Stepping off the dock into the boat, I shuffle over to balance the boat with my weight. Quickly grabbing the surfboards from Chet, I tuck them into the bow of the boat as he hops in.
With the hum of the outboard motor in the background, we sit in silence as we anticipate the surf. Leaving the calmness of the bay, we begin to hit the open ocean swells as we head to the island Carenero - an island with a perfect point break.
Our boat driver pulling up just out of reach of the breaking waves sets the outboard on idle.
"You want me to wait for you?"
"No, we will flag another boat down. We don't know how long we are going to surf for."
Grabbing my board I toss it overboard and dive in. The water almost uncomfortably warm, feels nice after the rainy and windy ride over.
As Chet and I paddle out to the furthest part of the point, we watch the waves bend around the island with machine like consistency. The wave itself is phenomenal. Sitting in the lineup looking out to sea, we stare out at the island of Bastimentos as we watch the open water swells transform into breaking waves. As the breaking wave bends across the island, the underlying reef seems to groom the wave; the longer the wave breaks, the more perfect the wave gets. However, what really struck me about the wave is that it breaks within a stones throw of the island. While riding the wave, it seems like the jungle is merely oncoming traffic with the thin strip of beach as the center divider.
After four hours of surfing, Chet was exhausted, and my stomach was rubbed raw from the board. We decided it was time to flag a boat down. Sitting like ducks in the water, we waited for a water taxi to come.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Watching waves role through we couldn't resist catching a few more. Paddling into one, I take off and I'm flying down the wave. Like a dog chasing a squirrel, at that moment nothing matters more than the wave, and nothing could break my focus and determination. Midway through the wave, I distantly hear "Wyatt!!" and it's not until the end of the wave that I register that my name had actually been called. Paddling back out, to my surprise I see my friend Emily in the water.
Emily, a graduate of Environmental Science from UCSB as well, is a friend that I've been surfing with since my freshmen year at UCSB. Living in neighboring dorms, we'd surf together, had the same friend group, and struggled through the same classes all four years. She has more energy than the energizer bunny itself.
When seen outside her large framed sunglasses covered most of her face which were held on by croakies. She's usually riding her green Trek rusted from the years of salt dripping on it in Santa Barbara. Highly animated in both hand gestures and personality, the last time I saw her was when she was sitting a row behind me at the UCSB graduation ceremony. Like everyone else she was wearing the black gown, blue and gold sash, graduation cap, and her big sunglasses with croakies. She only had to put some flair to the outfit. She boasted a black mustache to symbolize the Gauchos, and adorned a foot high version of UCSB's Storke Tower that could be seen as she crossed the stage.
Finally waving down a boat like hitchhikers, it was time to part paths again from my friend. On the voyage back to Bastimentos, it was crazy for me to think that on a remote set of islands off the Caribbean coast of Panama, I'd randomly run into a friend from school. It made me look forward to more experiences like that.
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