Estava aqui em minha simples casa na Vila de Regência (ES) pensando o que escrever sobre este lugar e essa onda que eu tanto amo, em um momento tão polêmico.
Me lembrei então que não há como agradar gregos e troianos, então falarei a verdade. “Minha” verdade, como moradora, surfista, gestante e admiradora deste lugar tão peculiar.
Me chamo Isabela Mayara Cheida, mas muitos me conhecem como Belinha, talvez pelo meu tamanho. Atualmente conduzo um projeto de incentivo e empoderamento do surfe feminino no Espírito Santo, chamado Soul Surfers Brasil, onde realizamos surfe treinos, trips, eventos e ações voltadas à evolução das mulheres surfistas no estado capixaba.
A pergunta que não quer calar e que muitos me fazem por estar à frente de determinadas ações na Vila é: “está podendo surfar?”. E essa é uma daquelas perguntas que, assim como a política no Brasil, gera um frio na espinha e um imenso desconforto ao responder, pois não há certeza de nada.
A bem da verdade, venho aqui aos amigos e leitores do Waves tentar ao menos esclarecer essa situação, dois anos depois do maior crime ambiental brasileiro. A resposta para a ansiosa pergunta acima seria, ao meu ver: “Se está podendo surfar ninguém sabe, mas que muitos estão surfando, sim, estão.”
Agora, pergunto ao leitor que é surfista de alma e que já viu fotos de Regência quebrando: será possível ver essas ondas e não cair nesse mar com essa cor de água? (obs: as fotos acima são do swell dos dias 28 e 29 de janeiro no Point e na Boca do Rio aqui em Regência).
Eu particularmente não surfei, pois me encontro no nono mês de gestação, mas a vontade foi imensa de viver esse “sonho” no quintal de casa.
Diante dessa problemática, nós, surfistas capixabas (ou paulixaba como eu), estamos em um muro de Berlim. São dois anos reivindicando da Renova (empresa criada pela Samarco para administrar questões relativas ao crime) um laudo decente das águas dos points (que ficam a mais de 5 quilômetros da Boca do Rio) para entendermos a real condição da composição das águas e sedimento da praia e até hoje nada.
Empresas privadas não querem se envolver nesse tipo de análise. E qual amparo que temos? Qual a solução?
Hoje, a ASR (Associação do Surf de Regência) está reunindo fotos, documentos e depoimentos de surfistas da Vila para entrar com uma ação coletiva contra a empresa Renova) reivindicando que também fomos e somos atingidos, pois até hoje nenhum surfista foi indenizado ou amparado pelo caos gerado.
Enquanto isso, estamos surfando, sim, mas acomodados, não! Seguimos na luta e na esperança de que situações como essa nunca mais venham acontecer!
Se vier a Regência surfar e for postar alguma foto, pedimos que use a hashtag #somostodosatingidos e participe dessa reivindicação coletiva!
A reportagem do Waves entrou em contato com a Renova, que disse que a balneabilidade das praias é de responsabilidade do poder público municipal. A empresa também afirma que realiza programas constantes de monitoramento com foco na recuperação da qualidade ambiental do ecossistema local.
In 1978, at the helm of his 38-foot Off Sounding Trimaran, John Ritter stumbled upon what has become one of the world’s most famous waves: Cloudbreak. His penchant for exploration and discovery may have culminated in pioneering Thundercloud, but his exploits in the Pacific stemmed from years pushing further and further south into Baja in the 60s. Each time, says John, would require going around the next corner along the coast, and the next, and the next.
The short above is the prologue of a three-part virtual reality series called Nakuru Kuru that traces John Ritter’s life, travels, and, ultimately, his discovery of Cloudbreak.
In this chapter, “Awakening,” John revisits Baja and explains the changes he’s seen over the course of his travels. The ocean, he explains, is in need of protecting.
The remaining episodes of Nakuru Kuru documenting John Ritter’s discovery of Cloudbreak are currently in production. To learn more visit the project website at cloudbreakfilm.com.
Brett Archibald had been floating in the ocean for nearly 14 hours when he saw the boat he’d fallen off. It was relatively close to him—about 600 feet away—and he could see the faces of his friends. His tongue was swollen from dehydration, and his body was close to giving out. He screamed, frantically battling the current, but no one on the boat saw him. “I will never forget that moment until the day I die,” Archibald said. “I knew I had to stay alive until my mates came back. They came back; I could see their faces clearly. And then they sailed away. I don’t think I will ever get over the disbelief of watching that boat sail away.” Brett Archibald, close to death and painfully close to a rescue, was only halfway through his nightmare. He would spend another 15 hours in the ocean, bringing the total to a seemingly impossible 28 hours in the Mentawai Strait in between Sumatra and the Mentawai Islands.
It was April 17th, 2013. Archibald, a 50-year-old South African man, was on a surf trip with eight of his friends in Indonesia. Stressed from work, the vacation was to be a much-need break. His wife told him he needed to unwind and pushed him to join the trip. He was a fit man, used to discomfort. He’d spent time as a tank commander in the South African defence force before starting up a hospitality business. An avid cyclist and devoted family man, Archibold should not have survived. He did, though, and three years later, he wrote a book chronicling his ordeal: Alone: Lost Overboard in the Indian Ocean.
After more than two straight days of travel, Archibald and his friends finally boarded the Naga Laut, a chartered vessel, and set out for what he thought would be an amazing surf trip through the Mentawais. Soon after, however, something went wrong. Six of the eight became violently ill with a combination of some sort of stomach bug and seasickness. At after 2 a.m., he stumbled on to the deck of the Naga Laut in the driving rain, vomited repeatedly, passed out, and fell overboard. The boat kept on going, and he powerless to stop it. “I just watched the lights of the boat disappear,” he said. I screamed, I screamed with everything I had in my lungs, but I realised very quickly that they were never going to hear me.”
He remembers dreaming that his friends were pouring water on his face to wake him up to go surfing. In reality, however, he was floating in stormy seas, far from any land, and totally alone. “I have grown up around the ocean my entire life,” he told The Australian in 2016, three years later. “I knew I was 100km out to sea. It’s not a shipping channel, it’s the middle of the night. There will be no boats coming out. No one has seen me, they are sailing away.”
Clad only in shorts and a t-shirt, the expectation that his life was close to the final curtain was a reasonable one. “I heard this manic laughter – like a hyena – and I realized that it was me,” he remembered. “I was laughing at the absurdity of the fact that this is where I die.”
His thoughts turned to rescue. It was sometime after 2 a.m., his friends were all asleep on the boat and in all likelihood, his disappearance wouldn’t be noticed until morning, which proved to be the case. Some four hours later, when Archibald didn’t show up for breakfast, his friends panicked. The captain turned the boat around, alerted the authorities, and began searching for him. The currents in the Mentawai Strait are strong ones, and by that time, Archibold was far from where he’d initially entered the water.
That night, in the middle of a storm, Archibald was mercilessly pounded by waves. He swam aimlessly, intent only on keeping his head above water, vomiting up the copious amounts of seawater he was swallowing. It rained at some point, allowing him a tiny amount of fresh water. The sea was like lukewarm bathwater and the sky was grey, blunting the sharpness of the sun’s rays—three things that very likely kept him alive.
As the sun rose over the horizon with no sign of his friends, Archibald realized that he had drifted far off the course of the Naga Laut. He knew that rescue was unlikely; a needle in a haystack scenario, or more fittingly, a cork in the ocean. He thought often of the family he’d left at home. His wife, Anita, and their two kids, Zara and Jamie. “I heard her screaming in my head, ‘Swim, yer bugger, swim!"” he said of his wife. ‘You are not leaving me a widow with two little kids.’” He talked to his father, who had died some years before. He thought about what drowning was going to feel like. He thought about his body being found, bloated and fish-eaten. He thought about his own funeral.
As time went on, his body began to cramp up. His muscles seized endlessly, hampering his ability to swim. His head went under water more than a few times, and he drifted in and out of a kind of foggy consciousness. Jellyfish stung him and once, when he almost fell asleep, a pair of seagulls flew down and took a chunk of skin off the bridge of his nose.
“This thing smacked me on the back of the head,” he says. “I lifted my head up to see what on earth it was and out of the blue, this bird just exploded into my face,” he said. “I felt the bridge of my nose, blood started flowing. I didn’t know what had happened — I felt like someone had hit me with a baseball bat. These two gulls were just dive-bombing me, they were coming from nowhere, squawking and screaming.”
Hours later, he spotted the Naga Laut again. It had been more than 12 hours since he’d first fallen overboard, and he thought for a few short minutes that he was saved. It soon became apparent that he was not—the current was too strong for him to swim against, and his calls for help were whisked away by the wind. The Naga Laut, with his worried friends aboard, turned its bow away from him and motored off, leaving him alone once again.
It was around that time that he started to hallucinate. Dehydration and exhaustion were taking their toll, and he began to see things that weren’t there. He swam hard towards a buoy in the distance that disappeared as he got closer. The Virgin Mary showed up. Even the water, as warm as it was, was sucking away his body warmth. He knew he was dangerously close to death.
Although he didn’t know exactly how long he’d been in the water for, he knew he couldn’t last much longer. At this point, it had been about 18 hours. He alternated treading water and swimming every few minutes, trying to conserve energy as best as he could. Most people on earth would be dead by then, but Archibald is a different breed. “If you put 1000 people in the sea in those circumstances, said Professor Tim Noakes, a South African sports scientist who examined Archibald after the ordeal, “999 would die.”
Then something even more terrifying happened. According to Archibald, a blacktip shark showed up and bumped him in the back. Although he knew that blacktips aren’t normally dangerous to humans, it was still an unnerving encounter. “It’s weird, the human mind,” he said in December of 2017. “My first thought was, ‘oh he’s going to eat me.’ I remember lifting my throat and saying ‘buddy, just rip my throat out."”
It investigated him for some time, hitting him twice but never attacking. Apparently, it didn’t like what it saw and disappeared, but sharks would remain on his mind. But it also had another effect: the adrenaline pumped and he found a renewed will to live.
By this time, numerous boats had joined the search. Also in the area was another surf charter called the Barrenjoey, which was captained by a man named Tony “Doris” Eltherington. He had navigated these waters for years, and he knew the currents like the back of his hand. He was determined to find the missing man, and he wasn’t going to give up. Archibald, however, didn’t know how long he’d be able to wait, and the sun was setting again.
As it turned out, he would spend another night in the ocean. The stars twinkled above him in the inky blackness, and Archibald came closer and closer to dying. Then, around 5 a.m., he spotted a tiny fishing boat. Behind it in the distance was an island. As he swam towards to boat, too weak to yell loudly enough for the fisherman aboard to hear him, he felt as though he had nothing left. The men didn’t see him, fired up their motor, and drove away. It was then that Archibald finally gave up. “When they sailed away, that was just me finished,” he said to The Australian. “I am not proud of it. This is the only part of the story that I hate sharing. That is a serious failure to me. I gave up and made a conscious decision to end it all. I swam under and looked up. I lay there just breathing and filling my lungs with water, almost welcoming that my life was going to end.”
It didn’t work. Archibald couldn’t do it. He swam desperately for the surface, choking on the water he’d tried to inhale to end his suffering. It was then that he saw the Barrenjoey. At first, he didn’t believe his own eyes, thinking it was just another hallucination. Captain Eltherington, however, was no apparition, and he spotted the floundering Archibald. He felt an arm wrap around him and heard a voice that said, “we’ve got you, mate.” Archibold, after nearly 28 hours straight in the ocean, was saved.
“I’m so happy I’m alive,” he said between sips of water on board the Barrenjoey. “I can’t tell you. Honestly, I wrote it off eight times. I’m not religious, but that guy up there was looking after me.”
After a thorough examination, doctors found something strange: Archibald was surprisingly okay. He’d lost nearly 15 pounds, his blood pressure was low, and he was badly sunburned, but other than that, there wasn’t much wrong with him. He didn’t even require hospitalization. And here’s the craziest part: after 28 hours lost at sea and incredibly close to death, he didn’t go straight home. Instead, on the advice of his wife, he finished the rest of his trip. “I talked about it with my wife and she encouraged me to stay on,” he said. “I needed time to process the enormity of what had happened.”
In the years that have passed since, he’s made some changes. He wrote a book about his experience, which can be found here. He does some motivational speaking, he built a new business, and he’s made his family his priority. As for surf trips… well, he didn’t stop those, either. The next year, he headed out to the same area for a reunion trip. Needless to say, it was less eventful than the first—and you can bet that uneventful was exactly what he was looking for.
Já entrou no calendário oficial dos surfistas de longboard tradicional, também conhecidos como loggers, o festival de surfe e cultura nas esquerdas longas de Saladita, um pequeno vilarejo localizado no México.
Além da competição entre alguns dos principais representantes convidados pelo mundo inteiro, durante todo o evento o público poderá curtir aulas de yoga, clínicas de surfe para crianças, comidas típicas, filmes e música ao vivo.
Este ano, o Brasil vai contar com quatro representantes do single fin clássico latino-americano: o embaixador do log brasileiro, Caio Teixeira, além de Augusto Olinto, que ocupou o sexto lugar em 2017; o carioca Pedro Scansetti e a local de Pipa (RN), com toda sua leveza, Marina Carbonell.
O fotógrafo Fellipe Ditadi também foi convidado para apresentar seu curta, o Sambarama, que mostra três dos nomes mais expressivos do long tradicional tupiniquim arrepiando em terras brasileiras.
Aos poucos os brasileiros vão ganhando seus espaços nesse universo que ainda é tão novo no Atlântico Sul.
Para deixar uma influência positiva na comunidade de Saladita, o festival busca atrair pessoas que valorizem e que respeitem a terra, o mar, a população local, e claro, a graça, estilo e toda irreverência que o bom log pode oferecer.
This was definitely not your average trip to Peru. It’s a place that’s not just about historical ruins. It’s about getting to experience the people, their waves, and their delicious food.
The waves were pumping for the first half of April and the Peruvian locals know how to surf their own spots and track down waves better than anybody. Pro Tomas Tudela and his friends made plenty of cameos, having fun surfing the central beaches during April’s run of big swells.
You can find more from photographer Daniela Caram on Instagramhere.
Produzido pela movimento Salve a Ilha do Mel, o clipe acima traz atores, ambientalistas, músicos e moradores da Ilha do Mel (PR) reunidos contra a construção de um porto privado e de uma rodovia que poderão causar danos ambientais irreversíveis ao litoral paranaense.
O projeto do porto prevê a ocupação de parte das terras localizadas exatamente na frente da Ilha do Mel. Não só é a Ilha o segundo destino turístico mais visitado no Estado do Paraná, como também é abrigo de duas unidades de conservação importantíssimas e de proteção integral: a Estação Ecológica da Ilha do Mel e o Parque Estadual da Ilha do Mel.
A rodovia, já batizada de “estrada da destruição”, serviria, exclusivamente, para atender a esse porto e outras empresas vizinhas. Ambas as iniciativas – a primeira, um esforço privado e a segunda, um projeto de governo – merecem toda a atenção e esforço sociedade para que não se concretizem.
The other morning, I was surfing the north side of the pier in Huntington Beach. The waves were about waist high, the wind was cross shore, and I was not surfing well. After blowing my first wave of the day, I got inside my head with some negative thoughts, which often has a way of ruining my session.After about ten minutes, I pulled into a little right that stayed open for me and off down the line I went. It wasn’t anything special but the wave was satisfying enough. I neared the end of my ride and eased into a cutback only to notice a guy cruising along behind me the whole time. I’d remembered seeing him when I paddled for the wave but thought he hadn’t made it. I’d clearly dropped in on him and surfed (almost) the entire wave blissfully unaware. Damn, I felt like a moron. I’ve surfed for 20 years and just like the rest of us, I’ll occasionally drop in on people by accident. Occasionally, they drop in on me. Sometimes I get a little mad inside when they do. But I try to practice kindness and have a positive outlook.
This guy I’d just dropped in on did a great job of the latter. I paddled back out and apologized. “No worries, brother,” he said. “I was trying to synchronize with your turns.” He laughed and paddled off. I laughed.
The next good set wave came in and even though I was in a good position, I left it to him and he obliged. This kind of scene repeats over and over again around the world daily, even when surfing seems to be bringing out the worst in us and our selfish ways. Self-awareness is a great tool to have in life. Compassion has no limit and kindness has no enemy.
That same day, a video dropped on Instagram. You’ve seen it. The video was shared and re-posted by a few major surf media outlets, including this one, showing two guys on a wave in Newport Beach and the now infamous hair pull that capped it all off.
I hate to bring more attention to it all but I think there are some issues to be discussed. The popularity of this ordeal left me with an ill feeling and some questions.
The aggressor in the video is a local Newport Beach Instagram character who calls himself Uncle Tito. Judging by the videos he posts, he seems to be typical of most Instagram pseudo-celebrities full of pseudo self-esteem — the kind of confidence derived from online popularity. In this day and age, many folks are forging their identities through likes and comments from social media and that is a consequence of a world where our value systems are off balance. Status is valued over character. It’s been that way for some time. Even before social media status, career and wealth were often valued over kindness or character. The modern equivalent for the younger generation seems to be how many social media followers one has. This kind of identity can’t mask someone’s true self and those superficial paths often lead to depression and other psychological issues in the subject. We are neglecting our true self and identity for a false happiness.
I’m not saying that all social media is bad. We all use it. But like all things, we need moderation. We all have to realize that likes and clicks only feel good in the short term, just like eating something sweet, drinking a beer or buying something. We get a quick dump of happy hormones and it feels great. If, however, we continue to overindulge in these very things it can create new feedback loops and patterns in our brains and can change our personalities. It all works much like an addiction.
It would seem the guy in this clip knew the cameras were on him and acted according. It worked. 100,000 plus views and all the attention he craves. His various contradictory statements since the incident offer numerous explanations for the actions in his video: he is a “loc dog” and he “can take any wave he wishes at his local spot.” He seems to be justifying his actions by pinning his colors to the mast that he is Newport’s new surfing enforcer after climbing the ranks for 25 years. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m not here to judge either party. I do, however, think we should discuss how social media has evolved localism and aggression in the lineup.
Before viral videos and social media were the norm, violent actions were already commonplace. It’s nothing new. I remember seeing way worse in surf videos in the 90s and early 2000s, glorifying aggression and making enforcers look like lineup nobility.
Localism seems to work when applied to a place like Pipeline pretty well. You put in your time, respect the guys that were there before you, and wait patiently for your waves. Just by reputation alone, most would think twice about paddling out. But let’s remember the history of Hawaii, the colonialism, and occupation by outsiders. One can understand the protection and passion towards the resources by locals. This is all without considering the consequences of mistakes at a wave like Pipeline. What good are rules without enforcement?
On the opposite side of the spectrum, we have a two-foot day at a wave situated in the heart of Southern California. Newport Beach is a strange place to try and justify localism in 2018. It sucks, but don’t we have to accept that crowds are a part of surf culture now. I understand that we do still need the unwritten rules and a bit of order in our lineups. Crowded lineups have their own dangers and a board to your face can certainly do its own fair share of damage, and I’m all for educating people who either break the rules or are simply unaware. However, trying to justify an old-school enforcer approach seems outdated and misguided today.
I have surfed in Orange County for 10 years. I’ve been hit by boards and been dropped in on in big surf. I have also dropped in but I have never had a violent incident. That’s because I’m respectful and I play by the rules. I also am not influenced by Instagram likes. I’m humble enough to know I make mistakes and when someone makes a mistake that impacts me, I can have a word with them without pulling their hair.
I understand the entertainment value in the video we all just watched go viral in the past week and I’m encouraged by the overwhelmingly positive responses reminding us that violence is not an answer. It is concerning though that Instagram celebrities are garnering attention for such negativity and not putting their resources and efforts toward some positive actions.
Anticipation for a surf trip builds like beer in a shaken tallboy and explodes. No matter how zonked you are from flights and shuttles, you’ll shake it all off, drop your luggage, and get right out for a surf.
Christmas Eve and waiting for prezzies doesn’t get me too jazzed anymore unless I’m buzzing on the vegan nog and hanging with family. Pre-surf trip jitters, however, will keep me up late with visions of grandeur. Getting ready for surfing the world’s longest left, Chicama in Peru, was a perfect example of that.
Chicama is so perfect it looks fake in photos, but she is real and hypnotic to watch, let alone surf. If you don’t get a proper welcome at the airport, the sharp rocks and scorching sand under bare feet are a pan flute’s whistle of bienvenido in its own way.
A half hour sticky and rocky walk to the Cape — one of four major sections to the wave — and her marvel sets in a bit. We salivate over just how good the wave is when we turn the corner to see the Cape: chest high, offshore and in full production. The brisk waters from the Humboldt current are an especially inviting relief after the hot and greasy walk with your wetsuit on. Water temps in the low 60s mean a 3/2 is the best bet but the local groms cruise in a tee and trunks, mostly because that’s all they have.
She was fickle and not as easily scraped into as those Google image searches will have you believe. You have to earn it like any other wave. Once in though, chest-high Chicama is the most anti-depressive thing I have ever experienced. As it is such a lengthy ride, you can really dial in on micro-adjustments in your form or just cruise and still have your mind blown. Six-hundred meter long rides and stacking hypnotic lines that don’t section are forever etched in my head. Bliss begins to describe the feeling, but in the moment it manifests as a stupid smile that doesn’t go away.
We do the walk, surf, walk back conveyor belt happily for a day or two and then decide to go with the zodiac picking us up and dropping us off at the takeoff. The strong current makes for a relentless paddle, let alone staying in position for a wave. The boat became an appreciated luxury. True, the boat has no soul; its petrol leaves a stink in the air, its buzz can drown out the natural playlist of waves cracking, and the wake can run through the wave face if your driver is new or maybe doesn’t like you, but ours were tactical and took it seriously. So find some soul in that. I happily walked the first two days and several other sessions. I enjoyed that and I enjoyed the boat. I wasn’t above it. We laughed and marvelled together while in the boat and shooting the shit with the drivers. The boat drivers were stoked for us and would rip the wave apart on their time off.
One of the last sessions was at La Punta and our boat driver was surfing with us. At the beginning of the week, our first impressions of him were as a stoic presence in the boat, as he should be for a few reasons: a) He’s working and b) safety and a constant heightened awareness are crucial elements of his job. His credibility preceded—rumor had it that Laird Hamilton was impressed by his mastery of the zodiac when he visited town last year. At the end of the week, we got to know him a bit better and a sobering persona made way for passion and appreciation.
His name literally means “of the ocean” and he more than proved it during our stay. On our last session, while surfing with him, he was putting on a technical surfing clinic for us at La Punta. His dog watching from the not-so-far-off not-so-K9-friendly rocks, the two would bark and howl back and forth as only man and dog would.
Com o começo da alta temporada, já começamos a sentir a mudança nas condições climáticas nas Ilhas Mentawai. Sem nenhuma tormenta, março foi um mês de ventos amenos e ondas variando de 2 a 4 pés, sem períodos de flat.
Com um bom swell de sul na segunda quinzena, surfamos Rifles 2 dias seguidos super glassy, ondas de 4 a 5 pés e uma leve brisa de norte.
Em nossa primeira trip do mês, tivemos um grupo bem eclético de surfistas a bordo, vindos de diversos pontos do mundo. Surfamos desde o norte das Mentawai, na área do Playground, até o sul das ilhas, onde pegamos muitas ondas sozinhos e altos tubos em Thunders.
A vibe da trip foi ótima e nossos clientes aproveitaram todos os dias com bom tempo, ondas sem crowd e maravilhosos sunsets.
Já na segunda quinzena, nosso barco zarpou com um grupo de mulheres em uma trip customizada, focada na alimentação saudável, prática de yoga, alongamento e treinamento para surf, num exclusivo programa desenvolvido pelo famoso treinador Cris Mills @surfstrengthcoach e pelo experiente instrutor de surf Clayton Nienaber @claytonsurfboardsaus, ambos da Austrália.
Para atender ao cardápio exigente da trip, nosso chef preparou deliciosas refeições gluten-free num cardápio bem variado, e carregamos o barco com muitas frutas e snacks saudáveis.
Nossas trips são sempre uma oportunidade de conhecer pessoas incríveis e aprender um pouco com as histórias de vida de cada um de nossos clientes e o que os trouxe até esse longínquo arquipélago no Oceano Índico.
Dessa vez, tivemos uma grande lição de vida com uma de nossas clientes, Tiffany Wei, que mostrou a todos a bordo sua bravura e paz interior após lidar com um acidente no terceiro dia de trip.
Enquanto surfava Burguerworld num típico fim de tarde das Mentawai, ela colidiu com a prancha numa manobra, que acertou em cheio seu globo ocular causando uma hemorragia.
Tiffany foi levada pelo speedboat rapidamente para o barco, e após checarmos a gravidade da situação, nosso surf guide e o capitão do barco seguiram a regra e puxaram âncora para voltar ao porto em Padang, a fim de permitir atendimento médico urgente.
Apesar de todos no barco estarem nervosos com a seriedade do ferimento da amiga, ela própria se mostrou tranquila e super consciente, sem se deixar abater em nenhum momento, lidando com a situação de maneira sublime.
Graças ao seu seguro viagem (que recomendamos sempre a nossos clientes fazerem antes da trip), todas as despesas médicas e transporte até Singapura, onde ela foi levada para ser atendida e tratada, ficaram cobertas. Infelizmente, apesar de todos os esforços, ela sofreu perda total da visão no olho atingido.
Com nove dias restantes para acabar a trip, decidimos navegar novamente para as Mentawai e permitir que as outras meninas terminassem sua tão sonhada e programada trip.
As condições de swell e vento permaneceram as mesmas, com ondas medianas e leve vento norte. Surfamos Playgrounds com ondas divertidas e terminamos a trip em Lances Right num dia muito bem aproveitado.
Desejamos a Tiffany a melhor recuperação possível e sabemos que ela é forte e tem sabedoria para superar o acidente e continuar surfando.
