I guess I picked a great winter to escape NY. We have had damage here at the nursery, but will be ready to roll when the weather warms a bit. Also, unfortunately, my dog Milly has suffered a stroke. She has lost much of her vitality and mental ability. The following surf adventure story is a tribute to Milly. I hope you enjoy it.
Mompiche is a tiny fishing village on the northern pacific coast near enough to the border with Columbia to be talked about as "dangerous", and "not worth the risk visiting" in the typical tourist guide books. It is a lawless region where kidnappings and armed robberies are frequent enough that the locals don't even consider them worthy of remark anymore. The city of Atacames, a short bus-ride to the north, is the worlds largest market for black market human organs. This remote bay is definitely not worth visiting....unless of course, you surf.
The 800m long left point break is powerful and tubular, and does not section as you ride the workable wave racing into the calm bay. For a surfer like me that was all I paid attention to when people talked about Mompiche. I was at Canoa about 200 km south of Mompiche's legendary left. I was with my dog and my bicycle with trailer and surfboard in tow.
I decided to try to hitch or catch a bus to Perdaneles about 100km to the north and then ride along the beach to a small fishing village where I knew I could take a small boat across a large estuary towards Mompiche, thus cutting off a large section of roadway. This was the plan anyway.
Finally I found a reasonable bus driver who would allow me to put my dog on the bus...but only on the roof. I agreed, so long as he would allow me to ride up there with all my other gear. So I rode for about 2 hours on crazy winding pot-holed roads. 50km per hour in a car seems slow, but on the roof of a bus it feels pretty damn fast. I held Milly with a death-grip. She just would not sit still. I had on hand on the bus and one hand around Milly's collar and my feet wedged in to the roof-rack for leverage. It was one hell of a ride! After all that waiting I had finally caught huge ride...and this one I would end up riding all the way to the bay of Mompiche in a few different sections that all connected up beautifully.
We pulled into Perdanales and Milly jumped off the roof of the bus and head first into a large dresser on the street. The bus drive just shouted "Ella es duro".. "She is hard!" and I handed him 5 dollars. I was so happy to have gotten this far that I was prepared to cycle the 40km north along the beach to make the boat across the estuary sometime the next day. But first I wanted to grab some food in town.
As I was pulling my bicycle/trailer contraption up to a restaurant a local kid saw me and my surf-board and asked where I was headed. He told me that an "El Rancho", a sort of Mad-Max
4 wheel drive vehicle that has open air seats for 30 people, was heading along the beach in my direction all the way to the village were I could catch the boat towards Mompiche. I had to hurry to the center of the town because it was leaving in 3 minutes and was the only one heading out there that day. As I hurried to get all my gear onto this rig he shouted "Remember, do not try to get into Mompiche after dark.... Es muy peligroso! (It is very dangerous) They will rob you of all the gear you have!" I thought to myself that nobody would rob me, and if they did they wouldn't be happy about it.
In addition to my large Old English Sheepdog Milly, I have a Kerambit ( a hooked bladed that fits onto your fist...imagine a brass fist but with a beautiful pointed blade that is razor sharp on both sides and has jagged hooks near the hilt), and an S.O.G. small dagger. And I have a willingness and mental preparedness to fight, as well as some martial training (maybe just enough to get myself into trouble as they say). Anyway, my initial mental reaction to this local's warning was "Bring it on, Banditos."
While riding the Mad-Max vehicle along the deserted beach road with all the Ecuadorian campesinos wondering what the hell I was doing on their rig with my bike, dog and surfboard the sky opened up and it started to pour. Mud flew everywhere as we bounced along and I was
thrilled to have made it to the village...hoping to make it to Mompiche this evening and to be in the water the next morning at sun-up.
After crossing the estuary, which ran several km, the fisherman dropped me off on this long stretch of deserted beach...it was as far as he would go. I asked him how to get to Mompiche, and he just pointed North and said to ride along the beach. So I rode for about an hour as the sun slowly drifted towards the seaward horizon. Finally, I saw a few kids running towards me along
he beach...I just rode faster, not wanting to be bothered and wanting to get to Mompiche to set-
up my camp before dark.
The kids were from the town of Portrete which is a about 5km from Mompiche. At this point I had to turn from the beach and get on the inland dirt road. I rode through the tiny village of wooden shacks and came upon a small slow moving river. It was only about 100 yards across and looked about 4-5 ft deep. On the near bank stood a lean dark-skinned man with a canoe who said that he'd take me and all my gear across for a dollar. I didn't have any small bills on me...and he couldn't break a twenty...so I traded him some fruit that I had bought in Perdaneles and he set me down nice and dry on the far bank.
I rode the last few km into the bay of Mompiche just as the sky darkened. I set up my camp without incident and slept deep, dreaming of tubular waves.
I woke early, drank tea, ate some oatmeal and was the first surfer in the water at the point. For
he next 2 weeks I was the first surfer in the water each and every day. The second surfer in
he water was a 50 year old American named Ron from New Jersey. He was renting a cabin with some other North American friends. Ron was the most passionate surfer in their group and we got along well right from the first. Ron and his crew spoke no Spanish, and were paying decent money ($7 per night) to stay in those cabins by the point. They were the most noticeable people in the village...and certain people did take notice quietly.
I was camping about 50 yards from Ron's cabin in a large lean-to I had build with long bamboo shoots and fallen palm fronds. The shelter was about 8 ft high and triangular shaped with an covered area of about 75 square feet. It kept me, Milly, and all my gear dry during the nightly rains, and cool and shaded during the heat of the day. Because my camp was set back on the beach near the edge of the jungle, and built from the jungle itself, it was difficult to see during the day and impossible to see at night. I was tucked into a hidden campsite only meters from an awesome wave. Apart from the ridiculous number of mosquitoes, I was in heaven.
After about two weeks of surfing and hanging out I became quite friendly with the North Americans....especially Ron. We surfed the point together daily, shared stories and surf-wax during the off-tides, and ate dinner together just about every-night. This may explain why I did what I did that night, but honestly I do not know. I just reacted and I was not really thinking...had I been thinking, things probably would have turned out very differently.
It was a hot sticky night in the jungle and the mosquitoes were feasting on all exposed flesh. In fact, these bastards were biting right through clothing. So I laid in my tent in my boxers, sweating. I tried to ignore the itching of the mosquito bites, and fell into short un-easy dreams.
I awoke from one to hear some banging around coming from Ron's cabin. I was startled, but thought maybe there was just some rowdy partying going on. Then I heard a woman scream, the wife of one of Ron's friends. I put my head-lamp on and grabbed my two blades and ran over wearing nothing but my boxers. Milly followed silently. As my bare feet sank into the soft sand I imagined I would surprise a couple local fisherman attempting to rob my friends of a few valuables. I figured I would scare them off with my knives and my dog and some screaming in Spanish. And worse case scenario I knew I could handle myself in a knife fight.
I crept onto the porch and peeked through the doorway to see one buddy hog-tied with duct tape over his mouth. At that instant I thought perhaps I was in for more than I thought...perhaps I was in a bit too deep. The next second someone behind me is speaking in Spanish and telling me to put down my weapons. I spin around into a fighting stance with my blades poised for action.
Then I notice the pistol in his hand and hear him screaming "Quieres morrir?", "Do you want to die?". It is at this point that I know for certain that I am in too deep.
I had the idea that the gunman did not want to shoot me...assuming that if he had wanted to, he would have already done so. I also thought that if I struck towards him with my blades he wold shoot me out of instinctual animal fear. I would not lower my weapons and I would not strike at him. We were at a stand-off.
I just started screaming in Spanish "Que haces con mis amigos?" "What are you doing with my friends?" And "Nadie aqui va a morrir!", "Nobody here is going to die!" I was trying to attract attention and take the initiative away from the gunman. I knew that even though this man had a gun, I would not let him take charge. I would not do what this person said. He could have shot me, but I never felt at any point that I would have taken orders from him.
After a few seconds of this shouting, a second bandito ran out of the cabin and onto the porch...also wielding a pistol. Now I had two guns on me. The second gunman pushed a chair towards me and told me to sit down. I shoved the chair back at him at yelled "No me tocas" Don't touch me! But I could feel that the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Now I had to keep switching my gaze and posturing to keep both enemies at bay.
Then the other four banditos in this gang ran out onto the porch all carrying machettes. They began to close in quickly and I just kept yelling in Spanish "No me tocas". One of the machette wielding baditos grabbed the empty rum bottle off the table on the porch and broke it over my head, at the same time the first pistol wielding bandito hit the dagger out of my hand. I remained conscious...maybe because of all the adrenaline pumping...then I felt another immediate blow to my ribs as another bandito hit me with another empty rum bottle.
So I was down to one blade, the Kerambit, which because of its design can only be removed from the bearer's hand by the cutting of the thumb. I slashed one large arc into the gang moving in towards me. This created an opening which I ran through, screaming as loudly in an attempt to attract as much attention as possible. I heard the leader yell for the other bandit with the pistol to chase me...so I ran fast through the dark, dodging bushes and rocks in the sand...then I realized that the headlamp I was wearing made a great target so I shut it off and kept running, still screaming. I made it to the cabin of the woman who managed the cabins and as I rounded the corner I hid behind her truck and found a crate of empty beer bottles there. I started throwing them at the approaching headlamp...that was all I could see. I am not sure if I hit him in the face, but I sure hope I did.
At this moment the woman began screaming and coming to open her door and the bandito stopped chasing...I don't know if it was her voice or broken glass in his eyes that caused him to break off his chase. At that time I did not really care.
Maria, the manager of the cabins, looked at me through a crack in the door and would not at first let me inside. I had blood on my head and a sick looking blade in my hand, and I am sure I had a crazy look in my eyes. She eventually let me in and I told her to call the police. There were no police to call. The nearest police were in Atacames about 2 hours drive during daylight...nobody drove those roads at night. As it would turn out, even the police from Atacames did not come the next day, nor would they ever come. It was after all just a bunch of gringos who got attacked, no big deal. Maria did call the owner of the cabins who eventually sent his servant about an hour later with a shot-gun with only one bullet in it.
After a few moments I realized that Maria was not going to be of much help. I walked back to Ron's cabin because it seemed that the banditos had fled. I returned to find my dog Milly with a huge gash in her head from a machete chop. She remained silently stoic as I sowed her wound closed. I know she sank her teeth into a couple banditos. Regardless, she wears her scar proudly.
All that night we gringos sat on the porch, still wired. I did not sleep at all. Ron said my antics had caused such a distraction that all of the banditos were forced to deal with me on the porch. Meanwhile, one friend dove out the back window right through the screen, and another dove headfirst off the porch with his hands still bound behind his back. Between these two crazy gringos, my disobedient screaming, and Milly's fangs, the banditos lost control and went running off into the jungle without having stolen anything.
The sun rose. No police had arrived. We ate a bit of breakfast. No police arrived. The surf was good that morning and I was not about to let the asshole banditos from the night before ruin my session. So with a throbbing head and sore ribs I paddled out and surfed a great session. Screw' em. I refused to let them to control my actions last night and I refused to let them control my actions that morning. Those pistol wielding cowards would not take away my right to self determination.
Eventually my wounded and exhausted body gave out and I rode a wave into the beach. Still no police had arrived. As I walked slowly back to my campsite I heard a local girl say to her friend in Spanish, "Oh, did you hear the Gringos were attacked last night?" The other girl simply shrugged. I decided right then to get the hell out of Mompiche. Ron and I split town before lunch. We landed at another beach a few hours south to surf some fantastic beach break before sun-set. Milly rested her head at my feet as I slept that night.
She had quite possibly saved my life...which makes us even, because a few years back I had saved her life in the mountains.
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