And Back Again

  The final surfing experience in La Ticla made it difficult to accept the thought of leaving Mexico.  Floating on the warm waters of the Pacific, feeling the rythmic pulse of the building swell and the explosive feeling of catching a wave.  This experience is becoming apart of me, slowly etching itself into my periphery and reminding me why I will seek waves in near and far off places for the rest of my life.  

On the day of departure I woke up to the familiar alarm clock of roosters at dawn.  Once I packed up my simple living  into the previa I went to pick up David, my co-pilot from France who I agreed to give a lift up to Santa Cruz, California.  We set out to begin the six day driving saga.  The first night we arrived in a town called San Blas.  The town had hoped to make its mark on the map as a major tourist destination, with a friendly beach break,  many restaurants and shops and a friendly atmosphere.  The tourists ended up staying away due to a huge bug population.  It wasn't bad at all compared to northern BC.  The next day we drove up through Mazatlan past the Sierra Madre Mountains and ended up in a town called Los Mochis.  

The third day of driving brought us to the US border, this time we passed through surprisingly quickly.  We entered into Arizona and ended up in Tucson for the night.  Luckily we arrived just in time for the American Thanksgiving and we found a little cafe downtown that was serving Turkey dinner and the portions were typically american ...huge!  The next few days were spent dodging cars through six lanes of traffic in LA, drinking Rockstar energy drinks and

 grinding on through southern California to reach Santa Cruz.  After four and a half solid day of driving we arrived to one of the crown jewels of the California coast.  We parked the van and David was almost extatic to show me all of the surf beaches in town.  There was swell at the time (big waves) and at every point we checked there were around 200 people in the water, no thanks.  
The atmosphere in Santa Cruz was pretty sweet, not quite Mexicoesque but lots of surfers and outdoorsy people.  We stayed with a buddy of David's just outside of Santa Cruz who house was situated in a redwood cedar forest.  After a full day off from driving I felt a yearning to be done with driving so the next day was a big one, bringing me just south of Bend, Oregon.  Bend is a hip little town with a bit more of a mountain culture.  We spent time there a year and a half ago when we were climbing in Smith Rocks, just north of Bend.  I spent the night at a RV campground shivering underneath my comfortor dreaming about my feather duvet at home.  Day six brought me through Washington and to the Canadian border at around 8 pm.  The friendly Canuck border patrol man seemed content with my story of seeking warm waves in Mexico and after I told him I worked for the BC forest service as a firefighter he seemed pleased and waved me through without so much as a peep into my van.  Finally, the road home was a little less snowy than I'd hoped however life is good as friends and a warm fire were awaiting me.  

Buenos Olas

Here on the coast of the Michoacan the dawn starts to peer its eyes in our cabana and I wake up with the sound of waves breaking. Up from bed and out onto our porch I scan the point for the wave conditons and how many surfers are out. Soon I am into my bathing suit and walking down the beach passing by the fisherman eager to get their early moring catch. As I paddle out pelicans fly overhead using the wind to surf waves more gracefully than any person. The beach where I am staying has a long left point break and I have grown used to being on of the biggest flounders in the water. But I am patient with myself knowing that it will all come with time and persistance. A big change from feeling like you are on top of your game pushing your limits rock climbing in the middle of the desert to succumbing to the power of the ocean and watching in awe as the people who have devoted their life to riding waves make it look so smooth.

On November 2 Dia as Mortes (day of the dead) a group of us piled into my Colorado friend´s van and headed five hours east into the mountains. Day of the dead is a time for the Mexicans to celebrate their family members who have passed away and they adorn their graves extravagantly. The entire family goes to the cemetary with buckets full of flowers, candles, idols, fruit and more to dress up their lost loved ones. They even sleep in the cemetary at night and have a few drinks to celebrate past memories. Patzcuaro hosts one of the most vibrant celebrations for Dia as Mortes and their are huge markets, plenty of food vendors who lure you in with tacos, gorditas, siviche, and more. At night we camped in a field with heaps of young Mexicans with an old ruin right across the street. The festivities continued all night with plenty of dancing, car sterio wars, and barracho (drunk) Mexicans. It was an amazing experience but nice to get back to the tranquility of the beach.

After spending over two weeks here and meeting some of the locals and the international surfing crowd, the road is beckoning and I begin to head north. Yesterday I arrived in Ticla just in time to experience some of the biggest crowds in the water yet due to a long weekend. I have heard about this place from so many BC friends and now know why as every other person I seem to meet here is from somewhere in BC. I guess it is difficult to be foreign and exotic all the time. These past few days have really hit me that the countdown is on for the end of my trip. I will start heading north on the 25th of November, seeking out showers and places to stay from people I have met on this trip. No matter how amazing sun feels after a firefighting season or salt water feels after being landlocked, home always holds a special place in my heart.

Bienvenido a Mexico

Ahhh...we finally made it. After six days of climbing in Indian Creek, we left with a van full of red sand, new scars on our hands, and great anticipation of our next destination. Leah and I were hardly prepared for the next leg of our journey, three days of driving, sleeping just off the interstate, and eating whatever we could find at local gas stations or restaraunts. We noticed a major temperature increase in these two days and the landscape began to change into cacti and many different species of trees and plants we have never seen before. We decided to cross the US/Mexican border in the morning to give ourselves more than enough time to deal with logistics and headaches in another language. We crossed a bridge in Laredo, Texas, breifly talked to some border patrol people in broken spanish and geared ourselves for the "real" border crossing. Twenty minutes later while driving down narrow one ways, listening to street music and looking around, we realized, "hey are we in Mexico?" It turns our we were, no tourist visas, no vehicle registration, no passport requests, hmm.... We turned around to seek out all of these things ourselves a little confused. An hour later, we were back on the road to Potrero Chico.

Just outside of Monterrey, Mexico we started our drive towards the high mountains of Potrero, pointed out to me by a friendly gas station attendant. "Look towards the mountains you are going to visit"as he pointed to the limestone peaks with a sparkle in his eye. A couple of hours and a few u turns later we pulled into the campground. To our great surprise we had the entire canyon to ourselves and four other American climbers for the next three days. The first day was a bit of an awakening to the new style of climbing, no more secure hand jams and placing your own protection whenever you feel insecure. Sharp limestone holds, huecos and pockets that you can sometimes stick your entire arm into and critters like millipedes, spiders and snakes that join you on the walls. However after a few days of getting used to the rock, I realize that the major thing to focus on is the language barrier. My portuguese is very rusty and although it has been handy a few of times, for the most part the Mexicans just smile and apologize that they do not understand. I feel the familiar insecurity of not being able to connect on a simple level through basic communication.

Leah is planning her flight back to Canada on the 23rd and I have come to the realization that I will be alone, without my favourite chica and climbing partner. Soon the rock chapter of the trip will come to a close and the coast will draw the Previa closer. The surfboard has been biding her time on the roof rack through the desert, soon she'll be greeted with those familiar salty waves.

The beginning

Finally, it is all coming together. After months of dreaming about the van, loaded with all of the things I need to climb, surf, relax, and enjoy life on the road it is reality. Driving, driving, driving. For the first week it was all I did. First a little "out of the way" interview in Canmore, Alberta. hoping to have some sort of job security to come back to for winter in Canada. After a short and sweet dinner/interview in Canmore I make my way to Squamish over the next couple of days to pick up my right hand lady, Leah.

After greeting eachother like excited little girls we set out for one last Squamish climb before we got down to business and finished all of our last minute errands. We set out early the next morning for City of Rocks, Idaho. At the border we did our best to smile sweetly at the patrol officer. "How many of you are in there?" he asked while trying to peer into the back windows of the previa determined to discover a hideaway. We gave him our story and our purpose puzzled him, rock climbing is something not everyone understands, so he flagged us over to homeland security. After a brief visit with an officer we were sure of as the "new guy" and some funny questions we were released into the US. The next few days were a driving saga not much to report from the interstate.

When we finally arrived at the City of Rocks info center two days later we were greeted with a darkening sky, rain and promise of more on the way. Leah and I made an executive decision over sandwiches in the parking lot and decided to keep the momentum going and drive to Moab, Utah to escape the rain. The next day we arrived in Moab in one of the heaviest precip. storms I have ever seen in the desert. Yet another forced rest day. We used it to gather supplies for a three day trip to Indian Creek, land of splitter sandstone cracks. The beauty of this place never ceases to amaze me, the rain brings a breath of fresh air to the area and the green seems to jump out of the landscape. The sun came out for us on our first real climbing day (it finally happened) where we met a group from the American Alpine club at Supercrack buttress. They were more than accomodating and were hosting an event where international climbers came together for a week of hosted climbing in Indian Creek. This means, after we both lead a nice warm up, we have more top ropes than we need to feel the familiar Indian Creek exhaustion we have been seeking.

Over the next two days Leah and I made our way to the top of a tiny tower and did some single pitch cragging until our hands bled and our beer and ice supply dropped to a risky level. So here we are in Moab on another rest day. The sun is out and doing errands in town is difficult however our bodies tell us to rest as there are more days in the sun to come.