| Surfing Mexico |
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Page 3 of 4 
The Royal Pelagic, a crab vessel turned super yacht
“I was sure someone was going to end up in the bar’s lobster tank doing the full Jacques Cousteau,” adds Monsty. Conversation moved on, but the comment must have triggered some uncontrollable urge in Monsty’s memory bank. Minutes later the ship’s hydraulic crane groaned to life. A powerful knuckle crane, it was designed to manhandle 800-pound crab pots. But with Captain Musser at the controls, the crane was now hoisting Monsty, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of surf trunks and a black fedora, over the sea. “Higher!” yelled Bird. “Get it up there, Musser!” Before the crane stopped, Monsty was at least 50 feet off the water. Then with a quick sidestep he was airborne, one hand holding the hat on his head, the other protecting his huevos. The huge splash had the crew roaring. And almost as soon as I turned around, a soaking Monsty was back at the bar, sipping another Corona. We surfed all week, and the waves got better and better the farther east we moved. By day five we reached Punto Dos Casas, a break in the zone the Electric crew had been hoping to surf all week. With its setup of eight point breaks perfectly situated to rope in big south swells, this section of coast promised reeling barrels. Though it’s not as well known as the North Shore or even Western Oz, mainland Mexico is home to plenty of great surf. Oaxaca itself has 317 miles of coastline and a wide-open and consistent window that pulls in south swells. It’s home to Puerto Escondido, a.k.a. the Mexican Pipeline, and countless world-class point-break setups. There are also hundreds of little-known breaks, like Punto Dos Casas, that are just as good—but completely deserted. We anchored a mile off the coast and ferried in on the skiff. As soon as we were shuttled out to the break, a set of three head-high waves ground down the point. The swell was building and with each set the waves exploded against the point, morphed into overhead walls, and then steamrolled perfectly for at least a hundred yards. As the skiff slowed, everyone was already piling into the water. For the next 48 hours we played hard in the waves. Though our arms were noodles, Bird and the boys insisted the crew wake us before dawn on our final day so we could squeeze in a quick session before our 10 a.m. flights. As planned, we scored a few hours of powerful surf, pounded breakfast tacos, and grabbed a few Coronas for the trip back to Huatulco. |
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