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I just got back from a few days down in La Michoacan. After my last visit turned into a crash and burn situation quickly after my board was stolen the first night, this time was completely the opposite, thankfully so – I enjoyed the best two days of surfing I’ve had in a long time. Small waves, lack of currents and moderate day time temps combined for two solid days of sliding madness. It’s been dead, dead, dead up here in the bahia de banderas for the past two months or so and just two days is all it takes to put me right again. This surf trip was final hoorah of sorts for me, as next weekend we head up to Guadalajara for a month or so to await the imminent arrival of our baby boy. My next surf trip will be as a proud father, with little surf gnar gnar in tow. This trip started the way all good mexican surf trips should start: with a flat tire.

Half-way thru the five and a half hour drive some guy behind me flashed his lights, pointing at my back right tire. I pulled the truck over to see one nice fat flat. As luck would have it, I was in a caravan with my friends Pau and Salim. We quickly deduced that the spare tire I was carrying didn’t fit¹, so they whisked the flat off to find a “llantera”. 20 minutes later and $7, they were back with my tire, impeccably fixed. We were on our way. In Tecoman, we stopped off for street tacos in the square, seven tacos for $2.50.

I ♥ Mexico. 

We arrived to the camp site at around 8:30pm or so and our first night’s sleep was accented by orchestral sounds of two very different kinds coming from the two groups on either side of us: the Chihuahua party guys to the left, with their multiple snoring styles – a mariachi of cerveza snores. And the L.A. actor/surfer crowd on the right with their game of “who can make the loudest orgasm sounds” – I counted moans from three different tents. With the combined sounds from left and right, swallowing my pillow was all I could do to stop from laughing². Our group had some awesome recollections, the next morning in the water. 

The next two days were filled with mellow, current-less morning and afternoon sessions, marked by relatively clear warm water, jumping manta rays and mini-tubes and head-ducks. We picked one of the six or seven different points and just sat and waited our turns. I grabbed wave after wave, nice small waves, but enough power to avoid mush hopping the shortboard, though I did wish I had brought the single fin and the longboard. It was that kind of party. The local community must have banded together to get the security situation in check, after my board being stolen³, there were boards strewn about the various camping spots – always a good sign that people are at ease and makes for a less guarded stay.

What pressed me most was how different this trip was from my past few trips. I usually find time to get down here in the summer and early fall months. Storm season. Summer trips are usually a trial by fire as you fight the rocky coastline to be pummeled by heavy currents, brown run-off water and massive, powerful open ocean battering. Gnar gnar groms from local areas and Guadalajara whistle you off and generally make things heavier than they already are. Once you get out, your feet are jammed by the rocks and an occasional urchin and then fried by the burning sand. Back at camp you roast in sweltering mid-day winds being blown off the hot sand.

In the winter, it’s a completely different kind of place. Mellow vibe, casual surf ethic, long stay gringo families with their insanely customized surf vehicles, fantastical packing skills and elegantly decorated camping niches – makeshift dedicated ding repair tents and kids writing essays in their hammocks. Days are bearable, the sand warm but not flesh melting, the water perfect, the river almost entirely clear and cold and the nights are really cold⁴. The vibe in the water is still business, but a silent camaraderie punctured with kook hoos and hahs from your neighbors as you slip into a wave and grab nanoseconds of head-duck. Out in the water I spotted the definitive seashell Mandala logo on a gorgeous sea-foam green twin-keel fish, a welcomed change to the usual stock white ripper sticks.

I took both cameras, the digi and the 645 film jammy and ended up taking four rolls of medium format. I never touched the digi. The film will soon be off to NYC for developing and scanning and will eventually find its way on to this here blog thingy. We pulled out of campsite after a long relaxing breakfast of chilaquiles and coffee, while watching a group catching several second long crouching tube rides in the beach break. Awesome.

Fin.

This post was brought to you by: Jason Collett – Out of Time