Roughing it on the beaches of Costa Rica

Text Size: A | A | A

Print this Article Email this Article

Loading...

In April, my son, Kevin, and I spent two weeks riding the waves in Mal Pais, a laid-back surf town at the southern tip of the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica.

The water is warm — a tropical 86 degrees — and the white-sand beaches run for miles. The Pacific coast picks up swells from the north, south and west, so there is always surf somewhere, and the wind is usually offshore holding up the waves, which are fast and hollow.

On our first day we awoke at dawn, waxed up our boards, smothered our faces with sunscreen and paddled out. The tropical water was sublime: warm and clear with an aquamarine hue. Kevin surfed a 9-foot longboard and I used my 6-foot, 10-inch shortboard. There were six other surfers in the water when we got out to the line up and they were spread out over a quarter-mile.

It was like being a teenager again, cheering each other's waves, hooting and hollering; it was pure stoke. My shortboard performed as advertised. Catching waves was easy, it turned on a dime and had speed through the sections — a perfect beach break board.

We surfed for several hours, and when we were finally exhausted we paddled in and strolled to a local café for a huge breakfast of papaya, bananas, eggs, beans, rice, orange juice and coffee. Then it was back to the room for a nap. If I had to return home the next day, the entire trip would have been worth that first session.

Our standard routine was to get up about 6 a.m., make coffee, check the surf, drink coffee, watch the surf, wax up, surf, eat breakfast, check e-mail, read, nap, read, surf in the afternoon, have cocktails, watch the sunset over the ocean, then have fresh dorado grilled with garlic, olive oil and lemon for dinner at one of the local restaurants. It was a demanding, rigorous schedule, but we were Spartans in adversity.

Sometimes while sitting in the water waiting for a set, a surfer will see amazing sights that only those in the water can witness, and it fills the soul with wonder. We had one of those moments. It was mid-morning and the water visibility was about 30 feet, the wind was calm and there was a lull in the surf. Suddenly we were surrounded by a school of fish that kept growing until there were thousands of them swimming around and underneath us. This lasted for more than 15 minutes. We could look down into the water and see squadrons of fish coming toward us, then they'd swerve at the last second and veer around our boards, re-forming into formation after they passed. It was astounding. I've been surfing 45 years and have never seen anything like it.

When a set suddenly appeared on the horizon, we started paddling furiously. As the first wave approached, the face jacked up and the water was so transparent I could see right through it to the back of the wave, and what I saw took my breath away: Thousands of fish screaming across the inside of the wave, weaving a living tapestry of color and speed. I wish I had a photo, but the image will be forever burned in my brain.

On our last night we followed our ritual of watching the sun set over the ocean; it is one of the most timeless and sublimes scenes in the world. The sun grew larger as it neared the horizon, swelling to a giant orange orb. It was the iconic Endless Summer tableaux. The clouds turned pink, red, purple as twilight approached, then darkness swept across the sky. It was as good as it gets.

In between travels, Carlyle Stout restocks his duffel bags in Ashland.

Print this Article Email this Article