Nicaragua & Cocoa Beach: The Importance of Shit

A pen rested in my hand, and my journal was open to a fresh page, but I didn’t write. My mind was consumed with thoughts about one lady at the surf camp who I couldn’t connect with. I was frustrated, because usually I was able to get along with anyone. She countered every comment I made with an argument, and her negative remarks left me feeling stupid and small.
Maite, the other instructor, and I went for a walk around the farm. The surf camp was located on an organic farm in the hills overlooking San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. We rested under a tree that offered shade and framed an incredible view. I fidgeted with a twig as I rambled on about how I wished that I didn’t read into things so much, and how I’m not used to clashing with people.
Maite answered my ramblings with wisdom, “Mire, (look) one time I was surfing at Popoyo and I was sitting on the right.” I nodded because I knew the right that she referred to. It came in by the rock-reef that produced the left, creating a sweet A-frame wave. Because of the rock-reef, the wave came in the same place each day, and there was always a current on either side of the A-frame.
“You know the current that comes in by the right? Well, I saw this guy swim out toward me. Then he swam back to the beach. A few seconds later, I noticed a piece of shit floating up the current towards me.”
“What?!” I shouted and laughed.
“I started to get really grossed out,” Maite scrunched up her nose and pretended to gag a few times. She continued, “I even thought I would have to get out of the water, or maybe puke. But then I realized that it is only shit, and that the shit only had the power I gave it. So I just kept surfing after that.”
I laughed again and realized how smart Maite was. She was trying to tell me not to sweat the small things; that they only carried the importance I gave them. She could have allowed the shit to ruin a good session, but she ignored it and carried on catching wave after wave.
About a year later, I was home in Cocoa Beach. My friend, Chad, bought old sailboats other people deemed as junk and fixed them up. One afternoon, as we relaxed and bobbed between waves on the sailboat, he told me how he was building wooden surfboards in old-school, retro shapes. He had written an instruction manual on building these boards and sold it online. I was not surprised, because Chad was a gifted craftsman; he made or fixed anything with his hands. He told me I had to ride one of his longboards.
As hunger lured us back to shore, we noticed the wind died off. We ate some sushi, and then carried two immaculate wooden long boards down to the beach. Chad lived next to the pier, and because the boards were heavy we decided this spot would be best.
 There were warnings on the news about the water being especially dirty at the pier. We didn’t know if it was from the cruise ships dumping their waste in the ocean, or from the sewer system in the old pier malfunctioning. What was for sure, was that there was shit in the ocean. We paddled out in waist-high surf ideal for longboarding. The waves were peeling and clean in form, although a murky film covered the water. Fuzzy and furry chunks floated around, and everyone else at the beach was too grossed out to even think about getting into the water. I remembered Maite’s story, so Chad and I surfed anyways, not minding the shit any attention. Waves consistently rolled in as we each crossed-stepped and nose rode. I hung five for the first time that evening. The wooden boards were built to nose ride, and presented a stability I never experienced before. I became addicted to the way they glided so smoothly across the faces of water. We enjoyed the fact that there was no competition for waves, as the pier was a popular surf spot and often hosted aggressive crowds. The sun set and we paddled in, surrendering finally only to the dark.

The longer I surfed, the more parallels I drew from the water to life on land. Maite, Chad, and I all agreed there would always be shit in life, but what mattered was the importance we gave it.

Check out two of my surf buddies and inspirations from my story:

Maite de la Torre- artist and ripper…www.popoyodingrepair.com

Chad Stone- craftsman and wooden surfboard creator… www.timelesssurfcompany.com

By Melissa Diamond

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