Broke camp early, and the whole crew plowed the ocean headed for La Punta. Overnight the swell jumped a bit, crossing the line from the upper end of "fun" to the lower end of "juicy." Unlike past days, there wasn't a hint of rain during the night or dawn. The Mexican flag hung limp from it's tall staff atop the camp, indicating the absence of any wind.

Indeed there were some mighty fine lefts to be ridden at The Point. The crew jumped into the salty brine and paddled for the break while Izzy motored the boat closer to shore for me. I swam the photo gear to land and set everything in place on the tip of land overlooking the point. Right away the moscas and other bugs began to swarm and bite, but I had bug juice with me. I fought them with the chemical agents, and they retreated to a safe distance.

No sooner had I begun to photo the day's action, then a rolling cloud of dust on the rude roads from overland to shore announced the arrival of a large multi-vehicle crew of local surfers and body boarders. Within minutes more than 20 surfers were preparing to join the boat crew in the waves. Though it was a large group, the surfing was fine and everyone played fair. Many of the locals were fine surfers indeed, and they snagged a lot of waves. But they didn't snake anyone either, and when you caught a wave it was yours.

I joined the fray after Mike came ashore to shoot. I yielded a lot of chances to others, but I caught some waves of my own. Many in our crew decided to bail in favor of a less crowded spot further south. Only Mike, Malo, and I remained. Israel ran the others back to camp in the boat, then returned to serve as our mobile life support station and transport. The rest of the crew traveled overland to a beach break of some notoriety.

Since we were there for the entire morning, Mike, Malo and I played it slow and low key. We knew the local crew couldn't remain in the water for as long as we could, so we chose our spots and bided time. Sure enough the lineup churned; some surfers and others arrived, all through the morning. In the open spots, we caught many waves. In the crowded spots, we caught fewer. Some of the Mexican surfers were fantastic wave wizards; we were entertained watching them pull 360's, orthogonal sprays, vertical surfing, and quick reactions to the waves.

The three of us swapped shore duties on the camera. After we collected numerous photos of each other, I swam the camera gear to the boat and took a break. I needed some bugless time in the shade with cold water and pb&j. But after this respite, all three of us rejoined the action. By this time the morning was soon to end, and the wind turned sideshore, then onshore. The surface surrendered its glass, and got ruffly. The lips of the waves got fatter, and the faces bumpier, but the rides were still worthwhile. The peaks of the waves jacked tall before dropping into more modest sections for cruising. The entry to the waves was most forgiving, with none of the lurching and throwing action you might expect from waves this big.

Soon Mike jumped into the boat, and officially ended his session. At almost the same time, the last of the local crew hit the shore and drove away in another cloud of dust. So it was just Malo and I sharing waves and stoke. Even though the water was a bit sick, we continued to catch and ride wave after wave. Finally we each caught a long extended leg burning marathon wave. We both kicked out at least 500 meters from where we started, deep into the cove and a long long paddle from the point. With a look of mutual agreement, we paddled to the right, toward the boat, instead of to the left toward the point. It was an incredible end to an incredible surf session.

Since Malo had to leave camp that afternoon, it was his last ride in Mexico for this year's trip. It was a suitable end to a great adventure, and I am sure he will remember the waves all year until next summer. I know I will too.

There were still several days of waves left in our stay, but Thursday's session was que ultima.

CU Out There,

DogMan