Tag: Surfing

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Old Guys Rule!

 

Many of you wrote asking if Neto won the surfing competition in La Ticla last week. I want to start with the good news:

Neto came in fourth in the senior’s competition on Friday. Because he was in the top six, he is eligible to compete again today in Mazatlán.

But Neto’s big win came last Saturday afternoon, when he placed second  in the over-all competition. Second in a contest of more than fifty surfers of all ages! Second place for an old guy who hasn’t trained for competition in forty years. He won a new rash guard, some board wax and a set of fins for his board. Most importantly, he scored more than 800 points for the day.  “It was a wonderful day!” Neto proclaimed, as he told me about his big win.

I was wrong last week when I said this was the Mexican National Surf Competition. Actually, it was a preliminary qualifying tournament. The Big Tournament will be held sometime next winter. Meanwhile, Neto will surf again today. He wants to win. He wants to keep earning points.

Neto talked constantly about surfing when I first met him. He watched endless, back-to-back surfing videos until I thought I’d lose my mind. I had never seen actual surfers until I moved to Mexico. My house was two blocks from Olas Altas, one of the many surfing beaches in Mazatlán. I watched scores of teenagers ride their boards over the waves until they inevitably lost their balance and plunged into the sea. At the end of the day, they staggered out of the water, looking beat up as they headed for home.

When I finally was able to see Neto surf, I knew he was no ordinary surfer. He was graceful and sure-footed. He rode wave after wave, gently steering his board away from rocks and swimmers. The bigger the wave, the better! He occasionally turned his board backwards so he could catch the same wave twice. People on the beach stopped what they were doing to watch him. When he came out of the water, some of the younger surfers shook his hand. They seemed to recognize Neto. I was just getting to know him. 

Neto learned to surf when he was thirteen-years-old. It is his passion. It is what feeds his soul. He needs to live near water, and preferably near high waves, in order to feel fully alive.

Now the Not-So-Good-News: While Neto was competing in his age category, someone stole his backpack. ¡Carumba! It was in a pile of backpacks that all looked pretty much alike. They were all black, dirty, well-worn packs heaped into a pile. Surfers take excellent care of their boards but trust that their backpacks will be safe wherever they land. 

At first Neto thought that someone picked up his backpack by mistake and surely would return it. That’s what he would have done. But, oh no! The thief looked inside and found an envelope of money along with Neto’s bank card and some clothes. The pendajo decided to keep both Neto’s backpack and his own. Luckily, Neto left his phone and his charger back in the motel.

With his money stolen, Neto had no way to get home. His Mazatlán buddies left without him on the bus. A lot of surfers came to the tournament with only their surfboard and very little cash. They were busy pan-handling money for their return home.

Neto found a sport-fishing company and offered to scout for tourists who wanted to fish for tuna, marlin and diablo in return for a “finder’s fee.” When he still didn’t have enough money, he called his boss in Mazatlán. His boss sent him some money to go to Toluca (near Mexico City) so that  Neto could pick up an auto part for him there. Neto took a bus to Toluca, stayed with friends, and eventually made it home. 

Now The whole episode is behind him. He can’t wait to compete again today in Mazatlán. It’s all he can think of. Buena Suerte, Neto.

Good luck! Ride like the wind! 

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Neto ~ A Mexican Champion

Neto was fourteen years old, the first time he saw someone surfing. 

Walking along the beach one afternoon with his girlfriend, Luci, three boys glided across the ocean in front of  them, standing on something that looked like a long, flat ironing board. The boys, not much older than Neto, resembled giant birds, flapping their arms as they stood on top of the water. The ocean was alive with huge swells from an incoming storm. Neto was transfixed with the magic of people dancing on water. 

Neto and Luci had been fighting.  She thought that if  Neto was her boyfriend, he should want to hold her hand all the time. He told Luci that if she would let him kiss her, then he would hold her hand.  Finally, Neto turned to her and said, “See those guys in the ocean? I’m going to do that. And if I like it, I’m going to do it forever.” 

“I knew she didn’t believe me. I wondered if she loved me, even though she said she did,” Neto told me. “If you don’t love me, then leave me. I will join those guys and love the ocean instead.”  

Neto walked Luci home, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the boys he saw riding the waves.

“I pictured myself, flying on top of the ocean, my feet planted on the board beneath me, arms stretched out, holding me steady against the wind.”

 Finally, Neto turned to Luci one more time and said, “If I am going to leave you for something, it will be for riding waves in the ocean.”

That was the beginning of Neto’s love affair with surfing. He was one of the first surfers in Mazatlán. He’s still riding the waves today.

When Neto was twenty-two years old, he hitchhiked to Guerrero, Mexico, to compete in the Mexican National Surfing Competition in Pentacalco. He was the only surfer from Mazatlán, competing against men from Alapulco and Iztapa-Zihautanejo in El Libre, a free-style event for surfers of all ages and all levels.

Neto remembers that the waves that weekend were “perfect” ~ fifteen feet tall in the front and eight feet in the back, “with lots of barrels” to ride through. He came in sixth place, overall, and was eager to compete again the following year.

For the next ten months, Neto stayed in Guerrero, training for the next competition. He bought a bigger board and surfed every afternoon. He worked as a deep-sea fisherman at night. 

“We caught swordfish, marlin and sharks in huge nets. We were in small. motorized fishing boats called pangas, not the big sport-fishing boats that tourists rent today.” Some of the fish were forty-feet long, and weighed between 500-1000 pounds. 

“How were you able to get those fish back to shore in your small boats?” I asked.

“Oh, we beheaded them so they would fit inside our boat. We threw the bloody heads back in the water.”

“That seems like an awful mess,” I commented.

“Oh, yes. When the Great White sharks smelled the blood, they came looking for us. We’d leave them to feast on the fish heads, while we headed for shore to the congelador (freezer) for processing. The next night, we’d do it all over again.”

“So, what happened in the surf competition the next year?”

“It was cancelled. The waves weren’t high enough. I still wonder if I might have won first place, but it was time for me to go back home.”

Neto still surfs every day when the waves are high enough. One of the oldest surfers on Mazatlán’s beaches, young surfers often come up to him and want to shake his hand. They affectionately call him “Ruco.” (Old Man) They tell him that he’s the “godfather of surfing” in Mazatlán. The ocean is where he belongs.