Several years I surfed in Costa Rica, with my friend J.T. and met with a treasure trove of adventures! This article was previously published in “Environmental Focus”, the newsletter of the Volusia County Health Department, where I used to work before I retired. Enjoy!
Surfing Costa Rica
When I spotted the 12-foot crocodile, he was no more than 30 feet from me, and he was moving slowly and silently through the muddy water. This was not what I had expected. I had come to Costa Rica with my friend, J.T, who had talked about a sunny tropical paradise of sandy beaches, good waves, and great surfing. Nowhere in the plan had he mentioned sinking boats, crocodiles, or mud slides. He hadn’t said anything about being pounded by waves taller than a building, surf crashing against jagged rock cliffs, or floating adrift on my surfboard in the Pacific Ocean either.
But wait! I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back and start at the beginning of the trip. Because our flight out of Orlando was delayed, we arrived at the San Jose airport in Costa Rica five hours late! So, instead of landing at 8 p.m., our plane landed at 1:00 in the morning. We then took the two-hour drive up to Vista Guapa Surf Camp, which sits atop a small mountain just outside of Jaco on the pacific coast. What a fantastic view! From the surf camp, we could see tropical rain forests covering the hills and mountains on three sides with the beautiful blue green waters of the Pacific Ocean and the coastal city of Jaco on the other side. We found Vista Guapa Surf Camp to be a modern resort with all the conveniences, including air-conditioned rooms, hot and cold showers, and a small refrigerator.
The Famous Break
We finally got to bed around 3:30 a.m., but we were up again by 7:00 for our first day of surfing. We surfed the south end of Jaco Beach on the first day. The next day we hooked up with one of JT’s friends, Salvador, who lives in Costa. We loaded our surfboards onto Sal’s 1979 land cruiser and headed north to a break called Boca Barranca, which is the third longest left in the world. We surfed this break for the next two days. The waves were three-foot overhead, glassy, and were peeling for a half mile. The rides were awesome—the thrill of the drop in, then gliding up and down the face of the wave, cutting back to the right, and then to the left. It was like flying, moving freely and effortlessly down the line. The only way to know what it’s like is to surf it yourself or become a seagull and glide effortlessly just above the tops of the waves.
I was having a great adventure, but little did I know what was in store for us the next day. J.T.’s friend, Alvaro Solano, owner of the surf camp and seven-time Costa Rican National Surfing Champion, agreed to take J.T. and me to his secret break along with 3 other local rippers. J.T. warned me that this wave was going to be big—probably double overhead. He said it would jack up fast and pitch forward with a lot of power, and then break into a rocky cliff, leaving little room for mistakes. At this point, I decided I would spent a lot of time watching from the boat and surfing the shoulder of the waves, where they would wrap around a point and break into a small cove.
We arose the next morning at 4:30 a.m., ate a quick bowl of Cheerios with protein powder and milk, and then headed for the boat. When we reached the beach, the weather was foggy with heavy intermittent rains. The boat was a beat-up, patched-up, 20-foot open fishing boat. A tarp stretched over a crude, homemade frame that was erected over the back half of the blue boat, and an old 40-horsepower outboard motor hung on the stern. I remember thinking that, if this boat were in the States, it would have been sold for scrap metal 20 years ago.
A Boatload of Trouble
After loading the surfboards onto the boat, we piled in, pushing off at about 6:30a.m. As soon as the motor was put in gear, it started making a banging sound every two seconds or so. Having owned a boat myself for many years, I knew what was wrong: The gears in the lower unit were slipping, which meant the motor would not last long. Alvaro and the others had a discussion with the captain. Of course, they were all speaking Spanish, so I had no idea what was being said, but after their discussion we continued on our way. I figured we were not going far and that they knew what was wrong, so I said nothing. It wasn’t until we left the protection of the harbor and headed into the open ocean that I tried to tell them what was wrong with the motor. However, no one seemed to understand what I was saying. The banging noise kept getting louder and more violent as we continued forward into the foggy, rain-swept, six-foot seas. We were not in danger of sinking at this point, but we were bailing water out of the boat non-stop.
Then, what I had been trying to tell them would happen did happen! The motor emitted a gnarly grinding sound as it lurched and shuttered, as if struggling to tear itself from the back of the boat and end its misery by sinking into a watery grave. Our forward motion stopped. I explained what had happened: The forward gears were now totally stripped. Another conversation in Spanish took place. Then they asked me if reverse still would work. When I told them it should, the captain shifted into reverse and turned the boat around, trying to back into the waves.
At this point I think most of us knew that, if a big wave hit, the stern, the boat would quickly fill with water and sink. Another discussion in Spanish followed, and I assumed we would try to nurse the crippled boat back to the harbor. So, you can image my surprise when all the others surfers picked up their surfboards and jumped over the side! J.T. told me the plan was to paddle for a beach that was about a half mile away. We would then walk around the bay and surf the point break on the other side. What a bunch of crazy surfers! I thought, as I jumped into the sea. As we approached the shore, I could see the waves jacking up and crashing onto the beach. I sat just on the outside of the break for a few minutes, waiting for a lull between sets and then paddled hard for shore.
Reaching the shore, I started walking down the beach toward the distant point. You have to understand that in surfing, even though we were all together, it is kind of “an every man for himself” sport. So you can understand my bewilderment when they all stopped short of the point and waited for me. When I caught up with them, they were standing on the bank of a small river outflow.
“George, the beach is closed,” J.T. announced.
“What?” I asked, incredulous. “We are in the middle of nowhere! Who would close the beach?”
“Okay,” he said, “Cross if you want.”
The Secret Break
I entered the shallow water to cross the outflow, and that’s when I saw the croc. He was big and probably hungry, so in spite of my desire to surf the point I decided to go along with the group decision and not surf there. After all, the beach was closed by order of “Mr. Crocodile.”
A new plan was formed on the spot. Would we go back—as any sane person would—and wait for another boat to come and get us? I don’t think so! No, our plan was to paddle out around the point and down the coast about a mile to the next break. It only took a second for everyone to hit the water and start paddling.
“Be sure to stay away from the point,” J.T. warned. “The waves will push you into the rocks if you get too close.”
Did I say a mile down the coast? It seemed like a lot farther than that. Anyway, about 45 minutes later, I sat bobbing in the sea, watching Alvaro and the others catching huge waves. Little figures raced down the face of the waves as these monsters crashed into the rocks behind them, sending huge sprays of water into the air. I watched for a while and then caught one as it broke around the point. Even in the little cove, the wave was overhead and gave me a long ride.
At the End of My Leash
As I started to paddle back out, wave after wave came in and pounded me, pushing me ever closer and closer to the rocks. Alvaro and another surfer sat on the outside cheering me on. “Come on, come on! Paddle harder! You can do it!” they shouted. I fought against the waves. Looking back, I saw that I was not far from jagged, black rocks sticking up out of the ocean. One minute the rocks were exposed to the air, and the next minute they were buried beneath billowing, white spray as wave after wave crashed upon them. My arms burned and my strength waned as I fought against the relentless power of the sea. I put the last of my strength into the battle and prayed silently, “Lord, help me!” As if on queue, the sea became still. The sets stopped for a few minutes, giving me time to paddle away from the rocks and out of the cove.
I reached the outside, thankful to have made it. J.T. and the others asked if I was okay. I gave them a “thumbs up,” because I was too winded to speak. I had been sitting and resting only a few minutes, when I heard J.T. call out, “Here comes one, George!” He was about 30 yards away, and I thought he meant a wave was coming that I could catch, but when I looked back my heart sank. A monster wave was bearing down on me! I couldn’t get out of its way, so I dove under, trying to get away from the force of this giant. It broke right on top of me with such force it drove me deep into the sea. I felt like a leaf being blown along by a mighty wind, tumbling and rolling as the power of the wave washed over me. I lost all sense of direction: I didn’t know which way was up or down. Then I felt my leash pulling on my leg, showing me that my board was tomb stoning, so I grabbed the leash and started pulling myself up hand-over-hand toward air.
When I finally reached the surface, I looked up just in time to see the next wave come crashing down on me. It drove me down again, rolling me and my board over and over. This time the leash wrapped around my arm and both ankles, effectively hogtying me underwater. I fought hard and pulled my arm free, untangled my legs and once again pulled myself up the leash to the surface. Although I was bone tired and gasping for breath, I couldn’t rest. I got back on my board and paddled as hard as I could to get back to the outside, praying all the while, “O Lord, don’t let another one come!”
Adrift in the Sea
This time I positioned myself further outside the break, playing it extra safe while trying to regain a little strength. It was now about 11 a.m. J.T. hollered over and said we were going to start paddling back to the point from where we had started, clime over the coastal mountain, hike trough the jungle to the road, and hitchhike back to the truck.
As I started paddling back, I stayed well off the coast, not wanting to take a chance of getting caught by a big wave again. I was alone on the ocean making my way up the coast. I could not see any of the other surfers. We had become scattered, and it was still raining and foggy. The swells were six-foot and the sky was dark and overcast. The rain and fog made the coast seem far away. Even though I was alone and, one might say, adrift in the ocean, I was at peace. There is nothing like the power and vastness of the ocean to humble a person.
I came up on one swell and I saw, off in the distance, something blue. A few minutes later I came up on another wave and saw it again. I thought, Could this possible be the boat? Shortly thereafter I saw it again, and I realized it was the boat and it was heading in my general direction. The captain must have had the motor repaired. I sat up on my board and waved my arms. Thinking of the old TV series, Fantasy Island, I said to myself, “De boat! De Boat!” But instead of continuing its course toward me, the boat turned away to pick up another surfer. Soon after, however, the boat headed my way. After picking me up, the captain found the last surfer from our group and headed for the harbor.
Cold and exhausted, we finally reached a rocky landing and unloaded our boards. A local restaurant on the edge of the highway provided us nourishment. A steaming plate of rice and black beans, tortillas, eggs, and bacon brought a feeling of warmth and contentment to my tired body.
Our trip was not all surfing, but it was all adventure. We rode up a mountain to see a waterfall and rain forests. We sat in an open-air ice cream café, experiencing the sweet taste of French ice cream piled high on a large bowl of ice-cold watermelon, cantaloupe, pineapple, and guava. We attended a Mass that I didn’t understand because it was all in Spanish, and we paid a visit to the local chapter of Christian Surfers. I became immersed in the local culture and, even though I didn’t know what was being said about half of the time, I got to meet and talk with a lot of very friendly and interesting people.
When the day came for our departure we loaded the truck and headed for the airport. We didn’t meet much traffic coming toward us, and we soon found out why: Mud slides and falling trees had blocked the highway! We missed our flight to the States and had to rebook it for the next day. That was okay, though, because I got to see San Jose by night. The next morning we caught a flight back to the good old USA.
Yes, Costa Rica was a trip to remember! A real adventure!
Catholics Surfing for Jesus 