Rhythm of the Waves
We left our heroines in Puerto Rico, realizing that paradise isn’t perfect. They narrowly escaped fire coral, sea urchins, and being crushed by gigantic waves - and that was just the first day.
Debra and I wondered if we’d ever get our surfing groove, while Maria and Christina didn’t seem to have any such qualms.
Not to be deterred, we headed back to the beach, this time with a coach highly regarded in Latin America, Robert Ferrer. The ocean gods granted us smaller waves (shoulder height), so paradise was already better.
I told Robert I wanted to be doing top and bottom turns, which seemed almost impossible at the time. We all paddled out, greeting new friends we’d met the previous night at Robert’s small feast and jam-fest.
Robert is very practical and believes in giving small, easily digestible instructions – little things that make such a big difference. He intends to gently instill confidence.
He explained when to compress (squat on the board) and where to look for a bottom turn, then, once there, "look at the beach" to make a top turn.
The thing he said most was, “It’s fine. It’s OK.” I think he could feel the anxiety rolling off us from the previous day and wanted us to relax.
He’d tell us when to go and how to get a late entry on a wave, and he was helpful in navigating territorial locals and understanding when it’s safe to go for a wave given the rules of priority. He taught us how to look for the signs that someone who had priority would not catch the wave – then it was ours. It seems so simple once it’s said, but until that day, I’d missed a LOT of waves.
Debra and I post surf
Relieved that the second day was far more successful than the first, we went home.
That night the party came to us. Friends of Maria’s and Christina’s (pictured below) made us a wonderful Puerto Rican feast with recipes they learned from their grandmothers. Everyone helped by setting the table, mixing the drinks, or keeping the chefs in beer.
When we all sat down to eat a meal that was sooo good, it had to be eaten slowly to make the pleasure of eating last.
Andrew, me, Maria, Debra, Christina, and Luis at the feast
We surfed all week, traveling to find the best place to catch waves given conditions.
Reggae was everywhere. It seemed to keep beat with the rhythm of the waves.
Me, swinging over the ocean
There was one day when we didn’t surf at all, which might have had something to do with the late, fun, inebriated party night before. We woke up with a text thread for a boat trip and some serious headaches. Good day for a rope swing.
The tides in PR are barely noticeable, which means it doesn’t matter when you go out surfing. People tend to stay indoors around noon because it’s so hot, so at mid-day on a small-wave day, we had the whole ocean to ourselves.
Maria resting between double sessions
On our last final day in Puerto Rico, the waves were overhead, but gentle giants.
The clear water and the kaleidoscope reef below were now magical and no longer a threat.
We all did better. I was able to do top and bottom turns I’d mentioned the first day, catch late entries, and know when to go for waves where other surfers had priority. Robert said to us, “I’ve noticed you are all much more confident.” It’s always great to be acknowledged by someone you respect!
My days in Puerto Rico gave me the feeling I had when I was a kid and we’d stay outside as long as we possibly could before having to come home. In the end, it It felt like everything came together. We found our inner reggae. We were in the rhythm of the waves.
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