyzing and considering whether the approaching wave might kill me or not, and then missing the opportunity to catch it, I trusted Raimana and when he told me to go, I went.

On the biggest day I paddled out, the swell was coming of of the West. Swell direction plays an important role in the way the waves break on the reef and is very noticeable. If the swell is mostly from the South, the waves peak at the top of the reef and move along it mostly evenly. You have more time to get into the wave, get to the bottom, and set your line before the tube. When the swell is more Westerly, it doesn't break at the top, but focuses all the energy to heave on the end section of the reef called the West bowl. Those waves are much more difficult to get into. You have to take off behind the peak in order to get tubed. On this day the swell was from the West and I was scared. I caught a couple smaller waves and then paddled around for an hour without catching anything.

Finally, Raimana swam out to me. He sat next to me and started coaching me. He told me when to sit patiently, when to scratch towards the outside to avoid a big set, and which waves to try to take. As I lay there on my board, he had one hand on my foot. I felt totally safe in that position. Finally, a bigger wave came and he told me to paddle. He swam along side of me and as the wave began to crest, he gave my foot a strong shove, propelling me into it with an extra burst of speed that helped me get down the face. I stood up, made the bottom turn, stalled to try to get tubed and the powerful spit covered me for a second. Cheyne was on the inside and was stoked to see me get one and cheered me on with arms raised. I pulled out safely in the channel and very grateful to Raimana. (see sequence below)

Next up, diving with sharks on Moorea!

Tahiti 1 - Billabong Pro Teahupoo

2008-08-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

I had been to Tahiti for the first time back in 2000. It was a life-changing and memorable trip designed to capture cover shots for SG magazine that became the background for many firsts. I did secure my first cover shot, a frontside turn at the super fun left called Hapiti on Moorea. I also broke a board (not quite a first) and greatly improved my barrel riding skills. It was the first surf trip that forced me to find a way to overcome fear every single session. The omnipresent danger factors of powerful waves heaving onto shallow colorful reef culminated in the unforgettable first of towing into large waves in a session during which in the span of about twenty minutes I claimed the biggest wave, the biggest barrel, and the biggest wipeout of my life. One of those waves would haunt me in dreams for years with the dreaded, "if only..." feeling.

I had been back to Tahiti in 2006, but other than a brief stop in the airport before heading over to an outer island, I hadn't revisited the main island. In May 2008, I returned for the first time, knowing i'd be there for nearly a full month and mentally anticipating and preparing to overcome that fear once again.

Tahiti embodies the undeniable beauty of a tropical island paradise. Steep lush green mountains fall directly into crystal clear blue water that is calm and inviting inside of the shallow outer reefs.

Following the main road that loops around the island from the airport, one road branches off and then ends abruptly at Teahupoo. Pronounced "Cho-po", the wave formed by a break in the reef just past the end of the road is one of the most feared and revered in the surfing world. A perfectly hollow and amazingly powerful left that rears up out of deep water to cascade onto nearly dry reef with what seems like the force of the entire ocean folding over onto itself, it's the stuff of dreams and nightmares where heroes rise as quickly as they can be crushed. It's a feature of countless surf films and magazine covers, as well as one of the most anticipated stops on the elite ASP Dream Tour.

The Billabong Pro brought me to Tahiti. I had covered the first two ASP tour stops in Australia for Go211.com and was excited that they wanted to send me to Tahiti to cover stop #3 as well.

With no hotels at Teahupoo, home stays are the only option. The Tahitian families at the end of the road earn their living for the entire year by temporarily moving out of their homes, lining the floors with as many mattresses as will fit, and feeding and housing all the surfers, media, and ASP staff for nearly a month. I was lucky enough to find some space in the Billabong media house which was filled with Billabong staff, security staff, and journalists. There were quite a few of us, but since there was only one other female, she and I got to share our own room.

Dinner time feeding frenzy

One of the entertainment highlights was the night Donovan Frankenrieter performed, accompanied by Dave Rastavich on bongoes. Even Occy got up and shared the mic for a few songs.

By the end of the event, nearly the entire WCT was up on stage singing and dancing. Donovan's 6 year old son Hendrix stole the show with his harmonica skills.

Good times, with beautiful people: Freddy P, Alana, Greg and Kelly

I even had a chance to learn how to hold a fishing pole, but we didn't get any bites : (

Jordy Smith waiting for his heat while bailing out his leaky boat. At least he had plenty of boards to float on if it sank!

After much anticipation, the contest finally began. The scene in the channel was quite entertaining. Since the contest takes place far offshore, the spectators and competitors form a waterworld with all sorts of boats, kayaks, inflatables, and surfboards.

Parko and Bruce, heading out to join the flotilla.

After their heats, surfers were carried by jet-ski to the media boat for their interviews.

The media boat was crowded, so I hopped overboard and floated on CJ Hobgood's board while he was interviewed by GT for the Billabong webcast.

Believe it or not, I was actually doing interviews as well, although all the photos were of me very "busy" taking in the action so I could ask intelligent questions about what went on in the heat, I did actually do some work.

Not a bad work environment, huh? No complaints here!

Unfortunately for the local fans, local hero Manoa Drollet, who had beaten Kelly Slater (the event favorite) on his way to the final, lost to fellow wildcard, Brazilian Bruno Santos in an inconsistent and anticlimactic final.

Team Brazil, always the most patriotic, was thrilled with the result!

When the contest finally finished and everyone recovered from the massive after-party, there were still a few slow days with flat surf. Then, the day before team Body Glove was scheduled to arrive and the next leg of my Tahitian adventure began, the surf jumped up overnight and by morning was booming on the outer reefs.

Up until then, i'd only surfed a few times. I had scored a few little tubes out at Teahupoo but nothing significant. The night before, the swell had begun building and I sat in the lineup for a while with way too many others, picking off a few little waves. By morning it was way bigger than anything I wanted to paddle into.

Knowing that when team Body Glove showed up the following day I would have to surf, I kept getting excited to paddle out and give it a test run. I would see a few that weren't as big as the others, and think about just paddling out to sit in the lineup and feel the power from so much closer, then a huge set would come in and I was perfectly happy sitting in the boat. To watch a video of that morning, click below.

Would you paddle out?

For more videos of the 2008 Billabong Pro Tahiti click here!

An African Surf Story

2008-06-03T15:06:00.000-07:00

Two years ago now, I embarked on a journey to the wild coast of West Africa with two fellow explorers, Joe Curren and the legendary Sam George. We spent three weeks looking for waves, journeying upriver to admire regal elephants, monkeys, crocodiles and surprisingly dangerous hippos, before taking a flight to Sao Tome (the second smallest nation in Africa) to search for a particular African surfer. It was an incredible trip. I wrote about it in a previous blog post that can be viewed by clicking the "May 2007" archive link on the right side of this page.

The result of the trip was a movie that won a few awards on the independent film circuit and has shown on Rush HD TV. To make the story more dramatic, the first half of our trip in which we missed a flight, spent a couple days in Belgium, then surfed the wild coast of Gabon was eliminated from the film. I hadn't seen any of that footage until I came across the following video on youtube. Instantly, that feeling of adventure and excitement that comes from the exploration of a new place came pouring over me. At a time when I feel ecstatic to have woken up in my own bed this morning and equally pleased with the knowledge that I will be sleeping there for another two weeks having just returned from a nearly non-stop 3 month travel tour to Australia, Nicaragua, and Tahiti, it is amazing that a simple 6 minute video can still bring back that urge to get on a plane. I hope it will inspire you to step out of your comfort zone and go explore the world.

And just in case you are interested in the other part of the trip, the section that made the film, here is the trailer:

Galloping Time

2008-03-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

There’s an onomatopoetic whisper
Of the breeze
Rustling leaves
At the tops of trees
So I stand here draped in shadow
To listen quietly
And breathe

Noticing the forest entities of most beauty
Are not the young ones; tall, perfect, symmetrical
But those standing leafless in barren contorted dignity
And those especially with a base of glaring holes,
Or burn marks long since quenched
Reaching higher to spite trauma -
The in-organic fertilizer of wisdom.

The secrets here settle in, grow a thick moss and give life to ferns.
Large smooth stones give voice to rivers.
Birds echo shrilly from somewhere out of sight.
A slither of black scales startles
Then escapes into the thick underbrush
With a fleeting look back, then gone.
But never really gone.

As surely as fallen leaves cushion footsteps
These are not places to forget.
Another pause,
to listen quietly.
And breathe.

Stepping up onto painted rock
Sandstone boulders strewn with ribbons marking time
Yellow gold white and pink
A curved history recording the passage of moments spent
In lines of brilliant color

If you cut open my heart
Or my brain,
Would it look the same?

There’s the scent of horse manure mixing with the taste of these cashews,
In a not totally un-desire-able way.
Reminding me of being thirteen
and stomping down steps to bridle my white pony
Then hopping up bareback to escape in a furious gallop
On a trail to somewhere seemingly far away

I didn’t like cashews back then
Funny,
How tastes change.

Then running fast over dusty trails
Mind tuned to body tuned to moving as one, with a stubbornly powerful animal
Cutoff jeans stretching to knobby knees
Calves gripping tightly with hands on leather-braided reins, held low.
In control.
Then reins in a knot and arms out like wings to the side
Galloping still, hair blowing, sunshine showing
Adrenalin grin growing,
And recognized for maybe the first time.

Wind brushing cheeks and shins scraping branches
The rhythmic pounding of hooves and occasional “crack” of rock
Broken for a moment by flight over that fallen tree
“You can’t stop me!”
Interesting.
I still had yet to even discover the pleasures of the sea.

It’s not much different now of course,
Other than my reaction
To the taste of cashews.

Now bouncing van swiped by branches and mud-splattered windshield
Music blaring beat and melodies on the other side of the road in another world.
Still, escapement smile the same.
And though I’m racing towards the sea,
That green grass field is calling for galloping.

Open sunny field where all is known and shown
Past thoughts exposed to light of day
Then left in the sun to dry out as I swiftly gallop away.
Leaving the effects of their admission for the wind to blow astray.
New opportunities multiplying like blades of grass to gently guide the way.
But time has this life changed.

If I could go back in time
To see my young self galloping away from behind
I’d ride along ‘til she slowed down
Then cautiously step to the ground
Looking up into eyes
Wild and familiarly blue
And remind her that,
“Each day begins anew.
Everything will turn out just fine
And life will exceed every expectation you could ever form in mind.
As bleak as coming moments surely will seem
You have the power to achieve all of your dreams.
So keep pushing through and nevermind.
Believe me, I’ve seen it. The future will be kind.”

We think of time as a river and we’re all on rafts, hopelessly floating downstream. All our best efforts to paddle against the current might show temporary progress but are eventually futile. On we float to old age maybe, death as a certainty. The reunion of our physical selves with the Earth, a cyclical inevitability that the most thoughtful of us accept. We choose a story with which to reason away the fear. Paradise, but only for those who have chosen correctly. (Which, of course we have. Pity the others).

But, we are already One. If only we’d get off the raft and realize the river is shallow. There are signs on the riverbanks warning, “One Way”, “Keep arms and legs inside the raft at all times”, “There are Terrorists lurking in the water”. The signs are everywhere. TVs have been so un-protectedly promiscuous that they aren’t just in your living room anymore. They’re in your car, your phone, the grocery store, the gas station and every message is “work, earn, spend, repeat”. “Quick! Time is running out!”

Silly humans, time isn’t going anywhere. Time has been around since, well, since the beginning of time. It’s me that’s changing (and you too), and time is just the “tick tock” subconscious realization of the transition of one thought into the next. Thoughts give meaning to time, as you must be conscious to notice the feel of its passage - consciousness being the ability to have and consider “thoughts”. Thus time seems to move more quickly as thoughts multiply.
Thoughts are flowing, and even though I know time isn’t going anywhere, I still feel that these 12 days have galloped away too quickly.

More Campervan Cruising

2008-03-11T16:26:00.000-07:00

Things got a little weird yesterday. Other than a two-hour long mission back to Forster town to find internet access so I could maybe get my assignment completed on time, I didn’t do much driving. School has always come easy, a love of learning and a perfectionist personality combine to make studying fun. Still, you’ve gotta put the time in. The day before on deadline to complete a silly assignment, one step closer to earning an MBA in Marketing, I had searched for an internet café, but being Sunday, the only one I could find was closed. No luck. Oh well, I don’t have to get 100% on every assignment, right? Right.

Back to the weirdness, I was staying at a killer campground called Bulls Paddock (special thanks to Rebecca Woods for the excellent recommendation). The campground was essentially an open grass field lined and dotted with big soothing shade trees, no power hookups which deterred the big caravan campers, and no numbered camping spaces. Just show up, drop $20 in the box, and pick your piece of grass. There were only about five other campers and all spread out. I have been continually surprised by the quality of the amenities at these campgrounds. Free hot showers (no $.25 per ten minute silliness like at Jalama or San Mateo) and perfectly clean bathrooms. I’m definitely used to roughing it with no shower and a bush toilet, but I am certainly not going to complain about feeling clean. It even had a killer 6 km hike that started from the campground, looped up along a cliff, around a headland and back via the lake (see photos in previous blog post). The beach out front was long with squeaky white sand and turquoise clear water, completely empty except for a few fishermen.

A very friendly Kookaburra

The first day there were a few little waves to ride if you were desperate, which I wasn’t, so after a quick swim I went hiking instead. Yesterday by the time I returned from my internet mission the forecasted swell had started to show just a little bit. With the sand only a few meters from my camping spot, it was a quick sprint into the warm water. There were 3 guys out already which I was happy about since I hadn’t been speaking to many people and considering all the shark stories taking place in Australia, I was glad to not be out there alone. Unfortunately, before I had even worked out what the wave was doing, they all went in! Sorry for me but even sorrier for them as it seemed to be getting better. There were super tight powerful wedge peaks that produced a steep sudden drop and then mushed out, but as the tide seemed to be dropping, two nearby peaks started connecting. You could take the drop, do a turn and then pump into the next section and backdoor that peak for a quick little tube. There was no one within earshot, so I self-hooted every wave! I kept looking back to the beach to see if there was anyone there. “Did anyone see that?” Just the seagulls, and they didn’t seem very interested.

The water was boardshort warm and so clear you could see every scattered rock and random piece of seaweed on the white sandy bottom. At least I figured the sharks would not be able to confuse me for their usual prey, and I could see them coming, and have a last split second to pray to whatever god seemed like the right one when the pressure was on, before being eaten. I had enough time alone in the lineup between waves to consider the dream I had a few nights before in which I was slowly being swallowed by a shark and not even fighting it, after reading The Wild Within by Paul Rezendes where he talks about every living creature being one. He happens upon a snake with a bullfrog half in his mouth and decides not to intervene to save the bullfrog as it is in the process of “becoming the snake”. I didn’t fight because I was quite content to become the shark.

Still, it was strange that there was no one else along the whole beach as far as I could see. In California or so many other places in the world there would be someone if not a horde of someones all fighting like animals for the exact same thing. And here I am all alone finally, and almost wishing there were someone else with me. It didn’t take long for my wish to be granted. I looked back to see about a dozen surf school students walking down with 8’ long boogie boards over their heads or dragged in the sand behind them. The instructor arranged them in a circle on the sand and started going through the drill of miming the routine of lay down, paddle, pop-up. The wind had come up as well, so I called it a session and returned to the sanctity of my campsite.

This morning the wind was howling and immediately upon opening the sliding door of my campervan, I could feel a different energy in the air. The swell had finally arrived. I made coffee quickly, packed up and started driving further South to another destination recommended by Rebecca, Seal Rocks.

Seal Rocks
My surf guidebook describes it as a mellow right point break with an inside tube on big swells. It was onshore with three guys out and looking very mushy. I kept going around the headland to check Treachery. The name sounded interesting, but I found a big-water mushy left breaking far out. It was offshore and clean but absolutely no one around.

Treachery

What do you do? Surf an offshore paddle-mission left by yourself or go back to the friendly looking onshore right? I’ll tell you what you do. You go back to the right, realize the 3 guys out there do not know how to surf and you can actually take off a lot closer to the rocks allowing at least a couple turns before it turns into mushburger city. Then you feel bad about back-paddling the kooks and taking every good set wave, so after only 20 minutes you decide to go in and keep driving. On the way in, you spot the closed-out shorebreak down the beach that is almost a little bit of a left and definitely hollow and decide to give that a try. After getting chucked over the falls on your first three attempts, the beating wakes you up and you decide to stay out until you get a good one, which happens on your next wave, an unbelievably clear tube that affords you a quick view before throwing you on your back in the sand and creasing the underside of your board right above the fins. Damn! Might as well try to break it at this point, but the tide is coming up and it’s getting more make-able and you actually come out of one and the next one lets you do turns and now there are a couple of guys joining you, friendly Spaniards from San Sebastian, young chiropractors studying in Sydney but taking a few weeks off to travel up the coast in a Wicked van. After surfing, they insist you stay for a breakfast of bacon and cheese, then bust out their massage table and give you an impromptu adjustment.

You might even stay for another session and an evening glass of wine with them but you’re traveling in opposite directions. So you say goodbye and head on to Newcastle.

Ah, Newcastle, the first familiar place since leaving Byron Bay. One month last year I spent a year here, or so it felt. I checked my email in the exact same backpackers in which Skippy, Laurina, and I spent a very awkward nearly two weeks sharing a bunkbed for three. The experience ended one friendship but cemented another. Driving through town, stopping at the same café to have the same mango, passionfruit smoothie with pesto chicken sandwich, all the memories of the triangular girl drama in which I played too much of a starring role came right back.

Slideshow from that trip last year

I remember it as the trip where I decided I really didn’t want to do the tour anymore. Now checking the flat surf at Merewether beach, the location of last year’s Midori Pro, those memories come back as well. It was big, stormy, and incredibly messy. I had advanced already to the second or maybe third round and was in a heat against friends. The waves were so bad that with five minutes to go, I was in third place needing a 3. My friend the silly little South African, Tammy Lee Smith was in 4th, but only needed a 1 point something and our other friend, Jessi, was in second, playing defense. I was closer in placing, but Tammy needed a lower score since she only had one wave, so Jessi went and paddled circles around her to keep her from getting a second score. I took off on a few closeouts that I couldn’t even get a turn in and as the minutes ticked away, the situation was the same. I sat there, thinking how silly it all was. The next heat was paddling out, more friends. I don’t remember exactly who it was, maybe Nicola Atherton and Kim Mayer, and for sure Rebecca. I just remember thinking how fun it was that we were all out there together and how cute they looked in their jerseys, and how annoying it was that we were putting our friendships aside to try to beat eachother in the most disgusting waves ever. I said something to that effect to Rebecca and with a minute to go in my heat, she looked at me like I was crazy, asked me what I needed and then said, “shut up and get a freakin three!” But I was over it. The hooter sounded and I rode in and announced that I would do a few more contests, but for the most part, I was done.

I’ve second-guessed that decision. I almost entered the contests on this trip, but didn’t and sitting here, I’m glad. Still, the girls are my friends and they are right now preparing to compete in the second event of the year, a 4 star at Soldiers Beach, just about an hour south of here. It’s rare that I am only an hour’s drive away from hanging out with the silliest girls in the world, and even though I’m really enjoying the solitude, I can’t resist the opportunity to laugh with them for a night.

Off I go…

The same international crew as before: Sarah, Marina, Amandine, Me, plus the cutest little South African, Tammy Lee Smith

Camper Cruising

2008-03-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

“Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
Laugh.
Choose with no regret.
Continue to learn.
Appreciate your friends.
Do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.”

My sweet van has fuzzy pink handcuffs dangling from the rearview mirror. A good reminder of the shackles left behind. Soft and fuzzy, but still restricting...

The bed

the back view

I do not leave home without a Sector 9 skate!

Driving view...

Driving along in my Sopranos van, left hand stick shifting on the “wrong” side of the road, I look out over the calm highway at the expanse of green surrounding me and feel giddiness bubbling up into a smile not to be erased anytime soon. All the responsibility of the last so many months to family, friends, boyfriend, photo shoots, contests is left in the dust as the dashboard kilometer ticker spins.

Yeah, my friends are hilarious, but it's time for some time alone!

Sure I’ll meet up with those things once again, but right now the sense of freedom and adventure is so dangerously euphoric to my addiction prone personality that I’m a bit worried about losing any impetus whatsoever to return home.

One campervan, one chair...

...one happy camper

Coffee!

This morning marks day four. Four days wandering alone down the beautiful coast of Eastern Australia. It’s been one long candy necklace of perfectly sweet moments in which I fully realize that at this all-important “now”, I’d prefer to be absolutely nowhere else in the world. (I may have used that line one too many times, then again, isn’t that the goal? Enjoying right here right now completely? Maybe I’m just better at that than most.)

Sure the mozzies are a bit annoying. It’s warm out but I’ve got arms and legs covered, hands and feet sprayed with all natural lemon and eucalyptus insect repellant that works as well as the plastic-melting deet found in the usual toxic concoctions. Still, the mozzies are quiet. Yesterday my cell phone was out of service, preventing the pressures of home from seeping into this tranquility, and when I returned to the main road from Crescent Head, I kept it off. Ahh. The sound of solitude.

Sandy dry grass beneath adventurous toes
White rocky plain and shadow fallen cliff
Topped with trees a rustlin’,
Wind a dustin’ off the cobwebs,
And inspiration rushes in.
The steady sound of nature roaring to spite the din
Of the drone of a thousand hands reaching
Now left behind
Allowing me retreat within

I tasted the first bite of candy in the first few Kms on the road. Still focused on the novel feel of left hand on the stick and keeping that right tire parallel to the center line, I fiddled with the radio dial and nearly lost control with surprise as the familiar America-accented sounds of NPR came through the speakers. “What? How good is this?” The Australian news channel was broadcasting NPR’s coverage of the US presidential primary race. I could hardly believe my ears. (Go Obama!) I felt at home and simultaneously very much away, and the feeling was intoxicating.

I came across this skatepark one morning and had to go for it!

An effervescent feeling’s rising,
And sunshine’s closing in.
There’s a smile that warms completely,
Beneath this devilish grin.
Certain evidence to be used by those insisting
That solitude pleasures are a sin.

This morning, I packed up my van, said goodbye to the sweet lady running the Delicate Nobby Camping Ground and her group of hand-fed kangaroos.

The surf out front on the South side of the Crescent Head point was one foot and onshore. Good driving conditions, so instead of turning left and back to town down the long dirt road from which I entered, I nosed my van to the right instead. Let’s see where this dirt road goes, I thought. Who knows, it might re-join the highway?

The wide sandy colored dirt was washboard smooth. It ran along the ocean for a bit then round up a hill and into a forest of thin trees. Back down around a bend and the road started to narrow and become less smooth. The first few big bumps sent my van shuddering and I took off my seatbelt to avoid the choke. Hands at ten and two, I swerved back and forth avoiding the bigger bumps or taking them on at an angle. Big mud puddles developed, forcing me to hug the tree-lined edges of the “road” and more and more I was sure this was not going to link up with the highway. Still, I had gone too far to turn back and wondered where I would end up. Eventually, I saw a Jeep coming towards me and my hopes flickered that there would be an outlet, until the dust from the Jeep cleared and all that was before me was thick sand.

I did an about-face and started heading back the way I’d just come from. I wasn’t disappointed at all. In fact, I was excited. Now there was no need to spend even that little bit of mental energy on wondering where the road was leading. I could now completely enjoy the obstacles of bump and puddle, all the way back to the highway.

Smooth black pavement stretching
Two lanes through plains of grass
Left hand controlling shifting
From this right here
To that long since passed
And now my thoughts are circling
Round how might I make this feeling last?

The list of life suggestions at the top I found in a book I picked up along the way. Some Day: Inside the Dream Tour and Mick Fanning’s 2007 World Championship Win by Will Swanton. It’s the best book on professional surfing I’ve ever read. The writing style gets a little repetitive but overall it is entertaining, informative, and insightful. It looks at the 5 best surfers in the world and examines how Mick was able to top them all last year. Somewhere in the first few chapters, the author lists those suggestions for life. I agree with all of them and have made an effort to live just like that. The only one I truly struggle with is choosing with no regret. Everyone needs something to work on. And because I feel they are so important, here they are again:

Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
Laugh.
Choose with no regret.
Continue to learn.
Appreciate your friends.
Do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.

I'm quite impressed with the quality of the camera built into my computer!

Time to get back on the road…

Australia 2008 - Contest Craziness

2008-03-07T12:54:00.000-08:00

I showed up in Coolangatta, Australia on Febuary 22nd. After a rocky two months at home, intermittently happily soaking in the feel of familiar sand through 2mm thick rubber booties, and wishing I was anywhere else, I finally found myself off the plane and onto my next adventure; five weeks (minimum) in Australia!

Internet cafe self-portrait

The first 12 days were reserved for work. Ok, so I know my job is pretty good. Being the super surf fan that I am, I enjoyed every minute spent on the hard packed sand lining the Gold Coast’s premiere surf spot, Snapper Rocks. The absolute best male and female surfers on the planet were battling for ratings points at the opening event of the 2008 season. World Champs lost to 15 year old wildcards and the greatest surfer of all time, right in front of my eyes. All day long for 8 days I sat there entranced by the action, debating my opinion of the judges’ scoring with random spectators, photographers, and friends. I was enthralled and entertained. I even got to interview friends and heroes about their performances (the work part), and my fantasy surfer team outperformed all 29 other teams in the “Let it Ride” clubhouse populated by Body Glove employees and friends. The connection to the contest was strong and enjoyed.

Of course, I did also get to enjoy my own surfing (the day job). Unfortunately however, the Gold Coast is incredibly crowded. Everybody surfs and most surf really well. Combine a talented and thick local crowd with the assorted ripping media, team support, up-and-comers, and random hangers-on connected with the ASP World Tour of surfing and you have a recipe for the most frustrating sessions of all time.

Coffee coffee coffee!

I made it a habit to wake up at 4:30am, drink coffee and psyche up to music, then run out the door with an apple, pear, or nectarine in hand to eat while walking the two blocks to Snapper every morning. Against the backdrop of a slowly lightening dawn, I would quickly decide whether or not Snapper looked big enough to be fun, and then either paddle out or continue the run up the hill overlooking the beachbreak peaks of Duranbah. In the water by the 5:15am I enjoyed at most 20 minutes of un-checked wave feasting, worriedly glancing back towards the beach to see a steady stream of others running towards my crumbling sanctuary. By 6:00am it was over and I started looking to get a good wave in, which would often take another half hour to achieve.

My apartment on the Gold Coast

I went to bed early most nights in order to be sure to be up around 4. I did go out to celebrate Sophia Mulanovich winning the Roxy Pro.

Sophia and her boyfriend Scott, playing the pokies

I also went on a silly surf mission with the girls on a contest lay day. 4 of us crammed ourselves and our boards into a small car and did a nearly 2 hour loop, checking a few surf spots and ending up back at the house for red wine and Poisson Cru.

Surf check mission with the girls

My friend Amandine from France who is still nursing a bad knee from an injury in Hawaii in November is an incredible cook. She makes the best crepes ever, as well as the Tahitian version of Ceviche (raw tuna cooked in lime juice with coconut milk) which literally translates to “raw fish” from the French “poisson cru”.

Amandine, making dinner

On a contest off day, I went for a run and discovered these rocks. Perfect for climbing and jumping across

When the contest finally finished on the second to last day of the waiting period, I was incredibly excited. My cute comfortable apartment rental was over and with nearly two weeks until the waiting period for the second WCT event begins, I decided to rent a campervan and trip around solo for a while. A friend suggested that rather than do circles somewhere nearby it might be a good idea just to drive down to Melbourne (near the CT event), a 24 hour drive. While it is all about the journey, it is also nice to have some destination in mind. After seeing numerous comically painted vans throughout Australia on previous visits I knew exactly where I would get mine.

Wicked Vans always have some sort of interesting paint job!

I stashed my boardbag and luggage where Amandine was staying and caught a bus to a train to Brisbane to the Wicked Camper Van rental depot.

On a train

12 days, one-way to Melbourne please. Thanks very much!

My wicked van!

Stoked to be out of the circus atmosphere of Coolangatta, I showed up at Sarah and Rebecca's house in Ballina for a couple nights relaxing with friends.

The next morning Sarah, Bec, Amandine, Marina and I piled into the car to go check out the local surf options. I had just finished a strong cup of coffee and compared to the crowds of Coolangatta, everywhere we checked looked epic. I was pointing and hooting at every green clean empty peak.

When we pulled up to this spot, called Angels, there was no way I was getting back in the car to go check somewhere else.

My favorite type of waves in the world - uncrowded, peaky, hollow beachbreak with friends!

Still injured, Amandine volunteered to swim out with the waterhousing and try to snap some pics. This self-portrait says it all. Gorgeous smile!

Amandine actually scored some sick pics. Check out Rebecca Woods, ripping!

Me, cutting it back in front of a friend

We came across another friend in the water, Jaime Wheatley

This is a relatively new addition to the group. Super cool Brazilian, Marina.

Marina rips too!

Sarah Beardmore is the glue that holds the group together. The social motivator, she is friends with everyone on tour and is always entertaining.

I think she was annoyed that I kept ending up in a better spot when the good lefts came in, so she moved down the beach and then couldn't resist burning Marina. All in good fun!

I was on the inside paddling back out when Sarah went for this one. A split second after the photo was taken, she got lip launched and chucked out into the flats. It was the best thing I had seen all day, and I was losing it laughing underwater. She came up laughing as well, telling stories of how many flips she did underwater and bouncing off the sand. At that point, there was no place in the world I would have rather been than surfing with my friends.

Amandine, self portrait

I have heard of the mystical town of Nimbin for years. It was rumored to be the "Amsterdam of Australia". My friends Jessi and Laurina even sent me a postcard from there a couple years ago that is still hanging on my fridge at home. It seems that every one of my friends has been there except me, so I insisted that we pay Nimbin a visit so I could finally see for myself.

The drive was long and beautiful. Green hills and valleys parted by a long smooth stretch of two-lane highway. We spent quite a while behind this vehicle and I was so stoked to see the young hippie couple driving it, cuddling in the front seat, as we passed them. Such a sweet car and couch combo.

Unfortunately, by the time we actually got to Nimbin, it was 5pm and most of the shops were quickly closing.

Marina and Sarah

I treasure my international group of friends. One Californian, one Brazilian, a British girl living in Australia, and a Frenchy that spends at least equal amounts of time in Tahiti. Independent, wandering women, looking for adventure and a few fun waves.

We passed the giant prawn of Endless Summer fame and Amandine hopped up on top of the car for a photo.

In this crowded, fast-paced world, it is soothing to see that solitude exists. The country side was sprinkled with the most appetizing farmhouses surrounded by open space.

More to come as I make my way down the coast...

The Bearback Challenge

2008-02-09T07:32:00.000-08:00

I remember thinking, "so this is what it would feel like to die of hypothermia." I was surprised that I didn't actually feel cold. I expected something along the lines of a full-body ice cream headache, a sudden crippling all-over pain as every blood vessel in the skin contracted and my entire body begged me to "get out of the freezing cold water, you idiot!" Strangely though, it felt more like burning.

Unusual thoughts were popping up along with the strange sensation. I visualized the Ralph Wiggum character from the Simpsons episode that alludes to the Lord of the Flies novel by William Golding. Faced with the need to survive on a deserted island after someone ate all the food, Ralph stuffs his face with strange berries and when asked how they taste, he replies, "they taste like burning!" Ok, so I wasn't tasting anything, but the cold seemed to be having an effect on my brain as well. Who's idea was this anyway?

All non-surf photos by Jeff Browning

I remember hearing the boys talk about last year's Bearback Challenge. It certainly sounded crazy to me. Who wants to spend 20 minutes without a wetsuit in the frigid waters of a February morning in Southern California? I laughed at them. Silly boys always trying to be so macho. "Yup, hypothermia is really cool," I thought sarcastically.

When I received the text message alerting me to the fact that the second annual event was to be held the following morning, I deleted it, thinking, "there's no way I'm participating in that!" But, after a big cup of strong coffee and noticing that the morning sun was strong and warmish, I figured I might as well head down to Hermosa to watch. I even grabbed a pair of boardshorts and a bikini top, just in case.

Pre-event psyche up

Really, I wasn't planning on competing. I'm not that crazy, and I get cold easily. I'm the type that loses feeling in my toes after an hour, even while wearing booties and a 4/3. But, somehow I got carried away in the excitement and before I had time to fully consider the implications of my decision I was signed up for the second heat. At least, the others in my heat, Alex Gray and Matt Walls, were both similarly lacking in extra body fat. Knowing that they would be out there freezing with me somehow made it all seem OK, not unlike taking big cleanup sets on the head with a friend nearby.

Heat two lineup

It was all fun and games until we had to get in the water. I was shivering and numb just standing on the beach, the sun having ducked behind the clouds just in time for our heat to paddle out. We ran down there and started yelping in unison upon feeling the first splash of cold water hitting bare skin. My senses screamed so loud my vocal chords had to join in, then they both went haywire. By the time I had duck-dove enough times to make it to the outside, I was having trouble speaking and my skin actually felt hot. I tried to keep moving, paddling back and forth. I scored a decent left but was hardly even excited about it, and didn't surf it very well.

All surf photos by Mike Balzer

I even got a right, threw the board up at the lip, blindly, and was somehow able to come down and ride out of it.
As usual, Alex was ripping. I've always known that the kid rips. He's been impressing me in the water ever since he was 11 years old. I've come to expect it. But knowing how I felt and that he must be feeling the same, watching him absolutely going off took my respect of his surfing to a whole new level, or it would anyways as soon as I thawed out enough to consider it.

You may notice in the following photo an unusual choice of surfwear. It was announced that nudity or costumes would earn more points and despite the fact that Alex has the skill to easily win the event without any extra credit, he also happens to be quite entertaining, as well as particularly fond of being naked.

Yes, that is an elephant, and no, right now he doesn't happen to be happy to see you. When asked where he got his costume he replied, "some girl gave it to me in high school."
All I can say is, "Alex, you're the greatest!"

I ran in, completely frozen, to ring the bell signifying the fact that the self-imposed torture session was over. I don't even look cold, right?

And just to prove that we weren't alone in our mental instability, check out the number of entrants in heat 4, half of whom had already spent an hour or so surfing in the comfort of their wetsuits, only to run in, peel off the rubber, and enthusiastically charge back out for more.

It took longer than expected to regain feeling in my limbs. Alex let out a big sneeze and said, "well, i've already got a cold!" I shivered on the beach for another hour, dancing around, stepping from side to side, anything to get the blood flowing and try to raise my core temperature. Despite the pain, it was surprisingly fun. One more piece of evidence to convince those who already consider surfers to be "not quite right".

In the red beanie, Bearback Challenge co-founder, Jimmy Young

With his top score a 14 (out of a possible 10), Alex Gray easily won this year's Bearback Challenge. Here co-founder Jeff Browning awards the trophy to the new champion.

So, who's in for next year? Mark your calendars and start bulking up on body fat, the Saturday of Super Bowl weekend, it's on!

Home

2008-01-04T16:37:00.000-08:00

Everywhere I go I try to soak in the feeling of the place. I want to talk to the people, feel the sand, notice the difference in smell between an offshore wind and an onshore breeze, taste the food, drink the beer, soak in the saltwater, walk the walk, mimic the pronunciation of the local slang, and figure out which café serves the best coffee. All the senses work together to compile a picture of a place that can be remembered later like a song that instantly brings back a complete package of memory and emotion. I’ve collected quite a few of those.

I have my favorite coffee shop in Hossegor, in Durban, on the North Shore, in Western Australia. I remember the smell of being upriver in wild Gabon and surfing with naked locals in Sao Tome. I savored fried noodles with bits of charred onion in Bali, straight out of the ocean sashimi in the mentawais, and the hottest thai food ever in the Andaman sea. I am sometimes accused of having an almost Australian accent and I can pronounce “South Africa” like a local. I know what to look for when searching for a whale shark and where to find a few good hikes in Brazil.

When you travel so much, home becomes a trip as well. Sure, it is familiar. I know the names of most of the people I run into. I’ve already found the best coffee (French Roast from Trader Joe’s with organic sugar and heavy whipping cream made at home), which item to order at every restaurant in town (grilled chicken and papaya salad at The Riviera, carne asada burrito wet at Casa Pulido, and an adobada burrito with habanero salsa at Amigos, breakfast burrito with sausage and bacon at Phanny's and Classic Burger), and exactly which surf spot to check first depending on the wind, tide, and morning buoy reading. I usually run down to the beach in my wetsuit, then run back home and into the shower to take it off. I walk to the bank, Trader Joe’s, a handful of Mexican food restaurants, Subway, Kinko’s, and even the post office. It’s comfortable, it’s convenient, it’s home.

Since I’ve been neglecting it so much over the last few months and the fact that for the first time in quite a while, this month’s calendar page is completely empty as far as international travel goes, I figured it was time to pay homage to the place I call home. That is, until a couple weeks go by and my travel addiction resurfaces… For now, I’m content to let my skateboard suffice as my primary method of travel. It’s good to be home in Redondo Beach, CA.

This is where i'm sitting right now

The view from the couch

Looking out the window to see what the wind is doing. In this case, not much.

Heading down to check the surf

If it looked like this a little more often, I might be less tempted to leave! This and the next two photos: Bill Watt

I'm addicted to Sector 9 skateboards

Sequence: Dave Hall

Diving with a Whale Shark!

2007-10-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

Pro surfer, Alex Gray, pro wakeboarder Jeff McKee, and myself, hanging out on the boat in La Paz, Mexico. photo: Justin Lewis

We were told it would look like a bus, an underwater bus steaming ahead at an average speed of a little over three mph. Moments following the sputtering radio announcement that our sea plane had spotted the creature, we sped over the tepid waters of the Sea of Cortez at top speed, overflowing with anticipation.

Jeff McKee, throwing the bunny ears.

Upon first spying the dorsal fin poking through the surface, I hastily threw on fins, mask, and snorkel, and dove overboard with an awkward splash. Unfortunately, the “bus” was already traveling away, and while the projected speed previously seemed doable, it was more than I could do to catch up. I peeked my masked eyes above the surface line to gauge my progress, only to see three divers flop off the boat more than 20ft away, the dorsal fin just ahead of them. Putting my head down, I swam with all my might, arms and fins fully engaged, slowly gaining. But just as the turbulence from their fins came into view, the creature sped off and out of reach for all of us. Frustrated, I pulled myself back into the boat.

Looking for critters. photo: Justin Lewis

The boat circled with a crewmember perched on the bow looking for that fin and telltale shadow. I watched him carefully, and when he suddenly pointed with outstretched arm, I wasted no time in diving in once more. We were only a few dozen yards from shore and the water was cloudy with a high mixture of sand. I swam eagerly through the silt as the murky shadow slowly gained form. My first attempt had revealed only the fleeting sight of a powerful tail, but as I approached this time, the entire outline came into view. It was as if suddenly a veil had been lifted and the whole animal, covered in a beautiful pattern of white spots immediately filled the frame of my perspective. I paused, mesmerized. It took a moment to process the sight of a 20ft long whale shark in all its spotted glory, lingering just a few kicks away.

All photos unless otherwise noted: Justin Lewis

The “bus” had stopped for us. For the next two hours, we admired it. We respected it. We reveled in it. Not wanting to waste any time with too much gear, unsure of how long the creature would allow us to play, I free dove, bouncing between the surface and just below. Surprisingly to me, he was sunning himself only a few feet from the waterline, making for easy viewing.

I swam alongside of him, eye to eye.

I drifted back towards the tail to appreciate the extent of the massive body and powerful swimming capabilities.

I took a deep breath to dive underneath, swimming belly to belly, and look up at the silhouetted outline from below. Eventually, the excitement, kicking, and frequent dives had my breath running a little thin and I couldn’t stay on his level as long as I wanted.

PADI's Kristin Valette and I

Alex Gray. We would later joke that the whale shark had never seen so many "shakas" before and is not likely to ever see that many again!

Reluctantly taking my eyes off of the most amazing creature with which I’ve ever had the chance to interact, I kicked back towards the boat to trade in my snorkel for regulator and more bottom time.

Originally the boat driver had warned us that the bubbles produced from exhaling on scuba would scare the shark away. On the contrary, this one seemed to be attracted to the bubbles.

Whether the boat captain was wrong or the simple fact of the curiosity of youth (this whale shark was only 20ft long, coming from a species that regularly grows to 40ft in length) prompted him to swerve towards our bubbles rather than away. Maybe it was only my own hubris, but he seemed to actually enjoy our presence.

In the occasional instance that he did divert from his orbit, swimming in front of him while kicking with fins towards his gaping mouth seemed to have a calming effect.

Kristin Valette, taming the beast. photo: Greg Browning

He gulped up the propelled water, apparently happy to participate in lazy feeding. Rather that having to work to keep up with him as expected, I had to focus on not bumping into him while posing for the cameras.

After a plethora of photo opportunities, I set back into the simple rhythm of admiration. The previous day we had attempted to swim with a pod of dolphins, jumping in off the boat repeatedly, hoping they would continue to swim towards us only to hear them squeaking directions to each other to dart the other way. We did have the chance to commune with a colony of seals.

Seal and sardine photos: Greg Browning

They dove off the rocks and performed impressive spins and swirls right before our eyes in incredibly clear water.

Alex, enjoying the sardines. photo: Greg Browning

Still the seal antics did nothing to rival the awe-inspiring sight of the gracefulness of such a large animal. Even after an hour, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. At one point, he appeared to simply stop and float, repeatedly opening and closing his wide mouth. I found myself peering into the huge plankton-sucking cavern. Tentatively, I stuck my hand near the opening and it was immediately sucked inward. The reflexes kicked in and I pulled it back immediately letting out a big burst of bubbles from laughter.

Eventually, I decided to head back to the boat for a break to take some time to digest the awesome experience. I was floating in the water between our two boats, relaying my tale to those still dry when a friend warned me the shark was approaching. I looked back to see the broad head coming straight at me and quickly moved out of the way, just in time. Turning to watch his departure, straight through the middle of the six-foot gap between boats, I was inadvertently struck by the strong tail as he passed. I took it as a friendly gesture, a pat on the back from a new friend. His way of saying, “see ya later, alligator.” Internally, I replied, “after a while, whale shark!”

That afternoon, we piled into a truck for the two-hour trek to the Pacific Coast of the Baja Peninsula. A NW swell was running and it was time to trade in the dive gear for the more familiar activity of surfing.

The waves were fun and it certainly felt good to be propelled by the power of the ocean once again after a weeklong break.

Body Glove marketing director, Scott Daley rips!

Wakeboarder, Jeff McKee is pretty solid on a surfboard as well!

Alex Gray looks as good on land as he does in the water!

Still, my mind was elsewhere. Every fin in the distance and every murky shadow that caught my eye from below the surface was a reminder of the variety of life lurking below. Usually while surfing, I prefer to ignore the existence of sharks in the ocean, but after having actually met one and spent some quality time, my perspective has changed. If only they were all so friendly!

We also did some wreck diving

Thank you to PADI and Body Glove for such an amazing experience!
Want to get certified? Check out http://www.padi.com
To see more photography from Justin Lewis, check out http://www.justinlewis.com