Eat, Surf, Sleep, 2012 BCC Pavones Surf Trip
I have heard the mantra over and over since we have been here. I have seen the t-shirts, bumper stickers, and signs; eat, surf, sleep. I never knew how serious it was until this last week. I was fortunate to be invited along for a men’s surfing trip to a surf spot called Pavones, on the very southern Pacific edge of Costa Rica. It is said to have the second longest left ride in the world, and even though I lean to the right, I was willing to give a ride. So me, Ben & Jeremy packed up for a post church 9 hour drive to surf. Two cars, 15 men, about 20 surfboards, probably 15 board shorts and half as many pairs of clean underwear headed south praying for great waves and good times. We were not disappointed.
The drive was long and tedious at times as the rains and darkness slowed down the last half of the drive. As we drove the tiny roads and crossed the many, very high, un-railed wooden homemade bridges it dawned on me that these guys really like to surf. And as I looked around, there was only one other guy in the group, over 40, who had just started surfing this last year. Everyone else in the group had been surfing since childhood, so either we were idiots or we were brave, time would tell.
Pavones, or turkey town, is a very small village, a couple of tiny stores, some local surf shops, and a couple of places for non-surfing, non-sleeping surfers to grab a bite. No pavement, no ATMs, no Walmart, just a spot near a beach for world class waves, and that was all we needed. We all stayed in a house that was converted to rent to loco surfer’s such as ourselves, some on beds, some in tents, couches, floors, anywhere away from the mosquitos and the rain, cuz we knew we just needed a place to keep our boards and to nap.
The first morning we were all tired, pulling in well after 10 pm excited for an early rise. There were many among us as giddy as schoolgirls before their first dance, unable to sleep. At 5 am the floor started creaking, bodies started moving and the coffee was being poured. As the sun began to rise, boards were being prepped, waxed, new fins attached, leashes made ready and the anticipation of the sun too much for us to bear. Qucikly, men starting walking the 200 yards to the beach to get a taste of a world class wave. Overcast skies, and offshore breeze, huge slow breaking waves greeted us all as we tip toed over the rocks seeking the quickest way to the shoulder.
Personally my arms turned to jelly on the swim out to the waves. It seemed like never ending strokes attempting to reach a mirage way off in the distance. Even the seasoned vets had to take a break before attempting to catch one of these endless waves. It was gratifying to watch man after man as they found they peak of the wave, stroked quickly, slid down the wave and rode on for what seemed like hours. Four hours later, stomachs grumbling, the waves subsiding just a little, we decided it was time for the eat portion of our trip.
During breakfast, exhaustion seemed to overwhelm us, or our adrenaline had abandoned us, because men were dropping where they sat, some with plates on their laps, forks in their mouths, or coffee in their hands. But as quickly as they fell they again rose looking for the next wave. Me, Lyle and Mike F. decided to try and find our boys who were surfing a secret spot. We had loose directions from Marcell, and set off on an adventure. Unable to find them, we went down a trail by some cabanas. As the trail became overgrown and jungly, we decided it was best to turn around, so we stopped and Mike ran ahead to see if there was an opening to turn around. We should’ve know by the way he bulleted back to the car that something was up. There were waves, big long waves he exclaimed, in short panting breaths. But the best part, no one, not one person was in the water. You can make it, he exclaimed, it opens right up. Open up was a very loose word usage, as we had to dodge Lyle’s car between trees, under branches and to the beach to get to the waves. But it was worth it. He was right. There were big long waves and we were the only three people on the face of the earth that day that got to surf those waves. It turned out to be the best 3 hours of surfing we would have on that trip, and possibly in our entire life. Wave, after wave, after wave of rides 100 – 200 yards long, with only each other to take turns with. No wind, no chop, just rideable wave after rideable wave. In all honesty, it has probably ruined surfing for me from that day forward, and I truly wish my skill level was better so that I could’ve rode the waves for quite a time longer. Unfortunately I have no photos for we were all in the water.
So that’s how the trip went, eat, surf, eat, sleep, surf, eat, surf, on and on and on. Our muscles were tired, our body’s were aching. Some of the waves were too big to ride, some were too crowded to ride, but every wave caught was better than any wave we could catch back home. Ben got barreled and Jeremy rode the longest waves of his life, by far. And because of this trip I now know how to eat, surf and sleep, and although it is certainly not as easy as it sounds, I can’t wait until I get to do it again.
The early birds
It has become readily apparent to us that the Costa Rican day is vastly different that the good ole American day. You see there is very little difference in the day throughout the year here, the sun pretty much starts peeking out about 5:30, and quickly slips back into the sea at about 6:00 every night, give or take 1/2 hour. It is a constant that you can count on, just like the lovely morning chirping of the birds and the screaming howler monkeys warning of the break of dawn.
Sunrise
So the Costa Ricans have adapted well, especially the outdoor workers, such as construction crews. Right now we have two new buildings going up in our area, and on both buildings the concrete starts pouring, the hammers start hammering, and the drills start drilling at 6 am sharp. The sun is in full bloom and it is time to start the day. Now these aren’t the over achievers, these aren’t the Wall Street moguls, these are the everyday workers, from the machete wielding brush clearer, to the electric company crew.
A new cafe being built near us.
new house in our neighborhood.
The buses start rolling at about 5:30, sucking up workers on the side of the road like Pacman, and depositing them at their area of work for a long hot day. Personally, I think they prefer to get most of their work done before the midday, because from noon to three, it is a little toasty outside. In fact it is not uncommon to see a whole fleet of road workers, or cable techs, or any outdoor crew taking a nap alongside the road during their lunch hour; and they come prepared with mats, and hats to cover their eyes for their afternoon siesta. They worry not about the snakes, mosquitos, ants or scorpions, or any other critter, for they know that the critters are far too smart to be out that time of day. Perhaps this is the secret of dealing with the midday heat. I will be unable to tell until I give it at least a one year test, so check back in a year and I will let you know.
sunset
sunset
The Eyes of Cristo Rey: Nicaragua Missions Finale.
Blisters on my hands, sand in my teeth, sweat on my brow, tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, pain in my heart and a deep sense of appreciation to the creator of heaven and earth.
My troubles have shrunk, my fear has subsided, my love increased and my faith stretched. I am amazed that so many come to serve and amazed at how many in this tiny portion of this big world have need. I am also amazed that despite their situation, they praise, they worship and they believe. Their possessions are small and their faith is large. Each and every one we served shared a story of prayer and faith and belief that their needs would be met, and that we were their answer of prayer.
I have listened to many missionaries, I have seen countless slide presentations and videos, I have fought back the tears and I have given to the cause. But until I went, until I smelt the stink of the dump and the unwashed, until I have tasted the sandy grit between my teeth, until I walked into their “house” and saw the dirt covered, smashed thin foam single mattress for the whole family on the floor, until I had looked into the live ,glistening, often red eyes, of the dirt streaked faces on the kids, I could not fully understand the need. They became more than a story, more than a video, they are real people struggling every day to survive.
Now that I know, I pray that I can continue to go and to make a small tiny difference in the vast field of need. For I know of no humbler, awe inspiring feeling than when you are told that you are an answer to prayer.
Short slide show: The Eyes of Cristo Rey
Nicaragua Missions Day 3
Our goal was to build 4 houses in 5 days and have three days of vacation bible school. It took us two days to build 4 houses, and we had just enough gumption and money to attempt another house for another family from a different church, not expecting a house. So while a crew dispersed to bend nails at the four houses we already finished and to give each of them a care package, we dropped a crew of five of us off to work on a new casa for our new friend. After two days and four houses,we had the process down pretty good, and thanks to our leader, Oscar, we were able to not only finish the house, we finished before noon. This included modifications to our normal design and plan. It was a true team effort, an efficient team.
looking in on the newest project
Remodel, restructure and build. No down time, lots of busy hands and busy feet.
A little girl from the home build doing her school.
And her brother
Me trying to look cool sporting a Blue's Clue's dew rag. I think I pulled it off.
Dwayne jumping in with both feet, literally, to get this concrete done!
The grateful proud family.
scenes from the long ride home
Nicaragua Missions Day 2
If day one was an eye opener, day two was good follow through, although I was a bit worried when I saw the kids trolling the dump first thing in the morning. But as we drove by, they stopped, smiled and waved. We again started the day with the plan of building two houses. We divided back up into teams, split up and got to work. Our team managed to finish our house by about 12:30 which was a perfect transition into the first day of vacation bible school.Our plan was to open up the school to 50 kids, all invites by the pastor, Marcos. An hour before the doors opened kids were already showing up. The church had one solid wall and three gated walls, with a concrete floor, a very nice building by the neighborhood standard. Unfortunately the one solid wall blocked the wind we so craved. Somehow the 50 kids grew to 68, not unexpected and not unplanned for.
- The family we built a house for today.
The shy son
Dorian and Dad making paper airplanes
The first activity of the day was to make and color a paper airplane. Our plan was to teach them how, which was quickly abandoned because of the sheer volume of tiny, tanned, dirty faces surrounding the table reaching out for just a bit of attention and love. It was if we had food to give and they were starving;tiny dirty fingers poking and prodding all over, ” no tengo” they would squeek, pointing at a blank piece of paper as if it was a small treasure. So we made paper airplanes for them as fast as we could, and they colored them to make them their own. A story of Christ’s birth was then shared before moving on to snack time. Snack time was the quietest most peaceful time of the day. My theory, they had been trained already by the daily provided lunch, sit quietly, patiently and you will be fed.
Prepping for VBS
The VBS building, the nicest in the area.
faces of Nicaragua.
- The crew
One of my favorite little girls
At times it was chaotic, it was always loud, and it was hot muggy and uncomfortable. Even the kids were saying they were thirsty. But similar to yesterday you could see the joy in the kids eyes and the excitement and glow in their faces. It was not easy to look past the ill-fitting filthy clothes, or the dirt stained faces, but the smiles and their eyes really brought a level of warmth to my heart. I could not take enough pictures of their faces. But my heart still hurt for the hundreds of kids that were not able to attend. It still felt like this was a band-aid, just a temporary fix, and it left me longing to do more.
here she is again
begging for an airplane
Katherine loving on a little boy
loving her balloon animal
There were some fantastically bright shining moments such as when I told them that they had done ” my bien” or very good coloring their airplane. they would repeat it to themselves and tell their friends, smiling ear to ear. And quickly show me any more improvements for another tidbit of praise. Or they joy they took looking at the myriad of photos I took of them. Or the simple things like when one of the teen girls with us washed their hands, and afterward they smelled their hands in joy. I know these are small things, and to me they don’t mean much, but it is what we can do and I have to deal with that. Perhaps, in time, I will be able to do much more, but for now I must just enjoy the moment for what it is, a memory for them and another life changing moment for me.
Nicarauga Missions
Today was the first full day of our Nicaragua mission trip. Yesterday was a full day of travel, 15 people, 30 + bags, a long bus ride, a long border visit and a longer bus ride to Managua. The Lord was watching over us at the border as the border guard only glanced at two of our bags, before sending us on our way, saving us a huge amount of time and hassle. Further, we had no problems getting our luggage on the bus, another common issue.
The road to Cristo Rey
this is where many of the kids "work"
Some local housing
Our home base for the week is a nice bunk-house called La Quinta Shalom. They specialize in providing housing and food for missions trips, and they are great hosts. The coffee is always on and they now have WIFI! Our missions mission on this trip is to build four houses for four families in an area near the dump.
Now I use the word house very loosely, because what we are building is an 11×11 concrete pad surrounded by pieces of tin, smaller than my shed. However, they are very humbled and happy to have anything that protects them from the rain better than the current cardboard and plastic bags and other pieces of trash adorning their current abodes.
The drive out to the location is an hour-long,eye-opening trip. The roads are swamped with vehicles, 2,4, and 6 lane highways, motorcycles, buses, crazy cars, and even the occasional horse and cart tramping Down the middle of the road. In amongst the roads are patches of green, and in those patches are families with mattresses and hammocks and the fortunate ones have a black trash bag to cover their heads. And this is just on the way to the dump.
waiting for his new house to be built
me and some of the local Nica girls who were watching the show
It is easy to tell when you are getting close to the dump as the roads , which are already smattered with trash, become more and more covered, until you pass fields that look like crops of colored cotton candy growing alongside the road. As you draw nearer you realize it is just fields of old plastic grocery bags. The neighborhood we were working in was a newly established area covered with minimal shelters, many us Americans would not feel good enough for our pets. Yet not only do they live in them, they are happy and feel fortunate to have them. They are pieced together with wood, tin, plastic and more trash collected from the nearby dump. Any severe wind or rain would render most of them useless.
After initial meetings and being introduced to the local pastor we broke up into two building teams and began to build. Our building plan was as follows: dig post holes, make a wood frame, slap on a tin roof, pour a concrete floor, slap on some tin walls, put in a door and give them the key. There is no key, because there is no lock because there is no door handle. It is a truly sobering and humbling experience to participate in.
Laying the concrete pad, back-breaking work
a kitchen
At lunch time I was fortunate to enjoy the daily lunch service the local church provides to 200 hungry kids. They reported to us that for most of these kids the lunch they provide is their only meal of the day. These people are true missionaries,living amongst those kids and feeding them every single day. The meal begins with a prayer in Spanish and is followed up with multi lingual worship songs while they eat their bowl of rice and fruit. The lunch room is a covered concrete pad adorned with colorful plastic tables and chairs in an attempt to brighten the hot and dusty atmosphere. But the stars of the meals are the kids themselves, ranging from 1-10. They are full of smiles, love to have their picture taken and love to hug you, hold your hand or just touch you. They are kids and they act like kids. But I was brought to tears by these kids. I was moved by the simple pleasure of having a hot meal at an actual table. Moved by the fact that they got to wash their hands. And truly moved to tears as older brothers and sisters, 4,5 or 6 years old spent their lunch time feeding their younger siblings, neglecting themselves. In those kids you could see it in their eyes, the need, the desire to be a kid, taken care of, fed and free to grow. It was those kids for which my spirit wept. They knew, they were not oblivious to the world around them, they knew that they lived among the truly poor in the world, scraping daily for a meal, praying for a way to stop the rain from dripping on their dirt floor, and praying mostly for their family. The burden of life was already written on their tiny tanned, mud streaked face, and it was impossible to hide.
many of the kids have stomach infections which causes bloating.
Although we finished two ” houses” today, heard testimony from both families that they prayed for this miracle, and one even saw a vision of a bunch of gringos coming to help her, despite all this the long bus ride home was a solemn quiet ride home. I couldn’t help but wonder how I could not help more, there is so much need, so much suffering and so much left to do. And as I impatiently waited for my turn in the shower to wash away the stink of the day, it struck me that most of, if not each and every person I saw today would not being taking a shower, and probably had never ever taken a shower. A simple refreshing way to wash away the worries of the day, a pleasure that most people reading this will have experienced with the last 12 hours. I think perhaps today my life was changed. I think perhaps my perspective has forever changed.
Tomorrow we will go and we will build two more houses, tomorrow we will conduct a kids Bible school and then we will come home and we will wash away the stink of the day.
Please take a minute to give thanks for all that you have and please take a minute to pray for those who have not, and pray for us that we may do more than we have set out to do, that we will make an eternal difference in not only our lives but theirs.
a finished house........
a grateful family
praying of the family and their new casa.
Infinite Pleasure; guaranteed.
While Guanacaste is not known for its massive shopping options, Liberia does have some stores that are fun to frequent. First of all, one needs to understand that the towns in Guanacaste appear to have lacked the vision of a city planner. Instead, they are built around a town center. Everything emanates from the town center. Liberia, the biggest city in Guanacaste is no exception. There is a beautiful town center right next to the big Catholic cathedral. Then all around that are little shops, shoe stores, electronics, clothes, food, shoes, and more shoes. They like their shoes here. Everything is made to be within walking distance from the town center. For those who drive, it is exceptionally scary as cars park anywhere they want, taxis and locals ignore traffic lights, and skateboarders seem to have as much right as any car on the road. To further complicate matters, there are dozens of unmarked one way streets. The only way to tell, peer down the road and see if there are cars parked facing the way you want to go.
Liberia Catholic Church
Needless to say, it is better to park and walk when you need to do some serious shopping. Now I am like most men and I don’t enjoy shopping. I don’t mind buying, I just don’t like shopping. I can hike for 20 miles, through marsh, alders and mountains looking for a deer with tiny little antlers, but 10 minutes in a mall and my back feels as if it requires immediate surgery. However, I have found a new joy in Liberia. I have found these discount stores that sell stuff from all over the worlds, knock offs of actual products, and the best part, they are translated from Spanish, to English by Chinese. This makes for a great time as I search diligently for new and improved translations. It is almost like hunting, and the best part, I don’t have to spend any money. It is my own personal treasure hunt. I have a few here I would like to share with you.
Costa Rican ingenuity
I have always wanted to find the best welcome gift for children
Hmmmm, this looks familiar.
Look on the bottom right corner, this is a deluxe racing sport.
Infinite pleasure, that's a pretty high standard. I still play with mine!
This one simulates a true style radio control car. So it isn't a radio controlled car, it is a car that simulates a radio controlled car that simulates a real car?
- This is a mouthful, but the best part is that the antennae is already broken, so that's one less thing for the kids to break.
Spring Festival 2012
This past weekend was the 2012 Spring Festival sponsored and conducted by the Beach Community Church in Brasilito Costa Rica. Last year the event was held in Tamarindo at the skate park, this year the venue was moved to the Village in Brasilito. What is a spring festival you ask? Great question. The spring festival is an event geared towards younger kids; There are jumping castles, there are games, there is candy, there are free snacks, there is a message about the real meaning of Easter, and the grand finale is an Easter egg hunt. The best part, the whole event is free!
Livy helping to hide the eggs.
Wolfy, sneaking a peek at the eggs pre-event.
Jake taking notes for later.
Raffle for missions.
Dave bringing the pre-open pep talk and prayer.
This was the events sophomore year, and although I was unable to attends last years event, it would be hard to imagine it going much better. There were approximately 100 kids, and most of them brought at least one of their adults with them. There were great games like the Sponge Bob sponge toss, the Spiderman Castle, soccer kick, frisbee toss, Jonah and the whale fishing and on and on. There were fantastic arts and crafts, face painting, balloon animal creation, and magical egg designs. It was slightly chaotic at times, hot all the time, and fun, fun,fun.
The main event, the obstacle course bouncy castle.
Mike the balloon man getting ready for business.
Bud and Brock taking a moment from their labor to pose.
Soccer kick in action.
Dorian working the frisbee toss
Daniel and Dave making the rounds.
Jake in the obstacle course
Events like this don’t just make themselves, it takes months of planning, many volunteers, 50 to be exact, and commitment. But most of all it takes blood, sweat and tears. In Costa Rica it takes mostly sweat. It takes sweat to set up bouncing castles and obstacles that weigh 500 pounds, it takes sweat to pop a dozen raw bags of popcorn, it takes sweat to transfer a dozen wooden games to the venue, and it takes sweat to hide 1200 Easter eggs, lots of sweat. In fact enough sweat that most men came prepared with several shirts for the day, and we didn’t even sweat the small stuff!
GOOAAAALLLLL!
Tracy had one of the most popular games, which led to a lot of work.
Pastor Lyle leading a group game before bringing a short Easter message.
Tired baby.
But every single drop was worth it. Every swipe of the brow, sponged off bald head and wadded up soaking wet t-shirt was all worth it. Kids that have very few activities, kids that do not attend a church, kids that perhaps do not know the true meaning of Easter, each and every one of them heard a message of love from Pastor Lyle, and received some great story books. The best part, they brought their adults with them and they heard the message as well. It was easy to gauge the event by the flashes of smiles, the screams of joy and the sweaty painted faces running through the venue, and that was just the volunteers!
Gathering around for the Easter egg hunt, or gather as is more aptly described.
I think there's one right there.
Gatherer.
Seems like a lot of big kids in the 2 year old group.
We found one!
Look Mommy a pink one!
This guy is in full concentration mode.
little princess.
It was a taxing, tiring, tremendous day. The grand finale, the 1200 egg hunt was a bit of slightly organized chaos. Due to the amount of children, we instituted a 10 egg limit. The limit, much like the local speed limit, seemed to be more of a suggestion than the law that we had intended, as we saw great liberty taken as mounds of eggs departed in mother’s purses and bags. However, we were confident that everyone left with eggs, candy, and memories, some with a little more than others.
Lauren squatting for a better scan.
I think this makes number 10!
Hey daddy, is this an egg?
Daddy doing the final count.
Booty time!
At the end of the day a seed was planted and it was watered with the sweat of our brow. We can only pray that they take hold and grow a little until next year when we can water them once again, and perhaps plant a new field.
An Adventure at La Montana
This past weekend I was fortunate enough to participate in a men’s retreat adventure at La Montana near Arenal. We decided early on that since this event was strictly for men, the word retreat must be replaced with adventure. Perhaps a bit of a self- fulfilling prophecy.
Don testing out the bed, and practicing for soccer.
This coffee was stiff,cooked all day, black and awesome, welcoming us to camp.
our small group meeting
Mo happy we got some sheets and showing it!
Morning coffee, Mo, Mike and Dwayne
Pastor Lyle and Mo
The adventure started early, turning a normal 4 hour trip into a 7 hour adventure. The adventure peaked as darkness slid in on us near the end of our drive, accompanied by a thick wet fog. The kind of fog that sparkles and dances off your headlights putting the driver (me) into a trance. This was made even more perilous because we were venturing up a thin road unknown to all of us, a tiny windy road up the side of a mountain. At least we assumed it was a mountain because I couldn’t see past the side of the road. To make it even more adventurous, we were following a giant bus, who had to stop each time an oversized semi truck meet them in the road to ensure that neither would sustain fatal damage. Although we were slightly encouraged by the ” Viajamos con Dios” written on the back of the bus. Our average speed during this portion of the journey, about 10 km per hour. Doesn’t sound scary,but when you consider speeding semis, being passed on blind corners by motorcycles, scooters and cars, and the constant peril of hitting a cow or sliding of the edge of the mountain, I think I forgot to breathe for about and hour and a half.
Mike and Mike enjoying the morning view as the fog begins to lift.
The view as the fog clears.
Breakfast
Lyle and Dwayne dominating the archery tent
I gave a good effort, at least.
Finally after one wrong turn, several scary switchbacks we pulled into what we believed was our destination, Camp La Montana. The bus we followed, pulled into the same location. A group of twenty men all arrived at the same time to check into the camp.
Dwayne with arrow in flight
The lake area
rider in the sky
outdoor theater near the lake
Upon arrival we scurried off to find a room. We found two rooms upstairs right across from each other, perfect for our group of eight. The rooms had two bunk buds, and two lower beds adorned with the thinnest foam mattresses available in all of Costa Rica. Also staring us in the face was the fact that there were no sheets or no towels in the room, and no one in our party had bothered to bring any of the aforementioned. A detail that apparently escaped all eight of us. Next time when they tell us to check the website, I will check the website. But in this case the adventure continued.
don't know, but it was big
flora
more flora
on my way to the top! Looks like the pants are about to split.
After a dinner, which included beans and rice, some kind of meat and something else, we had some worship music, a message and met in small groups. The theme of the adventure was hearing God’s voice. Our small group, the only group from Guanacaste met outside in the evening fog. We were adorned in our shorts and t-shirts, and to a man we were chilled. Sure it was probably 65 degrees our there, but when you live in 90 temperatures, a wet 65 can be a little frigid.
disco ball in the gym, now that's what I am talking about
John and Don on a hike
Why do I always have to be on skins?
Don participating in the soccer match.
Upon retreating to our rooms, and completely exhausted from a nearly 8 hour trip, we thought sleep would be easy. We were fortunate that they were able to dig up fitted sheets for us to use as bedding, and a couple of pillows. Although damp, they were welcomed.
Lyle in action
If I hurry I can kick the ball once!
Mo looks mad, and dangerous. Note Angelo in the back, I think he was a little winded.
Looks like the world cup
Lyle getting jiggy with it.
Dude, are we done yet?
Sleep, at least for me, was intermittent and fitful at best. Every move made on the mattress echoed throughout our room, and the rough cut lumber lining my top bunk kept digging into my back and hip, leading to many adjustments throughout the night. Looking forward to a hot shower to kick-start the day, I was surprised to find that unlike the water in our area region of Costa Rica, the water actually gets cold, very cold here in the mountains. The best part, there was not a lick of hot water to be had. There was a handle for hot water, but no hot water. So my shower was very cold, exhilarating and quick.
View from the field
Mo and John
That day included three more meetings intertwined with some basketball, frisbee, hiking, water slides, water swings, archery and a two-hour epic soccer battle on a field pitted with ankle busting holes. Adventure sprinkled with danger, everything a man could want.
Glenn and John
Dwayne, Lyle and Mike & Mike getting ready to hear the word.
There were a few minor injuries, a lot of sore muscles and more sweat than an episode of The Biggest Loser. The good news is by this time the hot water was working and the spittle that dripped out of the shower had at least blasts of heat.
More flora
Mo and Lyle discussing the days message.
The meetings were great and effective. We got to do a lot of soul-searching, deep conversation and learning helping us all to grow. The meals were an adventure, to keep with theme of course. There was always rice and/ or beans with every single meal. Then a meat product and something else. I say meat product because at least two times we were unable to identify what we were eating. But what’s an adventure without a little mystery. We did not go hungry.
Ben our young worship leader
Sleep was certain for night two, especially after the lack the night prior and the two-hour soccer game. Sleep I did, for about an hour, and then it was back to toss and turn throughout the night, even though I moved my mattress to the ground. The last day began with breakfast, some praise and worship, a short message and testimonies given by attendees sharing what they got out of the conference. The ride home was in the daylight and other than me cutting off a guy in an intersection in San Ramon, and being pulled over for no reason other than to be extorted, it was peaceful. In fact we turned the 7.5 hour trip into a 4 hour trip, and that included a stop for ice cream and gas, and a friendly conversation with a local police officer, and I use that term loosely.
Even had a visit from a coati.
Where's Waldo?
In reflection, perhaps the trip revealed to us that no matter our surroundings, no matter the circumstances or how uncomfortable we are, we can and should always seek out to hear God’s voice. To understand what he is telling us and where he is guiding us. After all, Paul, in Acts, lived in a world of discomfort, adventure and peril and was perhaps the most effective messenger of Jesus of all time. So perhaps it is good for us to have adventure or suffer at times to bring us back into the world of others that suffer daily and still maintain their faith in the midst of it all, and as a result bring us a little closer to him and increase our ability to hear his voice. Which can call out even in the midst of the night and over the din of the mysterious mountainous snorer in your room. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!
Time for fiesta.
A combination of a block party, state fair, rodeo and outdoor Latin Deejayed dance, that about describes the local fiestas.
Each and every town has fiesta at least once a year. It is the local culture. When the bull ring starts being erected from scratch with lumber that looks as if it was found on the side of the road, you know it is coming. It takes about a week to erect it, but it is always finished on time. Once the ring is up, the party starts, and they know how to party.
Jeremy, Braden and Dorian waiting for their turn in the bouncy castle.
The ride section
That blur is Olivia, Ben and Faith.
Go ahead and stand up during the ride little girl. It adds to the excitement.
The music is ear bleeding loud. The food is heart clogging good. The vendors are in your face with their trinkets. The rides, well the rides are the rejects, the ones deemed unsafe in the states, and they are fired up and rolling. But the highlight is the bull ring. Every night there is an event in the bull ring, and every night it is a spectacle.
In Costa Rica we call this driver's ed.
These boys did not know what they were getting into when they agreed to ride with Olivia.
I can see regret on their face. Note Olivia is the only one doing the spinning.
The sounds, the smells, the scenery, they all scream party. They beg you to dance, call for you to eat and to eat badly, and summon you to cheer on the bulls. There is the obligatory beer tent, or two, or three, just in case any false courage is needed. And there always at least three different DJ’s blasting out latin, hip swinging, head bobbing dance music, with competing throbbing beats, throughout the night.
Jake and Luke spinning as hard and as fast as they can.
Kassie and Faith following the boys.
As soon as the rides opened, the kids were ready to roll. At the Villa Real festival there were four larger rides, including a mini coaster, bumper cars, a spinning puking twisting thing, and an air spinner. The great thing is there are no lines, because on one waits in line, you just push forward, walk on, get on, and ride if you dare. The rides look like they are about two levels of safety below the typical backyard fair in the states. There are no safety fences, no chains or gates’; in fact to get into the bumper cars you have to literally run through the whirling bumper cars to get to your car and join in the fun. It adds a slight level of intensity. You can also high-five your friends on the air rides as they fly by you at mach 7, or let your little kids go ahead and stand during the kiddy airplane ride, or coaster ride, as we witnessed. So even though the ride itself may not be that intense, the freedom within adds unspeakable levels of intensity.
Don't let their sweet innocent looks fool you, these two were vicious in the bumper ring.
trinkets.
The big ride in action.
The food, it is fried, it is local, it smells good and it tastes good. There is lots of rice, lots of meat on sticks and a local favorite, the double fried chicken. Yep, the fried chicken sits under a heat lamp until you order. Then, to make sure it is hot and fresh for you, they fry it again. So you get a built-in drink with your chicken. We stuck to some churros and donuts with a touch of caramello.
Meat on a stick. Not sure what kind, but it smelled good.
An up and comer.
Homemade ramp to the homemade ring.
Dorian, Ben and Livy on the fence, Braden and Jeremy inside the ring. That's about right.
But the highlight is the rickety wooden ring of which the festival surrounds. Therein lies the loudest music, therein is the loudest announcer, and there is where the crowd gathers. Some unwilling to shell out 2000 colones for a wooden bleacher seat, bring their own chairs and set up station right outside the ring, peering through the wooden planks. Others climb on top of the fence posts, and some set up camp under the bleachers. Us tourists, the non-locals, well we shell out the money so we can sit in comfort and with a view. Exactly what were we viewing?
The bulls came out with a rider, and went back in without one.
This guy was especially mean. You can see he was intentional, thoughtful and brutal. Note the kids peering through the fence.
A bull ring littered with drunk college spring breakers, drunk young locals and a couple of skilled vaqueros on their horses, armed with rope and lasso. There were about 25 young brave men in the ring ready to run from, at, and with the bulls. The bulls were big, the bulls were mean, and the bulls were fast. The worked quickly to get the young rider off their back so they could set their horns on the young sunburned drunks in their flip-flops. And just as I turned to tell my wife how I was rooting for the bull amongst the bravado appearing in the ring, two familiar faces appeared, Jeremy and Braden. So now there were 25 drunks and Jeremy and Braden. They too wanted to feel the horns of the bull up close. Perhaps even more intense, the wrath of mom when she found out they were in the ring.
Braden ready to catapult out, Jeremy with hands in pocket.
This college spring breaker was asking for it all night long.......
And he got a little taste.
But alas, the boys maintaining a full state of soberness stayed close to the fence, leaping up in a single bound at the inclination of an angry bull approaching. They moved swiftly and unlike several Ticos, never had to dive for cover. There were several falls, lots of fence jumping and even some dives as the bulls charged, parried and spun throughout the dirt covered rung. The false bravado was amazing, the close calls followed by high fives, hugs and another beer. As far as live entertainment goes, and for the price, it is pretty hard to beat.
SCATTER!
Prophetic?
The main attraction......
...even for the medics
On a steel horse they ride.
It was a good night, and once it was over it was to comprehend why the fiestas were the most anticipated event of the year. They had a touch of Americana, the cheap trinkets, candied apples, cotton candy and mechanical rides. They had culture with the food and the historical bull ring, as this country was founded and settled by cowboys, or vaqueros. But most of all they have a place to get together, even if just for a weekend. A reason to come out of their small home as a family and gather with friends, enjoy their culture, eat, dance, drink, and just forget about the worries of the day for a couple of nights. Forget about the heat and the hard life, and just enjoy. But most of all they gather praying together that at least one of those drunk college tourist’s back ends meets the front end of a bull. For then they will have a story to share for all time.
A little video shot with my iphone so you can soak up some of the action and sounds.
Songs, Sermons, Sushi; an Epic Gang Youth Group Event
As I have mentioned many times before, you have to be creative when trying to plan activities in this region of the world. It is even far more difficult when trying to plan for youth group events, other than the regular youth group meetings. Most often they involve a beach day of some sort. However, our friend and professional chef Mike Finch had an inspiration for a youth event that came to fruition last week, sushi night. Not just eating sushi, but learning how to make sushi and then eating the sushi.
Prep work
Veggies waiting to be eaten
sushi fillers
Ready to roll, literally.
Our guide for the evening.
Protein! That's what I am talking about.
Elizabeth's beautiful creation. Too pretty to eat, to hot to eat.
The event was a great success. We had 24 youth and several adults show up, packing out our casa. It was everything a youth event should be, gathering to sing some worship songs, a short message from Mike, and then the rice was flying.
Anton and Dorian patiently waiting for action.
Ben and Elizabeth leading us in some songs.
Olivia and Ben, didn't ask, didn't want to know.
Dave introducing Chef Mike to the soon to the sushi recruits.
Listening to Mike bring the word.
While groups of four learned how to roll sushi, the others were often playing epic games led by Braden and Brock. I didn’t get to see what they were playing, but apparently screaming the loudest was the most important aspect of sure victory, and they all wanted to win.
Ready, set, roll.
You must have deep concentration grasshopper.
The rice was flying and the soy sauce was spilling, but it was all good.
Braden was so excited he started eating his sushi a little early.
Of course the best part of the night was the sushi sampling, of which I was fortunate enough to participate in. There was salmon, artificial crab, shrimp, and fresh tuna. For the veggies we had cucumbers, carrots, red peppers, tomatoes and avocados. Of course there was also ginger, wasabi ( extra hot) and soy sauce.
Well balanced
Heavy on the protein!
Almost done
The event was a fantastic success, and despite our concern, the only person to get cut was me! I am sure this will spurn further educational cooking events for the Epic Gang of Youth of Guanacaste; Perhaps fondue! On second thought, hot oil, hot cheese, mini spears…….. I ‘ll let you know.
Ready for me.
Perfection
Bud wants to share. Brock, does not.
I think Dorian missed a step, or he was craving a burrito.
And of course there is always dessert provided by my lovely wife. chocolate, snicker, peanut butter cupcakes. It's a mouthful.
The March of Fires
Fully enveloped in the dry season now for months, the earth all around us is covered in crinkly dry leaves, yellow dry grass and dry tinder branches. This combined with 30-40 mph winds makes this whole region a giant piece of kindling wood. The Guanacaste region has been on fire for weeks, all being fanned and directed by the seasonal winds, ironically the same winds we use to cool our house during the extreme dry heat of the day. It is a nuisance. The air is constantly wafting the odor of campfire about, permeating not just our clothes, but couches, cars, and curtains. The whole house smells like one giant campground, covered in black and white bits of ash. There have been times when we couldn’t see across the road as the thick gray yellow clouds of smoke smothered the road transporting the flames to the other side. During the day it is ugly, smelly and a nuisance, but at night the beauty emerges.
The fresh salt water drowned out by the smoke.
Reminds me a little of a war zone.
At night the burning red-hot spots glow brightly, some close some a distance away marking empty fields. The distant hills have beautiful rivers of fire flowing up and down their faces, remanent of a fresh purge of lava from a young volcano. The smoke is invisible. The fire is beautiful mesmerizing me much like a youngster at a campfire. Burned out stumps, trees spotted with red glows, fields glowing, and wind gusts creating dancing, crackling sparks across the dark night sky a slowly moving glow. It causes a desire in me to greatly improve my photography skills so that I may share what I see.
I did not have a tripod, so I did the best I could to capture the glow spurned on by the wind.
A glowing stump.
Same stump with flash.
One tree dies, the other lives.
Charred remains of the hilltop.
A field near our home along side the road. Many wooden posts died this die.
In the morning it leaves behind a matted black field and hillside, wounded smoldering trees, not dead, but wounded as soldiers slowly walking across a battlefield and a blanket of white and black ash. There are no personnel fighting the fire, no helicopters, police barriers, fire trucks, news cameras, it is just a normal day. Perhaps they don’t have the man power or the budget, or perhaps they don’t care, it is part of nature, part of life, a purge, perhaps it is Pura Vida. Whatever it is, it is now a part of the yearly cycle of our life. Next year, I will have a tripod!
Make a run to the border
Until we have our residency here in Costa Rica we have to depart the country every 90 days. They don’t care where you go, just as long as you go. So this time we made a run for the border with some great friends to spend an afternoon in Nicaragua, or at least at the border of Nicaragua.
You see it can get quite expensive flying a family of nine to the good ole US every 3 months, so the alternative is a 2 hour drive north to Nicaragua.
The trip took us straight through Liberia which in turn requires the obligatory and rare McDonald’s visit. Swallowing the irony of McDonald’s becoming a special treat is akin to swallowing an old filet-o-fish and greasy cold fries. But the complete lack of fast food has made fast food a treat. So all trips to and through LIberia require a McDonald’s or BK stop.
After the throng of us, 17 in total, scarfed down our Big Macs, Nuggets, fries and fried chicken ( yes all fast food restaurants have fried chicken) it was time to head north to the border, and no I don’t mean Taco Bell.
The most interesting thing about the drive was how quickly the environment changed. The grass and trees became greener, the flat land become hillier, the air become slightly cooler, and the roads become vastly emptier. This was new territory for us, but not for the Olsen’s which is why they were our guide for this trip, Dave, Keri and their five kiddos. I can tell that Dave has been in Costa Rica much longer than me because I felt like Danica Patrick trying to keep up with Tony Stewart.
Other than the new scenery, and the post McDonald’s growling in our stomachs, the drive to the border was uneventful. The border itself, a different story.
You know you are close to the border when you start seeing 18 wheelers parked alongside of the road for miles, waiting, sometimes for days, for their turn to cross the border. A rookie, like me, would’ve parked in line like a proper American and waited for my turn. Instead we deftly pulled into the left lane and drafted off Dave to pull right up to the border.
The border itself is unimpressive. There are people milling all around, a few uniformed individuals, no signs, no arrows, no lines, just a dilapidated old concrete building with a couple of unhappy locals behind the counter. They looked miserable, their uniforms dirty, their smiles long gone, their dark skin subdued. A small table top fan cooled them and some upbeat Latin music softly playing in the background mindlessly, unnoticed by all. There is no line, you just push your way to the front and get some papers from the man behind the old CRT computer screen. He reluctantly counts out 18 immigration forms for us, one for out one for back in.
As I sat filling out the forms as quickly as I could, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of security, the lack of cleanliness, the lack of anything. Everything there pretty much guaranteed that this was supposed to be a dark and miserable experience, much worse than DMV. However, the Godfrey’s and Olsen’s together cannot help but make any activity fun.
After quickly scratching out 18 customs forms, I returned to an empty spot in the counter and handed the man 9 passports and 9 forms. Like a robot, he removed the paper, opened the passport, scanned the passport and only asked if Livy was Kassie. Five minutes later we were on our way.
The most interesting part of the whole experience was the walk from the Costa Rica Border to the Nicaragua border. Again, no signs, no trails, no security, but we did pass a couple of uniformed men along the side of the road who glanced at each and every passport and sent us on our way.
The walk made me appreciate having our guides to show us the way. Literally, I would’ve had no clue where to go. We walked on a dirt road, through a dirt parking lot, through a wire fenced tunnel from which we exited through what appeared to be a hole cut in the fence by a burglar, over a beaten path in a makeshift grass area into Nicaragua.
We then headed directly to one of about a dozen different dilapidated buildings in the area. Again, I saw no reason why we could not have just kept on walking further into Nicaragua, but our purpose today was to get the stamps in our passport.
The building here was slightly nicer, the men behind the counter, slightly grouchier. In fact they refused to give me 18 customs forms, which a very nice Nica lady offered to sell me for a propina ( tip). Eventually, we were able to get our forms, fill them out, and answer a couple of random questions before getting our passports stamped.
In hindsight, I think having 14 rambunctious kids yelling, screaming and playing in their echoing building helped to push the process forward. Shoot, I was ready to leave!
After the last stamp, paying $12 per passport, and $1 more per passport for a tiny cute 1X1 piece of paper that no one every looked at, we were officially in Nicaragua, the clock started; Let the good times roll!
This trip was for one purpose and one purpose only, to get our passports stamped so we could stay in CR for another three months. So instead of fighting through the throng of cab drivers, we literally sat at the border, ate snacks, shopped in the duty free stores, played games and listened to music for over two hours. Technically we are supposed to be in Nicaragua for three hours, but two hours at a dirty dusty border was about all that we could handle. The kids had a great time, rip sticking all around the old abandoned border buildings, playing soccer, exploring and just being kids. But as darkness engulfed us, we felt it was time to see if we could get back to our country. The women prayed and the men pushed forward.
Again, in hindsight having the kids screaming, running, singing and playing probably helped a lot. By the time we finished filling out nine customs forms and came up to the counter, the whole country was ready to send us packing! There were no questions, in fact he did not look at our forms at all. Stamp, flip stamp, flip and ask if Olivia was Kassie, pay $2 a passport, and again an extra $1 for that cute tiny piece of paper; Passports in hand we began our walk back to CR. The ten minute walk in the dark, weaving between 18 wheelers, cars and broken concrete involved several wrong turns, one fall and several head counts. We only had to show one uniformed man our passports and he hurried us along our way. Eventually we made our way back into the hot and stuffy CR border and deftly stepped up to the counter like we knew what we were doing. The only question asked ” how long are your going to be in CR?” in spanish, which I mistook to mean how long had you been in Nicaragua. Imagine his surprise when I said 3 hours. Eventually we figured it out and stamp, stamp, stamp we were on our way. Back to our cars which we had parked at the border and back to Liberia. A quick 9 pm dinner at BK, lots of in-car group singing, and an hour later we were home.
According to Dave the trip was about as uneventful as any border crossing could be. Which seems incredible to me when you look at our family, me and Tracy and seven kids, six which look like Ticos. Yet no questions, no accusations, nada. In and out in two hours. It was a $144 process, a meaningless ends to a means, another hoop to jump through, one that we now know how to do. Perhaps in the future we will make one change and save the McDonald’s trip for the ride back, because the water bucket man powered pay toilets are not conducive to a post McDonald’s bathroom trip.
A Blended Family
Our big move to Central America has made me realize that we are a blended family. Sure, in Alaska we were somewhat of a blended family, but not to the extent that has emerged as we struggle to adapt to our new surroundings. In fact, in Alaska I am convinced that we were more of a frothy family, with slight hints of blending, primarily in June or July. But here the climate begs for blended families. Fruit is cheap and always available, ice is sold everywhere, and the heat, the constant searing heat has your core begging for relief in the form of a chill. So we blend. We blend in the morning, we blend at noon and we blend at night. We have yet to discover a bad time to blend, unless of course everyone in the house is sleeping, especially mom or dad.
The remnants of a pineapple, orange, mango, coconut smoothie.
In the morning I might start with a strawberry yogurt smoothie, in lieu of eggs. A great refreshing way to cool the core and start the day. After an intense workout, covered in sweat, drained of all energy from the workout and the 85 degree gym, I long for my coffee protein blend with ice and coconut milk. The first cool coffee laden sip that crosses my lips and cools my throat all the way down to my inner core is the reward my body craves. The only way it could be any cooler is if I poured it over my head.
secret ingredients
Then in the late afternoon or evening is when Tracy steps in; A banana mango smoothie, a piña colada smoothie, or whatever combination of fresh fruit she has sitting around. In the mid day scorching heat, the frozen smoothie is like a personal air conditioner.
My frothy post workout vanilla protein and coffee smoothie, or heaven in a cup.
As important as the Keurig single serve coffee maker was to us in Alaska, our Vitamax Blender has become here. It is well used and regarded as an essential part of our day, adding that tasty cup of joy, energy and chill that gives us that brief escape from the sweat dripping off our bodies. It is our midday/ evening coffee of the south, the far south, and although I may get a brain freeze once in a while, I have yet to burn my tongue.
Piña Colada smoothie chilling in the fridge
Camping Costa Rica
The dry cold air encompassing your face, and only your face. A slight tinge of chill on your nose, ears and cheeks, while you feet are on the verge of sweating. You slowly open your eyes, not sure if you can see your breath but acutely aware that you are not in you bed at home. It is quiet, it is cool and the light is slowly and naturally filling your tent. You can see across a quilt of sleeping bags, mom, kids, dog, shoes, coats, hats, forming a camp carpet inside the tent. All you can think about, all you can muster is the thought that someone else, someone from another tent, got up, started a crackling fire and put on a pot of coffee. But it is just a wish, one that is nary fulfilled for you are that guy, the one who starts the fire and brews that joe. You are camp master.
Ocean View from Campsite Marbella Costa Rica
Looking into our luxury camp. Note the dryness, at least we broke the Godfrey curse of rain every single time we have ever camped.
Ben getting kindling for the fire.
As always, camp pets.
As always, Camp Queens.
Camping has been a part of our family for years, as you can see from some of my past posts (Ninilchik Camping, Homer Camping) I can still feel the anticipation and despair as we packed to prepare, assembling the tents to make sure they are whole, anticipating the rain and cold with extra clothes, socks and blankets. I can still feel that morning chill on my face as I psyched myself up to get out from my sleeping bag and start a post of coffee. I can still feel my body shivering just a touch as I slowly emerged from the tent in the morning, striving to keep all my parts dry, knowing once wet always wet. I can still smell the smokiness of the damp fire and hear the hard crackle of the wet wood drying. It was invigorating, tiring and a fun family activity. It was never luxurious, seldom relaxing, always dirty and always memorable, and that’s what camping is about, memories. In that aspect it never failed.
Kassie getting ready for some soccer
Jake and Kassie hanging out at the beach
Jake in action
Some Marbella combers
I remember awakening to a tent full of water and slugs. I remember wives mad because we left early to fish. I remember finding a hotel for night number two. I remember our food and fish being stolen during the night. I remember catching Silvers, Kings and Reds, cleaning them and worrying about bears. I remember seeing bears in camp. I remember back aches, side aches and longing for a real bathroom. I remember taking a crying dog out for a walk at 3 am in the pouring rain. I remember shooting stars, a smoke-filled tarp and rain, there was always rain. I remember watching the kids run, play, explore, fish and swim and loving every second of it. Camping is never short on memories.
Thinking about getting barreled, or getting crushed.
Night time ambience
Sun setting, fun beginning.
Lyle rocking out the electric guitar for the kiddos.
Well we started a new type of camping this year, Costa Rica camping. Unlike Alaska camping, the packing consists mostly of food and extra swimwear. Instead of rising at the crack of dawn to fish, we rise to surf. Instead of huddling by the fire, we seek shelter from the sun and seek a stiff breeze. Instead of worrying about bears we worry about snakes and spiders and small creepy things. It is a new adventure and already it has created memories.
Are you sure that was a hot dog?
The glow of the sun looks like a deep orange fire radiating through the trees.
A common sight at a Costa camp, the surfboard. Unfortunately, this is the last known photograph of this board while it was still alive.
Memories of forgetting tent poles for the big tent. Memories of thinking we brought the queen air mattress only to find out it was the single. Memories of forgetting the power cord ( yes we camp with power in Costa Rica) for the breakfast griddle. Memories of sunburn, salty skin and crazy dangerous surf. Memories of sleeping in a running car all night to circulate air. Memories of a surf that was much too big for me, pounding me over and over to the bottom of the ocean and snapping a friends fiery red board in half.
God wishing us a goodnight.
It left us with the eternal memories of the kids, running, hiding, playing, eating smores, singing ,skim boarding, boogie boarding and just having fun. It was different, but the results were the same. Memories, more and more memories. Hopefully, as they grow the kids will recall these trips and smile as they recall all the good times they had with friends and family, unaware of the pain and suffering mom and dad endured to create these memories. And as the memories of the back aches, lack of sleep and bug bites disappear and are overcome by the flood of good memories, smores, fires, kids playing and laughing, only then will we prepare for our next camping trip, this time with tent poles, air mattess and the proper power cords.
The big dipper
I don’t know much about astrology, I don’t know many constellations, but like every Alaskan I could always find the big dipper. When it’s your state flag your kinda obligated. In fact because of the star watching conditions in AK , I learned to find it very quickly. You see in Alaska star gazing can be a wee bit tricky. First of all, in the summer the extremely long days tend to make the stars professional hide and seekers, unless you like to stay up way past midnight. In fact other than camping trips or overnight boat trips, I don’t recall hardly ever seeing the stars from may to August. Then about September the stars really start popping fom the AK sky. Unfortunately it comes with a price, your body heat. And it continually worsens throughout the year, which is unfortunate because it always appeared to me that the colder it was the brighter the stars were. It seemed as though the stars themselves developed a layer of hoarfrost on them causing them to sparkle more majestically. But it was a rare, a very rare occasion that I could stand to be outside soaking in their glorious praise of God’s creation before my nose froze shut.
So to truly enjoy them I had to stay up late or freeze. Instead I would take quick glances, find the big dipper and revel in the fact that it was always there as dependable as the sunrise. Familiar,comforting and belonging to Alaska
That all changed when we moved to Costa Rica. Now I can look at the stars every night. Now I don’t freeze and now it gets dark every day all year long around 6 pm. Now star gazing is almost a daily event. Except that there is one big hole for me, the Big Dipper. As hard as I try I cannot find it. It seems to me all the stars are there, but they are more cluttered and shine a little less bright. Perhaps they are worn down from the heat of the day in Costa Rica. Whatever the reason the dipper continues to hide from me, as if it is angry that I left it behind and it is only available to,those who brave the conditions of Alaska, only they can enjoy the steady seven stars of gold.
Think I’m crazy? Well I got up this morning at 3:00 am to load my car up for a trip to Alaska, and as I finished I looked up slightly to the north there it was for the first time,the Big Dipper. It wasn’t as bright or majestic, but it was there, upside down and backwards, giving me just enough to let me know it approved of my pending trip. But also letting me know that as an Alaskan living in Costa Rica my world would be upside down and backwards, like it has been. But I know if I can just catch a glimpse of the dipper every so often, like a favorite wall hanging, it will help ground me in the place we now call home, and I won’t have to worry about my nose freezing shut.
Golden Grandmas
Now that mom and grandma have left us, life is returning back to normal, even though we have not yet determined what that is. It was great having them here, they are feisty, up for anything, great cooks, great company and simply fun to be with. They filled our house with love and also filled it with the sweet aroma of fried bread, sourdough, brisket and much more. We ate well and we ate much. They even helped cook for youth group, life group and a church potluck. They made it much easier for us to transition through our first holiday away from the states, and again we ate well. They got hot often, but complained little. They reveled in the simple things, such as Fox News in english and Pops ice cream parlor.
wedding cruise
Dr. Doolittle making new friends
Grandma slept well, in the car, but not in her bed. Mom swam in the pool pretty much every day and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the exercise. Grandma flourished at the beach and on our adventures despite burning her back to match the flesh of a spawning red salmon, and peeling much the same way. Mom was in her element packing for the beach, lunches, snacks, and making sure we never ran out of sun tea. She also made sure there was always some kind of fresh baked goods close at hand: Cinnamon rolls, bread, fried bread, cookies, cakes, it was all there.
Nana, Livy, Dorian walking Avellanas
Grandma never went anywhere without one of her cameras and took pictures of everywhere and everything. Then she would upload them to her Facebook page faster than Mark Zuckerberg ever dreamed possible. Yes, my 82-year-old grandma has a Facebook page and she owns that thing. Posting picture after picture, commenting on statuses and reading posts from her grandchildren and friends upload throughout the day. My kids discovered a fatal flaw in Facebook because of her, there is no great grandma relationship available. In the evenings, after helping in the kitchen she would check her Facebook, play solitaire and wait for us to let her watch Fox News. One thing is for certain, I never worked up enough courage to drive by a Pop’s ice cream shop without stopping, because I am too scared to know what would’ve happened if grandma could not get her mango ice cream cone.
The 70's gals ready to party
We miss them already and can’t wait until they return for another visit. And perhaps by then we will all be able to follow my grandma’s tweets as she travels the country searching for pretty flowers, monkeys, cows and critters worthy of an upload. And if Pop’s ever gets free wi-fi, I guarantee you will see about a dozen pictures of a double scoop mango ice cream cone being devoured on Facebook.
Here are a lot more pictures from their trip.
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- Nana
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- didn’t ask, don’t know
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- We could’ve had a lot of these pictures
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- camera ready to roll
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- If Jake can do it, I can do it.
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- more camera time
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- Jungle woman
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- what did you say?
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- camera in hand for a critter shot
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- grandma enjoyed resting in the back yard
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- Love this one because her white hair blends in with the froth of the wave
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- Don’t know didn’t ask.
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- Livy and grandma
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- The oldest grandson
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- I said Coca Cola, not Coconut.
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- waiting for our boat
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- camera in hand ready to ride
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- nana and Wolfy looking for fishes
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- mom playing the bongos on the cruise
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- a wee bit breezy
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- star gazing
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- Dr. Doolittle making new friends
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- Los Lagos at Arenal
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- wedding cruise
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- Mom preferred this over the zip line.
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- She don’t go anywhere without a camera.
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- Enjoying the Fortuna waterfall
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- Nana, Livy, Dorian walking Avellanas
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- The 70′s gals ready to party
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- This took about 17 takes
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- See Alli this is how facebook works.
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- Are you sure this is safe? I mean really really safe.
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- Mom zipping
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- good times
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- Grandma in her new favorite mode of transport
Alaska; Costa Rica similarities? It’s a breeze.
Throughout the last 7 months I have been highlighting the differences between Costa Rica and Alaska, today however I am going to key on a similarity. In Alaska, we always mused that we only had two seasons, 9 months of winter and 3 months of summer. Some would say breakup was also considered a season. Our springs were mired in the much of breakup and our falls, well they seemed to last about a week. So we endured winter and lived for summer.
Here in Costa Rica they have two seasons as well, the green or rainy season and the dry season. I posted several blogs during the rainy season, and man it sure does rain. It rains like I have never seen, like Forest Gump Vietnam rain. Well were are now a couple of months or so into the dry season and much like breakup in Alaska we are experiencing a new intra-season, the windy season. The wind here, like all great winds has a name, the Papgayo (I think there are 50 different ways to spell it) winds. These winds are fierce. They start rattling the palm trees at about 5:30 in morning, a natural alarm clock, and often die down about 12 hours later, before repeating the cycle. They are strong, gusting and loud. I mean these are the kind of winds that take a toupee to Panama. They will dry a clothes line full of clothes in 10 minutes or less. They will hurl a coconut down the street faster than a Roger Clemens fastball, post steroid use. These are seriously impressive winds. Winds that would frighten me if I was patrolling the Bering Sea in January like the old days.
a little spray taken off the top of this small comber.
another small one showing the evidence of the winds
Personally I have been enjoying them for they make being outside quite bearable. However, yesterday while hanging at the beach and doing a little surfing, I saw a glimpse into the downside of the Papagayos. You see if you have ever tried to sit on the beach in a bathing suit, during a wind storm,it is akin to being shot at by dozens of kids with airsoft guns. Basically, you are being sandblasted, the same method we used to remove paint off of our old steel boats in Alaska. It is slightly unpleasant. So to escape you jump in the water with your surf board to catch some waves. The problem there is that the wind causes a wind chop that has you taking constant green water over your bow, making it very difficult to navigate. Furthermore it pushes wherever it wants you to go, which is not where you want to be. The good news, if the hurricane is blowing off shore, then you get the perfect barrel for surfing, if you know what you are doing, and I don’t. So I usually end up upside down, holding my breath on the bottom of the ocean waiting for the thundering of the ocean to quiet down so that I can emerge to get some air, pull my surfboard back to the water as it flutters in the wind like a kite, paddle back into the wind, and try again.
spray warning
more wind clouds
but it does lend itself to some nice sunsets and cloud formations
So there you have it, Costa Rica is just like Alaska, two seasons and each with their good and bad points. Alaska’s interim breakup is messy and makes it difficult to be outside, Costa Rica’s windy season is messy and makes it difficult to be on the beach. A couple big differences, although I do take a ton of water over the bow, I don’t have to worry about icing up, and during AK’s breakup your toupee is not only safe, but a good way to keep your noggin warm. Here in CR, unless you are using superglue, best put that thing in lock up for January and February and get a little sun on your dome, after you sandblast off all the dead skin of course.
Here is a short video, with the full sounds of the winds in our back yard.
Weekend at Arenal
Living in Anchorage, when we wanted to get away for the weekend we would load up the minivan, point her south and head down to the Kenai Peninsula. In two and a half hours we could be in Kenai, an hour further we would be in Homer. It didn’t matter much which one, just as long as we were out of town.
Traveling view of Lake Arenal.
Well the same thing applies here in Costa Rica. With mom and grandma visiting we figured it was a great time to head to Arenal, one of the local active volcanos in Costa Rica. We loaded up the 12 seater with 11 bodies, and a bundle of bags and took off in hopes of catching a glimpse of the molten red lava spewing into the night sky.
Now Costa Rica is know for its diversiveness, and we live in the dry region famous for great beaches. We were headed towards the rain forest and jungles. The drive is about 4 hours and I like to divide it into three sections. The first section I would call the highway, from here to Liberia and a little beyond. The roads are well traveled, pretty straight and blast through small town after small town. The second section takes you into the hills where the winds await. There are sparse trees, wind farms, and a giant lake littered with wind surfers and their neon colored kites speckling the white capped lake. From inside the car, it looks cold, very cold. It reminds me of a lonesome bay in Alaska on cold blustery summer day. In reality, it is about 80 degrees out, and the wind, 20-25 mph, is a welcomed coolant.
Watching fish.
Once pass the sparse hills we enter the jungle, clouds appear, fog is present and the edge of the road disappears into the vivd green dripping jungle. There are a myriad of one lane bridges, rivers and eroding, albeit paved, roads along the way. The temperature is significantly cooler and the air becomes heavy with moisture. It is af you are driving into Jurrassic Park.
Contrary to what you may think, we are not making that bridge sag.
Four hours into our expedition we arrived at our destination, Los Lagos, a hotel / resort known for its spa and hot springs. But it had much more than we anticipated, a small butterfly farm, a frog farm, a crocodile farm and it was nestled right on the shoulder of the active Arenal volcano. It was very lush, very green well kept and catered towards tourists:us. It was perfect for this party of 11. For the kids it had three fast water slides, for the adults 7 different hot springs, pools and a spa.
At least one of them found the camera lens.
Grandma kept getting in trouble for not paying attention. The best part, she never knew it.
Happy, sad, scared, nervous? Not sure, perhaps a mix.
During our two day tour we decided to take advantage of some of the must do activites. We decided on the Ecoglide canopy / zip line tour, horseback riding for some, and a hike to the La Fortuna waterfall. In between all this we would soak our weary bodies in the hot springs and sip virgin pina colados served out of pineapples, can’t get much touristier than that.
Our Tico coffee at our new favorite place to eat in La Fortuna, La Choza. If you visit, you must eat there.
The zip line was the highlight for most. It consisted of 15 different zip lines at varying lengths, heights and speeds. All fantastically fun and exhiliariting. But what really set it over the top was the Tarzan swing perilously awaiting you in the middle of of the tour. Of course I was offered up as the sacrificial Tarzan to go first. As I eased forward onto the shaky mesh metal platform hanging over what felt like the abyss, they strapped me in the never explaining what was about to occur. The guides hooked two thin, weary looking and frayed white lines into my harness. They tugged, tightened and pulled me right next to a gate overlooking a 1000 foot drop ( at least it looked that far) and told me to press up against the gate. At this point I thought they would explain what was going to happen, instead “click” the gate was open. “Wait what is going on” I stammered, “relax, just sit” and I as bent my knees to sit I began free falling to the earth below. My intestines just about flew out of my mouth as I began screaming “NO, NO, NO”. It felt as if the two puny ropes had failed and I was going to be a ball of mush on the side of a mountain. But then the lines gently grabbed hold and began rocketing me straight up to the sky, inches away from the canopy above, and I began swinging, like Tarzan, back and forth, inches away from tree trunks. It was scary, it was exhiliarting and it was fun. The best part was watching those who went after me, knowing what they were going through, but also knowing they had the advantage of knowing what was going to happen. I must acknowledge those who took the leap, Tracy, Dorian, Alli, Jeremy, Olivia, and Grandma. Yes my 83 year old grandma took the leap screaming ‘WHEEEEE!! You’re going to miss out” Much like the Geico pig. She loved it. Mom, well she got strapped in, stepped up to the gate, and then couldn’t go through with it. But she got close.
Can you see the toucan? I can.
After the two hour tour, we rushed a group to the horse riding tour while the rest of us elected to rest our weary bodies in the hot springs. I hear the horseback tour was awesome, but I did not go as I prefered not to have saddle sores for the remainder of our stay. Besides, the last time I did the tour it ended up being a little more adventurous than I bargained for. They however loved it, especially my wife who got to ride her favorite kind of horse.
Returning to the stables after a month long cow herd.
After an excellent, gigando dinner at La Choza in La Fortuna, the next morning, we headed out for our hike to the waterfall in La Fortuna. The hike was down the side of a mountian on steps made of perforated concrete which allowed the massive vegetation to grow through and around it, almost engulfing it as part of the earth. I am not sure how many steps there were, I stopped counting after one trillion, but at least they were of varying heights angles and depths to keep it interesting. The trip down was worth the view, the trip up was tenuous. Next time we are packing a lunch and our swimming trunks and enjoying the view for a while.
Is that Bear Gryls?
Although we did not get to see any lava, or even the very top of the the volcano, it was a weekend to be remembered, a great way to spend the last one before school starts up again. We got to see a lot of critters; the infamous coati begging on the side of the road,monkeys chilling and posing, toucans, iguanas, butterflies, crocodiles, frogs and even a sloth. I am extremely proud of grandma as she did each an every adventure set before her, living life to the fullest. But most of all I am proud of her for surviving three days and two nights without her facebook. That my friends was a real challenge!
This is about as much of the volcano as we ever saw.
Here is a short video compilation of our weekend for you to enjoy. Until our next adventure, I need some sleep.
A species related but a breed apart
Being from Alaska and commercial fishing for a good portion of my life I saw a breed of man uncommon to the populated world. Men in search of adventure, the outdoors, fortunes and solitude. They would leave their home town, point their compass north, sling a backpack over their Carhart covered shoulders and eventually arrive in Alaska, seeking to find out for themselves whether it had all to offer that they had heard. These men were hard working, adventurous, self sustaining and usually rough around the edges. Seeking jobs as a commercial fisherman, construction workers, or even digging for gold. With the advent of the PFD that changed a little as families seeking to cash in on the “free money” began migrating from all over the world. But still, the hunter, gatherer, former military breed found its way to the last frontier and they fit in well. I have met countless of these men always curious what drove them north, in awe of their stories. I could not relate for I was on of the few born and raised into the culture.
Now living here in Costa Rica, I have identified another breed of man, a species of man related to the Alaskan immigrant. They too are adventurous leaving behind school, family and friends to venture to the land of golden beaches. However I think I have detected a slight difference. These men, for the most part, can not be labeled as hard working. They are more of a free spirit, often and usually a surfer. Willing to sleep on the beach or a hovel nearby, wherever the wind blows them. They own 2 pairs of board shorts, tattered and well used, a surfboard which they take care of like a prized sports car, and a bicycle. They give surfing lessons or sell trinkets or medicinal herbs for food money. They are very slender with no extra fat, tanned to a dark black or golden brown, shaggy haired, and good surfers. Although related in the spirit of adventure, they are distant in lifestyle. And as foreign as they are to me, I am inspired by both types of men.
watching a couple of those free spirits getting ready to launch.
You see these men aren’t living in the mold of what the world thinks they should. They aren’t bound by the chains of security. They are living, chasing their dreams and doing something adventurous, much to the dismay of their parents I am sure. The older I get the more I realize that life is truly a gift from God, a gift not to be wasted. I know that often this breed of man I have described here in Costa Rica does end up wasting their life, at least by my definition, but they have to potential to do something big. They are not scared, they are not easily offended and they truly don’t care what others think. They would be great disciples, able to live on very litte, adaptable, personable and good surfers. They have a gift, although they don’t realize it, that could be honed to increase the kingdom of God, which would add value to every life.
Another couple showing off, or perhaps this is really where he sleeps.
So I find myself in a bit of a conundrum, admiring their free spirit but shaking my head at their lack of responsibility or direction. I am envious of the life experience they are gaining, but doubtful they will use it for anything positive. But mostly, I am envious of their surfing ability. So in 2012 I pray that perhaps God would use me to learn from these men, what inspired them to come here and what are their aspiritions beyond this. I am eager to hear what they have to say, and I hope it goes beyond what I “think” it should be. And although I may hit them up for some surfing tips, I think I’ll pass on the herbs.
The worst kind. I know this kid has potential.
6 month update
As this will be my last post of 2011 and my 55th post of the year (my goal) I figured it would be great to give our six month update. I already covered the year in our 2011 Christmas Letter, so I wanted to get you all caught up on where we are at in our little adventure.
Currently we have car, and we just recently got our bank account. Those were two primary things to check of our list. Next on the list is to work on residency and to get our Costa Rica driver’s license. Both tasks will require trips to San Jose, four and a half hour trips of which I am not fond.
We have really begun to settle in. We find it relatively easy to meet people here and to make friends. I find that we have an instant built-in bond. The bond of being a loco expat that has moved to Costa Rica. We all have our reasons for being here, but whatever that reason we are the few crazy ones that have done it, so that gives us an instant connection.
Part of the Godfrey/ Gugel clan setting up camp at Playa Danta.
Life in the Guanacaste region is slow, and by that I mean there is not a lot going on here. The kids have a few school activities, there are a few activities for adults, but there is no movie theater, no bowling, no malls nothing but beaches, bars, restaurants and tourist traps. So our definition of fun has truly evolved. As for Dorian, Jeremy, Ben Jake, Kassie and I, we like big waves for boogie boarding or surfing. It has become our go to activity, and we really enjoy it. Tracy just likes going to remote beaches and relaxing, Alli goes where her friends are and Livy doesn’t much care for the beach. Hopefully we can get her surfing. I have been helping coach the boys basketball team, and it looks like I will continue to do so into the new year. Tracy continues to sing with the church worship team and we both attend Bible studies with our relative gender.
I have enlisted a couple of my friends to teach me the art of spear fishing. They are eager to do so and I am eager to learn as my affinity for killing fish has not weaned from my Alaska days. Until then I will continue to stay on top of the water.
Mystery fish in the surf, a common sighting.
Another view, begging for a spear fisher.
Me on the hunt!
We still have bouts of home-sickness, especially during that holidays. We look forward to visiting, hopefully this summer, but it has been a huge blessing to have Mom and Grandma here during the holidays to bring a sliver of home to Costa Rica.
Jake and Kassie in a Costa Rican hot tub.
We are looking forward to doing missionary trip to Nicarauga with our church and have been involved in a small way with aiding local schools. Unexpectedly, we have a found a huge need amongst the local expats as well as the Ticos, so perhaps that is the path God is taking us down. Wherever he is leading, we will do our best to follow
Kassie and Ben watching daddy.
So there you have it. The biggest events from the three-month update has been our local bank account and the arrival of mom and grandma. At this rate, within two years we should have our local driver’s license, and residency sometime before we die. Until then, if you read this blog you will have to endure endless pictures of the beach, sunsets, and Godfrey’s in shorts. I figure by next rainy season, we will all be in sweaters. Pura Vida.
so this is Christmas
Instead of sleds, snowboards, socks, jackets and hats, our gifts are surfboards, skim boards, shorts, tank tops and flip-flops. Instead of hot cocoa by the fire, we go watch the sunset on the beach testing out our new beach equipment and begging for ice-cold water. Instead of shutting all the doors and windows and watching the snow fall, we open up everything and lay by the pool dangling our feet into the water and long for the Papagou winds to flurry across our face.
Jake showing off his new guitar
Jake and Kassie showing off their new pool horse.
Me offering moral support.
It doesn’t sound like Christmas, but does it feel like Christmas? It depends. I suppose it feels like Christmas to those born and raised here. I suppose it feels like Christmas to this who have been supplanted here decades ago, but it does not “feel” like Christmas to us, at least not yet.
Dorian sporting his new board shorts on Christmas Day.
A different kind of Christmas.
Jake submarining
boys will be boys.
last one in is a roadkill iguana.
It helped to have mom and grandma here baking and cooking until their backs ached. It helped having 9 different pies and cakes, a well cooked turkey and countless traditional side dishes.It also helped being able to fly to Florida to do a little shopping before the big day. It helped having a great Christmas Eve service at Beach Community Church to ground us. But it was vastly different from any Christmas I have ever had. It wasn’t bad, it was just different. I have a sneaky suspicion the next one won’t feel so different.
Now on to the next holiday, New Year’s eve. I hear they do it big down here, but you’ll just have to tune in to see. We’ll see how different that one feels.
Grandma on Christmas Day
Watch out Grandma!
Too late.
Mom watching the sunset.
Until then, time for me to put on my new flip-flops, my new Billabong board shorts, my new tank top, grab a boogie board, check out the tide on my new tide watch and hit the beach for a little surfing. Nah, still doesn’t feel like Christmas. Oh well, I just need an iced latte with some whip cream and I’ll cope.
Daddy in action
Jeremy trying out his new skim board on a Christmas sunset.
Whirlwind
I have been off the blogosphere for a bit as we made a whirlwind trip back to America for our 3 month reprieve. You see until you have residency here in CR, we have to leave the country every 3 months, get your passport stamped, and then you can return again. You don’t have to go to America, you just have to go. However, we have had round trip tickets the last couple of times and we decided this time would be a good time to do some Christmas shopping and to pick up Mom and Grandma and bring them home. A quick relaxing one week trip to Orlando. However, I have discounted the effect the Pura Vida life has had on us. We are used to the slow pace, the anything goes mantra that permeates this small country. Orlando is anything but that, and Orlando’s malls are the exact opposite of that, an area where we spent the vast majority of our time.
You see when we travel we now travel with a mission, shop for stuff that is to expensive or does not exist here, see some movies in english, eat at places we don’t get to eat at, and force ourselves to have some fun. What we failed to realize is that there is no relaxing that fits into the following schedule.
Jake digging into one of the far too many desserts we ate. Thanks Mom & Grandma!
Pausing at the Florida Mall for a picture.
Day one, shop, pick up Mom and Grandma from the airport.
Day two, eat, shop, eat, shop, get home exhausted.
Day three, eat, shop, eat, shop, movie, drive, shop, eat. Get home exhausted.
Day four, eat, eat, shop, shop, drive, look for specific presents, drive, keep looking, drive, pass out from exhaustion.
Kassie, Jake and snakes.
Exhausted shoppers. Note the long sleeve shirts.
Mall scenes
Day five, drive 3 hours to West Palm Beach to visit Dorian’s potential college, take an 1 1/2 hour tour, eat, drive 3 hours home, go to a movie, maybe catch a nap during the flick in a very loud Imax theater, eat and sleep.
Dorian's welcome to Palm Beach Atlantic University.
University views.
The view from the street side dorms.
The chapel.
Inside the chapel.
The library, it was very impressive.
Library
Day Six, last-minute shopping, all that stuff we forgot, drive like crazy to find it with minimal success. Shop, check mom and grandma into a hotel near the airport, go to dinner at Downtown Disney, a super hectic place, lose Olivia, find Olivia, get back at the house to pack about 4 hours behind schedule.
I think he is giving Alli the cold shoulder.
The Millenia Mall doing its best to get us in the spending spirit.
Another mall another picture.
Like father like son.
Day seven, get up early, drop off rental car, get to airport 2.5 hours early so that 9 people and 12 bags can get checked in, which is a blog in and of itself, fly 2.5 hours to CR, drive 4.5 hours back to Flamingo in the dark, open door, breathe.
Livy and Jake taking a break.
Day eight, sleep, and surf, back home.
It is funny, but as soon as we hit the front door of our house, or even the street in front of our house Tracy and I both breathe a huge sigh of relief. We are home, it is familiar, it is relaxing and busy, but it is where we are now living our life. America is great, it is convenient, it is busy, bustling, big and beautiful, but it wears us out. We got a lot done, visited Dorian’s potential college Palm Beach Atlantic, bought a lot of Christmas Presents, sent a ton of mail, lost Olivia at Downtown Disney, and found Olivia at Downtown Disney and ate at a dozen different restaurants. But I feel tense the whole time I am there, like I am not moving fast enough, like I have too many places to eat, too many things to do, too many choices to make. Once I get here my choices are the pool, the beach or stay home. It is simple, it is slow, it is nice and we like it. And as we walked in the door and realized that daddy forgot to pay the bills so our internet and phones were shut off, we smiled relaxed and said Pura Vida.
Fishing for a birthday present
Shopping for brithdays can be a little tricky here in Costa Rica, especially out in the boonies where we live. But one thing that Dorian wanted for his eighteenth that we could provide was to go fishing. So we arranged a 1/2 days charter out of Potrero to see what he could catch. Of course I didn’t want him to fall overboard or anything, so I decided that I should probably tag along, just in case.
Now if you have ever read this blog you know Dorian likes to fish. Quite often he seems to catch the most and the biggest fish on our trips. He also puts in the most time fishing. He likes to kill fish. Just type in fishing or Dorian in the search box to the right and you will see.
Our guide promising us some big fish.
We have not done a lot of charter fishing in our time. So this charter trip was going to be a pretty new affair. It started great. A small skiff backed into the surf to pick us up from the beach. The water was warm and as we waded knee deep out to the skiff, I could see there was some cloud cover, but no rain in sight. Our vessel was a 30 foot fiberglass inboard with a soft top and cabin for sun and rain protection if needed. There was a single well used white leather fishing chair on the back deck. As soon as we let loose from the anchor the two deckhands got to work. Within 5 minutes they had 5 lines in the water and we were trolling. Within another 15 minutes Dorian had landed two Spanish Mackerel. All this before we even left Potrero Bay.
Elephant Rock, no fish no elephants.
Now being from Alaska my idea of fishing is a little different than what we were doing here. You see when I fish I like to get my hands dirty, put on the bait, tie on lures, set the lines and most of all set the hook. Here our two tico guides did all the work for us while we watched intently. You could tell they had time on the water. Their skin was dark and dry, from the sun and salty water. They hand sunglass rings around their eyes, and the youngest ones white logo t-shirt was as thin as a toilet paper, with small fish stains all around it. They worked in unison, each knowing what the other was doing, while the slipper skipper up on the flying bridge drove the boat. The deckhands were thin and whispy, their clothes dirty, they were happy talkative and fun. The skipper, he was nice, but he was a big man, his clothes much cleanier and we didn’t get to talk to him much.
The wind was a steady 10 knots out of the east, but it was a welcome wind making the temperature just about perfect for shorts and t-shirts. There were clouds, but sparsely strewn amongst the blue sky, and this aftternoon the water was the perfect place to be.
Dorian in action.
After his initial catch the fishing slowed a bit as we headed out to deeper waters. We fished hard between some local islands, Elephant Rock, the Catalinas and the Mexican Sombrero. We managed to catch a couple of bonito and saw some neat birds, but that was about it. After several hours we trolled our way back into Potrero Bay. As we reached the mouth of the bay, Dorian landed another Spanish Mackerel. Then all of the sudden two rods went down at once and we both landed a nice silvery Pacific Mackerel, about 6 pounds a piece. Then the bite was on. For the next hour there was a fish on the line every 3 or 4 minutes. We were pulling them in as fast as we could. It was hard to take my eyes of the golden sunset, but I knew fish needed to be landed, so I did. The gear was too big for the fish we were catching, but every once in a while one of them would put a little extra fight to up the excitement. It was fast, furious and fun.
Two men.
By the end of the day we had landed at least a dozen mackerel, let several fish go, ate an expertly butchered fresh pineapple and watched an amazing sunset. It wasn’t fancy but it was effective and it was a fun way for a dad to spend the day with his 18 year old son. The next night we ate like kings with mackerel 3 ways. We even shared some with our guards, life long Ticos who said they were as good as any fish they have ever had in Costa Rica. High praise. Perhaps next year when he is going to college in Florida, he will take me out deep sea fishing for my birthday for the big ones, as long as I pay the way I’m sure it is a date.
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