We came by car, then plane, then taxi. Over highways, potholed roads, and slippery, muddy backroads, we made our way, crossing rivers, passing houses that looked more like sheds, until finally we arrived at the Surf Sanctuary. Tony R. was there, James, and Greg. We made it! Now we were going surfing, and in REAL waves. First, we went to Santana's. This is Tony L's favorite wave, and it is only a five minute drive away. It looks kinda big. Am I ready for this? I hear someone say, "The pros are out, Hobgood and Reyes." Am I ready for this? I can't believe it is really here, right before my eyes. It is offshore, the blue sky is dotted with puffy whites in a dream like setting of offshore winds, and there are only six guys out. I paddle out, inbetween heaving walls of blue-green gloss, and can't believe my eyes. Damien, I think it's Damien (or is it his twin C J?), does a huge off the top just next to me. I see the spray fanning out into the sky. My jaw drops. He paddles out beside me, and I have to say hi, and compliment him on that snap. He grins so wide I can see his perfect white teeth. He says I have timed it perfectly, as it is just now getting good. I take one and see for myself. My, my, my... it is better than good. It is what I have been dreaming about. We surf for four hours, and the wind stays perfect. The swells are relentless, overhead, and strong. Finally, we all decide we need to go in, that we will surely overdo it on the first day and will regret it. We go back to camp for a delicious veggie pasta and fruit juice. There is no rest for us as the call came shortly after that the "groms" were on their way to Santana's to surf with Ms. Macri! We head back to the beach, and no sooner had we arrived than an SUV loaded with surfers pulls into the sparsely shaded parking lot, and I hear boy's voices yelling, "MS. MACRI!" Auggie runs over, then Griffin, and they are stoked, ready to paddle out. We run down to the beach, boards under our arms, but Griffin's dad has already beaten us out into the lineup! He is frothing, telling me about all the waves he has ridden this week, and how I have to go to Popoyo where he felt like he was in a surf movie, turns, turns, turns, he said, that he had never been able to do before. He was as stoked as any kid I have ever seen. Griffin was paddling all over the lineup, charging into anything he could catch. He yelled out to me when I caught a big right, "Woo-hoo!" Auggie's brother, Marsh, goes over the falls and screams like a girl, as he does a face plant, to our delight. I am the last one to come in, about two hours later. The tide dropped. It was over for that spot for today. Later that evening, we went to the rivermouth for an evening session that lasted until dark, two more hours. One left made my day complete, a steep, free-fall drop that opened up for endless turns all the way to the beach. I was beaming. I was beat. Then it was back to camp for veggies and rice and Young Guns 2 on the TV screen in the dining hall. Exhausted, we went to our room, but someone was snoring so loud it was hard to sleep. No one would admit to it, though. A thunderstorm during the night woke me up, and I deduced that it was Tony or Greg doing the snoring. And then it was morning, and Tony was knocking at our door.
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