The plan was to stick to the Pacific Coast, surfing and shooting as much as possible. Actually, I started with no real plan. After purchasing a 1987 diesel Toyota Landcruiser and equipping it with a sleeping platform and fridge at the start of July 2015, I had a few months to kill before the North Pacific storms commenced. I drove to Alaska, hoping to see for myself the beauty that mesmerized me from National Geographic as a kid. The endless mountain landscapes and super sized wildlife impressed me to no end; it was just the complete opposite to what I had known my whole life. I got down to my primal roots, eating Rainbow Trout or Silver Salmon an hour after catching them. Wandering loudly through forests hoping to prevent an encounter with a bear or cougar. Snacking on wild berries in the snow while exploring in Denali. Surfing in Alaska with the smell of wood fire smoke in my nostrils. Everything felt so real.
On my way south I had been living pretty well off the grid, and when fall came I started scoring swells in Washington. I thought it must have been normal here, but apparently it was an El Nino year, and it was set to pump all winter. I felt I moved south at the most perfect pace, surfing in between five meter swells in Oregon, tucking into wind-protected breaks in Northern California, and when winter struck, weekend after weekend of perfect Baja point breaks. By late February I didn’t want to leave.
Mainland Mexico came next, and for the first time since Indo I was back in boardshorts. It is also here where I picked up a pup off the street – her name is Chica and I still cannot tell you how old she is, or her breed. The waves were a playful size the whole time except for Pascuales, where I managed to pull into every closeout possible, snapping a board in the process. The southern hemisphere then lit up while I was in El Salvador and I had a good week of standout sessions at the many rocky right points with friendly locals. Nicaragua was more playful sized south swell. The winds up north were a tad funky unfortunately, so I headed south to where the offshores blow 300 days a year. After a week I was surfed out.
As I write this, I am now in Costa Rica, where it has seemingly transitioned from dry to wet season in a matter of days. Thunderstorms, dense green jungle, and overpriced beers are the norm. I’m flying out of Panama City shortly to Australia to see family, and for a quick strike mission to the Mentawai Islands. My mission to Patagonia will resume in late June.
