Saturday 19 February 2011

Galapagos: Charlie Don't Surf

But if only he had... The Galapagos bare the mark of his influence at every turn, but I think if Charles had packed a longboard*, a semi-gun* and some sunblock on the Beagle alongside his notebooks, he´d have kept the secret a little better. However, as a consequence of the Origin of Species, the Galapagos is so well protected by the National Park from any kind of development that the islands remain pristine, and with little impact on the surfing natural resources. I don't think the Save the Waves Coalition has much need to worry about here.

Having left volcanoes behind, I was on a one-way flight from Ecuador´s second city Guayaquil for the Galapagos Islands. I seem to be winging my way around the Americas on a fairly good run of luck with regard to waves and thankfully my luck held out in the Galapagos to score one of the most unique surfs I´ve had. Ever.

Arriving into the Galapagos I was quick to notice that I was one of the only people without need of wheelchair access and not in need of the toilet every 5 minutes. Seems the G' Islands are a haven for oldies from Germany and America. The typical clientele is not surprising considering just to get into the islands you have to pay a $100 national park fee. Not being constrained by time I was organising myself on the go and saving a few thousand bucks in the process. The natural remoteness, perceived cost and restrictions all meant I should be able to score some quiet waves.

All settled in a respectably awful hotel in Puerto Auora on the main island of Santa Cruz and I was off to inspect the surf before the beach closed. The beach in question is Tortuga Bay and is in the National Park, which closes at 6pm. I very nearly didn't make it as it's a 45 minute walk from town, and I  almost got locked in, but after the seemingly endless cactus trees began to give way, and I saw the sea, my hike was not left wanting. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411216754/in/set-72157625851037969/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411218198/in/set-72157625851037969/

Tortuga Bay is a stunning beach of brilliant white sands. The tide was mid way in and the surf was in the shoulder to head high range and had a light on-shore wind but was still none the less inviting. As I was only a few hours off the plane, I was without board, so tried a spot of body surfing and got my first glimpse of the wildlife, which was rather apt for this bay, as what I saw in the distance seemed to look like a turtle!

The next afternoon I returned with a rented 8 foot minimal* and was not alone out in the surf. Sure there were some other local surfers, riding the now waist to shoulder high waves, but it was the fish, marine iguanas and the sting rays that ruled the line up. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411217080/in/set-72157625851037969/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411204864/in/set-72157625851037969/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410604643/in/set-72157625851037969/

The surf was good fun, only a beach break though and at various states of tide it was breaking in random places and sometimes reforming, but the environment was the most unique. Not only did I get to share it with one of the most inquisitive fish...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411204710/in/set-72157625851037969/

...but the attitude of the local surfers was like that of nowhere I´d been. They were actually friendly and seemed to lack the typical aggressiveness associated with countless foreign spots in the Americas. After the guards called us in to make the 6pm close, I was keen to return the next day bright and early, as I had to make tracks to another island to start a tour the day after.

As with several well laid plans, my ambitions for a 6am surf were thwarted by love of sleep but I got down to the beach for around 9am and thankfully the surf was still just about ridable. The sun was out in full force, and surfing on the Equator, regardless of your tan you have to be sun blocked to the point you could give Casper the Ghost a fright.

This surf was truly special, the waves were now very small, but I was sharing the 2 foot sets with a couple local kids I'd met the day before and a bunch of Eagle and Sting Rays. I admit the Sting Rays didn't really understand how to ride the waves, but after I ran over the top of one of them on a left hander, I'm sure he'll be swimming to the nearest store to buy himself a "locals only" tee shirt. You'll be glad to hear that the sting ray in question was not harmed, just a little startled to have some kook from London surf over the top of him. 

That afternoon, the rental returned, I was off to the island of San Cristobal, as my 8 day tour was set to begin the very next day. The 2.5 hour ferry taxi ride over was the bumpiest boat in the world as it seem slam into the sea at 30 mph like the boat would snap in two. I was absolutely fine, however the same can't be said for the locals who sat opposite me, who were usually unable to get the heads over the side in time. Gross. Yes indeed, but I had to sit opposite this for 2.5 hours.

Entering the main town of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, I was amazed. The surf was EPIC. Just cruising into the natural harbour (protected by a series of outer reefs) I saw a left breaking off the rocks that was well over head and seemed to just keep on breaking. I soon learnt that this was a break in the navy's backyard and you needed to buy a permit ($10) to surf there. None the less it looked superb. You can understand me not having any photos of this one as the boat was still very much a rodeo ride and I didn't want to risk my camera going for an early swim.

That night I met a bunch of surfers (Irish, English, Ecuadorian, Australian) who had all gotten cheap flights over to catch the incoming swell. Upon hearing this I was slightly nervous given I was about to set to sea, but this was nothing to what I saw the next day. From the cafe eating my huevos revueltos for breakfast, I could see both ends of the harbour were literally going berserk. Both were double over head, and you could see rather speedy barrels even at a distance of a mile away.

Sad to be missing the swell, I jumped on a catamaran for my tour (a fantastic experience and regardless of lack of surf - see follow up blog) around the islands. The next 8 days were however not without swell, as the true potential of these islands, finally began to show. Reefs and points would appear with rising and dropping tides and the idea of returning just on a boat for the sole purpose of surfing seemed a very good idea. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411236072/in/set-72157625851037969/

All of this sounds like a big sell out to an emerging surfing location, but this is far from the truth. The Galapagos remain on the world's surfing radar but are just out of reach of the majority, and thankfully so. Firstly the costs are naturally prohibitive, you can't just jump off the local chicken bus and paddle out, it takes flights, entrance fees and most expensive of all, a chartered boat. Also surfing is not recognised as an activity by the Galapagos National Park, so in short, outside of Tortuga Bay and the breaks around the towns, you simply can't go surfing.

Isolated from the world for such a long time, its home to some seriously friendly wildlife and to some seriously challenging surf. But I wouldn't change the rules, costs, or any of the other barriers that keep this place of most peoples surfing destinations. Its nice to know at least from a surfers perspective, that there is a little part of the world that is set to remain relatively untapped. I don't think many surf camps will be starting there soon.

I'm now off to get a wife in the Galapagos and buy a boat, so I can surf uncrowded perfect waves to myself... well that's the plan at least.

Here is a teaser for the pictures for the follow up blog. No surf, but spectacular wildlife.

Iguana checking the surf
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410625121/in/set-72157625851037969/
Got crabs? Looks a bit red...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410636031/in/set-72157625976482178/
Nice booby
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410666171/in/set-72157625976482178/
Turtle giving it the eye
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410689641/in/set-72157625851081393/
Sting Ray, looking grumpy
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411303446/in/set-72157625851081393/
Give me a kiss
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411313336/in/set-72157625851099551/
Man in grey suit
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5416063635/in/set-72157625851099551/

The rest of the Galapagos, including a full account of the shark that nearly ate our guide, the Killer Whales who ate said shark's best mate and started a feeding frenzy will be written soon and with a lot of photos to boot!

Rich

*types of surfboard 
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Wednesday 16 February 2011

Nasal issues at 19,000 feet

The finale of my climbing antics on Cotopaxi... 


The night before we set off for the volcano, I met my partner for Cotopaxi at the hosteria, he was a Colombian called Luis. I, unlike Luis had been acclimatising for a few days, so when the first words out of Luis`s mouth, were "I apologise now, if we do not make it to the top", I was understandably annoyed, as if my partner has to come down half way, so do I. After calling him several names under my breath (that I dare not write here) I decided unreserved optimism was called for and over the next day or so, I kept telling Luis how we would succeed with flying colours and drink his whiskey on the summit.

My optimism got a boost when I learnt that we would be joined by two more people (a Swiss couple), and therefore a second guide as there was a maximum of two people per guide. My chances of making it had just gone up. We set off late morning, all fully equipped with ice axes, crampons and enough layers to happily cook an Eskimo for the refugio at 4800m. The refugio was where we would have our afternoon and evening meals, before going to bed at 6pm to wake up at 12am to start climbing at 1am.


After only an hours sleep it was midnight, and time to get going. After getting up in unbelievable cold we breakfasted, all discussed our problems ranging from the lack of sleep to headaches and nausea. The latter two affecting the Swedes, the thought of spending some time at altitude before hand, had clearly passed these guys by. All suited and spiked up with crampons we hit the slopes under an almost full moon and a near-tropical minus 10 degrees. Apparently its only going to get colder. Nice.



Cotopaxi is the world´s largest active volcano and is over 400m higher than the Everest Base Camp at 5911m and to make it even more impressive by converting it into feet, makes it about 19,400 feet. So in short we had our work cut out and before we'd even got a 100m higher the Swedish girl had already been sick twice. All was looking ominous, but altitude does strange things, as after that incident both Swedes were fine, and it was Luis, with his giant sized nose that I had to be wary of. The size of his nose wasn't particularly relevant to the situation, but it was rather excessive, if he'd dressed up as Rudolph, he'd have put Heathrow's air traffic control centre out of a job.



The site of a few dozen people climbing in the snow under just moonlight in the silly hours of the morning is a strange site, and one I will never forget. At this altitude and so close to the equator, by the time the sun is up, we would be at one of the closest points on earth to the sun (given the Earth is pear-shaped). The fierce sun would make the glacier unstable, hence climbing in the chilly small hours. When we hit the glacier, it was time to rope ourselves together, but I didn't see the point as if Luis slipped he'd only do it in super slow motion like everything else he did, like climbing upward.
  
After 3 hours of stopping every 5 minutes for Luis to re stretch his legs, I was convinced the next stop would be the end of things and Luis would have to bail (forcing me to as well). The Swedes and their guide had already gone ahead, but with an hour to go, we came in sight of them, and my guide sent me to join them. I was so elated I virtually legged it up the next section and tired myself out in the process. Stomping up hill quickly at 5,700m is not a great idea! Finally on the last leg, we were continually thwarted by fake-summit after fake-summit. A hundred metres from the top, the altitude was really getting to me with a thumping headache and dizziness and after we had to use our ice axes on one rather steep section, I was told, that this last section, was in fact the last bit.


Most people I've met who've climbed Cotopaxi talk of how overwhelmed with happiness and usually have a bit of cry when they reach the summit. I on the hand was quite frankly relieved I didn't have any further to go. I was completely spent. The last few hundred meters had been a killer and I think my words upon reaching the top were fairly unprintable. The views were spectacular, we'd arrived just after sunrise and there were eerie wisps of cloud floating over the rather smelly crater. The views were spectacular but I was so exhausted it was in a way quite hard to appreciate it, let alone want to take any photos. Thankfully, I did.
 
Shockingly after only being on the summit for 5 minutes, I saw Luis make it up. I was genuinely surprised, but extremely happy. I was glad I'd prepared for a few days before hand, as goodness knows how I would have coped, as the others very nearly did not!


Alas, what goes up must go down, and after 3 hours of plodding back downhill we were back in the refugio. I had to go back up the slope from the refugio at one point to retrieve my ice axe which slid about a km down hill earlier. This doesn't sound like much, but after being told I'd be charged $100 for a new one, I summoned the strength to go out hunting for it. I had never been so tired my life. Ever. Fact. Much to the guides' surprise I found the bastard ice axe about 500m from the refugio. In this instance, swearing is absolutely necessary, my legs were officially jelly and I had nothing more to give, I'd just climbed a beast of hill, saved a hundred bucks and was bloody proud of myself.  Hell yeah!


Photos in the usual place
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Sunday 13 February 2011

Pancakes and mountain-fresh water

Back in the hosteria/farm of Papagayo and getting fat on the delicious pancakes, it was time to get climbing, and get some practice at altitude before attempting Cotopaxi. Getting in late Friday night, I met Nath, a consultant from New York who was to be one of my companions for the following mornings climb up Pasochoa. This was the ease-in for climbing with this one only 4200m high, so after a laid back breaky (of more pancakes) we hit the road with our guide Abel, and one the kid Santiago from the farm.
 
After driving virtually all the way us Pasochoa, we felt pretty comfortable with a quick hop, skip and a jump to the top. Nath was not on top form having picked up a bit of a bug he day before, but needless to say, no climber ever ascends unprepared. At the time, jokes about mountain spring water being so fresh sprung to mind, but such jest was a touch premature, as lets just say, if I see mineral water from Volcan Cotopaxi, I may have to pass, and so should you.
 
By noon we had reached the top for an early lunch.
 
 
The views were spectacular, and Nath and I were rather pleased with ourselves. The trip back down was quick, and our guides proceeded to jog down. I think they felt very smug for a little while, leaving the panting gringos behind, but after turning around to see me right behind them it was my turn to feel a bit smug. We then all collectively felt a bit bad as we'd left the slightly delicate Nath some way back. We passed a Canadian on the way down just metres from the summit unable to go that little bit further. We decided he deserved no sympathy or encouragement and that he was a complete and utter fairy. He had one of those stupid hat-umbrella things on, so felt he deserved not to get to the top in the first place. Silly man. 
 
Back at base, and suitably stuffed with cake, we met our other partner for the next days climb, a Swiss chap called Danny. The evenings in the very quiet Papagayo were thankfully assisted by the arrival of a Belgian couple who would also be climbing with us, along with the huge collection of pirate DVDs, something that any Latin American hostel is rarely without (pirate DVDs, not Belgians you understand).
 
The next day we were all gun-ho and still trying to digest the worlds best pancakes as the Land Cruiser thankfully stopped bouncing up the hill to the mountain for that day; Corizon, 4800m.
 
 
With a lot of fresh blood on the mountain, the going was not smooth at first, but after necking vast volumes of water we were soon motoring up. The terrain at first was easy going, but soon the grass and earth gave way to loose scree which was unstable to say the least. Danny is a former air pilot for the Swiss air force which I blame for his ability to climb quickly and fairly soon we'd gotten ahead of the others, for the final stage, which was a full-on scramble, and by far the most exciting part of the climb.
 
Along the way the site of Cotopaxi, was as impressive and ominous-looking as ever, but from so far away, it looked like it would be easy. Foolish.
 
 
Up on top, the mist surrounded us, which made for a very eerie and strange feeling, like the clouds might suddenly disappear, like some giant playing peek-a-boo. Clearly, and as the photos also demonstrate, the altitude was doing strange things to my head.
 
 
After a hasty lunch, the guides were keen to get moving in case the mist got worse. The scree on the way up that had proved to be so annoying turned into a super-quick way to descend as you could literally skip down hill at a decent pace, besides, we all knew there would be tasty cake waiting at the hosteria, so we had to motor! 
 
That evening was the beginning of my rest day before climbing Cotopaxi. The others were all climbing Iliniza Sur (mountain on the right) the next day, but I was going to be stuffing myself with as many calories as humanly possible.
 
Photos in the usual place:
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Wednesday 9 February 2011

Joseph, Dennis & ITS GRIPPED!

Having avoided the ketchup bandits of Quito, I was keen to explore elsewhere, and at the back of mind there was an image of returning to England, and being asked, "what do you mean you didn't get me a present?". To avoid such moments of awkwardness, I made my way to Otovalo which has one of the most famous markets in all of South America. The indigenous people from the surrounding hills all descend in force on Friday night in anticipation for the carnage of Saturday's market. On a normal day there are a couple of streets full of stalls, but on Saturday, the market spreads like a zombie virus through the adjoining streets and completely takes over the town square called the Plaza de Ponchos, and no, you're not all getting ponchos.

The market is huge and with every conceivable thing made from Alpaca or Wool, the colours were simply incredible. It was like stepping into an episode of the BBC's Any Dream Will Do but far more colourful and without the need to keep asking my old house-mate Helen why I was being forced to watch this crap. Otovalo's growing reputation means that the market is now more of a tourist must-see than the market from previous years, but I was not disappointed to see some of the old market's more quirky elements. Namely the shrunken heads:

Also, rumours that the former Big Breakfast stars Zig and Zag were hiding out in the hills of Northern Ecuador were not it seems, with out some truth. Their disguises could not fool me:

I was very keen to buy something woolly to keep me warm in Cotopaxi, so amongst picking up a few things for Brits back home I picked up a lined red and black hoody. Now dressed as Dennis the Menace, but without the accompanying immaturity ("yeah right" I hear you say) I headed back south, past Quito and onto to the mountains of Cotopaxi National Park.
Unable to find people in Quito to climb Cotopaxi with, I set off for a hostel next to the park in an attempt at least to get things moving. I stayed in a place called Papagayo, the place now directly responsible for my addiction to American style pancakes, and alas responsible for giving me back the stone in weight I had previously miss-placed in Central America.

Unable to find climbing partners straight away, I went with my new Aussie friends Bonnie and Craig on a day trip to Quilotoa. The ex-cons from New South Wales were a great laugh and they even tried to hook me up with their hot Auzzie girlfriends living in Europe. I think this would have been a good compromise, as my Mum said she'd kill me if I fell for an Auzzie girl and moved down under. Personally I think it would be worth it, at least as long as England have the Ashes, good fun baiting the criminals about the cricket!

Quilotoa is, or rather was a beast of a volcano until 800 years ago when a Krakatoa sized eruption destroyed it. There is now a giant lake where the other half of the volcano used to be...

The summit used to be over 6000 m high, but post tantrum it is now 3400m, so fairly big then. The eruption caused a huge quake near by separating the landscape somewhat. The result would make an excellent 18-hole golf course, I think Tiger would find it difficult to get his balls out of that one.

We trekked down and back up Quilotoa, and for my first taste of altitude I was pleased with my progress but somewhat surprised when realised I had no need to take my pulse as I could hear my heart like it was thumping bass drum. Back at the hostel we were treated to post climbing cake and tea, and alas I was still without people to climb with, so duly departed the next day for the Jungle.
After spending most of the day on buses I arrived in the Oriente. I was in the rain forrest and I was supremely shocked at the change in climate. I had gone from freezing nights and clear warm days where there were no mosquitoes, to baking hot and humid days where simply put everything bites, I had the feeling that I prefer beach, hills and mountains, as opposed to hot sweaty jungle. Thankfully I had found a solution to get wet.

It's GRIPPED! Lets go White-water rafting! (Fastshow reference for those who didn't get that). 
Like an excitable school child I arrived at the rafting agency office, and after some brief introductions we had a team of rafters from Washington, New York.... and Woking. Also accompanying us were two kayakers (for safety) and our guides, Luis and Abby. Despite a flat tyre we made it to the drop off point and slipped and slided our way to the rivers edge. Before getting under way, our guide Abby decided we needed to "warm up" a bit so took us to a near by waterfall, and told us all to jump off or else, which we naturally did, only about 35-40 feet.

Finally underway in the raft, I was surprised to learn that one of the girls from NYC on the boat couldn't actually swim. So it makes absolute sense to go white water rafting then doesn't it? Muppet. Thankfully the raft guide Luis didn't relent the pace despite carrying a non swimmer (holding on for dear life at the back of the raft) especially as he proceeded to take us down the bigger rapids backwards (the poor girl).

After putting us through countless waterfalls we were all soaked, so I took it upon myself to even the score with the kayakers, soaking them whenever the got too close. We then stopped for lunch. Abby's mum had over ordered on the picnic, but we made our best attempt and 3 big burritos later I was not only stuffed, I was in danger of sinking if I went overboard, life jacket or not!

The afternoon was great fun, but the highlight had to be riding the boat bronco style. We took it turns, sitting on the bow of the raft with a rope between our legs whilst going over the rapids. The trick was to hold on with just one hand and with the other to wave an imaginary cowboy hat in the air and still hold on. When I turned around for some congratulations at staying on board despite some quite gnarly rapids, I was promptly pushed in. Bastards.

The biggest mistake of the day was that I had left my camera, that's right, the water & shock proof camera, ideal for taking rafting, in my room. So I am still trying to hunt down the photos from Ben, in Washington, but hopefully I'll have them soon. The next day I headed back to Papagayo in Cotopaxi, as fellow climbers had been found and I needed to get some practice for the almighty Volcan Cotopaxi...the largest active volcano in the world.

photos in the usual place
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