Two surfers enjoy (and contribute to) Nicaraguan surf culture at sunset in Popoyo. Photo: Zach Weisberg
Central America has long been considered the back yard of the United states – with both positive and negative ramifications. While the region’s touristic gem, Costa Rica, has enjoyed an unwavering influx of surf and eco tourists for decades, its northern neighbors, Nicaragua and El Salvador, have endured a political climate rife with instability. Through it all, surfers have scoured these countries in search of uncrowded waves and in doing so, become an indelible part of their cultures and histories.
While Nicaragua and El Salvador differ in size and population, they share similar histories. Nicaragua is the largest country in Central America with the lowest population density, and a variety of different surf spots. El Salvador is the smallest country, with the highest population density, and their coast is riddled with right point breaks: a regular foot’s dreamland. Both countries have suffered through long civil wars followed by the typical political and social problems that occur in post conflict societies – weak rule of law, violent organized crime, a proliferation of drugs and cheap weaponry, and a Northern neighbor (ehem, us) who hasn’t always intervened with their best intentions in mind. Despite these perils, surfers like Kevin Naughton, Craig Peterson, Bob Levy, and Robert Rotherham in El Salvador and JJ Yemma and Dale Dagger in Nicaragua have explored the region since the late 1960s.
Through travel, research, surf, and interviews I aim to create a narrative history of surf exploration and assimilation in Central America in hopes of showing how the interactions of visiting surfers have evolved over time and influenced the cultural dialog. Surfers play a crucial role in the social history of the world, and I want to integrate their stories into the larger history of Central America. I recently visited La Libertad, El Salvador, surfed the legendary wave at Punta Roca, and interviewed some of the first foreign and local surfers in the region.
Their stories of migration to El Salvador reveal a unique perspective on the wider history of Central America. Kevin Naughton and Craig Peterson appear everywhere, occasionally writing surf articles in the 1970s that chronicle the region’s travails through the eyes of nomadic thrill seekers. By contrast, Don Roberto Rotherham exudes the aura of a man who found what he was looking for, as he settled into La Libertad by opening a restaurant, starting a family, and becoming an integral part of the local community. He and his son, Jimmy, run two hotels and restaurants and have a network of local surfers to guide surf tourists. They have not only witnessed the bloody civil war and subsequent street gang explosion, but also the beautiful evolution and growth of surf culture in their home.
Surfers have always been great storytellers, and Central American surf stories are some of the best. My interviews have revealed surfers paddling ironing boards in the lineup in the early 1970s, living out of cars, smuggling dope, surviving off of mangos, and, of course, scoring perfect, empty waves.
To say the least, their Spicoli-esque personas were a little out of place during times of civil war. Kidnappings, missiles flying overhead, and guerrilla ammunition in the front yard are all colorful pieces of the surfer experience in La Libertad, and it’s hard to imagine paddling out in the middle of armed combat, but there were guys getting shacked while AKs were firing and mortars were booming in the jungle. Surfing came to El Salvador before the civil war, remained during it, and has only grown at a steady pace since then, weaving itself into the history, evolution, and growth of the country. Surf culture has infiltrated Salvadoran coastal regions in a blend of assimilation and evolution that has created entirely new communities that combine nation and state, religion, politics, and wave riding.
