"Nachos As Big As Your Ass" might possibly be the first thing you see or should I say read when you are dropped off in front of the Witch's Rock Surf Camp(WRSC). As you begin to wonder if this is really the place you are supposed to be, you are greeting by the wide face grin of your future surf instructor...usually a good looking, well defined(can you say six pack)Tico. Your adventure is about to unfold.
When we decided to venture to Costa Rica for a surf vacation we went with a bit of trepidation. My daughter and I had been surfing for several years but were by no means established surfers. The men in the family, in a nice twist of gender roles, had never surfed. We began to wonder if this whole surfing vacation idea was too grand an undertaking? Did we really think we would all be surfing by the end of the week, let alone still be able to move? After all my husband and I are 45, certainly surfing was not meant to be learned in your forties. However, it was not long after our arrival that our trepidation waned and we became stoked about the prospect of catching a wave and hanging ten.
Let me say a quick word about the instructors at WRSC. Most of the instructors are local Ticos who have been surfing all their lives. Some are even competing on a professional level. All are overly enthusiastic about teaching others about the joy of surfing. There is a saying in Costa Rica, Pura Vida, the pure life. Surfing and Ticos are all about Pura Vida!
WRSC is located in the beach resort town of Tamarindo, Costa Rica. Being on the North Pacific Coast it is renowned for its first class surfing. The classic surf movie Endless Summer, forever cast Witch's Rock and Ollies Point as the preeminent of all surf breaks, both just a short boat trip ride from Tamarindo. But what really makes WRSC so outstanding is their surf instructors' ability to take a complete novice and have them surfing on their own by the end of the week.
So as our first lesson rolled around, we waiting nervously for our surfboard and instructor assignments. My daughter and I had been paired together because of our prior experience surfing, while my husband and son were designated beginners and therefor bound to one another.
With one instructor for every two aspiring surfers, we headed to the beach. The beach lessons always start on the beach, literally. Before you even set foot in the water, your instructor will inform you on such basics as the anatomy of the board, things to do before getting in the water, such as waxing, which by the way is put on the top of the board not the bottom, and the all important pop up, which will determine if you are goofy foot(right foot forward) or regular foot(left foot forward). Once you have mastered the pop up on dry ground it is time to hit the water.
Initially the instructors will recommend that you practice catching waves in the white water(after the wave breaks) for obvious reasons. Once you begin to feel comfortable with the white water you can move on to catching a wave before it breaks. Remarkably, by the end of our first lesson all four of us were actually catching and riding waves. It was not necessarily pretty but we were doing it.
Towards week end, all of the new surfers have the option to go on a surf trip to one of the local surf breaks. If you decide you can handle it, you are loaded on to the WRSC surf mobile, an old yellow school bus decked out with fringe and tassles around the windows. The surfboards are loaded into the bus through the back window and off you go down the back roads of rural Costa Rica in search of the perfect break. Eventually you emerge from the trees to catch a glimpse of a a remote beach with one rolling wave after another crashing against the shore.
This is it, the true test. Were we really good enough to ride these waves? There was only one way to find out. We grabbed our boards. Undaunted by the size of the waves, we raced into the water to try and paddle out beyond the break and show our instructors what we were made of.
Continued by Dan....
Arms and back already aching from five days of beginner riding, we paddled out. Initially the wash of the whitewater seemed to momentarily impede forward progress but I could regain momentum with a few hard strokes. After several minutes of paddling I couldn't tell whether I were just getting closer to the break or a larger set was coming in ... but the crash seemed louder and waves seemed higher. The "wash" now took on a different level of energy and I felt like I was loosing more ground then I was gaining.
I occasionally caught site of my daughter to my right (who seemed to be faring better) and considered asking for help. My grimace and exasperated look must have been interpreted as a good natured laugh ... she waved, smiled, and ducked under the next wave like a young seal and kept going. On my left side (but now much further out) I saw my fiercely determined wife pulling hard against the sea and frankly, kicking my butt. With renewed vigor I continued paddling, convinced that I was to ride the big surf. Several turtle rolls and 15 minutes later I lay panting on my board safely outside the danger of the break. It did not take long before the self congratulatory praise of making it "outside"was quieted by the thought, how the hell do I make it back in alive.
The nursing of my slightly salt-waterlogged ego came to an abrupt end as my mind raced to
Nolan. I wondered how that scrawny waif was managing in this tempest. I tried to catch a glimpse of him, hoping to see him back on shore or trying to catch some smaller second breaks. Then, to my awe and amazement I saw him drop in and catch a medium size wave. He disappeared down the front side of the wave and harnessed a not altogether glamorous, but clearly fun ride. Tottering off balance near the end, his hands punched high into the air with triumph as he fell and got swallowed by the foam.
I thought ... I can do that!
Well, I will leave the rest of this story up to your imagination. Suffice it to say, I'm alive.
With the excitement of the day burning in our minds, as well as our arms, we were all anxious to get back to WRSC. We were ready.....ready to sit under the thatched umbrellas at Joe's Restaurant and gaze out at the beach with a cold beverage in front of us and yes a huge plate of nachos, which by the way, are as big as your ass and twice as good!!!
Photograph by Dana Smith
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