by Bart Key
As I traveled south, the surfing continued being phenomenal. There was San Blas, a small village on Matanchen Bay. Then Puerto Vallarta, Manzanillo, Ixtapa, Acapulco and finally Puerto Escondido, the home of the “Mexican Pipeline” which was known for having ground swells up to twenty feet breaking into hollow tubes. Once you managed to get inside one you could shoot the curl to your heart’s content. Then I decided it was time to turn around and head back north as I still had an ambitious itinerary in front of me. Except for a few days of lousy weather which is always a bummer, I experienced more great surfing all the way back to Mazatlán.
When I reached Ventura, I had been away for nearly four months. My first night back home was a little wild. A lot of beer was polished off as I described my adventure so far. When I finally turned in, I couldn’t believe how great it felt to be in my own bed.
The next morning I visited my travel agent and purchased a roundtrip open airline ticket to Sydney which would allow me to make as many stops along the way I wanted both going and coming. Later I met Sur and Randy for lunch who brought me up to date on how the beachwear company was doing. Sur had recently made a deal with a well-known shoe company to manufacture a line of sandals to be marketed under the Jeremy label. Mei had suggested to Randy that perhaps I might be persuaded into modeling the company’s surf clothes and new sandals at photo shoots taken from some of the Australian surf beaches I would be visiting. The photos would become part of an advertising campaign designed to stimulate sales. Randy assured me that he would make all the arrangements and all I had to do was show up. I might not have gone along with the proposal except I knew Mei would be disappointed if I didn’t. Besides, the pay was good. I stopped by to see Randy and Mei that evening bringing pizza and beer in tow. They now had a new baby daughter named Bo who was just two months old. They let me hold her and I told her parents that someday day I would teach her to surf. They both laughed.
The next morning Cory dropped me off at L.A. International Airport. My first stop was San Jose where I hopped on a bus to the west coast. Bus services in Costa Rica were known to be dependable and I could travel along the coast from village to village. One of my first stops was Tamarindo Beach, a magical place where the jungle comes down almost to the sand. From Costa Rica, I flew to Lima, Peru, another city known for its good surf. I had learned that surf boards could be rented just about anywhere along the Peruvian coast. So I checked my boards at the airport for later pickup, climbed on a bus with just my backpack and began heading north along the coast toward Ecuador. I stopped at various villages along the way known for having good surf nearby. A number of them were recommended for experts only, just my cup of tea.
Communicating was harder now than it had been in Mexico and Costa Rica since little English is spoken in this part of South America. Thankfully, my Spanish had improved considerably and was good enough that I could manage to get by pretty well. One Peruvian surfer I met actually spoke some English and the two of us traveled together for about a week. Once our bus reached the Peruvian border however, he had to turn back while I continued on into Ecuador where the surfing was every bit as challenging and wonderful as it had been in Peru. One of my favorite stops was the village of Montanita. Not only was there good surf nearby but the village itself was a ball. Many American hippies resided there and the atmosphere was totally laid back. After saying goodbye following a short fling I experienced there, I boarded a bus to Guayaquil and flew back to Lima. After retrieving my boards, I climbed on a flight to Sydney. Everything up to this point was a prelude to surfing Australia and I could hardly wait.
After arriving, I rented a four-wheel drive pickup with a topper on the back and bought everything I needed so that I could camp on the beach when conditions allowed. My journey down under commenced by my hitting the renowned surf beaches of Sydney. After enjoying the great surfing there for several days, I drove south to Victoria’s surf coast on the Great Ocean Road. While there I modeled for my three photoshoots in my faded beach duds and my now well broken-in new sandals. My photographer’s only instructions were to just relax and act natural. About an hour later she was finished and the rest of the day was spent with the two of us becoming better acquainted.
Next, I turned around and made my way back through Sydney and north up the coast to Byron Bay which had a hell of a bar scene. Still continuing north, I crossed into Queensland, the home of the “banana benders”, a nickname assigned to the folks who lived there. For weeks I surfed the famous Gold Coast including the Superbanks, one of the world’s finest breaks which produces unbelievable tubes and walls. When you emerge from one of its fabled tubes after a long ride inside, you are defiant and exhilarated. In America we would say “totally stoked”. The one downer of surfing the Gold Coast was that the best spots tended to be crowded, mostly with experienced Aussies.
After more than four months in Australia, it was time to start home. The timing was good as the heavy relationship I had been involved in for over a month had just flickered out. I will never forget several of the Aussie surfer friends I made while I was there and made them promise to look me up if they ever got to Ventura. I would take them to Rincon, my favorite California wave.
But my journey was not over yet as I still had Fiji and Hawaii ahead. In Fiji, the weather was hot and the surf clear. I loved getting back into some gentler, rolling surf. The night life there was crazy as well. At one of the local beach bars, a fellow surfer told me about Cloudbreak, a gnarly, hollow wave for experts only located off the coast of Tavarus Island. Though sorely tempted give it a try, I figured that nothing could beat Hawaii. And I wasn’t wrong. I spent nearly a month surfing off one island or another. I’ll never forget Hanalei Bay on Kauai, Honolua Bay on Maui and, of course, the Pipeline on Oahu.
On my flight back to Los Angeles, my mind sorted through the last year. Yes, there had been a few days when the surf was flat or blown out and others when the weather interfered. But mostly that did not happen and great surf beckoned and rewarded me more than I ever would have dreamed. Other than a few bumps, cuts and bruises, I had suffered no health problems and probably had never been in better shape than I was right then. I felt refreshed, cleansed and exhausted all at the same time. A day didn’t go by while I was gone that I didn’t think about the future when I returned to Ventura. I came to realize during my journey, that no matter what, from then on I wanted to be close to Sur. Meeting him had changed my life in a positive way and I didn’t want to let go of that.
When I stepped off the plane in L.A., Ward and Cory were there and I greeted them with “G’day mates”. They both hugged me like I was a long lost brother. The three of us would be housemates once again. During the year I had been gone, the two of them had turned into fish and vegetable addicts. I laughed knowing that pizza might no longer be an option. They both cracked up when I insisted we stop at the first McDonalds we came to so I could stuff myself with a couple of Big Macs. In late afternoon that same day, Sur dropped by after returning earlier from Oklahoma. We just silently hugged for a second. No words were necessary. It was great to be home.
That evening, I dropped by to say hello to Randy, Mei and Bo who now was a tiny little girl. She loved to play with me almost as much as I loved playing with her. And Mei, oh how I had missed her. She was my good friend and confidante. I looked upon her as the younger sister I never had, a sister who was both beautiful and incredibly intelligent. Whenever she and Randy joined us at the beach, Mei was totally at home with our bunch of surf idiots. And now we could play with Bo in the sand. I was Uncle Jeremy
Chapter 7
Into the Wilderness
Having similar dispositions, Jeremy and I became close almost from the first day we met. He sometimes called me “smiley” as, unlike him, I was not terribly animated and my humor was always spoken with a straight face which made him and Ward crack up. After Jeremy left on his surf safari, I felt an emptiness in my life for a while. Ward and I began working
with two new team members, both carpenters who were married and lived with their families elsewhere in town. Under Ward’s guidance, the four of us quickly developed an efficient pace.
A month or two before Jeremy left, I had stepped up my martial arts training so that I could start competing in taekwondo matches. The bouts sometimes could get pretty brutal especially if you accidentally got kicked in the face or the balls. Mouthpieces and protective gear were required of course and the rules as to where you were not allowed to punch or kick were strictly enforced. But sometimes the illegal hits occurred unintentionally. The winner of the match was usually the one who connected with the most legal punches and kicks but sometimes the winner was the one left standing when his opponent was knocked out or incapable of continuing. Bottom line, you won by kicking the shit out of the other guy.
A few days before he left, I persuaded Jeremy into attending my first bout after which he swore he would never do it again. He went crazy seeing me getting beat up and had to control himself to keep from jumping into the ring to assist. That wouldn’t do of course. Fortunately, Ward usually accompanied me to my bouts but sometimes when we were driving home later with me bleeding and bruised, he would suggest that I might want to stop competing and avoid the pain. But to no avail. I loved it. Ward knew that of course and told me that one of the few times I smiled from ear to ear was when I won, which I managed to do more often than not. Thankfully, my body was still young enough that I always seemed to heal fairly quickly.
Over time I had become good friends with the owner of my martial arts studio and one day he asked me whether I might have any interest in teaching kids taekwondo. In return, I would receive a free club membership and a key to the club which would allow me to come and go as I pleased. I accepted mainly because I loved working with kids. Soon I was teaching a beginner’s class to about fifteen 10 and 11 year-olds, mostly boys and a few girls. At those ages, the kids just worship you like you’re a grand master or something. I loved it.
Sometimes during a beach run, I would start thinking about my Vietnam days and the many missions during which my patrol was deep in enemy territory. I was made leader of my patrol principally because of my knack for becoming virtually invisible in the jungle, a talent I probably developed during the years I backpacked alone in the wilderness areas of the High Sierras. I remembered well the couple of times my patrol escorted Sur and Ward on missions. After being taken by chopper to designated hilltops in Laos, we all hopped out and quickly dispersed into the jungle. Once satisfied no enemy forces were close, we made our way to a pre-selected trail and began following it stopping occasionally along the way to allow Sur and Ward to make their observations. Sur always seemed to know exactly what he was looking for and where we were at any given time. And I swear he had a sixth sense for knowing when the enemy was close. The guy was eerily talented.
Jeremy’s surf quest got me to thinking that perhaps I too should get away more. For me that meant going into the deep woods. Having only been backpacking once since leaving the service, the trails were calling. So early in May, I bought a topographic map of the Sespe Wilderness Area which was located fairly close to Ventura. One afternoon while studying it, Sur happened to drop by to say hello and asked what I was doing. I told of my plan to backpack one of area’s wilderness trails that coming weekend. He was intrigued and asked if he could tag along. Of course. As Ward already had plans that weekend to visit his parents, it would be just the two of us.
Late the next afternoon, Sur came over and we sorted through my gear making a list of additional equipment and provisions we would need. Then we drove to a local outdoor recreation store where Sur bought everything on our list. After work on Friday, we climbed in my pickup and drove to the trailhead. From there we hiked maybe three miles before stopping and setting up camp for the night. After dinner, we sat around the campfire for a bit, smoked a number and finally climbed into my tent where we both slept soundly until morning. After breakfast, we continued along the trail which had now flattened out and followed a beautiful mountain stream. About noon, we took a short break, ate some energy bars and then hiked on for about four more hours until we arrived at our hot springs destination. Packs and clothes were doffed and we eased ourselves into the hot water for a soak. After dinner we toked and soaked some more. The next day we walked out and drove back to Ventura where Sur treated me to dinner at one of our favorite burger joints. He was ecstatic about the weekend. He confessed that even as a kid he had never spent much time in the Idaho wild country. While on our short trek he had become enthralled with the beauty and grandeur of the wild country. He likened it to the surf which he also considered wild and untamed. He hoped I would include him in future plans for backpacking. As he knew I had backpacked in the High Sierras often when younger, he suggested that perhaps we should go there next. We knew that Ward would want to join us but weren’t too sure about Jeremy who at the time was still on his surf trip.
The next summer, I planned a High Sierras trek along a trail in the southern part of Sequoia National Park. Both Ward and Jeremy would be coming along with us. Ward was no stranger to the woods having been on a number of family fishing trips as a kid but this would be his first time backpacking. Jeremy had never spent much time in the mountains and I could tell he was not at all excited about our planned trek. I was pretty sure he was going only because there was no way the three of us were going without him. Ward of course was our appointed cook which he didn’t mind as he knew the food would taste a hell of lot better if he prepared it. Both he and I planned to take light fishing gear with us in case an opportunity arose to catch some trout.
After driving several hours, we arrived at our trailhead, strapped on our packs and started up the trail hoping to get in some distance before night set in. After humping for maybe three hours, we found a great spot for a campsite and shucked off our packs. The look on Jeremy’s face said it all. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? Ward prepared chicken casserole for dinner which we all devoured and, after cleanup, Jeremy lit up a nice fat joint to pass around the campfire. Sleeping that night came easy as we were all nicely stoned and completely exhausted.
The next morning, Ward was up first and had coffee waiting as the rest of us crawled out of our sleeping bags. After breakfast, we hit the trail again which now had begun to be much less steep to Jeremy’s great relief. About noon the trail wound its way into a large grove of Giant Sequoia trees. We stopped for a while and just enjoyed the moment staring up at the wondrous and beautiful giants. They seemed out of place on Earth. It was an honor to be among them.
By mid-afternoon, our trail began following a wide shallow creek flowing over a gravel bottom. The sun had been out all day and the stream had warmed up some as a result. Once we reached a flat grassy spot, we stripped and basked in the water. After cooling off, we got dressed and hit the trail again arriving in late afternoon at our second campsite which was deep in the forest. This was a perfect place to demonstrate my knife-throwing skills. Though rusty, I could still fairly consistently throw my knife from a distance away and bury its blade in a tree trunk. The others had no clue I could do this, a skill I had learned from my dad. It’s somewhat like riding a bike. Once you master the skill, you never forget how. Of course the three of them had to give it a try it but with no success. It takes hours and hours of patience and practice.
The next day our trail continued slowly upward until we were above timberline. None of us could believe how quiet it was. The only sounds were a few birds, running water when we were close to it and the breeze. We camped that night out in the open by a small Alpine lake which beckoned Ward and me to try out our fishing skills. The result was a mess of pan-sized Golden Trout which became our dinner. When it got dark, we proceeded to get stoned immaculate and sat on a log staring up at the countless stars.
It took us all the next day to hike out. When we reached Ward’s Jeep station wagon, there was a collective sigh of relief. On our dr
ive back the three of them talked nonstop about our trek. It was clear that the four of us would be doing this more often. I realized coming down that day that, like Ward and Jeremy, I wanted to spend my future life close to Sur.
•
During our long descent down that last day, I was so glad I had come along. I was embarrassed about my bad attitude at first especially when I recalled that Cory had thrown himself into learning to surf just so he could be with the three of us. I realized now that the drudgery of carrying a forty-pound pack was not the end of the world. One does get used to it just as Cory told me it would. And the mountains we walked through were beautiful and all but devoid of human activity. Best of all, my three buddies were so happy that I had come along. None of them laughed at me when I didn’t know how to do something like properly pack a backpack or erect a tent. They just showed me how and helped. I would look forward to our doing this again.
•
While hiking along my mind would sometimes wander from one thought to another. About half way through our second day, I decided that, after months of procrastination, I was definitely going to start drilling my own oil wells. When we got back, I would get things started. No doubt I would now have to do a lot of traveling back and forth to Oklahoma City.