Naty gave us a motivational speach last evening following dinner. Get up early, split boats between two breaks, and surf our brains out. Arise early or don't be on it. Well, I get up early as a habit, so at 530 AM I rolled out of bed and stepped into the dining hall to get an early cup of joe. OHMYGAWD! It was like a small city in there; everyone but Mike and I had already started breakfast.

So I grabbed some coffee, fruit, and a bowl of cereal, and made preparations as quickly as I could for a day of riding waves. Then it changed; hurry up and wait. A storm was rolling overhead, with brisk south winds pushing ominous clouds at a fearsome pace. A light mist was falling, and the surface of the bay was a touch textured. We decided it wouldn't be wise to challenge the weather with the pangas and the surfboards, especially since the storm could be expected to pass quickly. It might be intense while it was unloading, but it would leave a full day of glassy conditions in its wake. We could surf mas tardy.

To assure ourselves of the right choice, Naty and I drove his big Chevy truck through the village, headed to the beach called Swollen Balls. Naty braked and parked on a bluff of sand overlooking the beach and the long horizon. We stepped out of the truck to a blast of moist wind in our faces. The sky to the south was blocked by the storm clouds, looking angry and potent. The ocean was torn apart, with caps and turbulence overlaying the ground swell. We didn't need to check this for long, so we headed back to camp in the truck, and Naty told me "Huevos Rancheros for everyone."

While we waited for Marco and crew to cook our hearty breakfast, I wrote these notes. Didn't know where we would surf or when, but waiting wasn't half bad. The air was super humid, but the temperature was mild and the breeze was welcome. And we got a real sit-down breakfast in the deal.

After eating, and stalling, and playing table tennis a bit, several of the crew walked the short distance across the village to the beach on the other side of la punta. The winds were offshore, and the closeout waves were reaching knee to waist high. So they played in the surf while the rest of us waited at the camp for the weather to break. You could see by the jagged line of the horizon that the open ocean still offered a torn surface with lots of chop.

After a spell, I grabbed my camera and strolled the village snapping pictures. I took several of the guys in the water pretending to surf, and several more of the large new house Naty has recently built on the beach. Even though the temperature was mild, the heavy humidity had me soaking wet within just a few minutes. Soon I returned to the cabina to shower, download pictures, and cool my sweaty body. It was nearly noon, and the sky began to look a bit bluish here and there. This was an improvement over the multi-hued grey of the morning. Perhaps an afternoon session?

By mid-afternoon, some in the crew were antsy for surf. Naty decided to send one boat to the point to satisfy the yearning. Meanwhile he was forthcoming about his recommendation; don't go! The tide was raging high, the onshore sideshore winds were raging fierce, and the ocean was chopped beyond rideable. But six of our cohorts piled into the panga which then motored from the bay toward the point to the north.

Naty figured it would require 15 or 20 minutes to arrive, at which time the boat driver Conejo would radio back with a first-hand account. Naty also figured once the crew saw how ugly the conditions were, they would want to turn about and head south to the beach break. To counter this idea, Naty and I jumped into his pickup and drove through the jungle to see for ourselves. On the way there, Conejo's radio report came through; lousy conditions, but the crew wanted to surf the point anyway. The audio on the 2-way was torn apart by the low rumbling of wind noise. Conejo handed the radio to Kevin, one of the surf crew. K told us, "it looks great, there are waves, we are going surfing." At this Naty and I laughed.

When we pulled onto the bluff overlooking the beach, the scene looked familiar. The long stretch of sand was covered by the waters of the high tide. Wind slamed me in the face as I exited the truck, and the ocean surface was chaotic with random wind swell from innumberable directions. I snapped a few photos for proof, then we drove back to camp. Conejo radioed again to tell us he didn't think the crew would be in the water much longer, as the conditions were too dismal, and no one was catching any waves.

On the truck ride, Naty shared with me some information about the village, his business, and plans for the future. He is a true entrepreneur, catering to the whims and desires of surfers wuch as me. We enjoy coming to Mexico to spend some time with Naty, and some quality time with las olas.

CU Out There,

DogMan