Out point

Last Night I went out to the point, scrambling amongst the rocks. I found a nice patch of overhanging granite cliff that rose up out of some soft clean sand, and gastoned my way up fluted tufas and sandy jugs. After topping out I’d jump the fifteen feet back down into the sand, rolling to disseminate the impact. Sand clung to my sweaty back. Further out I hopped across a series of spires jabbing up out of the ocean along a cliffside, timing out my leaps to avoid the waves that jacked up and ripped their way into the cluster of jagged spires and boulders. There were hundreds of small crabs- some green and some speckled yellow and red. Others were whitish with purple flecks. They all had shells like formica countertops I used to build At gordie’s dad’s shop. I watched the critters clamor around on the cliiffsides- they were surprisingly agile and quick. They looked like the stop animations from life Aquatic.
Coming back to the beach, there was a black lab caught in the rip running along the rocks. A pasty family of chubby Canadians stood on the beach calling out “Rory” in Acapulco. The Dog was fighting a losing battle- he’d get closer, then take a short rest and float backwards out to sea, losing fifteen feet against the ten he just gained. Charlie, the spear fisher happened to be in a small, protected cove along the rocks, and he beckoned Rory into the safety of the calm water.
Unsuspecting swimmers get dragged out by the rip all the time. There’s a deep channel running along the beach with an undertow that carries excess water pushed in by the waves across the beach and out along the rocks. The current then spits them out on the far side of the breaking waves, just beyond the surfers. The Surfers watch them flail and panic for a bit before hauling in what’s usually some fat guy in his fifties who swims twice a week at the YMCA in Winnipeg but has no understanding of the ocean currents and how they work.

Our second day on the beach two young women pitched a tent about thirty feet down the beach. For the most part we hadn’t fully slipped out of desert mode, and we all still had the thousand mile stare creeping around in the backs of our retinas.
“What should we do?” I asked
“Let’s just go over there and man.” Said Troy.
“That’s probably a good Idea. But not all of us. It might intimidate them.” I said. Jay took off his shirt, drank a mouthful of Listerine, shook the sand out of his sheets and started doing pushups. Troy went over there and talked to them.
Between four thirty and sunset we rounded up a case of beer, wine, rum, marijuana, Ice, and specialty foods. We gathered up a pitiful quantity of bad cactus wood from the desert.
A roly poly little Mexican and his friend drove up through the sand in a red ford mustang with cans of pabst in their hands. I wish I knew where they got the pabst. They spoke little to no English, and with what little Spanish troy, Jay and could muster up, we were able to ween from them the nature of their presence. They were party dudes and were willing to provide us with anything we needed. We Needed firewood, and the two guys drove away.
An hour later one of the guys- Hugo- snorted up in a little white Toyota pick up loaded up in the back with fenceposts taken from somebody’s fence. A woman with screwy eyes got out and helped Jay unload wood from the back.
“You know, Hugo made me come with him because he needed an interpreter. He think he can charge fifty dollars for the wood but I don’t think you’ll pay more than forty.”
“What?” said Troy “We agreed to pay twenty five for wood.
“Pay Thirty.” I said. Troy only had a twenty and went scrounging in his van for change.
“Hey you guys watch out when you’re having fires.”
“Why’s that?” asked Jay
“Scorpions.” She sweeped the sand with her feet. “I’ve been stung fifteen times.”
“Wow said Jay.”
“Are you guys surfers?”
“Yep.”
“I used to surf here all the time before the Gringos came. Watch out for that rip you know. I had to rescue a man last Tuesday, the riptide was taking him out past the point. Then you have to get back to shore by going through the waves!” Her eyes were a little crooked, and her nose scrunched up and shiny. “I had to save him!” She announced.

That night we hosted an excellent Bonfire and everybody came. The Two girls- Joanne and Claire, from Wales and New Zealand respectively. Rory, a wanker from England and his two English mates, Tate and Finian, showed up, spoke little, and built a funnel from a water bottle so they could pour Coke into the bottle of Mescal they were passing amongst themselves. The bottle did a round, and then they topped it up again with coke and silently did another round.
I was talking to Charles the spear fisher, and his Girlfriend Ariel. Charles was a competitive swimmer and cross country skier from Oregon- he doesn’t swear or drink beer. His girlfriend has a Gordy style New Zealand necklace, stands six foot two, has the body of a South African supermodel and the head of an Albino Gorilla. Her IQ is double that of Charles. Charles plans to vote for Hillary in 08. His political ideology is summarized in the mantra ‘It takes a Clinton to fix a bush’
Charles was telling me about the other day when a drunk woman who hadn’t surfed in two years who went running up and down the beach and screaming “help, somebody is drowning out there.” Nobody did anything so she stole a surfboard from the rental shop and charged out into the ocean, still dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a hoody. While she was fighting the break a couple surfers came and took the old guy in, and she got carried a half mile down the beach out beyond the break before she dragged herself, exhausted and sopping wet, back up to dry land. Charles was laughing as he told me how everybody was laughing about how funny she looked.
I’m glad the girls left this morning because neither of them had any personality or character. Joanne went to Uni to learn how to design lingerie and Claire was in Banff on a work Visa taking kids on sleigh rides before she came to Mexico. Whenever they we were sure we weren’t paying attention to them they’d start whisper to one another about Vegemite and tamarils. Always with the frock talk. Jay had a fancy black dress shirt and agent smith sunglasses that he wore with his faded red billabong board shorts and dusty flip flops most of the time Joanne was around.
After bacon and eggs Jay drove the girls to the bus station while I helped Troy with some lyrics to a song he was working on for the guitar. The big swell Jay had been talking about inVilla Maria came home to rooost, and the riptide was insane. Good surfers were getting flushed to the channel a half mile down the beach while trying to beat the break. There would be no going in the water. So I got shitfaced early, sunburnt my face, and napped most of the afternoon while reading Jpod to sober up.
I got out of the tent as our amigo hugo snorted up in his Toyota to drop off another load of wood, unannounced but just in the nick of time. He got his thirty bucks and we roasted hot dogs. Scorpions came crawling out of the logs as they got warm and Troy was afraid to sit down, winding up his battery free torch as he scanned the ground….