Magic Sessions and Chasing Sandbanks
With me still out of the water, on injury time, we packed up our tents and got back on the road. Rosary had convinced me to reluctantly purchase a tent, saying it was the only way to travel Mexico. She was right of course but I did miss the comforts of a fan! Picking up two mad Irish lads Garret and Fionan that we knew from Indonesia, we scored some super fun waves, experienced a yearly local fiesta and met some interesting characters.
It was during this time that we scored a magic week of surf. Rocking up to a remote spot with no one around; the area had been vacated for 4 days due to a forecast Norte wind that was blowing in full force when we arrived. We set up our tents, and contemplated our unwise decision to head to the spot during these not-so-ideal conditions. The next day however, we discovered a perfectly groomed sand bank with a fun, punchy wave; no one there to surf it but us! Our gamble had paid off and the next week turned out to be one of the best weeks of the trip. Surfing from first light to pitch black on our own, avoiding the mid morning surf tours that would roll up in their 4×4 loads, we would trek back to our tents exhausted and happy. Not even the vicious mosquito and sand fly attacks to & from the beach (and occasionally in the line-up) could dampen our spirits. We had finally found paradise.
As is often the case, all good things must come to an end. We watched in dismay as our sandbank started to change, the wave turned fat and the crowds became ridiculous. Our lonely little collection of tents had become a tent shanty town. When creeping out of the camp on dark, to surf a less than average wave, for 20 minutes before the crowds hit no longer felt worth it, we decided it was time to pack up and move to the next spot. With a wistful glance back at what had been, we were back on the road but we were thankful for our good luck, however short lived.