Panamanian perfection.
It had been an unusually cold week in April. A lot of us were left perplexed as to why the water temps had dropped into the low 50’s, taking into account of how warm it had been all winter in Southern California. This was the first time in four years that I actually wore booties to keep my feet from going numb. However, I didn’t let that bother me, as I was counting down the hours and daydreaming of how I would soon be in 80 degree water frolicking around on some of the best waves Panama has to offer.
Taking the midnight flight out of LAX, I arrived in Panama City a few hours earlier than my other cohorts, who were coming in on another flight. Once they arrived, and after being harassed by the customs agent about where we were going, I used my best 10th grade Spanish to convince them that we were traveling throughout Panama, with no definite place to stay. The customs lady was clearly not impressed, as a lot of my communication was mostly in the form of “Spanglish.” After what felt like forever, and seeing the huge line of people behind us, she finally stamped our passports and let us all through without so much as a cavity search.
Once we arrived, Jordan, a buddy of ours who moved down to Panama with his wife about five years ago to work as a missionary, was waiting outside the airport to pick us up. We headed towards some beach that I have no idea how to pronounce. We were hoping to get there early enough so we could have time to surf, but as everyone knows, things never always go as planned. We had to make a couple of stops to pick up food as we were going to be camping on the beach the next few days. What was supposed to be a five-hour drive ended up taking seven, and the sun didn’t wait up. But here we were on a deserted beach with a jungle of palm trees lying in the background and the sound of crashing waves the opposite.
The wave out front of us was your typical beach break, with one notable exception: we were the only ones there. You could see little islands scattered down the coast making for a rather dramatic background as the heavy sun pounded down on our backs. It was about shoulder to head high with the odd barrel coming through, followed immediately by high fives and backflips from the peanut gallery whenever someone came spitting out the other end. It’s a funny thing how the weather can change so suddenly in Central America. One minute it’s sunshine and rainbows, and next it’s gale force winds with rain drops falling sideways.
These sudden rain squalls were a normal occurrence for the remainder of our camping trip. One of the guys, Chris, wasn’t too thrilled about it and decided to head out to our next destination in the rental car he picked up at the airport. Jordan mapped out directions on the back of an old receipt showing him how to get to Santa Catalina, and we all wished him the best and stayed behind. To be honest, I was slightly pessimistic and assumed that we would probably not see him again for the remainder of the trip. As he was heading, out we were all waving and hollering at him because he was going left when he should have turned right. He waved cheerily back, and continued going the wrong way. Eventually, he spun around, but after seeing this, we had no doubt that we would never see Chris again.
After a few days we decided to pack up and head towards Santa Catalina. It took us about six hours to get there and we checked into a hostel called Cabaña Rolo, owned and run by a big, burly, indimidating Panamanian guy named Rolo and his family. Appearances can be deceptive, though; he was nicest guy you could ever meet. After taking a much needed shower, I was surprised to see Chris standing outside our room telling the others, who had looks of amazement on their faces, how he made it to Santa Catalina. And just as soon as I saw him, he was off again, waving goodbye and flashing that grin of his as he departed. He was staying at another hostel. One with internet. Pampered.
What I’ve learned about surfing throughout Central America is that points and reefs need to be bigger than chest high for them to really work, otherwise they get really fat and slow, and you can’t really do too much other than feeling bogged down as you pump down a slow line. Santa Catalina was no exception. We awoke the next day to fat 2-4 foot waves, but had to wait for the tide to fill in as the sharp rocks underneath will undoubtedly rip your fins out thrusting you into the cheese grader of lava rocks that lay underneath the shallow pool of water. It may look inviting seeing the waves peeling down with an empty lineup, but that is exactly why there is no one out during this time. Check the tides and only paddle out on a mid to high tide, as to avoid any possible misfortunes.
Rather than making the exceptionally long paddle straight from the beach – and trust me, it’s a shoulder burner – we walked around the backside along the prickly lava rock reef and jumped into the ocean.
The wave itself was playful and fun, but got crowded really quickly with other tourist surfers from different parts of South America, American ex-pats, Dutch European backpackers, and of course, the locals who are super friendly and always in the perfect spot. And the locals rip! The kids boost airs and throw carves reminiscent of Taylor Knox. They easily put to shame some the best next up and coming groms here in the States. We were lucky enough to have Jordan with us, as he’s been living in Santa Catalina as a local missionary working closely with the local kids. It’s great to see such a close-knit community and the respect they have for each other. Getting to know these kids really helped improve our wave count, as they would call out to us to drop in and take some of the better waves that were coming through. Towards the end of our trip we started to see what “La Punta” was capable of with head high to double overhead waves barreling perfectly down the line. Seeing this wave come to life was a dream come true, and it to continued to get bigger and faster, along with the crowd.
The nightlife in Santa Catalina is pretty mellow. There are plenty of places where you can grab a man soda, and there’s a dance hall if you’re feeling frisky. Most of the other tourists come for the scuba diving, which Santa Catalina is well-known for. La Punta was kept a secret among the locals for quite a long time. Now that it’s been discovered, the locals are friendly and the town is clean. The locals know they can make more money from tourists coming in to visit, so they all have a type of coalition to keep drugs out of their community. Make sure you grab a “duro,” a type of frozen ice fruit concoction you can get in different flavors that cost only 25¢. It’s probably the most refreshing thing to have after a long day of surfing.
