« Front Page | February 2007 »
January 2007 Issue
The Mentawais
by Grey Lockwood
What do you get when you take six of Santa Barbara's best young surfers, one legendary pro from San Clemente, three surf stoked dads, and put them all on a 75ft. catamaran in the middle of the Indian Ocean for two weeks?
Posted January 2007 Blue Edge Magazine. All rights reserved.
Rainbow Garden: Palau’s Kaleid Of Life
By Michael Kew
There are five hundred islandsin Polynesia (Hawai’i included); Melanesia has fifteen hundred. Micronesia has more than two thousand and sprawls four and a half million square miles across the Pacific, the world's biggest ocean, which theoretically would make Micronesia the Pacific’s most surf-rich region, with the largest number of reef passes, the most swell exposure, and the fewest surfers.
One is William, who lives in the Republic of Palau, westernmost of Micronesian isles, in the blue Philippine
Sea. William moved from southern California to Palau in 1987 to work two years as a government lawyer. But, like so many expats, eventually he wed a local woman, had kids, and set root.
I met William through photographer Art Brewer, who visited Palau twice on assignment for Islands magazine.
"Niceguy—saw him once," Art said. "Tell him hello for me."
So I did upon late arrival at busy Koror International Airport, where I had deplaned from Guam with the entire cast and crew of the reality television series "Survivor," filming their next series in the famed Rock Islands south of Koror. As such, large areas of the Rock Islands were closed to the public due to the ‘confidential’ nature of the filming.
This irked me, so I was happy to tell everyone I knew that "Survivor" was being filmed in Palau. And after viewing a few episodes filmed in Vanuatu, I hoped they could do better here. But how could they? It was all crap.
"Guess you'll just have to see the Rock Islands on television," William said.
He ended up showing them to me from his little boat one day, with his wife Tlau and daughter Barbie, dodging squalls, touring the maze of pretty green limestone mounds in their warm turquoise lagoon. We lunched on a white beach, snorkeled at a few holes, and I even got to bodysurf with sharks at Blue Corner, Palau's premier scuba spot. The "Survivor" posse was invisible, and that pleased me. They could have their ridiculous 'reality' and I could have mine, because Palau is ridiculously beautiful.
A ruby sunriseand crowing roosters and twittering birds found my hotel, run by Filipinos, which was cheap, spartan, old but efficient—I was broke and alone, after all. It was on a secluded residential side street, ideally quiet and unassuming, which meant no screaming kids, no barking dogs, no loud juke boxes in a hotel bar, or bums, or hookers, or clanking dishes. Oh, but yes, there were birds and roosters and the irritatingly ancient air-conditioner, which made my throat sore, so I slept sticky and hot for the rest of the trip.
But none of this amounted to anything. I was the hotel's only guest, and its surroundings were the real draw: blue sky, warm sea, bananas, coconuts, betel nut, sago palms, fragrant flowers, ferns and vines. It seemed like it could be a touristy botanical garden in Singapore, or the atrium of a vogue Australian resort, or what you pay three hundred bucks a night for at Tavarua, but it wasn't. Of the Pacific islands, Palau immediately struck me as being of the most unique.
Which is not lost in the tourism office's glossy brochures or the smug grins of the local people, most of whom own cars. On my first morning I took a sweaty walk west of town and realized I was the only pedestrian—Koror is a settlement of the automobile. Everybody drives. It harked of Majuro, and several times I came very close to being roadkill. Motorists honked and swerved and the air was exhausty and the gutters were trashy; people smoked cigarettes and ate Cheetos and drank Coke and were obese and illiterate; the sun was out and Koror was hotter than hell. But what did I care? I was a grubby white guy visiting from the great land of SUVs and Wal-Mart, I was minding my own business, here to surf and to look around, and, no, I wasn't part of that damn "Survivor" cast.
Around three in the afternoon I rendezvoused with William at his moored boat, a twenty-foot fiberglass panga with canopy, in a private harbor beneath the Japan-Palau Friendship Bridge aside a rusting hulk of a half-sunken ship.
(This modern suspension bridge joins Koror to Babeldaob, which is the second largest island in Micronesia [Guam is the first], and was built by Japan in 2002 after the original Koror-Babeldaob Bridge collapsed in 1996, killing two people.)
"Before, the ship was valuable and people argued about who owned it," he said. "After it started to sink, everyone forgot about it."
An hour later, miles from land off the coast of Babeldaob Island, William looked toward Koror and said, “Sometimes I just don’t want to go back.”
“You don’t say.”
We'd skimmed for a half-hour through squalls across the lagoon after William bailed early from work. He is an attorney and was very busy, but the swell was on its last legs.
The wave we were surfing was a long and fun right-hander reminiscent of Cojo Point, but there weren't fifteen boats in the channel and forty people out hassling each other in the middle of nowhere, and it was much warmer.
"Two few days before you arrived," he said, "this spot was as good as it gets."
* * *
On my final night in Palau I ordered sushi in a restaurant called Mingles, but I did no mingling because the place was empty. So I ate in silence; the food was inexpensive and good.
Walking back to my hotel I came upon a gaunt, geriatric white man sitting in a folding chair on the corner of the road, in front of the Koror post office, smoking a cigar. He wore a blue floral shirt and beige shorts; his bare legs were skinny pale pins of veiny flesh, and his eyeglasses were a quarter-inch thick. Two pieces of luggage were at his side.
“Your cigar smells quite good,” I said.
“Want one?”
“Oh, no thank you. I don’t smoke.”
“Good for you. You don’t need it.”
He was an eighty-six-year-old World War II veteran named Cecil. He was sitting there waiting for his ride to the airport to fly back to his retirement home in Kansas, a tiresome red-eye route stopping in Guam, Honolulu, Houston, and finally Wichita.
“That seems like an awful lot of flying for a guy like you,” I said.
He scoffed. “I got here, didn’t I?”
“What brings you to Koror?”
“Peleliu.
Posted January 2007 Blue Edge Magazine. All rights reserved.
64 Degrees: A Surf Trip to Iceland
By: Teasha Curren
A partially frozen volcanic landmass juts out of the North Atlantic near the top of the globe, midway between New York and Moscow. Irish monks first settle this island, then around the year 900 Viking and Celtic people move in, fleeing tyrannous governments and seeking abundant lands to put down roots. Today, Icelanders are descendants of the original settlers; ancient Viking language is still spoken and has not changed much in the last 1000 years. Despite the settlement’s longstanding history, in geological time Iceland is relatively 'new' which explains the dramatic, rough, jagged and actively volcanic landscapes. Glaciers cover ten percent of the island and the interior is an uninhabited, barren arctic desert. In this land of fire and ice as the saying goes, if you don’t like the weather wait five minutes and it will probably get worse. This is not really what I want to hear traveling to Iceland with surfboards. I am also advised that everything is expensive and to watch out for elves and trolls…
At the Leif Erikson airport terminal customs agents eyeball our oversize luggage with curiosity. A local man bundled in a scarf stops to inquire. When I tell him I have come here to go surfing his face contorts with surprise as he responds, “Surfing in Iceland? Weird!” In addition to surfboards I brought along the following: substantial hooded wetsuit with gloves and booties, sleeping bag, long underwear, warm clothes, rain jacket, swim suit, waterproof shoes, camera, towel, usual toiletries, jar of peanut butter, a stash of tea and as many Cliff bars as I could squeeze in without going overweight. In a country where a beer cost ten bucks I have taken it upon myself to import snacks.
My trip begins in Reykjavik the world's northernmost capital city. It is Sunday and people are worn out from the Runter, which translates indirectly to 'wild all-night pub-crawls' which occurs every Friday and Saturday. Gossip has infiltrated the globe with reports that gorgeous Icelandic women outnumber the men seven to one at bars; the boys on my trip are hoping to get lucky. If you are planning to stay in the city on the weekend and want to sleep during the night you will need earplugs, and depending on the time of year, an eye mask, to block out the midnight sun. Reykjavik is teeming with budding musicians and artsy folk. The inhabitants are stylish, friendly, highly educated and speak better English than I do.
On our way to the surf break, we drive on a two-lane highway across windswept lava fields cloaked with bright green spongy moss, passing by stacked rock formations and steaming mountains. Heavy clouds hang in the sky by the time we get to the beach, but its not raining. The ocean is glassy and I am going surfing in Iceland! It is really cold. A blanket of slimy seaweed deceptively covers the slick rocks. At last, expecting the worst I plunge into the sea and am surprised to find that it's not as cold as I thought it was going to be. Feeling more like a seal insulated by a thick layer of blubber than a surfer, I duck dive through the translucent icy-blue water on my way to the line up. Trading waves, the surf is bigger than it looked and it’s fun and barreling. The mighty North Atlantic tosses me around like a rag doll and my body takes a few relentless beatings. A frigid breeze starts to blow piercing my wetsuit, and all of a sudden I find myself as cold as I thought I should be. My friends go in. I am shivering alone, waiting on a decent last wave when a gigantic seal pops its spotted head up and peers at me with bulging, concentrated eyes before sinking back down beneath the surface of the water. Time to go in! Back in the car rain pelts the roof. I am informed that local Icelandic seals are curiously friendly, however once in a while an aggressively mean one will migrate over from Greenland. I imagine that my pinniped friend with whiskers and fangs was only a curious local.
Due to the nature of any island, somewhere will always be offshore, unfortunately in Iceland it is often gale force offshore. Powerful waves emerge from deep water breaking on the volcanic shoreline. There are reefs, points, black sand beaches, jetties and river mouths. Surf shops do not exist in Iceland and there are only about 15-20 full time surfers who frequent the breaks.
Being highly volcanic, Iceland is famous for hot springs and almost every town has at least one open air geothermic swimming pool with hot pots. An outdoor aquatic complex in Reykjavik has Olympic size lap pools, a recreational shallow pool equipped with basketball hoop, a twisty waterslide, an eggy steam room and a selection of hot pots that vary in temperature. Lounging in a hot pot surrounded by chitchat spoken in the language of the Vikings, I spy the thermometer from the corner of my eye and the air temperature is one degree. Swimming is the one thing in Iceland that is cheap, costing less than a measly hot dog to gain access to the warm water. Be aware, you will be asked to follow a strict pre-dip bathing regime before you can even stick your toe in. Don’t even try to cheat!
Weather changes frequently here. One session I paddle out to glassy peaks, and within a half hour the swell picks up and the conditions turn into victory at sea. Another day, the rain clouds part like heavy velvet stage curtains revealing the brilliant sun and it becomes delightfully warm. As we surf in this pristine ocean, offshore plumes streak across a cloudless azure sky.
Partly responsible for Iceland’s unpredictable weather is the Gulf Stream. This ocean surface current carries warmth from the Gulf of Mexico as it travels up the east coast of North America and along the west coast of Europe before finally reaching Iceland, bringing with it relatively mild weather given the countries geographical location. Reykjavik’s latitude is 64 degrees north. Off the west coast of Iceland the warm salty current collides with less saline Arctic waters and sinks into the depths of the North Atlantic, essentially forming an underwater waterfall. The global warming trend is of particular interest to Icelanders because if the salinity of the Gulf Stream is diluted with melting ice, by laws of chemistry and physics it will stop sinking causing the conveyor belt bringing warmth to come to a grinding halt. If this happens, Europe will have a mini ice age and Iceland will live up to its name becoming uninhabitable, frozen over and entrapped by polar ice.
The sun comes out for the last week of our trip, but this time it does not bring warmth and the surf goes flat. Thermometers plummet, puddles freeze over and icicles cling to jagged cliff faces. Chilly wind blows down from glaciers and snow-dusted peaks. Joe and I leave our base in Reykjavik and head east on the ring road to do some serious sightseeing. Landscapes are spectacular and around every corner Joe mutters, “wow…” or “impressive…” We see visible rifts between tectonic plates, steam holes, geysers and bubbling pools of mud. Waterfalls cascade down mountains and ruins of ancient turf houses rest peacefully alongside the road. Glacial tongues slither down valleys, and in one place into a lagoon that has doubled in size over the last few years as the glacier retreats. Bluish chunks of ice break apart and bump together as they drift out to sea creating a soothing clicking, crackling sound.
In this harsh environment any creature would have to be extremely determined to live without the comfort of modern conveniences such as grocery stores and central heating. The only indigenous land mammals are the arctic fox and the occasional starving polar bear that sails over from Greenland on an ice floe. Upon arrival, fates of the transient bears are gloomy because sheep farmers exterminate them. Bears visited more often in past centuries because there was more polar ice. The presence of polar ice comes and goes; the last time it menaced the coast blocking ocean traffic and bringing freezing weather was 1979. No one has seen a Polar Bear in Iceland since 1988. Other land mammals including: stowaway rats and mice, feral minks and introduced reindeer manage to survive the somehow survive. On the contrary, the unspoiled ocean is crowded with life upon which a plethora of nesting seabirds, seals, whales and humans feed. While I am in Iceland, despite international protest, commercial whaling resumes.
Iceland is a magical place. The countryside reminds me of J.R.R. Tolkien’s depiction of Middle Earth and I almost expect to see hobbits emerge from turf houses. Folklore goes that trolls caught in an evil deed by the sunrise have been turned to stone, and more than once I see the lava rock silhouette of the unlucky creature. Along with local Icelanders, I am now a firm believer that the wee people do actually existence in this mysterious land and I think its better not to bother them, choosing to live harmoniously with them instead.
Even though the northern tip of the country extends slightly into the Arctic Circle, thanks to the Gulf Stream Iceland is not entirely covered with ice. Regardless, it is still quite cold and unless you are a Viking or of direct Viking decent, I would strongly suggest taking the following advice, “There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.” Come prepared. Quality surf breaks are already on the map, and with 3,100 miles of largely unexplored coastline more are waiting to be discovered. Once you get your bearings the secret to getting good waves is to check the conditions often, since the weather seems to change about every five minutes.
On my way home I am funneled through a tourist shop crammed with plastic horned Viking helmets, woolen knitwear, reindeer pelts, canned pure Icelandic air, troll figurines and Bjork CDs. Passing it all by, I leave this pristine geological wonderment with the unforgettable memory of the prettiest ocean watercolor I have ever seen in my life.
Posted January 2007 Blue Edge Magazine. All rights reserved.
Wavelengths
Today’s Surf Travel Industry
Words and Photo by Michael Kew
Henry Morales is the founder and managing director of Wavehunters Surf Travel (www.wavehunters.com), a top-notch, full-service agency that started in Santa Barbara, now based down in Oceanside. With 10 years’ experience of blending business with surf travel, I recently caught up with Morales, 34, to chat a bit about the state of the industry.
How and why did you establish Wavehunters?
Morales: By accident. I worked off-and-on for three travel agencies in five years as a sort of parallel career to my academic career. I was working part-time with a Santa Barbara-based agency called Your Travel Center, which supported us in developing our own niche clientele—it seemed like everything was pointing toward surf travel. In those five years, I learned the nuts and bolts of the travel and airline industries, and with all of the surfing magazines I had consumed for years, I sort of put the two together into a kind of surf-travel-logistics enterprise.
How has the surf travel industry evolved since you became officially immersed within it?
When I started in 1997 there was a lack of established operators. There were only a few boats really operating in the Mentawais and Maldives; besides Tavarua, the South Pacific was relatively unknown; Latin American surf travel was pretty limited outside of Costa Rica and Mexico, with maybe a camp in Peru and Panama. But today, since 1997, surf travel has evolved in three key ways: (1) Development of professional live-aboard "fleets" in Indonesia and the Maldives, and the emergence of surf resorts and professional surf tour operators in developing areas of Latin America, like El Salvador, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Galapagos, Peru, mainland Mexico, Morocco, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, etc. (2) The emergence of “frontier” surf travel tours—Papua New Guinea, Montebello Islands in northwest Australia, Pohnpei, Fiji’s Lau Group, New Caledonia, the outer atolls in the Maldives, the Tuamotu Archipelago, Sumatra, Timor, Mozambique—there are now legitimate operators in these and other obscure regions. (3) Normalization of last-minute surf-trip planning based on surf forecasting.
What are the pros and cons of your line of work?
The pros are traveling to exotic surfing locations and working with local operators to develop and promote viable surfing tourism at each location; integrating surf forecasting and meteorological technology into trip planning, which I always find fascinating; the study of coastal and oceanic geography and topography; interacting with surfers from all over the world on a daily basis and communicating in other languages sometimes, particularly Spanish, as we have many Latin operators. The cons are a tremendous amount of office work and responsibility—Wavehunters is essentially a travel agency (which is not a glamorous job) that evolves around surfing as much as a meticulous desk job. I am personally responsible for managing a large amount of information and overseeing several thousand surfing tours each year, ensuring that every one of them goes well. Minor mistakes in this business can result in major screw-ups.
Where do you see the surf travel industry headed?
For the next five years or so, I see the current trends continuing with more boats, more surf resorts, and more surf tour operators in the already-popular regions. Right now Wavehunters sends over 90 percent of its clients to approximately 10 destinations: the Mentawais, the Maldives, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Mexico, Samoa, Fiji, Pohnpei, and Ecuador. I think there will eventually be more traffic to the more obscure “frontier” destinations as the more-accessible and well-known destinations become saturated with surfers and are eventually crowded. Oceania is still largely unexplored and unknown—there are entire island chains and archipelagos which most surfers have never heard of. Then there is Africa, which has a massive coastline on two sides, much of it still unexplored, and places like the island of Madagascar, which is larger than the state of California and surrounded by water on all sides. Eventually, even political hotbeds and mostly avoided destinations like Angola or Ivory Coast or Madagascar will normalize and open up. Infrastructure improvements and the migration of pioneering surf explorers into the lesser-traveled areas and the foundation of credible surfing tourism operations at these locations will turn somewhere like Papua New Guinea or Mozambique into the next Indonesia or Costa Rica perhaps by the year 2020. Artificial reefs will also be a big part of the future of surf travel, because there is a finite number of world-class breaks, but if you can use artificial reef technology to transform mediocre or non-existent surfing spots into world-class waves, the possibilities are endless. Simulated waves may also be a thing of the future, as wave pool technology gets closer to reality or even surpasses it.
Posted January 2007 Blue Edge Magazine. All rights reserved.
The Adventures Of Demi Boelsterli & Bo Stanley
By Chris Keet
What were your goals for your first trip to Oahu in the winter?
Demi:My goals for this trip were to get new photos in a new area, to surf bigger and better waves, and to have fun.
Were your goals accomplished?
Bo:Overall I would say yes. I went on this trip thinking of it as a mixture of business and pleasure, and had an unbelievable time while also getting some good video and photos to bring home to help build up my portfolio and ideally obtain Roxy as my supporting sponsor. I surfed big waves, made it through a broken leash experience at big sunset, and gained a lot of independence as well.
What was your best session?
Demi:Oh God…umm, I don’t know, there were so many fun days. I guess that I would have to say that it was one day at Rocky Rights. The waves were a couple feet over head, and everyone on the tour was out. We still managed to get a lot of waves, and were able to push our levels with the worlds best surfers.
Bo:My best session would have to be at Sunset when I snaked Demi on a set wave! It was a really good set, probably a few feet bigger than double overhead, and she was on it and I just went in front of her and we were laughing the whole time on this huge wave. (at least I was.) It was great. Then I was pulling out with too much speed and got whip lash on my neck when I flew backwards and stacked. I got the karma, but it was worth it for sure.
What was the biggest surf that you went out in?
Bo: We went out at Sunset and it was solid, and pretty heavy, but really fun. I took off on a set waves and got super worked. I came up and my leash had snapped. I was stuck in the impact zone having to take five sets on the head. Staring at the sets and the long swim in at the same time, my brother yelled at me to keep my cool and look in control so I wouldn’t have to be rescued by the lifeguard. If they had to come and save me from the rip current It would have been a scene with me being the star kook. I feel that I can take a beating a bit more now. (The week after returning Bo won the NSSA Northwest in Santa Cruz in grueling overhead wind biscuits with heaps of wind and a 40 mile per hour cross current)
Did anything go wrong?
Demi:Wow. I got so worked on this trip, both in and out of the water! Where to begin…lets see. I got really sick and threw up out of the rental car window, and then later that day we were surfing Logs and I was duck diving this huge set and the wave crashed right on my back, broke my brand new CI (Channel Islands) then dragged me on the reef. Then a few days later at Off The Wall I was duck diving again and I hit the reef and got a five inch ding in the tail. Here's a list of mishaps from the trip:
Lanis- Opened old buckle
Broke my phone at Pipe (dropped it in the water)
Got attacked by cat – later stepped in cat poop.
Rocky Rights: Fin hit my face and gave me a black eye
Gas Chambers: Broke board that I borrowed from Adam Lambert
Lost fin for my last board
Bo: I buckled the nose of my board and got one other ding, but they were fixed for me really quick. I only hit the reef once, but I think that Demi absorbed most of the things that went wrong for the both of us.
What did you do to prepare yourself for this trip?
Demi: First off, I found two boards that worked well for me, and bought a bunch of new bathing suits. I also worked for my sponsor Surf Happens at summer surf camps, and with beginning students in their after school programs to save up some money.
Bo: I worked out a little harder than normal, swimming and running everyday to build up my cardio and endurance. I also made sure that I had a bigger board in case the waves came up. You need to go over there physically in good shape and mentally ready to handle the conditions. I also got all of my homework from my homeschool teacher in advance, three weeks worth, and of course I searched through all 30 of my bathing suits to find the best ones.
Any tips you could give to young women like yourselves who are traveling alone?
Demi: Don’t talk to creepers, stay alert, make sure that you are organized, bring the right equipment and enough money, and have fun!
Bo: Well, we weren’t really alone first of all, which I think is really important. To go with someone, or to have a connection over there. My big brother, Drake, was with us the whole time looking after us and pushing us to go on big waves. He is 6’6 and would protect us against any creepers and in the case of a hassle.
I guess the tips I would give would be the following:
1.If possible bring a large 6’6 man who weights 230 pounds with you!
2.Always stay together in airports and don’t travel alone.
3.Don’t talk to creepers or put yourself in dangerous situations
4.Know your itineraries and allow enough time for flights
5.Know your limits and boundaries and prepare for the best and worst that could happen.
6.Bring extra cash in case of emergency
7.Bring the right equipment
8.Stick together!
What did you get out of this trip?
Demi: Lots of scars and two broken boards! Nah, this was the trip of a lifetime. I got to hang out with friends from around the world, surf with the top pros, surf big good shaped waves, and was able to build up my portfolio with new photos, and video. All in all Oahu is the sickest place to be in the winter!
Bo: I got good video and photos for my portfolio, but that was secondary to the fun and experiences I had. I was able to push my level in many different kinds of waves and gained an understanding of the waves that I will be surfing when I come back to Hawaii, and in the future as a professional. The reality of amateur contests, and even the WQS is that surfing in small meager conditions will never prepare you for swimming in through a rip current or charging big waves. Real surfing to me is when the ocean comes alive and limits are pushed.
Shout Outs:
Demi: Thanks to Chris Keet my coach, and Aaron Ernst from Surf Happens of Santa Barbara. They set us up with Erik Ipple who took photos of us and shot us for a few days. Home Boy (Drake Stanley) for chaperoning us, taking care of us, and making us surf too much, in everything! It helps to have a 6’6 vanilla gorilla as your friend!
I also want to thank my parents for helping me to pay for the trip as well as my sponsors, A-Frame Surf Shop, Surf Happens, Surf One, & Arson Art. Final thanks to Bo for taking up the whole bed, snaking me on sets, and for pushing me. Thanks Skeetsky!
Bo:
Here is my list of shout outs.
Drake Stanley my bit bro for pushing us into big waves, and chaperoning Demi and I.
My parents and team Esau’s for supporting my surfing 100% since I was 9.
Chris Keet from Surf Happens as the best surf coach and motivator.
Al Merrick for making me the best boards ever!
Roxy for hooking me up and putting me on their team one day.
To God for all of my blessings and keeping us safe
Demi for taking twelve for the team!
Erik Ipple (Nipple) for taking all of the shots of us and helping us to push our limits.
Posted January 2007 Blue Edge Magazine. All rights reserved.
