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MATT HOY TAKES
ASL READERS THROUGH THE JUNGLES OF
CENTRAL AMERICA
So began our trip of a lifetime on the
Quiksilver Crossing. Sure enough, my
brother Jason had arrived at Brisbane
International sans passport and 20
minutes later I was dejectedly preparing
to board our flight alone. It was always
going to be a prick of a trip getting to
our destination, which had only just
been revealed to us, but doing it alone
would make it even more difficult.
Our youngest brother Wes had won the
trip courtesy of ASL but he couldn't
make it as his missus was expecting any
day. So he kindly and justly gave it to
us.
Central America here we
come! |
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In LA, I met up with photographer Andrew
Shield and also found out that my
brother was on his way…game on! From
LA we flew to Houston and then on to
Panama City, before boarding the
legendary Indies Trader.
Next morning at the hotel the crew were
assembling; Phillip Island stalwart Matt
Ryan and son Sandy were tucking into the
breakfast buffet when Captain Martin
Daly arrived to meet us. We were soon
joined by Jason, who'd pulled off a
miracle in making it, along with our
inimitable host, former WCT hell man
Matt Hoy.
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We spent the day sightseeing around
Panama City, the mandatory visit to the
Canal, the old city, etc. When the
Conquistadors rampaged through South
America 500 years ago, Panama was the
gateway; it's unique geography with
access to Pacific and Atlantic coasts
make it a vital link between the old
world and the treasure of the new.
It's a different kind of treasure we
seek on this trip and we've been assured
there's plenty of it for the taking by
the lone Panamanian surfer on the trip,
a bloke with more tatts than Hoyo known
only as "Vampiro". |
The Pacific Coast is open to and
affected by the same swell patterns that
frequently deposit massive waves at
places like Mavericks far to the north
and the East Coast is seasonally treated
to epic conditions courtesy of massive
tropical storms originating in the Gulf
of Mexico.
Later that evening, after team bonding
inside a bar at the wharf, we boarded
the boat and were soon under way. I was
first man on deck due to the fact that I
didn't sleep a wink and within two
minutes I had a rod in my hands, hauling
in a big Yellow-fin tuna. The commotion
had roused the boys (except Hoyo) who
were all now admiring my catch. Chef
extraordinaire Mick sauntered by,
rubbing the sleep out of his eyes,
mumbling something about fresh sashimi.
Within a couple of hours several
good-sized Mahi Mahi and big Mackerel
had spilt blood on our deck. The swell
was tiny and for the next day or so it
was more like the Quiksilver fishing
charter and culinary tour, with Mick
creating treat after treat in the
gallery.
All along the coast there looked like
there was great potential for waves but
we were missing the most vital
ingredient of all, swell.
We'd anchored off a beach known as a
swell magnet and we played around in
perfect little two-foot beachies. Next
morning it was a bit bigger with some
local crew on it; apparently there's a
surf camp up on the hill. It was heaps
of fun but soured somewhat when Crossing
Internet bloke Shayne Allen stepped on a
stingray and was in a bit of trouble.
Sure enough, the next day it was 4-5
foot on the beachie. After surfing for a
couple of hours the decision was taken
by captain Dave to head back towards the
Bay of Panama where the reefs would know
what to do with this swell.
Martin Daly had left the boat in Panama
and had headed back to Oz via Indo, I
saw him leave with a trusty old board
under his arm, with no cover and a few
things stuffed into a garbage bag.
Definitely a hard-core sea dog!
Back in the Bay the swell was a bit
smaller but really nice little waves
could be seen all along the coast. It's
quite an affluent area with big houses
right on the beach or dotting the
headlands just like home. The other
thing that was just like home was the
crowd, which I was totally unprepared
for. |
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The last time I was in these parts was
back in 1980 on a trip that started in
San Francisco and was headed to South
America. Unfortunately the conflict in
El Salvador put paid to that ambition
and we got no further that Guatemala but
the only surfers you saw were Seppos.
The locals just didn't surf. So I was
quite surprised by the volume of
frothing Latino macho men now enjoying
the noble art. Some of them went all
right too. Mind you, the unwritten laws
of "priority" and "no
drop-ins" are not so well
understood in this part of the jungle. I
saw many cases of guy's 30 metres closer
to shore calling for waves that were
already being ridden. I don't know,
maybe they have a ticket system like the
deli at Coles or something.
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After several sessions on the
sand-bottom reefs and a nice little
point set up we returned to the boat to
find a lovely young American lass who
had paddled out the Quiksilver boat from
where she was surfing. She'd been
following the Crossing on the net and
couldn't believe it was now at her local
break. She was soon surrounded by
unkempt Aussies with one thing on their
minds..…lunch! Naturally we invited
her to join us for food and the most
traditional of Oz pastimes, beer
drinking.
It had become apparent by now that we
were not going to score mind-blowing
perfection on this trip and as it was
nearing its end we decided to head back
to Panama City to engage in some
nocturnal pursuits.
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Hoyo had emerged from his cabin aka
"The Rat Den" and seemed
genuinely excited at the prospect of
entertainment. When he wasn't holed up
in the rat den he was cracking us up
reading the Howard Marks biography, Mr
Nice.
Before we went out that night we thanked
Quiksilver and ASL, we'd scored OK surf
but we'd had an unreal time.
We also thanked our brother Wes for
sending us away; cheers mate and
congrats to you and Jill for your
beautiful baby Jasmine. I won't go into
details about my evening's exploits,
except to say that the biggest sets I
saw all trip were at the fabulous Miami
club in downtown Panama City. |
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