Newcastle Bodysurfing Experience
Articles
Canary Islands Surf Report
by djr
In summary, there is quality surf in the Canaries.
We flew down on Monday in an old DC-10, almost full with about 300 employees from all over the globe. I'd been hoping that I could find a surf break on the Island, and my pre-trip research had provided tantalising hints, but no confirmation that the island had rideable waves. I figured the islands are way out in the ocean, and they must have reasonable swell, surely there would be surfable breaks. The animated swell model showed a region of 2m swell around the island for the duration of my stay.
We all piled onto tourist coaches for the 20 minute drive to the Hotel, in the Playa De Las Americas part of Teneriffe. The bits of information from the web had said this was an area good for windsurfing and surf. Often places that are good for windsurfing are lousy for "real" surfing, so I was not confident I would find suitable conditions. We all checked into the enormous hotel / resort, treking past the giant swimming pool with the topless German and British tourists splayed around the courtyard. I was staying in a sister hotel, the Marco Antonio, right next to the Cleopatra and opposite the Julius Ceaser. In the middle of the courtyard formed by these three hotels and the casino (which looked like an Incan pyramid) on the fourth side was another huge swimming pool, built to imitate a Roman Bath. This pool had a white marble colonnade around the edge, and curving white marble staircases descending into the water at either end. I never once swam in it, far preferring the ocean only a couple of hundred metres away.
I dumped my stuff in the room, and quickly changed into my shorts and dayglo orange thongs to go for the initial exploration. The hotel was directly opposite a small beach enclosed by two breakwaters. The sand looked grubby, and I knew it was artificial since the volcanic islands are too young to have weathered enough sand of their own. No surf here. I headed north along the promenade, and almost immediately found the surf break. Just on the north side of the breakwater was a nice reef break, with a 3 to 4 foot swell, light onshore wind and about half a dozen board riders. The waves seemed reasonable, a fullish left and a faster right hander leading towards the breakwater.
Okay! I walked briskly back to my room to change into my board shorts and to grab my fins and hand-plane. In about 10 minutes, I was back at the break studying it more closely. There didn't seem to be any serious currents to worry about, but the entry to the water looked pretty tricky. Rough volcanic rocks, some parts were incredibly spiky and sharp, and some smoother surfaces covered in slippery slime. Hmm, I will need to concentrate on this. Eventually I got into the water, and in the shallow inshore area, the rocks were covered in thick yellowish weed, continuing to make the entry difficult. Finally it was deep enough, and I leaped over a small wall of whitewater, kicking out hard to duck under the whitewater from the following waves.
Once out, I tried to work the right-hander, but it was pretty inconsistent. I got one or two waves, and decided to concentrate on the left. The swells seemed to be lensing somehow as they formed up, and the waves were forming a nice bowling section that was fun to drive high across, before angling down to gain speed as the section closed out. Past the bowl section a nice wall gave me a good workable surface for a few cutbacks and bottom turns. Way cool! I caught a few waves, doing a few corkscrews into the whitewater when the bowl closed out before I could make it through, and when the bowl didn't close out on me I got a couple of waves that were quite long, maybe a 150 metre ride.
The water was pleasant, I'd guess around 20 degrees and clear. No obvious signs of pollution, but there also didn't seem to be much marine life, other than the yellowish seaweed. After 45 minutes, I headed in. The company's agenda was pretty tight, and I wasn't going to have too many opportunities to hit the waves. The exit was just as difficult as the entry, carefully placing one foot after the other, first in the weed covered, uneven ground in the shallows, and then the bare, spiky and slippery surface before reaching the "beach". The "beach" consisted of black and brown pumice stones of varying sizes, crunching audibly as I walked back to my gear.
As I towelled down, I asked one of the local Spanish surfers hanging at the spot about the breaks on the island. In his rough English (much better than my non-existent Spanish), he said this break was best in southerly swells, but they were usually smaller than the northerly swells. The breaks that go off in the northerly swells were around the point, about 15 minutes walk away. I said I thought it would be bigger tomorrow, and he told me that it usually is glassy in the mornings, so the waves could be better.
As I walked back along the promenade to my hotel a few hundred metres away, I caught up with one of the board riders on his way home. Not really expecting to get a sensible answer from him in English, I asked anyway about where he got his board. He answered in a kiwi accent that it was made in Perth, Australia and he'd bought it there about 9 months ago! I was a bit amazed, that here on the other side of the world is a guy riding a board that comes from my home town. So we chatted a little - he's on a working holiday around the world and had been in the Canaries about 2 months. He confirmed the Spanish guy's story of big waves at the north facing breaks around the corner, saying one of them, called Spanish Lefts, could be huge. We talked about the surf tomorrow, I said the swell models showed a reasonable swell, and he said it would be good first thing in the morning, light winds and the Spanish surfers never hit the water until 8:00am at least.
That evening, I refrained from partying on too much with my colleagues from oz, as I was keen to get up early for the surf. The Canaries must be well west in their time zone, as the sun set very late, and the sky was still light at 9:30pm. Pretty strange for a place so far south. I wondered what time the sun would get up, and suspected it could be quite late, hence the kiwi lad's comment about no Spanish before 8:00am.
Next morning, I got up and at 7:00am I was waiting in front of the hotel in almost pitch dark for Peter, but he didn't show up, so I went on, and got into the water about 7:30. It was still quite dim, but plenty of light to catch waves. The conditions were just beautiful, glassy, light offshore breeze, clear view of the 3,700m high volcano with snow and ice frosting on top looming high above the resort. There were a few fishing boats chugging out to sea, and the view of the cliffs to the south with the three masted schooner anchored in front were magnificent. I could picture a fleet of Spanish Galleons anchored there, breaking their homeward journey from the Spanish Main, full of gold, spices, tobacco and countless treasures for the King of Spain. Perhaps that's why this area was called Playa De Las Americas?
The waves were a bit bigger, and definitely much better than the evening before. I caught a few smaller waves, say around 4 foot faces, and then a bigger set came through. I positioned myself as the first couple of waves went through, and then a particularly big wave formed up and I launched onto the 8 foot high wall of water. I raced through the bowl as fast as I could, staying high to allow me to accelerate as the section closed out. I got the coverup at the end of the bowl, before entering the cutback zone which had enough power for me to drive down, bottom turn, back up to the top of the wall again, cutback and then down again three or four times. At least a 150 metres of pleasure. Woo Hoo! I hooted out. This is good!
After about 45 minutes, I headed in. I'd had the break all to myself, which I don’t usually do, and I felt refreshed and exhilarated. I had a nice warm shower and breakfast before the hard work of the sales conference.
The conference ended earlier than I anticipated. We had 3 hours before the gala dinner dance in the evening. Hmm, again? Yeah, why not, so I grabbed my gear and headed off again. The swell had picked up more, and even though the wind was light onshore, the shape looked good. There were about a dozen Spanish guys and gals out, and I headed out to the line up. The swell seemed very unusual to me, but maybe it was normal for the Atlantic. The sets were about 10 minutes about, with virtually no waves at all in the lulls. Then what seemed to be a smaller set of waves would appear at the southern end of the break. Succeeding waves increasing in size took in more of the break, until after about six or seven the waves were forming walls across the entire break. Then would come the three or four biggest waves of the set, and then it would die away quickly with one or two smaller waves, and we'd have to wait for the next set. This seemed pretty regular, and once I got it worked out, it meant I could position myself well for the big waves at the end of the set. I got about 5 or 6 nice waves, a couple that had at least 8 foot faces, before deciding to head in for a shower before dressing for the formal dinner by the fake Roman bath in the hotel.
One aspect of surfing in Spain that I really noticed was the social interaction of the Spanish board riders in the break. In oz, most surfers sit in the lineup quietly, not talking much, looking very focused on the conditions. Of course, there are exceptions, and I'm one of them, liking to chat to the other surfers about the conditions or the wildlife or the last wave I saw. In the Canaries, it was entirely different. In my last session, there were about 10 guys and 2 gals (one was soooo beautiful, it broke my heart) in the break. The two young women were talking loudly and quickly to each other, extremely expressive in their intonation and facial movements and with broadly gesticulating hands. The men were all doing the same, talking to each, at each, over each other in a most animated and garrulous manner.
At 3:00am the next morning, after having danced with the most beautiful woman at the conference, and having danced with the attractive new marketing director, and generally celebrating with my colleagues, I made a policy decision not to go for a surf in the morning. If it was bigger, I didn't want to try my luck on my own in the break again with a hang-over. I also didn't want to deal with wet gear for the trip back to the UK. After packing in the morning, I walked down to the break again, to check it out one last time. It was later than the morning before, and the wind was again light, almost glassy. There were a few riders out, but the swell had backed right off, with waves around the 2 to 3 foot face size. Whew, although I had good reasons for not going surfing, I still would have felt pangs of envy if the waves had been better.
All 300 hundred of us climbed into buses, and we made our way back to the airport where our DC-10 "coach" was waiting for us. The trip back to UK was nice with wonderful views of big surf pounding the Brittany coastline of France. The swell model forecast earlier in the week had shown a large swell coming from the north, and I guess this was it. Maybe the Canaries went off the next day, perhaps Spanish Lefts on the north side was breaking at 10 foot, but it doesn't matter, I'd taken a gamble to bring my surf tools to the other side of the planet, and it had paid off in full. I never found out the name of the break, but my three sessions will remain in my memories as being some of my most exotic and fun surfs.
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