So, ideally when you´re biking the best place to break down would be in front of a bikeshop, or maybe just close to a town. Or, maybe even just on a road that sees some traffic. A less than ideal place for your bike to fail catastrophically would be the more remote sections of the Careterra Austral, a few hundred Km from anywhere. Unless you are really lucky and happen to be a creative bike mechanic.
We left Coyhaique about a week ago after a wonderful visit with some folks at the NOLS Patagonia branch. A few days out from Coyhaique, first thing in the morning, Ty´s rear rim failed at the top a pass. Being a few hundred kilometers from the closest town with a bike shop where we could potentially buy a new rim, we got to wondering exactly how far a person can ride on a broken rim, with a disconnected rear brake, over bikeeating washboard gravel roads. Visions of waiting days for somone to stop and pick up two fools trying to hitch with loaded bikes ran through our heads. We contemplated the complexities of trying to make cheese out of milky glacial river water and looked on sorrowfully at our ever-diminishing cooky supply. We shuddered at the visions. So, Ty put some duct tape over the rupture, we ate our second of three breakfasts, and crossed our fingers. The tire held all that day and most of the next as we rode through valleys with milky glacial rivers flowing through them, and rocky mountains with cascading waterfalls. We stopped waiting expectantly for the creaking sound of the semicircular rim morpheing suddenly into an exact oval. And Ty made an art form of descending mountains with only a front brake.
But, to our dismay the rim blew again just a day´s ride from Cochrane, where some bikers we passed heading north assured us rims were available. Ty went to work again with the duct tape and superglue and (in honor of Wyclef) many many many many tire patches. We held our breath all the way to Cochrane (okay, maybe we took a couple of breaths on some of the passes) and made it! We rolled into town last night in time to take part in Cochrane´s 54th town anniversary celebration. We feasted on empanadas, Concho y Toro boxed red wine, and enjoyed the company of some very toothless, very drunk gauchos. Today we´re enjoying the beautiful fall weather after a couple days of heavy rain, and filling up on the apples, plums and pears growing in our campground. And Ty´s buying a new rim as I write this. Turns out you can ride at least a few hundred kilometers with a loaded bike on a broken rim. ¡Que suerte!
We send our love,
Rose
Monday, March 17, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
On the Road
Greetings from Puyuhuapi, Chile! We are 550 or so kilometers into our ride and have just arrived a lovely, lush green, seaside village on the Carretera Austral. The trip has been going fabulously, with fine, dry weather, amazing scenery, and (perhaps most importantly) good fishing. The blackberry bushes have been consistent, and just far enough apart that we actually make some forward progress each day. We have settled into a rhythm of eating, riding, thinking about eating, riding, eating, and then finally stopping to camp and fish and eat. Been catching mostly brown and rainbow trout so far (but we´ve seen a couple salmon, and fully intend to catch some before the trip is out), including one of the biggest brown trout of my life. This lunker lived right under a log by our camp on a trib to the Fu, and I raised to my lure (yes lure you flyfishing snobs) three times before I hooked and landed him - a true monster, lots of centimeters in length, and several kilograms in mass - I still haven´t figured out this damn metric system. But the kilometers fly past pretty quick, and the distances sound impressive, so we are sticking with it.
Rose has taken to cycling like a bear to blackberries. I can barely keep her in sight on the uphills and have to use my superior mass to catch back up on the descents. Our thighs are becoming ropey with dramatic tan lines, and our butts are now solidly leathery, with the brand names of our saddles indelibly tatooed on them. Lots of gravel and washboard down here, with occasional smooth sections on which we slow nearly to a crawl just to revel in their smoothness.
In other news, there are too many cows in Patagonia. There, I´ve said it. I love the taste of Argentine beef as much as anyone, but there are too many of the stinky beasts around. Why just the other day in Parque National Los Alerces back in Argentina, we saw two surly steers ruthlessly harassing a poor huemul, an endangered andean deer species. They were heckling him mercilessly, boxing his ears, and unleashing the occasional nasty kick, while two park rangers looked on impassively. Wyoming isn´t the only place with an overstrong ag lobby I guess... Just so you don´t get the idea that it is all spectacular vistas and daisies, there is plenty of devastation from mismanagement with fire (to improve the grazing, of course) down here, as well as plenty of ugly gravel mines and undersized culverts. That said, we have passed more miles (I mean kilometers) of absurdly gorgeous river in the last 10 days than I had previously seen in my entire life. Milky white glacial streams, gorgeous green torrents, deep blue rivers, gin clear streams, I am truly in heaven.
We´ve also met some intersting folks, including a kid attending (listen close all you parents) a ¨whitewater academy¨, which is apparently a high school where you travel the world and kayak instead of studying, excellent! Also a very driven French/Russian/Colombian Brit (who speaks Korean too) intending to ride up to Alaska, with a jog into the Amazon to do a first bicycle criss-cross of some muddy logging roads, plus a French couple chainsmoking and dragging a kid along in a trailer on the bumpiest road on earth (just kidding about the chainsmoking actually), and lots of friendly Chileans, all of whom have really cool wood cookstoves in their homes.
Anyhow, internet time is more precious than smoked salmon down here, so I´ve gotta sign off.
All our love,
Ty
Rose has taken to cycling like a bear to blackberries. I can barely keep her in sight on the uphills and have to use my superior mass to catch back up on the descents. Our thighs are becoming ropey with dramatic tan lines, and our butts are now solidly leathery, with the brand names of our saddles indelibly tatooed on them. Lots of gravel and washboard down here, with occasional smooth sections on which we slow nearly to a crawl just to revel in their smoothness.
In other news, there are too many cows in Patagonia. There, I´ve said it. I love the taste of Argentine beef as much as anyone, but there are too many of the stinky beasts around. Why just the other day in Parque National Los Alerces back in Argentina, we saw two surly steers ruthlessly harassing a poor huemul, an endangered andean deer species. They were heckling him mercilessly, boxing his ears, and unleashing the occasional nasty kick, while two park rangers looked on impassively. Wyoming isn´t the only place with an overstrong ag lobby I guess... Just so you don´t get the idea that it is all spectacular vistas and daisies, there is plenty of devastation from mismanagement with fire (to improve the grazing, of course) down here, as well as plenty of ugly gravel mines and undersized culverts. That said, we have passed more miles (I mean kilometers) of absurdly gorgeous river in the last 10 days than I had previously seen in my entire life. Milky white glacial streams, gorgeous green torrents, deep blue rivers, gin clear streams, I am truly in heaven.
We´ve also met some intersting folks, including a kid attending (listen close all you parents) a ¨whitewater academy¨, which is apparently a high school where you travel the world and kayak instead of studying, excellent! Also a very driven French/Russian/Colombian Brit (who speaks Korean too) intending to ride up to Alaska, with a jog into the Amazon to do a first bicycle criss-cross of some muddy logging roads, plus a French couple chainsmoking and dragging a kid along in a trailer on the bumpiest road on earth (just kidding about the chainsmoking actually), and lots of friendly Chileans, all of whom have really cool wood cookstoves in their homes.
Anyhow, internet time is more precious than smoked salmon down here, so I´ve gotta sign off.
All our love,
Ty
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Slow Road South
After a fantastic visit with Rose´s folks and aunt Gwynne in the Bariloche area (hopefully we´ll get some photos posted eventually), we have hit the road south by bicycle, headed for the Carretera Austral in Chilean Patagonia.
Right now we are in Trevelin, Argentina, after surviving the aggressive bus drivers on Route 40. Our trip almost ended early in a gorgeous valley just south of El Bolson, a paradise with ripe, sweet blackberries lining the roadside for miles and miles. Had the rancher accepted our (admittedly lowball) offer for his property, we probably would have settled down there permanently. Unfortunately, the days of buying Patagonian ranches for under $500 US are gone, probably forever.
On day 3, a few hundred kms into our trip, our introduction to ¨ripio¨(Spanish for hellishly washboarded gravel road) began. Frankly it was a bit disturbing, considering the next few thousand kilometers are unpaved. Fortunately the grim gravel led us into the gorgeous granduosity(kind of alliterative, eh?) of Parque Nacional Los Alerces, where Rose got a jump start on her major goal for the trip: learning to love camping in the rain. I, on the other hand, gave up even trying to enjoy wet camping long ago and will be happy to survive with a minimum of new fungal growths on my body. In other news, our butts are in the ¨rawhide¨stage (emphasis on the raw), well on the way to being leathery, which is another primary goal for the trip.
So now it is over into Chile and the legendary Futaleufu and then south, south, south... Internet cafes are few and far between down here so be patient loyal readers...
Ciao,
Ty
Right now we are in Trevelin, Argentina, after surviving the aggressive bus drivers on Route 40. Our trip almost ended early in a gorgeous valley just south of El Bolson, a paradise with ripe, sweet blackberries lining the roadside for miles and miles. Had the rancher accepted our (admittedly lowball) offer for his property, we probably would have settled down there permanently. Unfortunately, the days of buying Patagonian ranches for under $500 US are gone, probably forever.
On day 3, a few hundred kms into our trip, our introduction to ¨ripio¨(Spanish for hellishly washboarded gravel road) began. Frankly it was a bit disturbing, considering the next few thousand kilometers are unpaved. Fortunately the grim gravel led us into the gorgeous granduosity(kind of alliterative, eh?) of Parque Nacional Los Alerces, where Rose got a jump start on her major goal for the trip: learning to love camping in the rain. I, on the other hand, gave up even trying to enjoy wet camping long ago and will be happy to survive with a minimum of new fungal growths on my body. In other news, our butts are in the ¨rawhide¨stage (emphasis on the raw), well on the way to being leathery, which is another primary goal for the trip.
So now it is over into Chile and the legendary Futaleufu and then south, south, south... Internet cafes are few and far between down here so be patient loyal readers...
Ciao,
Ty
Monday, February 4, 2008
Filling in the gaps, Chimborazo (Ecuador)
Ty here, a guilty blog slacker trying to atone for his laziness by posting a few notes about some experiences several thousand miles north in Ecuador back around the new year. Anyhow, here it is, entitled: Chimborazo, or How Rose Learned to Climb Steep Ice at 18,000 Feet in the Middle of the Night.
After two months surfing and lounging in Canoa (at sea level, clearly) and a brief but lovely stay in Baños (a little higher than Canoa at least), we decided we were pretty acclimatized and ready to climb the highest volcano in Ecuador, the mighty Chimborazo. So we bused down to Riobamba, rented some basic climbing gear (plastic boots, helmets, mountian axes, four titanium ice screws, a rope, and two incredibly poor fitting balaclavas), bought a mountain of tasty food, and started upward. The bus deposited us at the Chimborazo turnoff at 4,000 meters (that is something like 12,000 feet to our American readers) and we started walking uphill. A French/Morroccan girl in jeans (I lent her my jacket as it was chilly) accompanied us as we walked up the road to a refugio at 4,800 meters (no luck with the hitchhiking), where we had a snack and drank a coca tea.
Then we tromped up a trail to the upper refugio at 5,000 meters, meeting a group descending carrying in a litter an unfortunate Colombian climber with a broken leg - not the most encouraging sight. But Colombians are notoriously poor ice climbers (no offense meant to our Colombian readership) so we forged on, enjoying some intermittent gorgeous views of our objective. Warming conditions on Chimborazo have left the standard route kind of a mess, with the first section of the climb consisting of rubble-strewn ledge systems winding through some menacing looking seracs, so it is safest climbed at night, and descended very early before things start to heat up too much. The plan was to see how we felt at the upper refugio, watch the weather, and then attempt the climb either that night or the next.
Upon reaching the upper refugio, perhaps inspired by the views of the peak, our companion from the hike informed us that she planned to attempt the climb with us, in spite of her utter lack of climbing experience fact that her warmest piece of clothing was my jacket. Luckily we were able to convince her, with the help of the refugio guardian and the persistent cold (even in the "heat" of the afternoon), of the ill-advisability of that plan.
At the upper refugio our health and spirits, which had been high all morning, started to slip, By late afternoon Rose and I both had splitting headaches, racing pulses, and (worst of all) powerful nausea that destroyed our generally robust appetites. We hunkered down in our sleeping bags in the refugio and tried unsuccessfully to get a little sleep. Just before nightfall, we staggered up the hill a few hundred yards and pitched camp. Our prospects looked grim - we decided to try to wake up at 10 PM and climb if we miraculously felt better, or else spend the night and either hang out the next day hoping for improving health, or descend in search of our missing appetites.
At 10 PM, after a few hours of restless sleep, we woke up feeling shockingly good. Our headaches had both receded to manageable proportions and we were able to choke down a little granola and drink some water before gearing up and starting up the peak, our path illuminated by the feeble blue light of our little LED headlamps.
The first section of the climb went smoothly though somewhat slowly due to the rubble-strewn nature of the terrain, the pitch darkness, and the fact that we strayed a bit off route and encountered several pitches of fairly steep ice. Luckily we had the trusty titanium ice screws, and Rose turned out to be a natural born ice climber, scampering gracefully up the ice pitches. I didn´t have the heart to tell her how much easier steep ice is with two ice axes (not to mention a little daylight)...
The moon came out as we reached the main glacier, but a cold wind started blowing too, which made things less pleasant as we had to don our ill-fitting balaclavas, which functioned better as blindfolds. We slogged endlessly up the glacier, which was pretty icy with only a thin crust of snow, and watched the sky lighten at dawn at over 19,000 feet. As we climbed our nausea and headaches returned, and our water bottles froze in our packs. Nine o´clock found us above 20,000 feet, but totally knackered and not moving very fast. So after some frigid deliberation (we were still in the shade), we decided the smartest thing to do was to forgo the summit and descend through the shooting gallery that is the lower part of the route before the sun loosened things up too much.
The descent went smoothly and safely, though it was a heck of a lot of work in our weakened state, and we collapsed in our tent for an uncomfortable nap. Our headaches and nausea persisted until we were back in Riobamba and able to choke some water down. I set a new personal record for time without eating - 19 hours! We were so spent that we managed to sleep through all the new years celebrations, which included (so they tell us) fireworks and lots of torched papier maiche likenesses of 2007 public figures.
Anyhow, now we are heading to Aconcagua (just kidding!). Check out the photos below that we coaxed out of our cold and malfunctioning camera up on the volcano.
Ciao,
Ty
After two months surfing and lounging in Canoa (at sea level, clearly) and a brief but lovely stay in Baños (a little higher than Canoa at least), we decided we were pretty acclimatized and ready to climb the highest volcano in Ecuador, the mighty Chimborazo. So we bused down to Riobamba, rented some basic climbing gear (plastic boots, helmets, mountian axes, four titanium ice screws, a rope, and two incredibly poor fitting balaclavas), bought a mountain of tasty food, and started upward. The bus deposited us at the Chimborazo turnoff at 4,000 meters (that is something like 12,000 feet to our American readers) and we started walking uphill. A French/Morroccan girl in jeans (I lent her my jacket as it was chilly) accompanied us as we walked up the road to a refugio at 4,800 meters (no luck with the hitchhiking), where we had a snack and drank a coca tea.
Then we tromped up a trail to the upper refugio at 5,000 meters, meeting a group descending carrying in a litter an unfortunate Colombian climber with a broken leg - not the most encouraging sight. But Colombians are notoriously poor ice climbers (no offense meant to our Colombian readership) so we forged on, enjoying some intermittent gorgeous views of our objective. Warming conditions on Chimborazo have left the standard route kind of a mess, with the first section of the climb consisting of rubble-strewn ledge systems winding through some menacing looking seracs, so it is safest climbed at night, and descended very early before things start to heat up too much. The plan was to see how we felt at the upper refugio, watch the weather, and then attempt the climb either that night or the next.
Upon reaching the upper refugio, perhaps inspired by the views of the peak, our companion from the hike informed us that she planned to attempt the climb with us, in spite of her utter lack of climbing experience fact that her warmest piece of clothing was my jacket. Luckily we were able to convince her, with the help of the refugio guardian and the persistent cold (even in the "heat" of the afternoon), of the ill-advisability of that plan.
At the upper refugio our health and spirits, which had been high all morning, started to slip, By late afternoon Rose and I both had splitting headaches, racing pulses, and (worst of all) powerful nausea that destroyed our generally robust appetites. We hunkered down in our sleeping bags in the refugio and tried unsuccessfully to get a little sleep. Just before nightfall, we staggered up the hill a few hundred yards and pitched camp. Our prospects looked grim - we decided to try to wake up at 10 PM and climb if we miraculously felt better, or else spend the night and either hang out the next day hoping for improving health, or descend in search of our missing appetites.
At 10 PM, after a few hours of restless sleep, we woke up feeling shockingly good. Our headaches had both receded to manageable proportions and we were able to choke down a little granola and drink some water before gearing up and starting up the peak, our path illuminated by the feeble blue light of our little LED headlamps.
The first section of the climb went smoothly though somewhat slowly due to the rubble-strewn nature of the terrain, the pitch darkness, and the fact that we strayed a bit off route and encountered several pitches of fairly steep ice. Luckily we had the trusty titanium ice screws, and Rose turned out to be a natural born ice climber, scampering gracefully up the ice pitches. I didn´t have the heart to tell her how much easier steep ice is with two ice axes (not to mention a little daylight)...
The moon came out as we reached the main glacier, but a cold wind started blowing too, which made things less pleasant as we had to don our ill-fitting balaclavas, which functioned better as blindfolds. We slogged endlessly up the glacier, which was pretty icy with only a thin crust of snow, and watched the sky lighten at dawn at over 19,000 feet. As we climbed our nausea and headaches returned, and our water bottles froze in our packs. Nine o´clock found us above 20,000 feet, but totally knackered and not moving very fast. So after some frigid deliberation (we were still in the shade), we decided the smartest thing to do was to forgo the summit and descend through the shooting gallery that is the lower part of the route before the sun loosened things up too much.
The descent went smoothly and safely, though it was a heck of a lot of work in our weakened state, and we collapsed in our tent for an uncomfortable nap. Our headaches and nausea persisted until we were back in Riobamba and able to choke some water down. I set a new personal record for time without eating - 19 hours! We were so spent that we managed to sleep through all the new years celebrations, which included (so they tell us) fireworks and lots of torched papier maiche likenesses of 2007 public figures.
Anyhow, now we are heading to Aconcagua (just kidding!). Check out the photos below that we coaxed out of our cold and malfunctioning camera up on the volcano.
Ciao,
Ty
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| So High |
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Guest Blogger!
Hello dear readers of The Long Road South. If you are expecting erudite musings from Rose or witty narrative prose from Ty, you will have to tune in next time, as this is the first (and perhaps only) guest EMM of TLRS.
By way of introduction, I am a friend of Ty´s from Wyoming. For those of you who do not know me my name is Tom Rangitsch. My wife Teresa and I are on a 6 week trip of our own through South America. We have been spending the last 14 days in Bariloche, Argentina with Rosa and Ty.
Our most recent adventure was a trip to Frey, an area outside of Bariloche known for its agujas, or spires, of weathered granite. They make for beautiful vistas, and as Ty found out, pretty good climbing.
We started our trek at Cerro Catedral, a short bus ride from downtown Bariloche. The 10 km hike was warm and dusty as these Argentine trails seem to be. After a bit of climbing, we were treated to a fabulous view. The agujas create a bizarre landscape with towering peaks and vertiginous heights.
As we were unloading our packs and deciding where to pitch our tents, we ran into several Americans. They turned out to be from our hometown, Lander, Wy, leading a NOLS climbing course in the next valley over. Small world indeed.
Now Tyrell has been itching to climb as it has been 6 months since he touched rock, so he hinted to these NOLSies that maybe they could lend us a rope and a rack. Unfortunately they didn´t get the hint. Bleary eyed and almost in tears, Ty toyed with the idea of soloing some easy routes. Needless to say this evoked some discussion on the part of Rose as to the advisability of said venture. To everyone´s relief and pleasure, a guy from Boulder, Colorado, happened be in need of a partner and introduced himself to us at a most opportune moment. Ty´s next day was planned out quickly and Rose, Teresa, and myself were left to ponder the wonder of it all.
We had a stormy night in the tents and awoke in the clouds with glimpses of Ty and his new friend climbing through them. Rose, Teresa and I hiked over to a higher valley with more vistas and more towers, exploring the hillsides and just taking it all in. Ty rejoined us after a satisfying day on the rocks and we made an excellent dinner at our tentsite.
Yesterday we descended back to Bariloche. It was a beautiful, albeit short, excursion into the mountains. We enjoyed the time with Rose and Ty and the wonderful views.
Today Teresa and I are off to Santiago, Chile, to continue our short path north. We would recommend coming and visiting the Mandrixes as their hospitality is without par...
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
More Photos!
All is well in South America. After sleeping soundly through the Ano Nuevo celebrations, we are heading south toward Argentina, which happens to be quite a long trip. Click on the following photo to view a web album with some good volcano shots from our lovely stay in Banos.
Best Wishes,
Ty and Rose
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| Tungurahua |
Best Wishes,
Ty and Rose
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Surfing
The dearth of recent essential mass messages can be explained in on word: Surfing. The last couple weeks have brought consistent waves and one epic swell (more on that later), and we have pared our lives down to the bare essentials: eat, sleep, surf. No time for superfluous activities like blogging, reading, conversation, laundry... Actually it hasn´t been quite that bad, and we have even squeezed in a couple of public musical performances (one at a local bar and one at an organic farmstand), Spanish lessons, new friendships, and the preparation of fine cuisine (primarily involving our new favorite fruit, the maracuya).
However, surfing has been the overriding focus ever since good waves showed up just in time for the big Canoa surf comp (maybe you saw it in the news? The Canoa Pro Classic) several weeks ago. The locals boys struggled against the rippers from Montanitas and Atacames, but one squeezed onto the podium in third to salvage the town´s pride.
Rose, I am proud to announce, has been killing it in the waves lately, making huge strides - surfing til her ribs ache, popping a few Advil, and paddling back out for another session. Her recent highlights include a clean, green, hundred-yard long left at Mompiche that brought all us spectators on the beach to our feet, clapping and hooting.
Our Mompiche trip from last week (Mompiche is Ecuador´s finest wave, an incredible lefthand pointbreak) was pretty incredible. We tagged along on a spur of the moment trip some friends were making, and lucked into some truly amazing waves during one of the best (and biggest!) swells to hit Mompiche in a couple of years. Although Mompiche lies less than 150 km north of Canoa, it takes about 6 hours in various buses and pickup trucks (a bit more if you end up walking the last 8 km like we had to due to the dearth of passing cars to flag down...). However, we were rewarded by amazing waves reeling off a rocky point break, every bit as gorgeous as those glossy Indonesia spreads in the surf mags. The big set waves on our first afternoon were solid double-overhead, with glassy calm conditions - truly amazing! The rides were so long it would take 20 minutes to paddle back out to catch another. The wave starts breaking over a reef directly in front of some nasty rocks, and the first section is fast and hollow, but then slows down and rolls more slowly and relentlessly over a nice sandy bottom all the way into the bay - something for everyone! The other highlight from Mompiche was an earthquake (two actually but I slept through the second) - a solid 30 seconds of strong shaking that sent coke bottles shattering across the floor, put a big crack in the roof of the restaraunt we were in, and knocked down a few walls next door. It left us a bit jittery, but the locals were unfazed and no tsunami followed.
Lest our readership start thinking that our life down here in Ecuador has been nothing but fun and games let me compile a short list of the various ailments we have suffered in the last two weeks: bruised ribs, countless sandfly bites, a wasp sting, a stingray sting, a smallpox-like armpit rash (fungal infection?), plus a pair of feet covered in scrapes, scars, and bruises from rock encounters (I didn´t quite master the elegant leap off the rocks which shortcuts the long swim out in Mompiche...).
And in other news, the freckles on my back have finally melded into one uniform, pre-cancerous blotch, and my hair has grown so long that everyone I meet tries to sell me pot. And Rose´s fiddle playing has become so sweet that she has been inundated by requests for lessons, in spite of the fact that she has the only violin in all of Manabi...
Hope this message finds everyone in fine spirits and health heading into the holidays,
Ty
However, surfing has been the overriding focus ever since good waves showed up just in time for the big Canoa surf comp (maybe you saw it in the news? The Canoa Pro Classic) several weeks ago. The locals boys struggled against the rippers from Montanitas and Atacames, but one squeezed onto the podium in third to salvage the town´s pride.
Rose, I am proud to announce, has been killing it in the waves lately, making huge strides - surfing til her ribs ache, popping a few Advil, and paddling back out for another session. Her recent highlights include a clean, green, hundred-yard long left at Mompiche that brought all us spectators on the beach to our feet, clapping and hooting.
Our Mompiche trip from last week (Mompiche is Ecuador´s finest wave, an incredible lefthand pointbreak) was pretty incredible. We tagged along on a spur of the moment trip some friends were making, and lucked into some truly amazing waves during one of the best (and biggest!) swells to hit Mompiche in a couple of years. Although Mompiche lies less than 150 km north of Canoa, it takes about 6 hours in various buses and pickup trucks (a bit more if you end up walking the last 8 km like we had to due to the dearth of passing cars to flag down...). However, we were rewarded by amazing waves reeling off a rocky point break, every bit as gorgeous as those glossy Indonesia spreads in the surf mags. The big set waves on our first afternoon were solid double-overhead, with glassy calm conditions - truly amazing! The rides were so long it would take 20 minutes to paddle back out to catch another. The wave starts breaking over a reef directly in front of some nasty rocks, and the first section is fast and hollow, but then slows down and rolls more slowly and relentlessly over a nice sandy bottom all the way into the bay - something for everyone! The other highlight from Mompiche was an earthquake (two actually but I slept through the second) - a solid 30 seconds of strong shaking that sent coke bottles shattering across the floor, put a big crack in the roof of the restaraunt we were in, and knocked down a few walls next door. It left us a bit jittery, but the locals were unfazed and no tsunami followed.
Lest our readership start thinking that our life down here in Ecuador has been nothing but fun and games let me compile a short list of the various ailments we have suffered in the last two weeks: bruised ribs, countless sandfly bites, a wasp sting, a stingray sting, a smallpox-like armpit rash (fungal infection?), plus a pair of feet covered in scrapes, scars, and bruises from rock encounters (I didn´t quite master the elegant leap off the rocks which shortcuts the long swim out in Mompiche...).
And in other news, the freckles on my back have finally melded into one uniform, pre-cancerous blotch, and my hair has grown so long that everyone I meet tries to sell me pot. And Rose´s fiddle playing has become so sweet that she has been inundated by requests for lessons, in spite of the fact that she has the only violin in all of Manabi...
Hope this message finds everyone in fine spirits and health heading into the holidays,
Ty
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