The Discovery of Witch's Finger

A local surfer had told me there were a few good, uncrowded waves up the coast. Breaks close to town were surprisingly crowded. Despite favorable winds throughout the day, people were getting on them at sunrise and around 8 or 9 AM surf camps would show up with vans of surfers, flooding the peak. When that happened it was game over. A mixture of intermediate and sometimes even beginner surfers in the lineup getting pushed into waves, cutting people off, and ditching boards, turned a civil lineup into a zoo.

So upon seeing a couple vans arrive where I was surfing, I got out of the water and decided to do a little surf exploration. I started driving up the coast to see what I could find. I was on a solo mission to find a diamond in the rough, hoping there could be something surfable with lower crowds; but with no more than a vague tip that could have easily been a misdirection, I was flying blind and didn't expect much.

The driving conditions reduced my chances further. It was a one-lane highway with dangerous driving. Some cars were cruising leisurely, below the speed limit with no apparent urgency, while trucks, vans, and busses were willing to swerve into oncoming traffic, risking accident to get past them and save a few seconds on their commute. This type of driving was expected; I devoted more attention to surprise hazards. Roadside goats and camel crossings were a regular occurrence. Then there was an assortment of random items that don't belong in the road: a wooden cart, old tire, smoke from a burning pile of trash, or a dead animal.

The weirdest was a human - or possibly he was a zombie. On an early morning, I was on the same stretch of road, with the sun still below the mountains, the dawn light tinting everything shades of green. I was driving fast, eager to check the waves and not fully awake yet when I was jolted to attention. Well outside of town and away from any dwellings, I came around a gentle bend to see a grown man standing in the road staring right at me with hollow eyes. There was no evidence suggesting he had a reason to be there. No broken down car, no animals he was herding, nothing. A grown man looking to be in his 40's in unassuming Moroccan attire, the hood from his sweatshirt covering everything but is face, he was about a third of the way into my lane - well into the car's path.

He didn't wave for help, didn't move an inch to get out of the way, just stood there like the grim reaper, eyes unblinking and mouth slightly open, looking directly at me through the windshield. Startled and confused I hit the breaks hard, started steering the car into the opposite lane, and flashed my brights. "What the hell is wrong with this guy?!"

Further mystifying me, when I passed him moving much slower but still trying to get by quick enough to avoid a threat... he didn't move a muscle. Completely unfazed by almost being plowed down by a car, he just turned his neck slowly and continued staring directly at me as I passed by. Had he just collected my soul?

Thankfully today there were no road zombies. Trying to keep one eye on the road and another on the surf I cautiously started my exploration.

Whenever I saw a clear turnout off the highway, I'd take it. These little dirt roads often lead to a small clearing for parking or informal camping near the water. On some stretches of the coast, I could see the waves from the highway, which was more convenient than pulling over and walking to the cliff's edge, but could be a little deceiving. There was a good chance I would drive by a great spot between sets, completely missing the wave.

There wasn't anything around really. Rocky cliffs lined the ocean to my left, sand and shrub covered mountains on my right. Apart from some scraggly and thin trees clustered around ravines, the only vegetation was cacti and a few variations of desert-hardened shrubs. The sparse rain of this region couldn't sustain anything else.

Some of the pullouts had a few parked cars. It seemed like most were fisherman, some were campers, and very few were surfers. Was this a good or bad sign?

I was about 30 minutes from the nearest town but felt much further from civilization.

There were a few small fishing outposts which were basically some pieces of plastic draped over sticks serving as shade structures. I saw a few huts dug into the side of the cliff. Every 5 to 10 km or so there would be a semi permanent green tent that looked like a one to two man military outlook post. I guess this was some sort of surveillance system for maritime threats, but perhaps they were trying to contain a zombie outbreak. The only other reminder of our globalized world was a shipping container that had been washed ashore. Based on its condition I thought it must've washed up fairly recently. If it had arrived with any goods, they'd been ransacked.

Checking the map at an unpromising pullout I could see I was getting close to the end of opportunity. The road would soon veer further from the ocean, diminishing my chances of finding waves even further. Being able to at least see swell lines from the road kept my hopes up. I didn't have the inspiration to randomly pull off on dirt roads and hike ten or twenty minutes just to check random stretches of coast.

I decided to see out the rest of the coastline before turning back. About two minutes up the road, I caught a lucky break.

With my quick glances to the ocean becoming more and more frequent, I saw what I was looking for. Clean lines far up the coast were wrapping around a rocky outcropping and peeling in toward the shore. It looked much bigger than what I had just surfed. Apparently this stretch of coast was more exposed and picking up much more swell.

I drove by as slowly as I could without risking getting rear-ended by a car behind me. As soon as I passed the point I flipped the car around and did another drive-by.

"Yep! That is definitely a wave."

A set was rolling through and waves were going unridden for what looked like hundreds of meters. From this vantage point I couldn't tell how big it was or how clean it was, but I felt the spark of excitement in possibly having found a killer wave.

Having passed the wave now, I pulled over at the next possible turnout and jumped out of the car to get a closer look.

I walked over the rocks and between the cacti to the cliffs that line in the ocean. I needed a closer look at this thing to see if it was for real. When I got to the edge of the cliff, which was about 2 to 3 stories high over a shoreline of jagged boulders, I confirm it: this was the real deal.

I got nervous. The wave was even more perfect than I had imagined after my first glance. Breaking out front of a set of ugly jagged rocks that reached out into the ocean like a witches finger, the wave peeled with almost perfect consistency for 300m or more.

I could now also see there were two guys out. This gave me a little more scale helping me see how big it really was - well overhead - and confirmed it was possible to get down the cliffs and out there.

I watched one of the surfers go for a set wave. He charged into it, flew down the face off the takeoff, and carved the wave like a pro. He linked big bottom turns with aggressive top turns all the way down the line for what felt like an eternity. With a few rare exceptions, my entire life has been surfing waves that last only a few few seconds. By my standards, 3 turns was a great wave, and 3 seconds was a long time. This guy rode the wave for at least 30 seconds before pulling out... and he could've milked it even further.

I scanned the break for evidence that would bring me back to reality. I couldn't see any big rocks protruding from the water on the inside. I hadn't seen any close out sections yet. It didn't look like the wave ever go fat and backed off. There were no surf camp vans in sight.

Why were there only two guys out on such a perfect wave?

I learned later that there were a few reasons. One is that the wave actually didn't break that often. It needed a specific swell on a specific tide, which rarely aligned. While there was a place to park and a keyhole from which to get in and out I didn't know that yet. And it was possibly the sketchiest of paddle outs AND paddle ins I had experienced to date. (South Africa would later top that, but that's a different story.)

By chance I had picked the right day and time for wave exploration, but I needed a bit more luck to make it in and out alive, particularly on this first session without any knowledge about where to go.

After seeing the first surfer take a wave, I knew immediately I was paddling out. I had no doubt I was going to catch one of those. I just needed to find out how to get there. Cliffs lined the ocean for as far as I could see to the left and right. I checked Google Maps satellite images on my phone and there was no obvious entry point. My best guess to make the approach was via a gully that ran out to the water down towards the last section of the wave. I assumed that was where these guys got in so I jumped back in the car and drove down toward it to see if I could spot where they had parked.

I couldn't find any other parked cars, but I did find a turn off near the top of the gully. I parked there and in my sandals hastily jogged down between the cacti to see if there was a way down to the water. I got to the edge of the gully and could see there was a path to get down to the shore. I later learned this was only used by fishermen. I figured this was about as good as it was going to get and was so excited to get in the water I wasn't thinking straight. I went back up to the car, hastily threw on my wetsuit, grabbed my board, and gingerly navigated the path down toward the gully barefoot.

I wasn't sure if it was OK to leave my car on the side of the road, but in my state of froth I figured "if I just catch one of these bombs, I'd be okay with walking back to town." I might have to run from the zombie killer but chances were good he had been hit by a truck by now.

Making my way down the gully, avoiding the cacti and some batches of broken glass, I made it to the water's edge. At the mouth of the gully there were big slanted slabs of rock rising up out of the water. They were positioned at about a 45° angle rising out from the ocean in toward shore. The slabs were parallel with the mountains behind me and must've been formed by the same tectonic pressures. There were about four or five big slabs stacked on top of each other each separated by about a one meter gap. They were close enough for me to scramble from one to the other but far enough apart that I could fall in between if I lost my balance.

With each wave the ocean surged up onto the outermost slab sometimes reaching the second or third row. When the ocean pulled back it revealed a bed of jagged cinder-block-sized boulders.

I imagined what would happen if I mistimed the entry. I could get hit by a wave and slide down into one of the crevices between the slabs. Or, if I fell on the first slab, the water would retreat, dragging me over a bed of sharp rocks only to surge up again and roll me back over them. I shook my head and shoulders, waking myself up and pushing the thought out of my mind.

As excited as I was, it was very clear I needed to navigate this one carefully. It also crossed my mind that it was going to be really difficult to get back in. I hoped there was a sandy shore somewhere down the coast I could paddle in to. Maybe I'd be able to see it once I got into the water or the other surfers could let me know.

"I'll figure that out later." I thought, "First I need to catch one of these waves."

I staged myself on the 3rd slab, safe from the surges, but within dashing distance of an entry. I double checked my leash and mentally prepared to make a go for the water. If I was a religious man this is when I would have said a prayer.

I waited anxiously for a set to pass. When the last wave receded, I quickly but carefully climbed over and perched myself on first slab. Regardless of the size, I had to go on the next surge. If I stood there without jumping in, I'd lose my footing. If I tried to retreat, I'd likely get hit in the back and pushed into one of the crevices. There was no turning back now.

Luckily the next wave that rolled up was just big enough for me to jump onto as the white water pushed up onto the rocks but not too big to manage.

I jumped onto my board just as the wave was hitting the base of the slab and rode the backwash out toward sea. I didn't know what was below me. I didn't know how deep it was. I didn't know if there were more waves coming behind it. I just knew the best thing to do was paddle like hell out into deeper water.

Further out, feeling safe, I turned around and looked at my entry point, "How the hell am I going to get back in?" From my new vantage point I could see it was even sketchier than I had thought. My judgement was still clouded by excitement but my luck hadn't run out yet. There was little use in worrying about the exit now. It's time to go catch a few waves!

It probably took me about 20 minutes to paddle up to the point, but I didn't notice the workout. I was mesmerized by the perfect rights rolling in ahead of me. Mind-surfing them I was already stoked just to be amongst these beauties. I took mental notes, surveying the inside for hazards and imperfections. There didn't seem to be much to be worried about. Some of the smaller waves pushed up against the rocky shoreline, but the set waves appeared to break in deep water.

While the entry was hazardous, the wave was inviting.

I didn't have the self discipline to make it all the way up to the point on my first paddle out. I was so excited to get a wave, I flipped around and jumped on the shoulder of one of the set waves the other two surfers had let pass.

The drop in wasn't crazy, steep, or technical, but it was glorious. I picked up amazing speed, felt that great rush, and never felt threatened of being pitched or steamrolled. It was like the wave wanted to be ridden, not like most others that try to buck me off.

I picked up more speed than expected off the takeoff. It's an unusual combination to have a relatively gentle takeoff, but fast drop. Woah. Part of this was due to the size. It was a few feet overhead. Part was the swell strength, we were getting long period from the North Pacific with plenty of energy.

I looked out in front for any obstructions, then over my shoulder at the wave as I carved my first bottom turn and eyed where I could make a safe top turn.

At this point, a month into the trip, riding almost exclusively rights, I was getting more comfortable going backside. I had recently had an epiphany: let the wave do the work. I didn't need to pump and push and pull to get speed. I just needed to stay closer to the pocket where all the power was, focus on clean turns at the right time, and follow the wave's lead.

I liked how on stronger waves, I could lean back really far into my bottom turn, digging the heel side rail into the water, putting a lot of pressure on my board but not straining my legs. I loved how my board responded - every time, right on queue, it would spring me back up the face with tremendous speed.

I found the top turns less thrilling. It was cool to bring all that speed to a sudden halt, releasing all of the energy. And standing on the top of the wave looking down was an awesome vantage point that made my stomach drop on bigger waves like this one. But the real thrill started again once I began flying back down the face.

I repeated this down the line adjusting the arc of my turns to account for slightly faster or slower sections, but the wave was remarkably consistent. I stopped counting after about 4 turns, but I'm guessing I did 15-20 on that first wave. When I finally kicked out, legs burning, heart pumping, and literally laughing out loud in disbelief, I was back at the gully.

In subsequent sessions on even bigger days, I used the gully as a marker to see how long my rides were. The gully was, by my best estimate, 300m from the peak. Big set waves could stretch for another 100m past the gully.

After that first wave, I had one of the best feelings I've ever had as a surfer. I had traveled around the world, looking for an amazing wave that I would remember for the rest of my life, full of doubts about whether or not I could actually find it. I had. I distinctly remember paddling back to the point, smiling, looking at the waves rolling in and thinking this was off the cover of a magazine.

Little did I know at the time, I'd be chasing this new high for years after.

On the way back I paddled up next to another surfer who had taken one of the waves behind me. I was a little cautious in approaching him as I didn't want to encroach on his dream session of just him and his buddy out at such a wonderful wave. He looked at me with wide eyes and a big smile, clearly also super stoked and I knew there wasn't anything to worry about. He seemed happy to see another surfer in the water.

"Where did you come from from? I didn't see you paddling out."

Pointing back towards the gully, I replied, "I came in over there. Isn't that where you guys paddled out?"

"The entry is up here near the peak. There's a little keyhole."

I looked over and I could see cars parked on the cliff at the base of the witches finger. There were even a few other onlookers who seemed to be evaluating the conditions.

"Oh OK, I was worried about having to get out of the water down there."

"Nah bru, you can only get in and out at the keyhole. The next beach is 2 or 3 km down. You can get out there, but then you have to walk all the way back. It's better to just paddle back up to the point, try to catch a small one in, and make it through the keyhole. But it's super sketchy. There are shallow rocks and it's only a small area about 1m wide that you can make it through. If you get washed down past the keyhole your screwed."

Duly noted I thought.

We paddled back up to the point where I waited to catch a proper set wave all the way from the top.

I surfed for three hours until the tide came up and the wave stopped working. I never stopped to rest but wasn't getting tired. Between the three of us we had our choice of waves and never had to wait longer than a minute before jumping on another one. With the length of the rides and the consistency of the sets, it was rare that all three of us were at the point at the same time.

The fatigue hit me like a ton of bricks when I got back to the car. I was dehydrated, sunburnt, hungry, and stoked out of my mind.