Our timing was perfect. We'd barely miss one of the year's best late season south swells. Peaking two days before our arrival was the post-firestorm south that lit up every point and reef from San Diego to Santa Cruz. We'd be nowhere in site when that hard south would swing into our little spot and snap its reefs and points back to life. Best of all, nobody would be there. It would've been perfect.
But our trip has always been more about friends than waves. We make it a point to regroup and return year after year. It's a commitment that we've come to value- a ritual of friendship for all of us down here. You know that no matter how small the waves, violent the wind or miserable the hangover, you're coming back next year. It's what you do when you're one of us.
So next November we'll load up the trucks, stock the campers and roll out for that dusty little point. The place that never works in November. We'll hit the dirt road laughing and stretch last year's small stories into tall tales. And all of us will harbor, deep inside, the hope that this year, we've finally timed it right.
Top Photo: The road to Punta Mysteriosa. Marcos in his element; dirt road under foot, hand in an ice cold cooler... searching for something special.
Next: We're just visitors. The local fleet - no pleasure craft here, working boats all.
Penultimo: Campo Dirtbag. A sweet Baja surf camp for a bunch of scoundrels.
Last: Overview of the set-up. We did score some south swell remnants, enough waist high fun for our little pack of stand up surfers.
All Photos: Senor Goofball
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