Escondido: Escondido (Oyster Shell Road Part Ii)

By Mark Wilks

Escondido, the continuation of the Oyster Shell Road series in which Skyler Martin and his girlfriend, Sheila Heinberger-Malguizo find themselves hiding in a small Pacific coast town in southern Mexico until it is safe to return to their home in Rio Lagartos. They soon discover that the Texas Rangers hunting for Sheila have become the least of their problems as they encounter life threating dangers of their own in the outlaw state of Oaxaca. To get out alive they must call on the help from their friends on the other coast as well as the Rangers themselves in a violent confrontation with Communistas rebels as their only resort.
Amidst the melee is the hurricane of the century bearing down on their beloved home in the Yucatan threatening to destroy everything they have worked so hard to create. It will take all their wills and courage to overcome what seem to be what seem to be impossible odds. New bonds are formed and the friendship they form must carry them through the worst of scenarios.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483573427

Book preview

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ESCONDIDO

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OYSTER SHELL ROAD PART II

CHAPTER

(1)

Sheila was still in bed as I lay in my favorite hammock on the patio having my morning coffee and smoke. For the fifth day in a row now the ground was rumbling from the enormous waves emanating from the Southern hemisphere and traveling thousands of miles to spend their energy on the shallow sand bottom of the beach break known to surfers worldwide as the ‘Mexican Pipeline’.

After our hasty departure from Rio Lagartos and Playa Linda, with the Texas Rangers hot on our heels, we settled in the small Pacific coast town of Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca and rented a lovely little villa perched atop the cliff directly above the beach break. Puerto Escondido (hidden port) was a town I was quite familiar with having spent extensive time on extended surf trips back in the 70’s, and now in the early fall of 1981 we were here out of necessity.

Poor Sheila had been on the run from her psychopathic ex-husband for five years, hiding in the jungles of the Yucatan, when we met and fell in love. It was there Sheila had shot and killed Carl Stinson ending a long, nightmarish chapter of her life but unfortunately, and unbeknownst to us, Carl had risen through the political ranks to the position of State Senator at the time of his demise…hence the Rangers. Now, once again, Sheila was in hiding.

Having plenty of money, and more importantly each other, we were making a nice life for ourselves until it was safe to return to Playa Linda. It could be months, it could be years, or it could be forever. Regardless, we would make the best of the shitty cards life had dealt Sheila and with her indomitable spirit in tow, hand in hand we would prevail.

Now the sun was starting to break on the East side of the coastal mountains but the light had yet to reach the ocean. I could tell by the sound, a muffled thunder, and the vibrations coming through the ground that the swell was big but until it got lighter it was anybody’s guess how big. The mountains, just a few miles inland, rose rapidly to a height of over 10,000 ft. and the cold night air on top fell rapidly down the slopes to the warm ocean water below creating the morning offshore winds, grooming the waves into smooth perfection. In the wintertime the early morning air temperatures here at the beach could drop to a chilly 60° while in the summer would hover at a comfortable 70°.

Hanging from the courtyard papaya tree to which one end of my hammock was strung was an old style Coleman white gas lantern that provided me with reading light in the predawn hours. At the time I was involved with a 1,147 page monster of a novel by James Clavell called ‘Whirlwind’ set in the desserts of post Shah Iran. ‘Whirlwind’ brought to present times the centuries old saga of the Struan clan beginning with ‘Shogun’ and Clavell’s vivid portrayal of 17th century Japan. I loved Clavell’s mastery of the art of storytelling and sometimes found myself so mesmerized by the pictures he painted of the Orient and the Middle East that I would read right through the sunrise surf session.

It wasn’t long before I heard water running in the house and the sound of Sheila milling about the open air kitchen. She walked out to the courtyard and stood silently next to me as I put my arm around her legs while continuing to read. Reaching the end of a paragraph I looked up at her and said, Good morning Sweetheart.

Mornin’ Baby, She replied leaning over to give me kiss and taking the joint from my hand. Taking a toke she asked, Gonna’ be big today isn’t it?

Yeah, sounds like it’s about two stories…maybe more. Could be hairball.

Having spent, all and all, more than a year surfing here I was very tuned into the beach break and with my strength returning after years of being a lazy dope smuggling sailor, I was ready for the challenge. Actually that is not completely true. When the beach break was at its maximum rideable size even the best of the international cadre of surfers were humbled.

Sheila stroked my hair then returned to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee in our automatic coffee maker that we had picked up in Mexico City on our way across the mainland. By the time she returned with two steaming cups the ambient light was beginning to show enormous waves heaving up and out to create huge, hollow barrels with gracefully arched plumes of spray blowing off of the tops. The energy from just a single one of these waves, if harnessed, could easily power the entire town for a year. Looking down at the spectacle below Sheila turned back to the house telling me rots-o-ruck as she walked away.

Finishing my coffee, I marked my place in my book, got up and looked down at the beachbreak. I could taste the adrenaline jolt in my teeth and felt it spread through my body at the sight of the waves. Normally at this size the break would be a giant closed out washing machine leaving no choice than to head to the point for a day of big wave hot-dog surfing on giant, forgiving slopes. However, today this was not the case.

The water was clear and swells were hitting the sandbar as unbelievably tall, perfectly formed, powerful A-frame peaks. This was not good news for me as even though I thought of myself as a proficient big wave rider, I had never tackled anything on this scale. The problem being that I was still quite well known by the locals and could already see them standing on the beach with a small crowd just watching the waves. The pressure was on and I wanted to crawl back into my hammock, but I was ‘El Huevo Grande’ (a moniker I had earned by my perilous surfing antics in the 70’s) and I had to go out. I had a reputation to maintain.

Taking a deep breath, I unglued my feet, went to the bedroom and put on my baggies before heading out to the surfboard rack in the small side yard. Instinctively grabbing my favorite 7’6 ‘Robert August’ California rounded pintail gun, I stood looking at it, then at the racer red ‘rhino chaser’ before putting the 7’6 back and pulling out the 8’4" ’Surfboards Hawaii’, which I had never ridden. The long, sleek board was built with one objective in mind and that was to travel very fast while staying connected to the water.

The big gun, I had bought for a pittance from a traveling Hawaiian guy who used the money to spend just a few more days surfing Mexico before returning to the islands. As a matter of fact, all four boards in my quiver had been procured in the same fashion. It was a common practice here, and as tradition dictated, the seller of the board got to use it until their departure making it a win, win deal for both parties. With the closest surfboard manufacturers being in Southern California this was the only method for the locals and expatriates to acquire the coveted U.S. items this deep in Mexico.

Next to the surfboard rack was a plastic milk crate holding various surfboard accessories which included spare fins, leashes and wax. Taking out a bar of ‘Sex Wax’ (which had nothing to do with sex but the name made it a big seller) I rubbed a fresh layer of the sticky substance onto the deck of my board for traction.

As I headed out the side gate I called out to the house, I’m out’a here. I love you.

I love you too, Sheila yelled back. Call me if you die.

Locking the gate behind me I skittered down the trail leading to the beach and emerged onto the coarse sand where I stood for a few moments looking up rather than out at the waves. It was even bigger than I had originally thought as a set of four story high behemoths thundered their way through the lineup making my testicles attempt to seek shelter in my body cavity. I was about to go back up to the house, get my 7’6" and make the two mile walk to the point when a voice came from behind me.

El Huevo Grande, Fidencio, one of the locals spoke with a slight taunt, you going out?"

Having been put on the spot I reacted the only way I could and answered, Oh yeah, should be fun.

Hey boys, He called to the other locals, Skyler’s (they still pronounced my name Skeeler) going out.

This was met by a round of laughter and mockery, all in good fun but also leaving me no out. The teasing continued as I went through a longer than usual stretching routine while waiting for a lull in the waves. The lull came sooner than expected and without giving it another thought I grabbed my board, charged the shorebreak and paddled furiously for the horizon. Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the beachbreak is its close proximity to the shore which makes the paddle out, when timed properly, a quick, dry hair trip into conditions where humans have no business being.

Getting out was one thing but getting back to the beach was another story all together and paddling back in was not an option as getting caught from behind could be horrific. The only two choices left were paddling all the way back to town and coming ashore in the safe confines of the harbor or taking off and surfing ones way to the beach. Once again I had only one choice. No guts, no glory.

Reaching the outside just before the next set swept in I sat up on my board and took a look around at the virtually empty lineup. Two hapless Aussies who had just arrived the day before were my only company and by the anxiety carved into their faces I could tell that they wouldn’t be bolstering my confidence in the least.

When the next set loomed on the horizon we all instinctively began scratching for the outside into deeper water as the set approached and let the unbroken swells pass harmlessly beneath us. I observed as the swells reached the sandbar inside, rose straight up and began to feather as the cohesive properties of the water could no longer keep the surface molecules together and the lip began pitching out into the flats. We watched in awe as the backs of the waves reached a height of 20ft. telling me that the faces in front were at least 40ft. I could ramble on forever about water displacement and the physics of a breaking wave but when it all came down it…the waves were friggin huge.

Ten minutes later, as the next set approached and we positioned ourselves a little further inside and prayed we were in the right spot as the waves began rolling through. As the third and largest wave arrived the Aussies once again turned for the outside then at the last moment one of them turned and began stroking into the wave with everything he had. He was positioned perfectly and just when it looked like he was going to make it, he made a common mistake made by many riders not familiar with the beachbreak and stood up two strokes too early. Instead of sliding down the face, he was hung up at the top by the wind coming up the fast moving wall and didn’t begin to drop until the bottom had fallen out and he began freefalling. To make things worse, when he finally hit the water, he didn’t penetrate the surface but skipped like stone across a smooth lake until he reached the bottom and was promptly pummeled by the equivalent of Niagara Falls. The force of the water drove him hard into unforgiving packed sand bottom and then as the wave passed over him he was sucked up and over the falls again.

With the air having been driven out of his lungs and then being rolled around in Gods washing machine it would only be a matter of seconds before he blacked out. The gallery on the beached watched in horror for what seemed an eternity before a piece of his shattered board popped up out the foam followed by a glimpse of one flailing arm. He was still alive and the local boys ran fearlessly into the maelstrom to try and rescue (or recover) the Aussie.

The whitewater was so tall that I couldn’t see the shorebreak and was afraid that he had been lost until I saw four of the boys dragging his limp body up the berm onto dry sand. After excruciating seconds I saw the body of the man begin to move followed by coughing and vomiting until he finally sat upright to the cheers of the crowd.

Looking over to his companion I saw a wave of relief wash over his face as he turned to me and said, I think I’ll paddle to town and grab some breakfast. With that said he was gone and I was left alone to contemplate my immediate future. If I was anxious before, I was terrified now.

For the next twenty minutes I paddled around trying to get myself into position and on each set finding myself just a bit too far outside, failing to get into the few waves I attempted to catch. Finally, with great trepidation, I moved closer to the inside and waited for the next set.

When it did come I realized it was the biggest set of the day and I was now too far inside so I began stroking for my life to get back outside. On the first two waves I made it easily over to tops but gave it my all to get over the third…then as I slid down the back I saw the fourth wave already starting to feather. This was it and I made the decision to go.

With my strength mostly spent, my gland shot a gallon of adrenaline through my body allowing me to get just a few yards further out before turning to paddle into the biggest wave of the day and by far the biggest I’d ever attempted. As the wave lifted me to heavens I stroked hard then gave it two more strokes down the ever steepening face before jumping to my feet. At that point I was sure I wasn’t going to make it but the big red rhino chaser did its job and shot into high gear while staying barely connected to the water.

About halfway down the 40+ft. face I could see the lip pitching out high above my head and realized, that even with the speed of the big gun, there was no way to reach the bottom before the lip hit. One of the first things I’d learned about surfing the beachbreak was that, contrary to all logic, in clutch situations the safest place to be was in the barrel. Slightly adjusting my trajectory I allowed the 4ft. thick lip to pour over my head until I found myself ensconced inside a giant dry cylinder that would easily accommodate a Mack truck. Time slowed and a feeling of calmness came over me as the beach and all the onlookers disappeared from sight.

Sunlight passing through the still unbroken water of the lip turned the tube into a green crystal cathedral and ecstasy overcame the adrenaline as I let instinct take over. Falling deeper and deeper into the tube I kept my front foot pressed pedal to the metal until the massive amount of air compressed inside with me released itself in an explosion of blinding mist literarily spitting me out the end and out onto open water. What seemed like 4 minutes in reality was closer to 5 seconds, which any surfer knows is an extremely long time to be locked inside a massive tube. As I squirted out into the flats I could hear the screams coming from the beach and turned to the shore before the inevitable closeout at the end.

Dropping to my belly, I rode the whitewater to the beach as the spectators ran to the water’s edge to greet and congratulate me on my heroic feat. Normally I would have been basking in the glory of being the man who had just ridden the biggest wave ever at the beachbreak but the experience had loosened my bowels and I ran lickety-split for the house before embarrassing myself after such a monumental accomplishment. Burning up the trail to the house I slung the gate open, threw my board on the ground and ran through the house holding my backside.

Skyler Jeffery Martin! Sheila yelled at me as I ran by.

Sheila left her Nikon F2 with a huge telephoto lens set up on a tripod out in the courtyard and took off running after me, obviously upset about something. I locked the door behind me as I ran into the bathroom and heard her hit the other side just as I did.

Damnit Skyler, open the door! She yelled louder now.

I don’t think you want that, I said followed by a loud groan.

The sound of her footsteps echoed down the hall as she stomped away, leaving me be as I quickly finished my business then jumped in the shower. After a good rinse I dried off, wrapped the towel around me and walked out find Sheila sitting in the courtyard with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

What’s up babe? I asked innocently enough.

Skyler, She said calmly while maintaining her foul expression, I would think that after all the danger we have survived that you would not go out and try to get yourself killed just for the fun of it. I mean you almost gave me a heart attack. When you realized just how big it was it was out there why did you still insist on going out?

I’m ‘El Huevo Grande’; I had no choice.

What would sound like a ridiculous excuse to most American women actually made sense to her as she was quite familiar with the Mexican concept of machismo. Sometimes one had sacrifice good judgment in order to save face…and it really was a big deal.

If I had known just how big it was I never would have left the house, I said apologetically, but once I was down there I really had no choice."

Yeah, I know, you macho son-of- a-bitch, She said starting to calm down, but I still feel like kicking you in your huevos grandes.

Hey, if it makes you feel any better it scared the shit out of me, literally.

Finally a hint of a smile as she stood up and put her arms around my neck. Don’t ever do that to me again. O.K?

I promise. Did you get the shot?

Yes Skyler I got the shot, in fact I got the entire sequence. It was pretty fucking awesome, She said giving in to my charms. So now I guess you want to go into town for breakfast and bask in the glory.

Well I am hungry.

Rolling her eyes she got up and said, Give me a few minutes.

With Sheila out of the room I hustled over to the bar, grabbed the bottle of tequila and took four huge glugs before putting it back. Feeling the warmth spread through my body my hidden anxiety began to abate as I vowed to never try something so stupid again, but for now I was a hero and I would milk that for all it was worth.

Still in my towel I joined Sheila in the bedroom to dress for the morning choosing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt then topping it off with my cowboy hat (which I would never do if Darrell were around wearing his). Sheila changed out of her sarong then put on a bikini and tied a fresh sarong around her waist, pulled her hair in a ponytail through the back of a cap then picked up a shopping bag before announcing, I’m ready.

Each of us picked out a pair of high end sunglasses (which we had stocked up on in Mexico City) from a bowl on the table in the hallway and left out the front door. Out in the front drive we passed by Sheila’s Land Rover, sitting dormant and covered since it was way too high profile of a vehicle to driving around Escondido in broad daylight, then let ourselves out the front security gate. This style of the gate, very common in Mexico, consisted of two large swinging doors to accommodate vehicles and a small pedestrian door cut through one of the larger ones. Even though I had to duck to pass through the small door, it was the one we used most commonly as we rarely took the Land Rover out of the compound.

Ducking through the gate, I locked it behind us as we made our way up the short dirt road leading to the highway to catch a taxi into town. The first two taxis passed us by with passengers already inside but the third stopped dead in the highway and motioned us to hurry up and get in. Most all of the taxi drivers in town always looked forward to picking us up just so they could get a close-up look at Sheila. Oh the price I pay for having a beautiful girlfriend.

Donde vas? the driver asked cheerfully as he sped off nearly getting rear ended by a speeding bus that had no intentions of slowing down.

A Restaurant Mariscos ‘Rita’ por favor. I directed the driver to our favorite little beachfront restaurant.

Si, Restaurant Mariscos ‘Rita’. Echele pues! He said as we crossed the little bridge and turned left down the hill onto the dirt street that was downtown.

To the left was a quarter mile stretch of towering coconut palms shading a row of restaurants and two small hotels while on the right were tiny tiendas, boutiques and one more hotel. We had decided after a month of living here that if we had to hide at the end of the world this must be the good end. I was well adapted to living here but to Sheila it was beautiful yet alien. She had maintained well since being here but dearly missed Rio Lagartos, and her family there. Sheila also missed her new friends in Texas as well as our home on Copano Bay, Casa Martín, and longed to be there.

As strong as she was, Sheila had grown weary of running and would sometimes just let it all go. On some of occasions I would wake up at night to find her out in the courtyard sobbing quietly in the hammock and I would leave her alone in the darkness to lament. As much as it broke my heart to see here this way, I took some solace in the fact that I knew her resiliency would always prevail and that in the morning I would be greeted with a smile.

Restaurant Mariscos ‘Rita’, the driver announced as he skidded to a stop kicking up a small plum of dust. As most of the drivers did, he jumped out and ran around too the other side of the car to open the door for Sheila almost bowing as he did.

Gracias Señor, he said taking his hand as he assisted her out of the back seat.

Mi gusta Señorina, he replied before I interrupted him by paying him five bucks and telling him goodbye. He nodded and drove away watching Sheila in the side mirror as he did.

Walking into the restaurant we passed the three tables on the inside and went straight out the back where a group of our Australian buddies were sitting at a table under the palms having breakfast. As we approached we were greeted with cheers from the bunch and I was the man of the day for my earlier wave riding bravado.

G’day, they greeted us in unison.

Mornin’ boys, we replied together as we took a table between them and a group of locals. Why aren’t you guys down at the point? I asked.

Aw man it’s gunna be ragin’ all day, Nigel, the elder of the four answered, and we gotta charge up our batteries. Nice wave today there Skyler.

Nice wave? Lummox, the big one belted out, That was the sickest barrel I’ve ever seen.

That’s why we call him ‘El Huevo Grande’, Lupe said from the locals table.

Sheila sighed and rolled her eyes again as we seated ourselves between the two tables. Feigning indifference, I did catch a hint of a smile from her who in spite of still being mad at me also was very proud. On most occasions whenever we ran into them, Sheila was greeted first by the Aussies as ‘Sheila-sheila ‘being that the common Australian word for girl was sheila, but today was my day and she didn’t seem to mind.

While I held court Sheila ordered our breakfast consisting of a fruit platter for her and octopus on rice with two X-TRA large eggs on the side. When the waitress brought our food she sat the plates down saying, Plato de frutas Señorina, then to me, Y uno orden de pulpo al mojo de ajo, at which time Sheila held up her hand to shush the boys, con dos huevos grande.

The poor girl had no idea what she had just said as all the guys and Sheila erupted into howls of laughter. The puzzled waitress hurried off and I sat wondering what the joke was, since I had been busy talking about myself and had not heard the presentation.

El Huevo Grande!!’ Fidencio cried out and was followed by the others.

I looked to Sheila, then at my plate and then back to Sheila.

I ordered your huevos X-TRA grande. She said with a wicked smile as the boys burst out in laughter again.

I looked back down at my plate and saw that the eggs were unusually large.

You’re a cruel, cruel woman, I told her.

It’s my job…and I’m very good at my job.

When the laughter had subsided, both tables of men started getting up and saying their goodbyes as they headed off, with bellies full, back to their dwellings to prepare for a long day at the point. Sheila promised everyone that we would be down later and she would be bringing her camera. This spread excitement through the group as any surfer in the world would love to have themselves immortalized on film while shredding a classic big wave.

Oh my God I’m full, I said leaning back from the table after finishing every last bite of my breakfast. Oh and by the way, kudos on the big egg joke.

I thought you might appreciate it, Sheila said knowing me well. If you’re done, let’s get out’a here. We’ve got a fair amount of shopping to do before we go to the point.

Paying and tipping the waitress on the way out I was not the least bit surprised to see the same driver with whom we’d arrived lurking just up the street waiting for us to come out. Starting his car he zipped up to us, got out of the car and opened the door for Sheila.

Donde vas my friends? He asked while leering at Sheila as she got in and completely ignoring me.

El Mercado por favor, She instructed.

Si, El Mercado. Vamanos! He said as he peeled out and headed up the other end of the road towards uptown.

You know this is starting to wear thin, I mumbled into Sheila’s ear.

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, She replied and not for the first time. I’m sure we could find you an ugly girlfriend.

Or you could put on a few pounds and sprout some pimples.

Then you wouldn’t love me.

I’d still love you on the inside.

Touché Skyler, She said admitting defeat, Touché.

As the road wound around steeply up the hill it stopped at the only intersection in town which was where the coastal highway (the same one that passed by our house) lead out the other end of town. On the ocean side was a ramshackle old bar called the ‘Pica Piedra’ named for the popular Hanna-Barbera cartoon ‘The Flintstones’ and on the other side was the bus station complete with diesel and dust filling the air.

Past the bus station was uptown, where most local commerce took place and the market was located. When the driver let us out I instructed him to bird dog us while we shopped at the three stops we had to make so we didn’t have to drag our supplies around as we walked. I didn’t have to worry about him taking off with the $20 I gave him as I knew full well that he wasn’t about to take his beady eyes off of Sheila.

Just like in the movies, the market consisted of two long rows of canvass covered stands selling an amazing variety of fruits and vegetables trucked in from around the region. As I followed, Sheila went from stand to stand carefully inspecting the produce then placing purchased items into the shopping bag I was carrying. Once her list was filled we put the bag in the cab and walked a half a block down to the grocery store.

The grocery store also served as a liquor store allowing us to buy rum, brandy, mixers and milk all in the same stop. Being so far from the nearest city, fresh milk was not available in Escondido but they did sell Leche Alpura 2000 Ultrapaturizado which needed no refrigeration and had a shelf-life of at least six months. We had somewhat adapted to faux milk by refrigerating it well and basically cutting our milk consumption to next to none.

The last stop was the Carneceria two doors down which actually had a meat locker and a refrigerated display case rather than raw meat hanging from hooks in the open air. Sheila ordered two pounds of ground beef and had the butcher cut us a stack of two inch thick T-bone steaks. I held out the bag as Sheila took the paper wrapped meats, loaded me up then payed the man and thanked him before climbing back into waiting cab for the ride home. With our breakfasts weighing heavy on us we decided to take time for a quick siesta before heading down to point for the afternoon.

After crossing the bridge, the highway rose up until we caught a glimpse of the beachbreak below and saw an empty lineup with a contingency of people on the beach watching the still growing swell that was by now completely out of control. Pulling off the highway we were driven down the short dirt road and deposited at the gate. Unlocking and stepping through the small gate door we lugged our supplies into house and put them away before walking out to the courtyard to watch the waves.

Siesta? Sheila asked.

Siesta, I concurred.

While Sheila mixed us a round of Campanchanos (that zesty, refreshing concoction comprised of rum, coke and soda) I rolled a fresh joint and we met at the hammock. Despite the fact that we had several hammocks in the courtyard we usually shared the giant ‘familia’ sized, finely woven, Oaxacan made hammock that provided ample room for the both of us. After situating ourselves, I reached over and plucked a pair of high powered binoculars from the papaya tree then focused in on the point.

Whoa, I said as the point break came into focus.

I wanna’ see, Sheila said snatching the binoculars from me. Holy shit! It’s beautiful. Oh, there’s like three guys up and riding and they look like ants. It’s really big but it doesn’t look anywhere near as scary as the beachbreak.

It’s going to be fun on a grand scale, I told her taking back the glasses and looking again. I’ve never seen it this big and it’s absolutely perfect.

With it still being early in the day and knowing that we could be at beach for the better part of the afternoon, we finished smoking, drained our cocktails and were asleep within minutes. The thunder from the beachbreak along with the vibrations coming from the ground then passing through the papaya tree to the hammock was like a lullaby and we slept deeply for over an hour.

When I woke up, I went into the living area and hauled our telescope out to the wall setting up the tripod in position for clear view of the point. Before dialing it in I went into the kitchen and returned to the patio with cold beer sitting it on the wall before removing the lens caps and putting them safely aside. Aiming the scope down the beach I looked into the eyepiece, turned the focus knob and audibly gasped.

This was it! The perfect wave! This was the wave that surf rats worldwide drew on their book covers while daydreaming in class about faraway places and the perfect wave. The swells were stacked up past the horizon and wrapped into the point with military precision, the waves breaking for at least a quarter of a mile before closing out on the beach. Each wave started as a mountainous wall that would steepen up down the line then pitch out into wide open, thin lipped, almond shaped tubes and repeat the routine twice more.

Officially, Escondido was still classified as a secret spot so the few surf magazine photographers and filmmakers that did get lucky enough to score some excellent shots, knew it was spoken rule that the name of the town was never to be mentioned. In fact it was an old, grainy 8mm film where I had first seen the long dreamy waves of the point breaking at size and promised myself to find the place. So happens, the very next year I embarked on my first surf expedition to the southern mainland of Mexico with a group of buddies from Port Aransas and I were blown away when, upon arrival, we saw the point breaking majestically…at size. I had found it.

Now it was Sheila’s time to shine. As far as I had seen there were no professional photographers in town leaving the swell of the century for Sheila alone to capture on film. She had the equipment, she had the talent and I had no doubts that we would soon see her best work ever.

Finally I walked over to Sheila and spoke softly in her ear, Are you awake?

Slowly she opened one sleepy eye, frowned and grumbled. I am now. She sat up blinking as her vision cleared and she threw off the webs of a really good nap.

I’ve got the telescope set up, I said excitedly, You gotta see this.

Offering her my hand Sheila allowed me to pull her up out of the hammock and lead over to the wall. Before even looking through the telescope she stood slack jawed staring down the beach towards the point.

I can see it from here, She said in amazement. I mean I can actually see the waves from here.

Wait till you see this, I said motioning to the telescope.

Pulling back her hair back, she leaned down and put her eye to scope. After a few seconds she stood up and looked at me.

Well what are you waiting for? She asked. Get ta packin’, we’re going to the point.

After what she had just seen, I believe Sheila was more excited than I was as she started putting her camera gear together while I packed an ice-chest for the afternoon. This wasn’t our first trip to the point together and we knew exactly what to pack starting with ice, beer, water and some snacks for the chest. Sheila designated a shopping bag for her camera accessories then pulled a dozen rolls of film from the refrigerator, wrapped them thoroughly in a plastic bag and put them in the top of the ice-chest to protect them from the intense afternoon sun.

In another bag I loaded an extra leash, sunscreen, a few beach towels then took a bar of Sex-Wax and tossed it on ice so as not to melt. Walking around the side of the house, I took my 7’6’ from the rack and carried it out to the gate then came back in the front door where I turned into the bedroom to dress. Sheila and I both chose long sleeve, white t-shirts and wide brim hats to fend off the sun then I changed into a fresh pair of baggies while Sheila wrapped a fresh sarong (she owned dozens of them) owned around her waist. Sunglasses and slaps where the last things we put on before heading out the door and lugging our gear out to the highway to hail a cab.

We looked like a couple of tourists headed for the Jersey shore standing on the side of the road while we waited for an empty taxi to pick us up. After a few minutes a taxi pulled over and we began a routine, familiar to the local drivers, of loading all the stuff into the tiny car beginning with putting all the carry-on luggage into the trunk. Once Sheila was seated in the back seat I passed the surfboard over her with the tail end sticking out her window then slid in underneath and held up the board as the driver closed the door with the nose out my window.

With my sleek blue and white board sticking a good foot out either window the driver hopped in and burned down the highway heading for the point without asking. After we had previously walked to the point a couple of times we decided that the two hour round trip was counter-productive and, since nowadays money was no object, had taken the easy way since.

In reality the word easy is a misnomer as it was still a good 15 minute walk down a dusty goat trail to get from the highway down to the beach, but it still beat the two plus mile walk along the beach through the hot, soft sand. Once the car was unloaded and the driver paid, I opened the section of the barbed wire fence that served as a gate and carried in our gear before securing it behind us.

Uncharacteristically, Sheila and I had made the trip without speaking as we stayed mesmerized by the panoramic view of the Pacific and endless rows of energy that made the ocean look as though it were a giant field plowed by God. The highway was safely constructed away from the edge of the bluff allowing us only brief glimpses along the way of the beach and the point, which only served to intensify our anticipation. About a third of the way down, we encountered a mother and baby burro standing in the middle of the trail bringing our trek to a halt as Sheila dropped her things and opened her camera case.

Oh my God this is too cute, She said taking out her small telephoto lens and twisting it onto the camera body.

Putting the strap around her neck and dropping the lens cap into the case, she pulled the camera up to her eye and focused in before starting to click off