Day two in Puerto Escondido starts off the way most days on a surf trip start - with surfing. Billy is content on resting today, so he lets me take the rental down to the point to try to erase the memory of the horrible session from the day before. As soon as I pull up I notice the blue and grey striped Chevy Suburban owned by my friend Brian who I met last time I was in Mexico. He is the "six and six" guy. Half the year in Colorado scoring fresh powder and teaching Spanish at a community college, half the year in Mexico scoring piping barrels and teaching English to the locals at a language school he started from scratch. Nice life, eh? He was also the one who saved me during that last awesome trip to Mexico by finding a board shaped in a style that I can ride. He rented me that board, introduced me to posole, and showed me the kind of lifestyle that trumped the sedentary life that most of us lead. Brian is the kind of man that can become a good friend just in the matter of an epic surf session on a single day.




There are only a couple of non-factors in the water early that morning, and I manage to get a decent set wave early on to get my blood flowing. As soon as some of the local shredders show up and start to jockey on the edge of the big rock where the waves are forced to throw their energy, my wave count is reduced drastically. Lineups change, and so it made sense that the contours under the surface of this stretch of warm Pacific coastline had been altered by storms and tides. I paddle up to Brian and say: "What's up?!" In between trading waves he confrims my belief about the seemingly different feel of La Punta. He confides in me that: "a couple of rocks had broken off from the main outcropping and re-established themselves in the impact zone." Unlike this trip, two years before there were wide swinging set waves and most of the nice ones broke several feet from the rock.




After the less-than-satisfying re-re-acquaintance with my old friend La Punta I am ready to retreat to relaxation mode poolside at Zicatela Bungalows. I find it a nice play to write in my journal and read, especially considering the nice view: tropical beach, ocean, sky and three topless Australian women bronzing their bodies right there next to me. Puerto Escondido is a very interesting town to spend time in. Travelers from all over the world come here and I meet people from many countries. Especially poignant is my discussion with a man from Israel. We talk about many topics and eventually I find myself asking him about the conflict and ask for his opinion on the matter. He makes sure that I leave the conversation knowing that the majority of the Israeli people do not condone the actions of their military, and that the images portrayed by the media about constant bloodshed and bombings is not an accurate reflection of what really goes down in his "home" land.




We eat breakfast at Los Tios this morning, literally on the beach. I have no idea how they can get away with putting their restaurant on a sandy beach that has the propensity to flood, but I am not their business manager. What an amazing mango beverage! I am going to have to drink one each morning at this tenuous establishment. Frozen fresh mango chunks and pineapple chunks grinded in a blender over fresh fruit juice . . . the perfect elixir for a mellow mood after surviving small to medium sized MexPipe. My first session at MexPipe was an inevitabile event, but my heart rate is still blasting blood through my veins as we walk up to the edge of the water. For MexPipe it is relatively small, but until you feel the power of this place, it's hard to describe the wrath of the ocean. My first duck dive results in my board-shorts nearly getting ripped completely off my body. Only by curving my feet at the last second do I save the embarrassment of having to walk up the beach, naked save my board, searching for my lost trunks. My first drop is heavy! Not at all like the perfection of a peeling point break, this wave is nearly vertical and incredibly fast. I come up from the bottom after my drop-in and get to the highest part of the wall, see the tunnel of water forming ahead and safely kick off the top to avoid a close out smashing. The next four drops are similar: big, fast and kick out off the shoulder to avoid the pit. Soon it was time to pay the piper. On my next glistening, growling south Pacific bomb that peaks just for this wary American surfer from San Francisco I get stalled in the lip and go down like a suicidal barrel over Niagara Falls. It must have looked worse than it felt, because I pop up pretty quick, gasp for air, and with the experience of a surfer who knows the fate of being caught inside at a powerful spot like MexPipe, I grab my leash, haul in my board, and leap on my board in order to scramble out of danger as quickly as possible. It is a good thing that I did, because I barely, I mean b-a-r-e-l-y make it under the next looming set wave. Remember, this is MexPipe and you can break a board here as easily as punching through saran wrap - and I only have one board for the whole trip! Well, Billy has a full quiver of three boards and he is surfing flawlessly and fearlessly. Ripping down the line with extra pumps and twists he carves such fluid turns it is an impressive display for a kid from Florida. My last wave is heroic in my mind; it is a pitching, sucking left hander, I have so much speed coming off my bottom turn that the Vernor is chattering. I work it under the pocket, straighten out, lay on my chest and ride white water all the way until my feet plant on the sand. Pumping my fist a couple of times I try to maintain a causal vibe as I walk back to the bungalows. Yes! Survived it!

ER Harris