hiya wa howa aswat

The measurement of waves has always had different approaches when it comes to surfing. What is wave height? When should a wave be measured?

Surfing is a sport of achievements. The first wave ride, the first surf line, the first barrel, the biggest wave. One of the most famous surfing quotes tells everything about surfers and their passion. "You should've been here yesterday...".

Buzzy Trent, a big wave surfer, also told us that "waves are not measured in feet and inches, but in increments of fear". The quotation raised the question: so, how can you measure surfing waves, in order to establish comparisons?

There two strong approaches to wave height. The Bascom Method and the Hawaiian Wave Scale. Like John Kelly Jr. once said, "you can overestimate or you can underestimate". That is precisely what defines both theories of wave measurement.

Hawaiian surfers have been known for measuring waves from the back, which mean they cut wave face height in half, in a response to Californian surfers' exaggerated achievements and bravado.
When big wave surfing got the attention of the media, as an alternative discipline of surfing, the Hawaiian Wave Scale conquered fans. It was really cool to underestimate the size of wave.
The scientific approach to wave height is, however, colder and pure mathematics. The method developed by Willard Newell Bascom is simple, fair and rational.

It tells us that to measure wave height, you should stand on the beach with your eyes aligned with the wave crest and the horizon. Then, measure the wave from that point to the average sea level.

The Hawaiian Wave Scale has a few disadvantages. It is difficult when measuring small waves, it can't be confirmed from the beach, it is based in emotional variables of courage, it does not measure the entire face in which surfers ride and it doesn't apply to waves that are big and heavy, but don't wave a large back, like Teahupoo.

The third way of measuring waves would be a fair and balanced approach based on the area that is actually ridden by a surfer, 90% of the time. Having in mind that the bottom-turn is the lowest point in wave face, the Surfable Wave Face hypothesis would consider 2/3 of the Bascom Method as the area where surfers draw their lines and tricks, from the pocket to almost sea level.

In conclusion, a two-meter wave (6.5 feet) in the Bascom Method would correspond to a one-meter wave in the Hawaiian Scale (3.2 feet) and 1.3-meter wave (4.2 feet) in the Surfable Wave Face.

The logical concept of the Surfable Wave Face brings the best of the underestimated and overestimated models into a globally accepted model for measuring wave height in the sport of surfing.

The long-awaited autobiography of Tom Carroll, one of Australia's surfing legends, reveals the ups and downs of the pro surfer from Sydney.

Thomas Victor Carroll was born on the 26th November, 1961, in Newport, New South Wales, Australia. The life story of the two-time world surfing champion has many juicy details.
He is the first surfer to secure a million dollar contract with Quiksilver. He won 26 world tour stages, three Pipeline Masters trophies and two world titles, in 1983 and 1984.

"TC", written by Tom and Nick Carroll, shows us the dreamer, surfer, big wave rider, hero, fitness fanatic, businessman, family man, and big wave charger that is the talented goofy-footer.
When he tried to "connect" with his world, he found himself trapped in drugs and addiction. Cocaine, ecstasy, LSD and methamphetamines almost killed him.


Tom's family and friends struggled with him, kept his secrets, and looked on in anger and fear as the wheel began to grind him down. Then a window opened – but getting through it made charging Pipeline look like a piece of cake

VIDEO = > Tom Carroll - 60 Minutes 

Maya Gabeira has survived the biggest wave of her surfing career. After leaving the Portuguese hospital, the Brazilian promises to return to Praia do Norte, Nazaré, in the next year.

Gabeira is happy to be alive and has reasons to believe Nazaré is the most dangerous wave in the planet. Her words say it all.

"I am very happy to be here. It's true, from the heart. For having another chance. Heaven would be super boring. It was too calm up above", jokes Gabeira.

"The conditions we faced are perhaps the toughest in the world. Not only for the wave out there, which can compare to Cortes Bank or Mavericks, but the thing is, in those places, the wave ends. Here, danger never ends and it can get worse because of the rocks and the close-outs".
"I took a big wave, and in the third or fourth bump I fell and broke the ankle. But I got to the surface well. Then came another wave. It was when I got a long time underwater and I didn't know where I was exactly. Then I felt something in my chest - my safety vest exploded - and went underwater again, too deep, with black vision," she recalls.

"No doubt, I'm alive because of my training. I have adapted to be four minutes without breathing. I take more time to enter an advanced stage of oxygen deficit. Being without vest is a problem. After taking two waves in the head without the vest, it is difficult to survive".

"It was worth it, I would do it again. It was not time for me to go. Next year, I'll be back".

"I'm going to Brazil for a week. In two months, I'll be in the water for the Hawaiian season," Maya Gabeira concludes.

Watch how Maya Gabeira almost lost her life at Praia do Norte, Nazaré, Portugal.

Andrew Schmidt, director of Lifeguards Without Borders, has issued a simple response to the treatment of Maya Gabeira, during her near-fatal accident in the big surf.

On the 27th October, 2013, Carlos Burle saved Maya Gabeira's life, at Praia do Norte, Nazaré, Portugal. He took her out of the water and started cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR).

When an adult is suffering an heart attack, he is having a cardiac problem. Blood has stopped pumping around the body. Heart compressions are applied to "restart" the blood flow.
What is drowning? The primary cause of injury and death by drowning is a lack of oxygen. The primary goal of treatment is to provide oxygen.

The issue with people who drown is different from those suffering an heart attack, because they lack oxygen in blood, so we need to give them oxygen. Pumping blood without oxygen around the body is not helping at all.

Medical authorities say that CPR for drowning patients should still include ventilation. Andrew Schmidt adds that "whether it is mouth-to-mouth or pocket mask, you're going to do the greatest amount of good".

You can become of great value for your friend in need if you understand the basics of the resuscitation of a drowning victim.

The most important thing is not getting water out of lungs, but providing oxygen. So, rescue breaths are critical if you want to bring a surfer back to life.

Laird Hamilton believes Carlos Burle has not set a new world record for the biggest wave ever surfed because the Brazilian didn't complete the ride, at Praia do Norte, Nazaré, Portugal.

The Hawaiian waterman known for riding the Millennium Wave, on the 17th August, 2000, says Carlos Burle should've completed the ride to claim the Guinness World Record owned by Garrett McNamara.

"First of all, to set a world record for riding the biggest wave, you need to make the wave and I believe Carlos did not make that ride", Hamilton tells CNN.

"As a big wave rider, our objective is to be safe. The whole thing about making the wave is, first catch it, and then complete the ride by riding into the safe spot, where you finish the ride, where you can be picked by the jet ski driver, or where you can safely paddle away".

"If you get hit by the wave, after you've been riding it, we call that wiping out. That's a fail attempt in the school that I went to. You can't expect to ride the biggest wave ever without finishing the ride"
"I know that that location has giant surf. The whole idea of putting a measurement on a wave is very subjective and very difficult to measure the true velocity of the wave to take the height. It's like measuring one side of the cube and saying that's the volume of the cube".


Laird Hamilton ends up saying that Maya Gabeira shouldn't be surfing the largest waves of Nazaré, and that is Carlos Burle responsibility to take care of her and "he's lucky she didn't drowned".

Laird Hamilton foi contactado pela CCN enquanto especialista neste tipo de surf.

When the offshore winds and favorable swells are hitting your home break for an entire week, it's great to have your wetsuit dry all the time.

The surfing conditions are perfect, but you only own one wetsuit. And we know how putting on a cold, wet, wetsuit can be a dramatic body experience.

So, the only solution is to dry your neoprene skin faster than usual, so that you don't miss the next offshore dream. Here's what you should do to get your wetsuit dry in a couple of hours:

1. Rinse and hang your wetsuit inside out on a wide plastic hanger, out of the sun;
2. Wait 20 minutes until water in the wetsuit will start to pool in the lower arms and legs;
3. Squeeze the pooled water out of each arm and leg. Start at the shoulder and squeeze your way down to the wrist. On the leg, start at the thigh and squeeze your way down to the ankles.
4. Repeat the previous step after waiting another 20 minutes.
5. Leave your wetsuit hanging in the breeze for another hour or two. After this time it should be dry enough to put on comfortably.

During Winter or in cold conditions, drying your wetsuit will take longer especially outside or in a garage.

That is why well ventilated bathrooms are a good choice for drying a wetsuit. Hang your wetsuit in the shower or over the bathtub and apply the previous tips.


Learn how to make your wetsuits last longer.

How to: Dry your wetsuit the fastest way

Whether you're a free surfer or competitive wave ride, knowing how to position your surfboard in the line-up is critical. Learn how to get more and better waves.

All surfers are looking for the perfect wave of the day. Being in the right spot, at the right moment, may not be possible due to, for the example, the crowd factor.
Point breaks and reef breaks usually have an optimal and well-defined take-off zone. Beach breaks often present shifting line-up markers, due to constant alterations in the sandbars. Lining up is being in the right spot of the wave peak.

According to Jim Kempton's "Surfing The Manual: Advanced", there are four variables taken into consideration when you're picking the go-for-it square meter: peak observation, triangulation, fear factor and crowd.

Arriving at the beach, take your time and watch how waves are breaking. Register the small shifts in the peaks, confirm the tide times, and get a first idea of where you'll be paddling to. So, watch the waves carefully before hitting the line-up.

Triangulation is a basic exercise of calculating the coordinates and distance from the line-up to the beach. When in the take-off zone, you may fine-tune the wave peak by finding and recording reference points in your brain. Jetties, higher dunes, buildings, and other relevant landmarks.

Wave fear - and by no means cymophobia - obviously affects our line-up decisions. Bigger swells and steeper pyramid walls may keep you away from deeper take-off points. Get your confidence levels rising by taking harder take-offs step by step. From shoulder to vertical radness.

Last but not least, the crowd factor. Unfortunately, surf etiquette is not an universally accepted concept, so in a crowded line-up you'll always have to manage snaking, unacceptable drop ins, and the go-from-behind longboarders. Mark your favorite take-off zone, sit off to one side and, in the right moment, paddle for your spot.


A lined up surfer enjoys the best waves. Maintain a regular check and recheck routine of your peak coordinates, while waiting for the next set.

Giant waves have been ridden in Praia do Norte, Nazaré, as the Portuguese big wave spot delivers one of the biggest swells of the year.

The infamous Nazaré North Canyon may have never seen so many jet skis in the water. From the cliff up above, a large number of spectators watched anxiously. The small spots in the ocean were personal water crafts (PWC), but they looked like crumbs.

Despite the early morning fog, the Portuguese surf spot which holds the world record for the largest wave ever surfed was ready for another natural spectacle, brought to you by live cameras and hundreds of media professionals. The show started at 6h30m.

Waves breaking in the 60-80 foot range were successful ridden by several international big wave challengers. Garrett McNamara, the "official" Nazaré rider, alongside with a Brazilian crew, Portuguese surfers and an European contingent defied the groundswell formed in the Atlantic.

It's the big Monday, 28th October, 2013. Everybody wants to dominate Praia do Norte, but respect is compulsory. Will the Guinness World Record fall again at the power of Nazaré? Carlos Burle caught a big bomb and is waiting for official measurements.

Stay tuned for more updates and take a look at the 10 commandments of the big wave surfer.

Scary wipeouts, never-ending wave hold-downs, steep drops and inevitable bail-outs. Big wave surfing can be painful and, sometimes, your life is in serious danger.

Big wave surfers have learned to prepare for the big occasions. Their daily job requires a perfect balance between physical health and mental preparation.
You are not born a big wave rider. You may become a big wave rider. There's too much at stake when you're traveling down the wave face at 50 mph (80 km/h) and, in your back, a massive wall of water chases you at full throttle.

Brock Little, Laird Hamilton, Shane Dorian, Garrett McNamara, Grant Twiggy Baker, Grant Washburn, Greg Long, Ian Walsh, Jay Moriarty, Jeff Clark, Mike Parsons, Peter Mel, Ross Clarke-Jones are some of the best big wave surfers of all time.

They share the commandments of the big wave surfer. So, what have they got in mind, when it's time to paddle for the biggest ride of their lives?

1. Never take off on the first wave of a big set. It's hard to resist a good-looking wave when you're waiting for 10 minutes and adrenaline wants to pump your whole body. The problem is that, if you wipeout, you will take the entire set on the head;

2. Let the whitewater control the movement of your body. If you get caught by the wave or if you wipeout, don't resist the power of the whitewash. You'll lose energy and oxygen. Let yourself go in fetal position;

3. Always wear a buoyancy vest. A floatation vest can save your life and get you to the surface during life-threatening hold-downs;

4. Control panic, let fear do its job; Panic attacks are characterized by a fear of disaster or of losing control even when there is no real danger. You don't want that. On the other side, fear is a basic survival mechanism. Fear is good and should be driven to big wave management;

5. Bail out the smartest way possible. Know the ocean bottom and visualize the behavior of the wave behind you before bailing out;

6. Learn to wipeout. Always jump away from your board, avoid head dives, protect your brain, keep cool and open your eyes underwater;

7. Never go out all by yourself in a big wave surfing day. If things go wrong, you won't have a jet ski saving your life. Paddling out alone is probably the worst mistake a big wave surfer can make.

8. Study currents, ocean bottom and wave peaks before paddling out. Knowledge is power. Before paddling out, take your time and gather as much information as you can about the big wave spot, and you will reduce your anxiety levels.

9. Learn to track swells and how to read weather charts. Surf science will help you pick the spot, the day and the right time to battle the wave titans.


10. Practice Yoga and Pilates, improve your eating habits and increase your lung capacity. Stretching and increasing the amount of air your lungs can absorb is as critical as setting a relaxed mindset for riding giants.

Carlos Burle may have ridden the biggest wave of all time, at Praia do Norte, Nazaré, Portugal, during the Big Monday swell.

The Brazilian crew traveled to Portugal with a goal in mind. To beat the Guinness World Record for the largest wave ever surfed, which belongs to the Hawaiian hellman, Garrett McNamara.
Carlos Burle, Pedro Scooby, Felipe Cesarano, and Maya Gabeira had big hopes for the European super swell.

Today, on the 28th October, 2013, Burle claimed one of the biggest wave ever ridden at Praia do Norte. The first pictures show that he may be above the world record set by Garrett McNamara, at 23.77 m (78 feet), measured from trough to crest, on 1 November 2011.

"It was luck. We never know when we will be catching the wave. I still hadn't surfed any wave and everyone had already had their rides. Maya almost died. For me, it was a big adrenaline moment to get back there after what happened", reveals Carlos Burle.


Carlos Burle, 45, from Pernambuco, has been living the adrenaline life of the big wave riders. In 2001, he rode a 22-meter (72 foot) wave, in Mavericks, Northern California.

Maya Gabeira shows thumbs up after near-drowning experience.

Brazilian big wave surfer Maya Gabeira has survived a near-drowning experience at Praia do Norte, Nazaré, but she is already recovering in a Portuguese hospital.
Gabeira, 26, surfed one of the biggest waves ever by a female rider, during the Big Monday swell, in the Nazaré North Canyon, when she was caught by the whitewater.
After calling for jet ski support, Maya Gabeira lost consciousness due to exhaustion and had to be rescued by fellow Brazilian charger Carlos Burle, who brought her to shore for Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation (CPR).

"Thank you for your love and care. Nothing more than a broken ankle. I am recovery well. Keep supporting. I will be back shortly. Love you all", Gabeira wrote on her Facebook page.

Her smile says it all. Gabeira is fine and will join the waves, as soon as she recovers from the traumatic experience.

Maya Gabeira has suffered a dangerous wipeout at Praia do Norte, Nazaré, Portugal, during the big swell that has hit Europe.

The Brazilian charger fell during a big wave ride and spent a long period underwater. Gabeira lost consciousness, and was immediately administered Cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) before being rushed to the Leiria hospital.

Nazare has been hit by one of the largest swells of the last years, with waves breaking in the North Canyon at 60-80 feet.

Maya Gabeira had arrived early in the Portuguese town and had already surfed a big bomb, in the first days, earning her an entry in the Billabong XXL 2013/2014 season.

Having caught one of the biggest waves of her career, at 7h15m, Gabeira wiped out and was rescued in a state of exhaustion by her peers, in the stormy waters of Praia do Norte. The early footage shows the 26-year-old being dragged out of the water.

"It was awful what happened to Maya. She's been a friend for many years. We work all year to get ready for these moments and we know that the risk of losing our lives is imminent, but I'm happy she's alive. It was awful to watch her not breathing", explains Carlos Burle.

The authorities have confirmed she is stable and will fully recover from the accident.

Surf Accident with Maya Gabeira in Praia do Norte - Nazaré (Acidente de surf 

Juan Bacagianis, nos alcanza su ultima edición con imágenes filmadas durante el último mes en Puerto Escondido (México) del nuevo rider de Volcom Argentina, Francisco Ferreras.
Para seguir los viajes de Francisco, ingresá en https://www.facebook.com/bestsurfingvideos

Foto: Juan Bacagianis – Volcom Argentina.

The guard dog at the entrance to Baja Malibu takes his job seriously, though he doesn’t look the part. He is small and clearly unrelated to a Doberman, or a Rottweiler, or any sentry animal with pure breeding. There are vague lines in his face and carriage that might come from an Australian cattle dog, or a Chihuahua, but if anything is certain about his ancestry, it is the purity of his impurities. He has been assembled from a thousand different breeds, a street dog of the finest order. He sits on the cobblestones near the restaurant and watches cars pass on the Cuota. He conducts his business with quiet competence, without resorting to the indignities of making a scene. He does not bark, he rarely growls, and never slobbers. Instead he simply follows his human down from the guard shack when it’s time to raise the gate so a vehicle may enter. He sniffs the tires of the cars carefully before they pass, and trails the ankles of those on foot to gauge their intentions.

He rises and watches closely as I exit my truck to shake hands with local photographer Damian Davila. He approaches with his canine inclinations but seems bored with my gringo-scented sneakers. It’s a clear morning on the final Saturday of a weeklong holiday in Mexico, and there are other distractions to hold his interest. In addition to the locals wandering slowly up from the beach, with their sleeping bags and tarps and plastic sacks of shellfish, we can see a handful of older surfers checking the ocean, and hear English drifting from a block of American-owned residences.

The morning has the feel of a party that has paused for a breath near dawn, but is about to resume. And it’s this final gasp—the promise of one last day and then night of celebration, after a week of similar comings and goings—that has the dog carefully measuring his energy. By midday, as his owner in the guard shack informs us, this place is going to be “fucking crazy.”
The area hasn’t seen a tourism week like this in years. Mexican and foreign visitors essentially abandoned much of Northern Baja in 2007, when the narco wars erupted along the US/Mexico border. Human Rights Watch estimates that in the six or so years since, nearly 60,000 people have been killed, with an additional 25,000 missing. Details in the Mexican and American press—beheadings, kidnappings, tortured bodies, dead cartel enforcers, cops, and journalists decomposing in vats of acid—only deepened the sense of fear. To make matters worse, the narco situation was also neatly bookended by a wave of American-travel paranoia in the wake of 9/11, and the meltdown of the global economy.
The general sense now is that the violence and the recession are both easing, but the residual impact of these factors on the tourist trade remains obvious. Even on the busiest weekends, most of the clubs in Rosarito regularly operate at half capacity. Near the pier, the multiple-story building that once housed Señor Frogs stands shuttered, the establishment long out of business.

As Damian and I drive south a few exits into downtown, the streets are undisputedly crowded. But as we park and walk up to the beach, it’s also clear that most of the tourists are now visiting from other parts of Mexico—rather than from across the border. Unlike its sister cities of Tijuana to the north, which has always been adept at reinventing itself, and Ensenada to the south, which is now undergoing its own transformation, Rosarito is still a beach town, driven by an older model of tourism. The massive clubs on the oceanfront were built to fill gringo bodies with drinks and empty their pockets of dollars. Now, however, it’s mostly a local crowd: tourists from Mexicali, Tijuana, and the Mainland, the U.S. contingent all but absent.

Foreign visitors essentially abandoned much of Northern Baja in 2007, when the narco wars erupted along the US/Mexico border.
Still, things seem to be improving. On this Saturday before Easter, the zone is definitely going off. We’re down by the waterfront and the restaurants are booming. We stand in line for 15 minutes to get lunch at Tacos El Yaqui. Afterward, we cut through the lobby of the massive Rosarito Beach Hotel, weaving through packs of young families. On the main deck by the pool, girls in elegant dresses sip mimosas. Damian, whose main photography influence is Clark Little, points to the water and tells me that this is where he learned to swim.

We pass through an empty banquet hall decorated for Easter brunch, then descend a set of stairs and emerge by the pier. A farmers’ market is set up on a rare patch of grass at the edge of the sand, the vendors in the tents hawking everything from local produce to surf lessons. Just offshore, a few dark-skinned children bob around on soft tops. We watch the peak just long enough to confirm that the surf is gutless, then decide to check a sandbar near Damian’s house that has more exposure.

As we head back to the car, we pass Papas & Beer, techno pouring from the club’s dim interior. Couples sit in the sand and girls in bikinis sun themselves, showing no sign that they hear the music. A 30-foot can of Tecate towers over the proceedings. In the alley next to the club, a man hands us a flier with drink specials printed in ornate lettering. Another gentleman inquires whether we would like to pay a small fee to ride a midget pony. The tiny animal waits patiently in an embroidered saddle, tethered to a post nearby.

The atmosphere at Damian’s place is decidedly less vivid. He lives with his grandparents in a small compound a block from the ocean. He has been shooting surf for a little more than a year, lineups and water shots of the sometimes-thumping beachbreak that he mastered as a bodyboarder. He took out a small business loan from a nearby bank to buy his equipment, which wasn’t an easy process. Surf photography, it seems, is a high-risk investment in the eyes of Mexican bankers.

Despite this, Damian’s work is generating other forms of support. Last summer, the Government Institute of Culture for Baja California put on an exhibition featuring his photos. The governor of Rosarito has also commissioned him to shoot images for a promotional booklet, a plan intended to highlight the town as a viable destination.

Projects like this are important because Rosarito is the least visible of the three cities in the area. It is often overlooked and bypassed by travelers moving throughout the peninsula. Since the narco wars began, the common wisdom for most visitors has been to drive south quickly, away from Tijuana. Because of its proximity, Rosarito has been a casualty of the trend.

PHOTOS: Beyond the Border

Damian sees his photography as a way to entice people, especially surfers, to return to the area. But like the town itself, his efforts and his career are still navigating precarious phases. It’s tough to be an aspiring surf photographer, and even tougher to make changes that resonate with just a few images. It’s also unclear how much surf tourism can really help the area.

A few surfers buying beer and tacos after a session can add up for a local business, but will this ever recoup the income the city has lost in terms of large-scale U.S. dollars? The drinking age in Mexico is 18, and this has always been part of the draw for clubs like Papas & Beer. But spring breakers and underage drinkers from the U.S. are mostly unwilling to enter Mexico now, just to party legally. Domestic Mexican tourism is picking up, but that might also evaporate because the cartel situation in Tijuana remains fluid. It isn’t hard to imagine the pendulum of violence suddenly swinging in the wrong direction.

It seems impossible for such dark forces to exist side-by-side, or for them to encompass something like surfing.
The University of San Diego’s Trans-Border Institute reported recently that, while violent crime in the city has dropped, it has also become harder to monitor the situation: the Mexican government now restricts certain statistics. The report also outlined the likelihood that the cartels have grown increasingly splintered, and mobile, but they’re hardly gone.

To combat this, the U.S. government is apparently ramping up aid. One plan, according to the Associated Press, entails sending elements of the Special Forces to train Mexican commando teams, then deploying them to hunt down cartel leaders with methods refined against al-Qaeda. The flip side of this approach, however, is that many of the cartels, particularly the Zetas, originally came from within elite units in the Mexican Army—where they were trained in counter intelligence and combat tactics via the U.S. military to begin with.

On the beach at the end of Damian’s street, it seems impossible for such dark forces to exist side-by-side, or for them to encompass something like surfing. It also seems strange that this has been happening for years in such close proximity to these waves, not to mention the normality of suburban San Diego.
We begin to talk about how Damian has traveled throughout Mexico, the U.S., and Europe, and how, because of the surf, he just can’t seem to settle anywhere other than here. He had a Belgian girlfriend once who wanted him to move to Brussels, but the more he thought about it, he says, the more he realized he couldn’t do it. “I thought about all the waves I’d miss,” he says. “I like to get up really early in the morning everyday to check it. I don’t really drink or party because I want to be in the water. I’m focused on the waves and my photography and I wouldn’t be able to do that somewhere else.”
Up and down the beach, the lineup is empty. At a similar setup across the border, the crowd on any of these peaks would be shoulder-to-shoulder. The waves are small but the sandbank looks perfect. The sets are glassy and breaking in clear, shallow water. It’s easy to see why, on bigger days, ski teams will occasionally appear from the U.S. for a feeding frenzy.

When we return to Damian’s compound, he introduces me to his grandfather, a retired truck driver for one of the big-rig companies that rumble up and down the peninsula. Damian shows me some photos on his laptop that he shot this winter, the Gudauskas brothers boosting and pulling in, Taylor Knox and Chris Ward powering through an assortment of beachbreak runners. There’s a pet parrot in the corner of the living room, which mimics our voices each time we get excited about a sequence.

When it’s time to go, I thank Damian’s grandfather for allowing me to park in his courtyard. He points to his eye and nods—he’s been watching my truck all morning. I cruise north past Baja Malibu to check the surf again on my way out of town. The dog is busy now at the gate, efficiently inspecting each visitor. As I turn back south, his own vigilant eye follows my truck along the on ramp that leads to Ensenada.


The 75-foot statue of Jesus at El Morro faces the ocean, cars whizzing by at his feet like metal cockroaches, fearful of his sandals. As he recedes in the rearview mirror, I realize in twelve hours it will be Easter.

The road opens up dramatically as it continues south. Soon I’m winding through the cliffs that hang over the area north of Salsipuedes. I pass the massive natural gas terminal that infamously killed Harry’s in 2006. From a high bend in the road, I can see a clustered ring of tuna farms floating on the ocean, the only manmade manipulation offshore for the moment.

I link up with Juan Carlos Ruiz on the north end of Ensenada. A local surfer with family ties across the city, Juan Carlos is now studying to become an architect in San Diego. School is out this week, though, and he’s home on vacation. As he climbs into my truck, he seems exhausted. Apparently the scene in Ensenada this week has also been lively.

We pull into the parking lot at San Miguel but the cobblestone point is all but dormant. A little deeper into the city, we turn onto an unpaved track that runs across an industrial complex. We skirt the broken glass in the parking lot and paddle out at a fun little wave that resembles Seaside reef, without the crowd. At first it’s just the two of us and a pair of bodyboarders. Another local surfer joins us halfway through the session, and we take turns milking the peak as it stands up and runs through to the inside.
A little deeper into the city, we turn onto an unpaved track that runs across an industrial complex. We skirt the broken glass in the parking lot and paddle out at a fun little wave that resembles Seaside reef, without the crowd.

Afterward we head for the harbor to get something to eat. In many ways, Ensenada has been insulated from the problems that plague Tijuana and Rosarito. It’s significantly further from the border, which has mitigated the violence. Its economy is also fairly diverse. While its manufacturing sector pales in comparison to the massive maquiladora complexes in TJ, its shipping sector is a vital component to the welfare of the area. It is the only deepwater port in Baja, with more than three million metric tons of domestic and international cargo moving through each year. Traffic generated by the cruise ship terminal, as well as numerous commercial and sport-fishing operations, add to its influence. The town is also home to a significant scientific sector, linked to two prominent universities within the city, and fueled by its proximity to similar communities in Tijuana and San Diego.

We park in a crowded back-lot near the docks. A group of workers in white rubber boots unload oysters behind a warehouse. We check in at a restaurant called Muelle 3. The crowd is almost exclusively Mexican, tourists and locals. The restaurant is primarily a lunch spot, but it’s after 4 pm now and the tables are still packed, huge platters of seafood disappearing into customers. The place is owned by one of Juan Carlos’ cousins who comes out to greet us. Even with the family connection, the wait is still more than an hour. As we sip beers outside to pass the time, we watch the activity of the port. We talk about the local microbrews and Brooklyn-style craft pubs that have begun to spring up in the area.

Tourism here still depends on some of the old-school club action that packs in foreigners from the cruise ships, but in recent years there’s been a significant shift toward more sophisticated palates. While Tijuana continues to reign over most of the region’s cultural trends, Ensenada’s proximity to several wine growing valleys has created a venerated local tradition, now expanding rapidly. New vineyards in the San Antonio las Minas, San Vicente, and Guadalupe valleys, along with the established operations in places like Santo Tomas, have made the town a fertile hotbed for culinary development.

Our table is almost ready when a barefoot man in ragged pants approaches and begins to tell a story. He speaks in a falsetto at first, but then his voice takes on a rasp, becoming guttural as he builds momentum. He dances for a moment, a series of lewd gyrations, then struts away and begins to bark like a seal.

I look to Juan Carlos to translate but he only explains the local gossip: The man was a commercial diver once, until he was bent by decompression sickness. Crippled physically—and perhaps mentally—he now hangs around the port recounting his history. His sea stories are true by most accounts, but they no longer make sense and seem unconnected in sequence.

In the harbor, a fishing vessel docks at a floating pier and begins to unload its cargo. Three frat boys pass us wearing serapes on the boardwalk. Inside the restaurant we sit down and Juan Carlos orders without looking at the menu. We eat tuna ceviche, an assortment of sashimi and raw oysters, all marinated in a blend of Mexican and Asian sauces. “The thing I like about Mexican food,” says Juan Carlos, “is that it’s interactive.” He sprinkles a pinch of dried chili onto a slab of fish, dribbles it in vinegar with minced shallots, then adds lime juice.

When we return to the truck the sun is setting. The streets are jammed with foot traffic and bicycle-taxis on guided tours of the waterfront. We head inland to meet Juan Carlos’ uncle, Eduardo Echegaray, the owner of San Miguel Surfboards. We’re early so we park and wait outside of his factory. The façade of the building is painted aqua blue, a concrete lip above the doorway sculpted like a wave. To the east, we can see a rise of warehouses and a few shipping containers. On the street corner, yard workers stand in the orange dusk drinking ballenas. Like most of the surf industry, the business end of this operation resides in an industrial park, a step removed from the ocean.

Eduardo is immaculately dressed when he arrives, his collared shirt free of the foam dust and resin-stains of his profession. He lets us inside and gives us a tour of the factory. About thirty boards are scattered throughout in various states of construction. Eduardo estimates that he’s averaged 40 boards a week for 30 years—about 60,000 total. He ships his work to San Diego, Cabo, Mazatlán, and other places in Mainland Mexico. “Tablas y tablas,” he says, as if the process is never ending.
In the shaping bays, carefully maintained Skil saws wait for fresh blanks. In one corner, a life-sized Día de los Muertos skeleton hangs from the ceiling. A respirator is strapped to death’s head. “That’s what happens if you don’t wear a mask,” Eduardo laughs.

In an office upstairs, we talk about Ensenada, its past and its present. Eduardo says he remembers when San Miguel was always crowded with visiting surfers. Gringos would come by the hundreds to camp and surf at the cobblestone point. Now, he says, it’s rare to see more than a handful of Americans. Occasionally a large group will show up, then disappear with the swell, but the migration pattern is far less consistent.
We talk about the narco wars and the border itself. The reality of any border situation is complex, but the San Ysidro Port of Entry is the busiest land crossing in the world. Roughly 300,000 people move back and forth between San Diego and Tijuana daily. With that amount of traffic, there are bound to be difficulties.

The border itself is an imposing deterrent for visitors. Add a cartel war to the mix, and it starts to seem like waiting for a set wave at Blacks, instead of bolting south, is the sanest option.
A border that size is also destined to attract people looking to cross illegally. Many Americans tend to think of the illegal immigration situation as something exclusive to the U.S., but Mexico has an illegal alien issue of its own. Immigrants from South and Central America gravitate northward. When they can’t cross into the States, or establish a better life in Mexico, they’re often stuck in limbo.

Tijuana is filled with enclaves of people unable to move north, because of the border, and financially unable to return home. The city is even host to displaced Chinese, who continue to arrive but cannot make the final leg of their journeys. The human suffering, desperation, and criminal undertakings a scenario like this can breed are almost unimaginable—and there are obviously parties willing to exploit the situation. Without even factoring in the drug trade, which to a certain degree only exists to service U.S. buyers, it should hardly be a surprise that the border itself is an imposing deterrent for visitors. Add a cartel war to the mix, and it starts to seem like waiting for a set wave at Blacks, instead of bolting south, is the sanest option.

Eduardo points out, though, that Ensenada seems very far from these things. Surprisingly, he also misses sharing its waves with American surfers. The conversation shifts to the Europeans, Mexicans, and Americans who arrive now, not for the waves, but to visit the vineyards. The pattern seems backward: In the past, surfers have typically been the first to return to coastal areas after instability. Traditional tourism then follows. “Tell your friends to come back,” Eduardo says as we descend the staircase.

It’s dark now outside the factory. We leave the industrial park and drive back toward San Miguel. In a neighborhood near the toll plaza, Juan Carlos hops out of the truck, slides through a fence, and disappears into a courtyard. After a few moments, he waves me inside and opens the gate to the driveway.

I park and we enter a house with a sunken living room set around a central fireplace. The design is modern, featuring large windows facing west, deep hardwood, and polished concrete. A quiver of surfboards—modern thrusters, single-fin stingers, and guns—are arranged in the corner. The walls in the open kitchen are hung with framed surf photos and artwork depicting the ocean. “My dad painted that one,” says Kevin Meza when he greets us in the doorway.

We’ve been trying to get Kevin on his cell phone all day with no luck, so we’ve dropped by without warning. His father and stepmother are in the kitchen on their way out for the evening. They welcome us inside and offer us a beer.
Kevin is a second-generation ripper who grew up in Ensenada, occasionally spending segments of time across the border. He’s just turned 20 and is living with his father now to attend one of the universities in the city. As one of the best surfers in the area, he’s a good source of info about the future of the local scene.

“Every year,” he says,” it seems like there are more little kids in the water and they get younger and younger. But it’s hard for them around here because the water gets cold and they can’t afford a good wetsuit or a good board. There’s a kid named Javier—he rips but he doesn’t surf anymore because his wetsuit is so bad.”
We talk about some of the other changes in the area: the planned development at Salsipuedes; the proposed local surf reserve spearheaded by Surf-Ens and WildCoast; the new beach in southern Ensenada, once a shantytown, now open to the public. We talk about the old WQS events that used to be held at San Miguel, and the big-wave contests out at Todos.

Aspiring pro surfers in the area have some options, but they are limited compared to the opportunities in California. One bright spot in recent years has been the Walter Coloca Open, a pro-am held at San Miguel as a memorial for a local surfer. Now in its third year, the contest is organized by the United Athletes of the Pacific Ocean. Accompanied by parties, art shows, environmental panels, and gatherings at nearby bars and restaurants, it has become an annual touch point for the community. There’s also the circuito estado—or state circuit—which is organized by the Surfing Association of Baja California. Intended to allow local surfers to qualify for Mexican Nationals, and by extension the ISA World Games, the tour moves between Tijuana, Rosarito, and Ensenada.

Kevin picks up a trophy from a recent contest that’s lying in the living room. He reads the inscription and realizes the plaque belongs to his father. “Mine must be in the kitchen,” he says. All of these things suggest that the surf community in the region is alive and well, and prepping for the future. Events, environmental initiatives, and a community anchored by wave riding are good signals. But sponsorships are rare, and it’s hard to raise the money to compete on the Mainland, much less travel abroad for the Worlds. “In a lot of ways we’re on our own down here,” Kevin says.

It’s getting late so we stand up to go. We talk about the prospect of a new swell in the morning and Kevin mentions a recent trip he took to Todos. After surfing for an hour, he says, he was driven from the lineup by the marine patrol. The authorities had just found 120 pounds of marijuana in a cave on the island. “It’s been really hot out there for a while,” he says. “My friend went a few days ago and they did the same thing. He didn’t even get to surf. They just kicked him out as soon as they saw him.”
The story is a reminder that the border and the drug trade are still part of the texture of life here, even 10 miles offshore. It’s also a reminder that news of such events is often passed by word-of-mouth, the situation constantly changing, and driven by rumor.

The road through the hills south of Ensenada has grown bigger, wider, safer. The ditches at its edges have been replaced with breakdown lanes. Considerately worded signs urge drivers to wear their seatbelts and rest if they’re tired. Guardrails line the hanging curves in the passes instead of shrines to the dead.

Juan Carlos and I pass through the wine-growing valleys, counting kilometers. We turn west in the Easter sunlight and follow a long track out to the ocean. We bump through the backcountry, looking for a place to camp near the water.

The wind is up, hacking the swell to ribbons. In the lee of a small headland, we drive through an encampment of picnicking locals. We smell grilled meat and watch as children scoot by on dirt bikes, firing air rifles.

We stop at a sandy cove and unload the gear. A session near dark leaves us refreshed, but we catch nothing to speak of. We stake out the tents in the wind and sit by the fire to watch the stars. Occasionally a satellite speeds across the sky in high orbit. Late in the night, the waning moon lights the plain as we listen to the chatter of coyotes.

I’m standing in the bed of my truck at daybreak when an old man walks out of the desert. He carries a clam rake with steel prongs for scouring the shoreline. A straw cowboy hat sits on his head, a snakeskin tied across the headband. The tails of the knot are thin, translucent, and undulate in the wind.
When he sees me watching, he cruises up to talk. He’s wearing a backpack filled with tattered wetsuits that he uses for shell fishing. In another bag, he’s collected a few empty cans and stray bits of trash from the bushes. Juan Carlos comes over and the old man tells us he likes to clean the land because he has “mucho sangre indios.”

He moved to L.A. once, he says, but hated the city. He has a small house nearby where he’s lived for 30 years. We talk about the waves for a little while and he tells us about a surfer with a ranch in the next valley, some guy from Laguna. He also tells us about a dirt track we can take to another spot that might be glassy.

He has a hangover from a big night in town so we give him a beer. Juan Carlos asks the old man if he was in town to celebrate Easter. The old man tells us he does not believe in nonsense. When he removes his hat, it looks like something has been written above his eyes in marker. After a moment, I realize there are numbers tattooed across his forehead. “Seis, seis, seis,” he says, and thanks us for the beer.

We’re on a dirt track on the side of a mountain when we realize the old man’s rake looked a bit like a pitchfork. This only occurs to us after we’ve followed his directions—but if this is the road to hell, it’s leading upward. Rocks peel away under the tires to bounce toward the ocean. We crest a rise and enter a valley with flowers in bloom on the hillside. Quail bob along in front of the truck, then scuttle in pairs into the bushes.


In the dirt road ahead, three black shapes hunch over the carcass of a rabbit. Despite everything we’ve seen in the cities to the north, it seems like, in this valley, we could easily be divided from the present. Unlike the region along the border, the land here feels distant from manmade boundaries, beliefs, crises, and solutions, a place where the real attendants of death, and rebirth, are only the vultures.

Last year, we reported that an investment company based in Singapore was looking to purchase the Maldivian island of Thamburudhoo with plans to build a boutique surf resort and privatize two of the islands’ premiere waves. In the wake of the news, Maldivian surfers were understandably outraged and an online petition to ban exclusivity in the lineups began circulating. Recently, we spoke to Australian expat Dave Beasley, who works as an advocate to keep the islands’ lineups open to the public, for an update on the situation.

Can you describe the current state of affairs in the Maldives?
An investment company has offered $5 million for a 50-year lease of Thamburudhoo island, which hosts two world-class surf breaks, Sultans and Honkies. These are two of the Maldives’ most consistent breaks. The money is being paid to the Maldivian military, as they own the island. At this present point, no construction has taken place due to the fact that the investor is relying on foreign money to start construction. The majority of Maldivians that I have spoken to are opposed to this resort and the privatization of the surrounding reef.

And you’re currently working on a film project to spread awareness of the issue?
The film project was designed to create awareness of the problems facing Thamburudhoo. We’ve interviewed local surfers, business owners, foreign surfers, and the Maldivian Surfing Association (MSA) and have aimed to gather a broad range of opinions of the issue at hand and to present a non-biased view. 

I understand that you were recently held and questioned by the Maldivian government. What happened there?
We arrived in Male for an interview with Live Abroad Maldives (LAM) to organize an awareness rally with fellow charter boats and were arrested after leaving the meeting. It was assumed by the police that we were in the process of organizing a protest including locals and foreign supporters. We were detained for a period of eight hours at the Male police station where police interrogated us before being released without charge.

How are the locals reacting to the prospect of more privatized lineups?
The locals connected to surf tourism are extremely disappointed by the idea of privatization as it affects approximately 50 percent of their income, which is generated from souvenirs and photography. The local surfers are also disappointed as they will be required to obtain a permit to surf the breaks they have been surfing their whole lives.

How would privatized lineups change the lives of Maldivian surfers and workers who rely on open access to waves?
The local surfers would be affected by the requirements of obtaining permits to surf their own waves. The locals would also be affected by the discontinuation of the surf-charter boats in the North Male Atolls. There are currently seven accessible surf breaks in the North Male Atolls, of which two are already privatized. If two more surf breaks were privatized, the surf-charter industry would disappear, as there would only be three public surf-breaks.

Tell me about your experience living and working in the Maldives.
Every year I spend two to three months a year surfing, working, and traveling throughout the Maldives. I’ve developed many lifelong friendships with locals and am really familiar with their customs and ways of living. I have experienced the most memorable times of my life in the Maldives surfing, diving, fishing, and simply hanging out with the locals playing soccer or chatting in a hammock. I strongly believe that others should be able to have the experiences I have.

What’s the status of the government? I understand that there was some turmoil in the latest election.
The potential president, Mohamed Nasheed, has stated that it’s his intention to refund the $5 million for the 50-year lease of Thamburudhoo Island and wants to keep the island open to the public. However, there’s currently an election taking place that was scheduled to be completed on the 28th of September. As it stands right now, there is a recount being conducted with no set date assigned for finalization.

For those of us that want to help, what can we do?
We have created a Facebook page called Save Thamburudhoo that we suggest you visit and like the page. Here we keep you updated with the status of the government election and the progress of our campaign. The greatest help is building awareness.

Este es el primer episodio lanzado por EpicTV en el cual los surfistas Gabriel Medina, Jeremy Flores, Alejo Muniz, Miguel Pupo, Victor Bernardo e Igor Morais nos sorprenden con una session de free surf en Hossegor, Francia. El vídeo fue filmado por Pablo Aguiar| Random Land, Ep1.

If you have picked up the latest issue you will have seen our Maldives article featuring St Ives Matt Smith and Patch Wilson, both who I am very pleased to say make living out in atolls these days. This is Matts little video (also featuring Patch). Loving the retro feel. Pretty rad I think you will agree!