Hoy trasteando por la red me he llevado una grata sorpresa al encontrar estos vìdeos, de la joven hawaiana Nini Narvaez, gracilidad, tranquilidad y mucho flow transmite sobre la tabla, un soplo de aire fresco, el surfing de Nini.
My goal is to surf around the world and report back to all the other average surfers out there, offering a more relatable view of surf destinations around the globe.
Recently, I wrote the Average Surfer’s Guide to the UK Surf Trips. My goal is to surf around the world and report back to all the other average surfers out there, offering a more relatable view of surf destinations around the globe. Obviously, we all know that it’s probably not best for the majority of surfers to get off the plane on Oahu, drive up to the North Shore, and paddle straight out at double overhead Pipe, but what about visits to some other great spots around the world? It can be intimidating for an average surfer to buy a plane ticket to some places, wondering if waves like J-Bay or Ulu’s are suitable for us. Will we be in over our head? I’m doing my best to find out.
My second stop on my trek was to Sayulita, Mexico. I had nearly no experience surfing in Mexico and this particular excursion was with my girlfriend and two other surfing friends. It was to be a quick five-day trip just to see what it was all about. Sayulita was a place I didn’t know much about other than seeing pictures of graceful longboarders cruising atop a tropical wave on Instagram.
I like to think my own surfing style is laid back and smooth. I prefer cruising top to bottom on retro style boards, all from my quiver of a 9’4 log, a 7’2 mini, a 6’0 twin fin, and numerous other “cruisers.” My favorite board of the moment is my ’70s-inspired twin, and knowing Sayulita had some cruisy waves, I was hopeful my average skills would suffice.
My first surprise was the cost of the airfare. We flew in late April, but I was shocked to see the prices almost equaling a flight to Europe. We ended up getting a connecting flight to Mexico City and then a short flight over to Puerta Vallarta where we were greeted by military vehicles with mounted machine guns. Many people I spoke to prior to our trip expressed concerns regarding the current political environment in Mexico and the power struggle with cartels. Personally, I wasn’t concerned. You can wander into the wrong part of Los Angeles and meet your end by that same logic. At least here I could do so chasing better waves. From Mexico City, it’s a short 45-minute drive to Nayarit and you are in an incredibly beautiful part of the world surrounded by mountains a lush green forest.
The town of Sayulita is quaint yet vibrant. The atmosphere was welcoming and exciting. Accommodations are everywhere with hotels and Airbnbs available from $60 to $150 a night depending on the time of year. Walking through the town you get an authentic taste of Mexico (Of course, there has been a boom in the tourist economy in recent years mainly due to surfing). As we walked through the market street, we were haggled and grabbed to buy a sombrero or some other trinkets. And of course, we did. The underlying current was of a real authentic Mexican fishing village but the truth is we were in a sea of American tourists. The boom has also brought expats to live in Sayulita and I do not blame them one bit. There is an area of town that goes by the name Gringo Hill, where the Americans live, as I was told by an old weathered local fisherman.
We stepped onto the beach at Sayulita and were greeted by peeling, chest-high rights, groomed by a warm offshore wind and green waters. I was later told by another local that the water is quite filthy in Sayulita but I can’t say I noticed. Indeed, it was clear, pleasant and warm and I didn’t get sick — from the water at least.
We rented some boards from one of the many shacks along the beach that offer lessons and rentals. The locals were extremely friendly. The South end of Sayulita is a beach that’s great for beginners and surfers seeking smaller waves. In the center and to the north is the reef where it gets progressively larger. We paddled out to the reef and took our place in a lineup that was mainly full of about 10 to 15 visiting surfers. It was late morning and the waves were great. The reef had some shallow parts but there was an easy take off with a wave that wasn’t too fast. The best thing about the first session was the thin crowd. But that would change as the day went on.
As a goofy-footed surfer, going right isn’t my favorite thing to do but I had no choice here. The wave was gentle and sloping at chest height. Being a reef break it broke pretty consistently through each wave, which was great for gaining confidence and practicing on my backside. It was beneficial getting some extended stand-up time with longer rides than I was used to at home in Orange County.
Sayulita is the kind of beach you can spend an entire day at. We paid the locals some cash and had a set up under the awning with a perfect view of the surf. The wind stayed light all day and the sun was hot. As we sipped beers and ate ceviche in between sessions, it truly felt like any surfer’s paradise.
The afternoon session was just as fun but way more crowded. The lineup filled up with locals young and old, male and female. The surf picked up to head high and the wave had a little more punch with a slightly steeper take off. It was still more than manageable for my average skills with decent length rides and a patient crowd. The younger locals were very good surfers, many riding shortboards and making the most of every inch of a wave. The vibe was still friendly and relaxed, we spoke with many local surfers who were very proud of their breaks and local professional riders. With the luxury of more time, we would have taken up the offer from Jose of a boat trip to some of the better breaks in the area.
The next day the swell was rising and the waves were a little closed out. There were still some fun waves to be had and the crowds were unpredictable. Some mornings it was extremely busy, others were more mellow. Overall, Sayulita is an incredible place for the average surfer. There’s a little something for everyone and a relaxed and friendly crowd. I would certainly put this locale near the top of your list if you like great seafood, Mexican beer, sunshine, and surfing great waves in boardshorts. This place really feels like a tropical surf trip on a budget.
The waves are not epic and there are many flat spells, but the culture revolves around stories of that perfect day a few years back and the hope that the next big swell is coming.
I’m an average surfer. I have my good days and my bad days. I try to surf as much as possible but sometimes I make excuses to avoid going out, like it’s too small or it’s onshore. Truth is, I thrive in two-to-four foot surf and I start to wobble and get butterflies once those waves start to top head high. I have surfed for over ten years and have spent most of those years at the same skill level. On my best days, I can string a few top and bottom turns together and throw in a shaky cut back. On my worst days, I don’t catch a single good wave and cuss to myself. A lot. Like I said, I’m the bang average surfer, but I love it.
When I look at pictures or read travel articles about some beautiful far-off destination like Indonesia or South Africa, everything seems to be aimed at a more advanced surfer capable of handling huge waves and fast barrels better than myself. While one side of my brain is excited at the prospect of the challenge, my insecurities tell me I’m not good enough.
I decided I should go anyway and report back. Let this be a guide of sorts for the average surfer.
Now, England may not be the first place you think of when you talk surf destinations. Nevertheless, that is where I chose to begin my journey. It’s familiar. I spent 22 years of my life there and I have an attachment to the rugged beauty and open spaces of the Westcountry.
The contrast from Orange County to the UK is striking. California is bright, not just in climate and weather but in consumption and advertising. England is dull. There are no billboards or strip malls, just green fields and woodland dissected by motorways. Once you start heading southbound on said motorway towards Southampton and onto the Westcountry it becomes even more dull and more baron.
If you look at a map of the UK, the Westcountry is the local name for the four counties that make up the peninsular sticking out in the bottom left corner. These are Somerset, Dorset, Devon and Cornwall. For the sake of surfing, you can ignore Somerset.
I arrived to a small village in Dorset on the south coast. My arrival happened to coincide with the swell of the year. A deep south west low pressure system in the Bay of Biscay was promising some sizeable surf for most of western Europe. At least that’s what I was told. When it comes to conditions in England, you are usually looking at close range storm surf. The problem with that is the wind will often force you to search for a sheltered cove.
Dorset is the eastern most county of the three and its only coastal exposure is the English Channel. It’s more famous for fishing and Naval ports in World War II than surfing. However, with a big enough swell, the energy will run up the channel and hit many reefs along the south coast all the way through Dorset. Local knowledge is key to surfing this part of the coast.
The second morning after my arrival, nursing a hangover from too many Scrumpy Ciders in the pub, I met up with some old friends and we headed to a reef break near an old village. This place was a secret spot when I was growing up in England but everyone knows about it now. We got there to find all three reefs firing with overhead faces but howling winds ready to ruin the party. Nonetheless, the adventure had begun and the excitement was there. After all, you do have to work for your waves in England.
We decided the next day to head to Cornwall. Cornwall is the first or last county in England, depending on how you look at the map. It is one of the most beautiful places on earth with wild open moorlands, ancient woodlands, and rocky cliffs that meet sandy beaches that stretch for miles. We were headed to a town called Newquay, the surf capital of the UK. Unlike Dorset, where everything is a little more fickle and underground, Cornwall is surfing loud and proud. It is exposed to both the Atlantic Ocean and the English Channel and will pick up most swells. Newquay is the hub of the UK surf scene, just like Huntington Beach or any other surf town on earth filled with board rentals and surf shops and warm coats and clouds instead of bikinis and sunshine.
You may have to sacrifice waves for sunshine if you visit in the summer, and even then you are not guaranteed any sunshine. On the day we arrived in Cornwall, the surf was big and the winds had dropped. We went and checked a few spots and the famous Fistral Beach was topping out with double overhead sets. The paddle out looked miserable. We headed through the town to Towan Beach which looked much better at about head high and clean.
5mm suits, gloves, boots, and hoods are all needed in England in March. We walked down to a beautiful beach with cliffs on one side and a harbor wall on the other. The waves looked a lot bigger when we stepped into the water. Then again, waves always look bigger when the sky is gray and the water is cold. I paddled out with a local English friend who was just back from Indo and was surfing with the confidence and tan of sucha man. He effortlessly paddled off and was outside in a few minutes. I, on the other hand, felt the first flush of freezing cold water go down the back of my suit and got an ice cream headache. This was England. I had been surfing California’s Pacific waves for the past ten years now, so this should be a cakewalk, I figured. I got beaten and battered and it took me forever to paddle out the back. The waves were a lot bigger and more powerful than I remembered and the current was fairly strong.
My first wave was probably about head high. I popped up and dropped down the face into a closeout. It went dark and cold as I spun in the Atlantic’s washing machine. I came up and there was my board, in two pieces. Damn! Session over.
One of my favorite things about surfing cold water in England is the post-surf ritual: dry off, changing into warm clothes, and then heading to the pub. You can’t feel your hands or feet but it feels great. A misconception of England is that the food is bad but it’s not. People that once occupied a third of the world are bound to have brought back some good recipes. So go ahead and explore the menus instead of ordering the fish and chips.
The next day we went to Devon, the middle county of the three, and found some fun waves. It’s little more built up than Cornwall but with waves on both coasts. It’s also more of an established surf destination than Dorset but not quite as much as Cornwall. North Devon holds some great beaches and we got peaks to ourselves up and down the coastline. We surfed three-foot waves for the next few days before it went flat. It was uncrowded, fun and rewarding.
Overall, the English surf scene is unique. Although the summer is crowded and there is a booming industry with shapers, clothing, wetsuit manufacturers and giant surf contests. Somehow, England has managed to keeps its “underground” surf scene image. The waves are not epic and there are many flat spells, but the culture revolves around stories of that perfect day a few years back and the hope that the next big swell is coming. Locals are drinking in pubs and speculating the forecast and which cove or beach might light up tomorrow. It’s a refreshing break from Starbucks, parking meters, and traffic. The vibe in the water is mellow, but as with anywhere, respect for locals is key. So if you’re looking for a different type of surfing adventure, book a flight, rent a car, pack some warm clothes and go spend a few nights in a bed and breakfast in the Westcountry.
Ryan Craig"s best from drone photography from Oahu Winter 2018. All shot from with his DJI set up and shot around the North Shore.
Consider it habitual. For the world’s best surf photographers, shooting these atmospheric angles is just another checkmark in their daily “must shoot” list. Photographers such as Surfer Senior Photographer Ryan Craig have gravitated toward “the drone angle” because it adds another dimension to their bag of tricks. The drone was once used mostly as a video component but now provides a fresh canvas for surf photographers like Corey Wilson, Chris Burkard, Jimmicane and now Craig to work with.
Above are some of the best images Craig captured with his DJI Phantom 4 on the North Shore this winter.
You can view more of Craig’s drone photography work here, where he captured empty lineups without a soul in sight on his recent trip to Southeast Asia. Enjoy!
Um tubarão, provavelmente da espécie galha-preta, encalhou na última quarta-feira (21), na praia da Vila, em Imbituba. A presença do bichano surpreendeu pescadores, moradores e turistas que passavam pela área.
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Praia da Vila, Imbituba (SC). Foto: Ariane Lautert
Praia da Vila, Imbituba (SC). Foto: Ariane Lautert
Praia da Vila, Imbituba (SC). Foto: Ariane Lautert
Morador local, Fogaça Jr. velejava de kite quando foi acionado por um pescador para ajudar no resgate. Ao lado da esposa Ariane Lautert e mais algumas pessoas, eles não mediram esforços e ajudaram a devolver o animal ao oceano.
Segundo relato dos moradores que ajudaram no resgate, no mesmo dia foram vistos mais três tubarões na vizinha praia de Itapirubá.
Road trips to Baja are a rite of passage for Californian surfers.
I can’t sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and do something I’ve never done before. Since moving to California seven years ago from Chicago, everything has seemed like an adventure. I’ve surfed all the spots down the Southern California coast, climbed California’s mountains, and explored the eccentricities of a crazy city. But a surf trip to Mexico just a mere two hours away from my home in West Los Angeles is a new one. That’s what I’m doing tomorrow. And that’s why I can’t sleep.
I’ve always thought about it. People have always talked about it. Legends and stories abound from older surfers who traveled there before it got too dangerous with stories of the drug cartel. Road trips to Baja are a rite of passage for Californian surfers. So with a good NW swell in the forecast, a group of buddies and I (aka “da boyz,” as we jokingly referred to ourselves on this trip) decided to pull the trigger on Baja.
Mexico is a completely different world. Nothing is brand new and everything has a bit of grime and dust on it. Welcome to Baja. Driving through Tijuana, we made sure to stay on the highway. We knew exactly where we were going so as not to pull over or slow down for any reason. Tijuana is not a place where you want to hang around. Soon the view opened up and we saw what we had been waiting for: endless ocean, and a coastline twisting and turning for miles without a single city or town. We checked a spot that we thought would be working on this particular swell and we were right. We pulled up to the cliffs overlooking a perfect wave that resembled something out of a surf magazine. The wave was pumping and we joined three other surfers in the water, but it wasn’t long before they left us in the lineup all to ourselves. We spent the rest of the morning picking and choosing rights and lefts as the set waves poured in. I’ve never surfed a wave so good with nobody else out. We surfed until our arms couldn’t move anymore. It was exactly what we’d come to Mexico for.
It felt odd to get out of the water with the waves still pumping. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Nobody could surf any longer because our arms were so tired, but we felt restless sitting and watching perfect waves go by untouched. So we did what every surfer says you should never do: we left a spot when the waves were unspeakably good. But the allure of scoring surf at more remote and obscure spots pulled us south.
We took the highway as it moved inland then got on a dirt road and headed back to the coast. Driving through ranch land, rolling hillsides, and deep canyons filled our minds with wonder. We felt like we were explorers in an old wild west movie. We drove for miles and wondered if we would ever reach the coast. When we crested a ridge and could see the blue ocean stretching to the horizon we felt like pioneers discovering the new world. As we drove down the hillside toward the ocean, we could see the lines of swell in the water. They lined up like corduroy to the horizon. The road approached the coast, then veered away, then back to the coast, then away again. Our anticipation was building to the point of bursting.
Photo: Quinn Carson
When we finally arrived, the wind was funneling down the mountains through the canyons and blowing offshore. It sculpted the wave faces to perfect curling lips and hollow tubes. But when we looked down the cliff and saw the surf up close we were dumbstruck. Miniature waves rolled in and lapped up on the shore, appearing larger than they actually were. It was barely even knee high and we were officially getting skunked. We all stood there silently as it sunk in. There was nothing anyone could do or say that was going to change our reality. We were two hours down a dirt road at the end of the day with nowhere else to surf. We’d taken a risk. And we found a quiet fishing village, met the friendly locals who let us camp for free and discovered a new surf spot that had the potential to be epic if and when the conditions come together. I was actually stoked. Though surfers say “never leave good waves behind”, taking a risk is an adventure and that alone made it worthwhile.
After a long silence, the boys suited up and paddled out. I elected to stay on the cliffs and take pictures. They got some little rides and surfed until sunset. Back at camp we had a roaring fire and cooked dinner on the cliff with speaking a single negative word.
It’s so easy to get lost in all the hustle and bustle of life in Los Angeles. Surf trips like these remind me why I started surfing in the first place. Driving down that dirt road, not knowing what to expect, and enjoying it regardless of the result are the things that remind me that I’m alive and I’m human. Exploring Baja lit a fire in me that I remember feeling 13 years ago when I first dropped in on a wave. For that feeling to continue now, after all these years, makes me feel very blessed.
Thank you Baja, thank you ocean, and thank you friends (aka “the boyz”). Until next time.
