Surf Simply: Miercoles (Wednesday)

Today was our hard-earned and much-needed day off from surf coaching. Surf Simply offered a variety of other activities, including a trip to a monkey sanctuary that looked interesting. But my friend Jon was just over 30 miles north in Playa Negra and he'd invited me to come up to surf his local reef break. Last night I rented a small SUV, a gray Daihatsu Terios Bego. Before I started down the Monkey Trail, which one of the staff told me is what they call the sometimes-impassable dirt road that runs near the coast, I had breakfast with monkeys. Well, not exactly with them, but they were leaping around in the trees nearby.

The first stream crossing

I loaded the 6'2" in the back of the SUV and set off. There are no street signs in this part of the country, and even with an offline maps program linked to sometimes-laggy GPS, I still made a few wrong turns before I got to the Trail. Coach Asher told me I'd have to ford two streams, but since they were not far away, I'd know soon enough if the recent rains meant I'd have to turn back and go the long way around. Just short of the first crossing, I pulled to the side of the road and debated whether to wait for another vehicle to drive through. Minutes passed as I watched the flowing water. It didn't look that deep. Impatient, I got a running start and drove through the stream, which turned out to be a bit deeper than I thought. Water sprayed up toward the side windows as I pressed my foot on the gas. Keep going, I willed the SUV when it seemed to hesitate. Then we were through and on the other side. One down, one to go. The second ford came about 10 minutes later, and this time another SUV plowed through it ahead of me.

A lovely lonely beach along the Monkey Trail

The road was graded dirt, but at the end of the rainy season, it wasn't in good shape. There was an infinity of potholes and a multitude of irregular ditches carved by runoff. Driving it felt a bit like a video game with the object of avoiding those obstacles. A few times I hit an unexpected pothole a little too fast and crossed my fingers I hadn't done anything to require the flat-tire kit provided by Alamo. There was little traffic on the Trail and I might be on my own for a while if the SUV broke down. Thankfully, it got me all the way to Playa Negra after two bumpy hours on the road.

Please keep your horns to yourself while I drive by slowly.

According to Google Translate, the sign says "Her house is not dirty." Huh?

With a partner, Jon is building a cafe/coffee-roasting business with living space above the shop. He wasn't kidding when he said construction is still in the fetal stage; they don't have all the walls up yet, much less screens on the window openings. He had three guests, and they were all sleeping on mattresses on the floor. The girl was covered in mosquito bites and so grateful when I gave her a half-empty can of DEET spray I'd brought with me.

Jon's directions said, "It's on the right next to the big painted bull."

With our boards under our arms, Jon led me down a jungle path which was a shortcut to the beach at Negra. In several places, we carefully ducked under or through barbed wire, and we crossed a dry stream bed Jon said was sometimes waist-deep during rainy season. We popped out of the forest and onto a road, where he greeted several friends in fluent Spanish and I understood only a few words. At the end of the road was lovely Playa Negra, a small, rocky beach. Given the name ("black beach" in Spanish), I expected the sand to be dark, but it wasn't. Jon showed me where to paddle out in the channel, and my shoulder muscles initially protested that they weren't getting the day off. It was a reef break, mostly rights, with the waves a overhead and a few guys out in the lineup.

Jon rode several waves between lulls but I had no joy. Finally he said, "Come on, we're gonna get you a wave," and I followed him to the takeoff zone where I caught a big one. Although I made the drop, I forgot to stay high and was knocked off at the bottom by breaking whitewater. Sometime later, as the tide dropped and the waves steepened, I caught another on my own. It was my best wave of the trip so far, a long right all the way in with cutbacks on the open face. Woot!

Jon's place and my mighty Terios

I didn't figure I'd top that wave and I was hungry for lunch, so I got out and looked for interesting shells on the beach while Jon waited for his last wave. Back at his place, I chatted with Jon's cousin Ryan while Jon made us oatmeal with plantains. It was a simple lunch but surprisingly tasty.

By early afternoon, I was on the road again. Near the end of the journey, raindrops fell occasionally and I worried that the streams would become impassible, leaving me stuck on the wrong side of them with night falling. The storm held off, though, and the streams looked no deeper than the first time I'd crossed. At the first ford, the mud was mounded on this side of the bank, and my running start launched the SUV up and then into a shallow nose-dive mid-stream. Uh oh. I gunned the protesting engine and the Terios responded, driving safely up the opposite side. The last crossing was uneventful, but the storm clouds were growing darker, ready to drop heavy rain.

I arrived at the Rancho to find several of my friends watching a troop of howler monkeys in the tall trees opposite the gate. They were noisy and active, and some carried babies on their backs. Oddly, I'd seen no monkeys on the Monkey Trail. Too busy watching out for potholes, I guess.

The storm let loose soon after I got back. As torrential rain fell, fireflies glowed over the couches in the Rancho's living space. Dinner was on our own, so we all took a taxi to an Italian restaurant called il Basilico – all except Lauren, who had become violently ill. Miguel, our resident doctor, took care of her, as well as letting those of us with injuries know about an NSAID cream available at the Nosara pharmacy but not in the U.S. Having a doctor on a foreign surf trip comes in handy.

Over a tasty meal, we shared stories of the day's activities, from zip-lining (Kim and Ted) to mountain biking (Jessica) to just lazing around (Ian). When we returned to the resort, rain was still coming down. Most of us gathered at the big round table to play Cards Against Humanity. Surprisingly, I won. It was a fun end to an adventurous day.

Surf Simply: Martes (Tuesday)

We surfed early this morning after a quick first breakfast.

Kim, Fran and I carving backside on the beach

The swell had dropped to about head-high and the tide was high, making the waves soft and fat.

At Fran's suggestion, I took out a 7'6" NSP. We worked on angled takeoffs and carving turns. And stance, of course.

The high-volume board did give me a good wave count, and I'm getting better at looking down the line.

Back at the Rancho, we enjoyed second breakfast, although I was left pining for Denis' vegan pancakes. With some free time, Mike, Eric, Ian, Jessica and I walked along a path through the jungle into the small town of Playa Guiones. The town had a handful of shops along a short two-block stretch of dusty road, and the guys from Seattle wanted to check out the clay tennis courts. Mike mentioned a cafe that had vegan sorbet, and didn't need to spend any time convincing me and Jessica to stop in for a scoop. Robin's didn't accept credit cards but did take U.S. dollars, so I broke $20 and got back several colorful bills and a few coins denoted in colones.

Ian, Mike and Eric in the forest

Ian and Jessica in town

Harry talks about breathing

My chocolate sorbet had been deeply frozen in a small plastic cup, and the tropical heat barely melted the edges by the time we got back to the resort. We were just in time for Harry's lecture on breath-holding. As we sat on the floor of the yoga room, I nibbled on the cone and listened. I'd just taken a bite when Harry said, "Okay, now everybody hold your breath." I quickly swallowed and stopped breathing. I think I lasted maybe 30 seconds, not as long as others. Harry continued to speak on the dynamics of breathing and not breathing, most of which I'd heard during Hanli Prinsloo's Surprise Apnea for Surfers course. He had us hold our breaths a couple more times, on the last leading us in a breathe-up and purge sequence beforehand. I laid back on my cushion, closed my eyes, thought of nothing (as much as I ever can), and didn't breathe. Harry counted off time periodically and I could hear others starting to breathe again. After more than a minute and a half, he asked, "Anyone still going?" I raised my hand. More time passed, and my diaphragm bucked, but I kept holding. Finally I inhaled. "Well! Almost two and a half minutes," Harry told me. Wow! That was almost my time in the pool with Hanli whispering encouragement in my ear and the mammalian dive reflex giving me greater endurance. It seems like now I could go even longer than 2:40 with my face submerged. But as Harry pointed out, the longest most of us will ever be held down by waves is about five seconds.

Although I wasn't really hungry for lunch after two breakfasts and sorbet, I ate anyway. Lots of calories are being burned this week so extra food is okay. Then it was time for another theory session with Fran.

The afternoon surf session was a bit of a disappointment to me as I only rode one wave. But it was a good one, a long left all the way in to the beach. Mike from Seattle gave me a high-five, congratulating me on my "30-minute ride."

I had to miss afternoon yoga to walk down the road and pick up a rental car for tomorrow's adventure: Driving the Monkey Trail to see my friend Jon in Playa Negra!

Surf Simply: Lunes (Monday)

As always, Fran started our coaching session with a look at the waves. They were only slightly smaller than yesterday, still overhead.

Wave-hunting diagram

Today's lesson was on wave hunting. Fran drew a breaking wave on the sand, labelling sections a, b, c, and d to indicate the positions that were too soft through just right through too deep to catch.

Me, Fran and Kim talking about the hunt

After stretching, the three of us waxed up our boards paddled out the back. Fran coached us through lining up the waves. "Where is this one going to break? Where do you need to be to catch it? How about this wave? Go, go!"

Paddling out behind Mike (Miguel)

The post-surf video analysis showed I was still often not looking down the line, but my stance was improved.

Forgot those hips and hands

Look down, go down

When we returned, I quickly showered and rushed to my massage. It was very relaxing, although the seawater dripping from my nose was a distraction and she had to beware of a few cuts and bruises even on day two.

Clockwise from the top: Ian, Kim, me, Miguel, Lauren, Mike, Michael, and Eric

After lunch, we gathered in the yoga room for Harry's lecture on surf etiquette. I asked a question that's long puzzled me and been the subject of disagreement amongst my friends: If you're riding a wave closest to the peak and someone who took off deeper comes from behind and overtakes you, whose wave is it? Harry said it's a gray area. Yes, still gray.

The rest of the group departed for the second surf session while Kim and I stayed behind with Fran to learn duck-diving. She demonstrated the movements first on land and had us practice a few times. Then it was into the pool, on low-volume, toothpick shortboards. Fran broke the maneuver down into steps. Step one: push the board level under the surface with chicken-wing arms and one foot on the tail pad, lifting the other leg for balance, and hold steady. Step two: push the tail of the board down and back, extending the arms as the nose comes up and forward. Step three: pull the board under you again and keep paddling. Or something like that; it's hard to describe in words. She had us practice each component until we had it down, then moved on to the next, and soon we were duck-diving across the pool. Then it was time to try in the ocean, against real waves.

Since the van was gone, we loaded our boards onto bicycles for the short ride to the beach. Alas, the bikes were too tall for me, even with the seat in the lowest position. I fell over as soon as I tried to get on. Fran steadied me enough to get rolling, and I made it down the road.

I put my new skills to the test and made it to the outside without much trouble and with a smile on my face. So many have tried, many times, to teach me to duck-dive, but none succeeded until now. Fran joined me in the lineup with a grin on her face. "I saw you go right under some pretty big waves!" she said. Like all of the coaches, she was always so positive and encouraging.

My toothpick was a 5'9" with only 23L of volume, but I did manage to catch a wave although I quickly fell.

The afternoon surf was followed by yoga and then dinner at a Mexican restaurant, El Chivo, which was also open to the air and the mosquitos. The day's packed schedule left me feeling rushed, but it turned out to be the busiest of the week. I fell into bed happily tired.

Surf Simply: Domingo (Sunday)

The bungalow I shared with Jessica

Chef Denis set the bar high for breakfast on the first morning, serving me and Jessica vegan pancakes. With our bellies pleasantly full, we met our surf coaches. Mine was Francella from Nicaragua, and I was to share her with a guy named Thyago who had missed his flight and would arrive later.

With the surfboards and coaches loaded into a pickup truck with a trailer, I stepped up into a truckbed lined with benches behind the rest of the group. They were: Jessica and Mike, both from San Diego and living within 10 miles of me although we'd never met before; Kim and her father Ted from New Hampshire; Lauren and her husband Michael from Orange County, less than two hours' drive north of me; Mike and his son Eric from Seattle; and Ian from Calgary in Canada. In case you weren't counting, that's three Michaels. Mike from San Diego became Miguel for the week, to help keep them straight.

Miguel, Eric, Michael, Ian, Lauren and Mike

It was a bumpy ride down the potholed dirt road to Playa Guiones, the nearest beach. We each carried a surfboard down a leaf-covered jungle trail and across a shallow and narrow stream to the sand. Although Fran had brought a 6'2" surfboard for me, she handed me a much longer NSP. I looked at her quizzically.

"Just take it out in the whitewater and ride a few waves," she said. "Then you can come back for the shortboard."

Really? She wants me to ride a longboard? Ugh. "Okay," I said, "but I'm not very good on a longboard. I'll probably just kook it up."

And kook it up, I did. Every which way. It was embarrassing. Fran blew her whistle and waved for me to come in.

She probably thinks I totally lied about my skill level on the pre-camp questionnaire.

I redeemed myself, I thought, on the 6'2" which was dimensionally similar to my own Ward Coffey board, although none of the waves offered enough face for the carving turns I'd claimed I could do. After all, it was beach break. There were no long peelers like at the La Jolla reefs. And the waves were big, overhead – the sort of thing I mostly avoid at beach breaks at home. Still, after the whitewater longboard fiasco, I felt I'd done alright on the shorter board.

Fran on the left

Feet, hips, hands, and head – all wrong, girl

Videos don't lie. Back at the resort, I met Fran in one of the two theory rooms, icily air-conditioned concrete squares with whiteboards, flat-panel monitors, seats for the guests, and surfboard storage. Watching the replay, I saw my stance, gaze and position on the waves were less than ideal. Fran launched into the first theory lesson, on feet, hips, hands, and head. Surf Simply teaches the "functional stance," the proper placement of those body parts for the most efficient surfing.

Feet. I've been placing my front foot wrong for many years, but it's how I was taught: angled about 45 degrees off the stringer. According to the functional stance (FS), both feet should be parallel and slightly pigeon-toed, a little more than shoulder-width apart, centered over the stringer. The front foot should be ahead of the board's balance point, which was marked on the longboards with black tape.

Hips. Weight forward for speed and back to turn, all through hip movement while in the FS. "Pretend you have a flashlight in your back pocket," Fran told me, "and you want to shine the light straight ahead." That's where my front hip should be to gain speed. "Now sit back, almost like you're sitting on a stool." That's where my back hip should be to carve. With the feet properly positioned, the hips can move freely to shift weight.

At least I'm looking down the line

Hands. This was a noticeable fault for me in the videoes. With both of my hands in front of my front rail, my ass stuck out behind to counterbalance. "Front hand should be behind the back rail," Fran said.

Head. Another noticeable fault. Although I know in my head that I should be looking where I'm going, I tend to look down. "Always look down the line!"

Clearly, unlearning my bad old stance would take some work. So Fran assigned me "homework" of 10-20 pop-ups into the FS every day. It felt weird, this new stance. But I was here to learn, and I did my homework.

In the afternoon, Kim joined me under Fran's tutelage. With the waves messy and closed out from low tide and onshore wind, we stayed near the beach on longboards. Our coach explained that there was no shame in surfing in the whitewater; we could ride many more waves than if we went out the back and should look at it as training. I was assigned an 8'6" NSP for this remedial whitewater practice. Over and over, we drilled popping up into the functional stance, and shifting weight forward and back. My hips ached by the end of it.

There was a danger in surfing that shallow though; once, when I put my hand down to catch a fall, I overextended my wrist against the sandy bottom. That minor injury plagued me the rest of the week.

A friendly cat started hanging out at our bungalow, sleeping on the chairs, purring when we petted her, and meowing for food. "Sweetie, you picked the wrong place," I told her. "We're both vegans here! We don't have anything you'd want to eat." But she persisted, and I shared some of the snacks I'd brought. She liked Inner Peas from Trader Joes and, weirdly, peanut-butter filled pretzels.

On the beach at La Luna

Dinner was out, at a lovely open-air restaurant on the beach called La Luna. The sunset was glorious and the pizzas enormous. I'd ingested too much seawater to fully enjoy it, nearly throwing up in the bushes as the others piled back into the taxi van for the return trip to the resort. On my next visit to Surf Simply, hopefully next November, I want to go back and savor the place.

Stunning sunset

Schedule for the week

The Tree of Knowledge posted in the yoga room