Holly Beck

One time in Sao Tome, I offered to paddle a village boy into a wave. He was probably only ten years old, and when I waved him over he left his cheering buddies in the shore break and eagerly dog paddled over the smooth cobblestones, towards me. I motioned for him to hop onto the board in front of me, and he did, which just so happened to orient his little naked black butt only inches from my face. I had thought I had waved to one of the few who were wearing shorts, ripped and torn as they were. Quickly I reconsidered my strategy for the surf lesson.

“There ya go, buddy,” I called, pushing, rather than paddling, him into his first wave. He rode for a moment on his belly and then was dumped head first into the rocky sand. I was momentarily concerned, but then his little head popped up from the whitewater already laughing, shining the wholesome grin of new discovery. The gaggle of groms wading closer to shore promptly lost their composure and rushed me, clamoring over each other to be the next. I carefully chose between the ones wearing shorts from then on.

Six years earlier, the legendary surf explorer, Sam George, visited the same islands just looking to sample a few new waves. Sao Tome, a tiny group of islands off the coast of West Africa, having been an integral piece of the Portuguese slave trade in the 1600s, had been recently run by a dictatorship that restricted tourism.
Ruined evidence of the slave trading past.

The 1990s saw the second smallest nation in Africa finally accept democracy and open up to the tourists of the world. Considering themselves quite possibly the first to surf the area, Sam and his traveling mates found a few fun waves and considered the trip a success. However, as in most experiences, the more meaningful discovery was a group of humans, who theoretically had never been exposed to the world of surfing, and yet since they were faced with waves, had devised a strategy to ride them. The travelers marveled at their stumbling upon an example of indigenous surfing in West Africa! Since they had been riding on crude wooden belly boards, Sam pushed a few of the native groms into their first stand-up waves using his technologically advanced longboard. The trip photographer happened to capture that wondrous moment when one of the kids stood up for the first time, with Sam in the background cheering him on.

Just over half a decade later, Sam decided to return to see what had become of that one photographed boy in particular. I questioned the chances of actually finding one specific African in a continent of countless. Sure, surfers have “that look” that despite myriad differences in culture always stands out. Still, this boy would be about 18 now, past the culturally acceptable age of frolicking with friends at the beach all day. What were the chances he’d still be surfing, rather than off in the city making a living? Regardless, I was thrilled by the invitation to join the search party.

We spent a week in Gabon, hoping to see the famed Hippopotami in the surf. We shared an intimidating surf session that consisted mostly of paddling against a strong current in latte colored river runoff, in an area most definitely filled with crocodiles and plenty of other toothy creatures.

Sunrise in Gabon





From the safety of a boat we journeyed upriver to admire regal elephants with free reign over the National Park.


We even enjoyed the rare opportunity to tickle a couple of kindergarten aged orphan gorillas, all the while our goal of finding Sam’s protégé lingering in the back of our minds.


Our accomoations in Gabon were called “gentleman’s camping”.

We came across a local boy jumping off a bridge into the river
Of course, Sam and I had to try it as well!



The people of West Africa are beautiful.
A local home.

Our doubts grew larger as our chartered plane touched down in Sao Tome. We learned that a luxury resort had overtaken the lovely crescent shaped beach, on the adjacent and romantically titled, Ilheu de Rolas (Island of the Turtle Doves), where the village of native surfers had previously resided. Most of the villagers had apparently been displaced, possibly hopelessly scattered.


A Sao Tome woman weaving.
A boy selling dried fish.
Thus, it was with low expectations that we drove into Porto Allegre to check a point break that Sam had sampled on his previous trip, while awaiting a ferry to the resort island. Once the bay came into view, we took in an immediately encouraging sight. Upon pulling up closer, we were amazed to see a naked boy looking to be about eight years old, stand-up paddling a wooden surf craft across the smooth surface of the sea. There wasn’t a wave under his board, but it was close enough to get us excited.

My doubts were certainly not erased. I was however eager to jump out there on my own surf craft and try out the sun sparkling, shoulder high rights peeling along the point with not one other fiberglass surfboard in sight. Bikini, fins, sunscreen all in their proper places, and I was ready to charge out there, led by a deliriously giddy Sam, who had just stumbled upon a crude wooden object about 6’ long that looked a lot like a surfboard leaning up against a shack near the water.
All around us the villagers swarmed, not quite sure what to make of us, but definitely interested.

It was a bit unsettling, being watched so closely by so many curious eyes. We paddled up the point and at least fifty children ran along the shore and took seats on the rocks beneath a big shady tree. Each time one of us caught a wave the crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. The waves weren’t very powerful but there were a few sets that surprised us with their size. Other than the lone paddler and the unclaimed surfboard-looking object we didn’t see much evidence of surfing. No surfers joined us in the lineup.
Sam, the constant entertainer, performing for the crowd.
Back on land, Sam did find someone who recognized the photo of his African protege. Amazingly, not only did the young man still surf, he lived right there on the point! He happened to be in town that day but his father assured us he would return in a day or two. We retired to the resort satisfied, feeling that our mission had already been accomplished.

For me, the truly memorable piece of the whole experience really began the following day. After breakfast, we returned to the point to see if Sam’s friend had showed. It was overcast and the waves were significantly smaller. At first it hardly seemed ride-able. Since the young man had not yet returned from town, Sam decided to take the opportunity to get an interview with the boy’s father and I borrowed his longboard to try to catch a wave or two. I found a few in the waist-high and under category, but mostly I sat in the lineup and appreciated the place I was surfing and the admiring crowd on the beach. Soon their cheers increased in volume, and I was just sitting there doing nothing. They were hooting and clapping but there was no set on the horizon. I wondered what they could possibly be getting so worked up about, and then looked back to see a handful of locals paddling out to join me! Three of them were sitting up with their legs stretched out in front of them on wooden rafts about a foot wider than shoulder width and something like 5’ long. They were made of three to five thick round logs tied together, depending on the size of the kid floating on top. For a paddle they used a long piece of bamboo cut lengthwise. More interesting to me were the two paddling towards me on their stomachs atop those curious looking wooden surfboards. One of them looked to be not much older than 7 or 8. He sat cautiously on the shoulder along with the rafters. The other charged out towards the peak and spun around on one of the first waves that came in. Compounding my excitement, he awkwardly jumped to his feet and let the whitewater propel him towards shore. The crowd went nuts and I wholeheartedly joined them.

I reveled in the novelty of my surfing mates. Other than big smiles and a few “thumbs up” gestures, we had a hard time communicating. My Portuguese is limited to a few simple phrases, and his English was non-existent. Eventually, I realized that Spanish was close enough to extract a few simple details, like the fact that his name was Bernadine and he had shaped his board himself. It later became apparent that when a fishing canoe was retired, the surfers would use machetes to cut the sides into surfboards.


Bernadine
Future surboards

He looked at Sam’s longboard with at least as much interest as I was showing his board, and after I caught a few more long glides, we switched. Suddenly I found myself on a 5’ long piece of waterlogged wood that other than its pointed nose, hardly resembled a surfboard at all. Since it was the side of a canoe in it’s previous life, there was so much concave in the deck, laying on it felt more like laying in it. The bottom was rounded as well, and not even evenly, and of course there weren’t any fins.

While sitting up on it, I sank to my armpits. As the session went on and the wood absorbed more water, it became even harder to paddle, but it duck-dove like a dream! I paddled a bit deeper towards the peak with a set approaching, then turned and paddled towards shore. The wave started to lift me up and I tried to get to my feet, but as soon as I began to push up, the board started spinning and quickly realizing this attempt was not going to be successful I decided to focus simply on not losing the board in order to avoid a long swim over urchin decorated rocks in order to retrieve it. Bernadine watched me struggling in the whitewash and laughed. Meanwhile, he had been catching what must have been the best waves of his life. After one or two false starts, he was pointing the longboard towards shore and gliding until the wave faded into a ripple. He had never ridden a board with fins before, and as I was definitely realizing, fins help a lot. My main challenge was to keep the board from spinning before I could stand up and it was not easy. On one wave I decided not to fight it and actually performed a full 360 before finally setting the rail in the proper direction and actually standing up to ride down the line. Bernadine was paddling out and witnessed my success. We shared a smile of absolute camaraderie and enjoyment. It was awesome!

By the time we returned to the village the following day, word of our visit had spread to surrounding areas and the main street of town, if you could call it that, was packed with spectators. They were very curious. The kids were simply baffled by us.

They followed us around in big packs, laughing and whispering to each other things I could only imagine. They did know a few English phrases, things like “I love you, baby!” no doubt taken from a movie or a song, and they would repeat it often although it didn’t seem they were very sure of the meaning. We were taking photos of the scenery, and they were very eager photo subjects. They would cram in front of the camera and pose and then immediately rush over to see themselves in the digital camera picture window and laugh and point at each other’s faces or poses.



Sam’s protégé, Shun, had finally surfaced. Sam was literally beside himself with pure joy. Shun seemed excited as well, although also very shy. He was not at all sure how to deal with all the fuss being made over him, or the wireless microphone attached to his shirt, or the huge high definition camera pointed at him to catch his responses to Sam’s interview.

When he stripped down to his underwear and hit the water on his own wooden board however, he came alive. The waves were even smaller than the day before, and I heard Bernadine saying something that could only have translated to, “you really missed it, the waves were much bigger yesterday!” I told Sam what I had heard and we laughed together. Despite the completely different cultures, we were all surfers and because of that we shared plenty in common.
There was another boy that showed up with a hand carved surfboard. His name was Mano and he looked to be around 14. He and I were about the same size, so when it was time to trade equipment, I chose him to trade with since I figured my shortboard would float him better than some of the bigger guys. Like the others, he was ecstatic but shy. We traded waves all morning and tried our best to communicate. I rode each of the wooden boards in turn, and even tried to catch a few waves on one of the rafts. In the end I had urchins in my feet, splinters in my stomach, and was completely exhausted. It was the most challenging surf session I’ve ever had. But, watching the excitement of our new friends getting the best waves of their lives was unforgettable. Shun turned out to be the best surfer of the bunch. He was the only one I saw get to his feet on one of the wooden boards and successfully ride down the line. It was amazing. Sam was incredibly proud.

Unfortunately, our time had run out. We returned to the resort for one last afternoon and then stopped by the village on our way out of town to say goodbye. I had already mostly emptied by bag of clothes to give away. They fought over t-shirts and tank tops a little too viciously and I had to step away for fear they would rip the clothes right off my body. Such was the neediness in front of me. Sam ceremoniously handed his longboard over to Shun. Even the producer on the trip donated his board to the village. I had been thinking of leaving mine as well, but I had just gotten it and it was a pretty good board. I’m supposed to return my boards to Rusty when I’m finished with them, and sometimes it takes a while to get them replaced. During our goodbyes, Mano was nowhere in sight, so I figured the clothing would suffice as an adequate donation. We were almost getting into the trucks to drive out, when Mano ran up, dripping with sweat. He had been working in the next town and heard we were back to say goodbye so he dropped everything and ran as fast as he could to see us one last time. I watched him ask Bernadine if there were only two boards donated and the look of disappointment on his face when he answered in the affirmative made up my mind.
I went over to the truck and pulled my board out of its bag. He watched closely as I showed him how to put the fins in and attach the leash. I showed him how to wax the board and gave him all the wax that I had. I put my arm around him to pose for a photo and he was literally shaking. He gave me a huge and very sincere hug and then pulled away in embarrassment. The trio of women watching, one of which would later introduce herself as his mother, motioned for me to give him a kiss, so I did, lightly on his cheek and he smiled, blushing.
We tried to get the three surfers together for a photo with their new boards but suddenly, Mano was missing once again. “What is he doing this time?” I wondered. Just then he came running back clutching a big whole fish, wet and fishy as if it had just been pulled from the ocean for dinner. He handed it to me proudly and I tried to seem very happy about it. We got the photo, I threw the fish into the back of the truck, and we drove off in a flurry of waving. Throughout the long ride back to town I tried to digest the experience we had just shared. Mano had wanted to repay me somehow for the board I left him, and gave me the only thing he could think of, probably the only thing he had. The whole situation was simply amazing. I’ll never forget it.

Photo: Jon Steele

The best part of traveling is experiencing interesting situations with the people around you. There is no better way to get to know someone than to embark upon a journey together. Usually within the first couple of days you see past the mask that most people wear on a daily basis and into the person they really are. You learn how they act when they’re tired or hungry, and how they handle things not going according to plan. I love getting to know new people, but since I spend nearly half of the year traveling it’s also nice to be around friends that I know I can count on to have a positive attitude no matter what happens. So, when planning an all girls trip to the completely new destination of Bocas Del Toro, Panama I immediately called upon two of my favorite traveling companions, Kyla Langen and Kim Mayer. These two seem to float around the world, bouncing from this continent to the next with a smile and a song. They epitomize the adjective, “cruisy” and can always be trusted to put a positive spin on every occasion.

Kim Mayer and Kyla Langen, jammin out!

Of course, “adventures” don’t earn their name until something goes wrong. Ours began as I led the parade of surfers dragging massive boardbags up to the Air Panama check-in counter at the airport in San Jose, Costa Rica. There were five of us, plus two cameramen with boards of their own as well as pelican cases filled with camera gear. The pile of our luggage stacked together was formidable. I watched the staff behind the counter watching us, and took in the disbelieving headshakes that the sight provoked in them. I had been afraid of this so I had called in advance to make sure the plane could accommodate our baggage and had been assured it would be fine, but still there was enough doubt to keep me a bit worried.

Airport drama. Photo: Jon Steele

After an all-night flight from Los Angeles it was no time for doubts, so I put on a big confident smile and mentally prepared our argument. Calmly launching into my best Spanish, I informed them that we were professional surfers making a television program for an American TV station that will promote tourism in their country and bring business to their airline, thus all of our equipment must get on the plane. By this time a handful of employees had gathered to frown upon our situation, or maybe the sight of 5 young girls with such big bags was just too much distraction to be dismissed. By the time I had finished my speech it seemed that every employee behind the counter was staring in our direction.

It was definitely worth all the hassle! Panama is beautiful. Photo: Jon Steele

“It’s a very small plane,” they reminded us, “there simply isn’t room for all this stuff.” At that point the bargaining began. I asked to speak to supervisors, we threatened to go to another airline, we insisted we were going to sit right there and block the aisles until the problem was solved. Eventually their attitude changed to one of accommodation and they began to offer up suggestions of their own. There seemed to be no perfect solution. After bringing one of the baggage handlers off the tarmac and allowing him to assess the situation, it was decided that only three boardbags could fit on the plane. The rest would have to be transported by some other means. Since that particular flight is only available every three days, our options were somewhat limited. Eagerly, Kyla, who isn’t fond of small planes to begin with, offered to take the bus. Kim immediately joined her, followed by our lone longboarder, Jenni Flanagan, whose nine-foot-long boardbag wasn’t making the task any easier. I had met Jenni a few times before the trip, but only briefly. Back in the planning stages, when looking for other girls to add to the crew, she had been highly recommended by Kim and Kyla. Watching her volunteer with a smile to head off on an unknown journey, especially since she was stuck with the biggest bag to drag, I knew we had made the right choice in inviting her.

We decided we would paddle there if we had to! Photo: Jon Steele

I certainly didn’t like the idea of splitting up the group, but fitting six boardbags together into any one mode of transportation probably wouldn’t be possible. With their fates decided, I looked to my wide-eyed and curly haired sister who was standing amongst the crew with her arms folded just taking it all in, shrugged my shoulders, and said, “Ok Helina, with three of them on the bus, I guess that means we get to fly.”

My sister, Helina. Photo: Jon Steele

At a few weeks past her sixteenth birthday, this was her very first real surf trip. I had spent the past two weeks making phone calls to our mom everyday trying to convince her to let Helina come along. Before she eventually agreed, I had promised repeatedly to look after her and make sure she was not subjected to anything that would compromise her health or safety, so I wasn’t about to separate myself from her this early into the trip. That left one spot on the plane to be claimed. The photographers literally flipped a coin and we said our goodbyes, hoping to be reunited sooner rather than later.

Helina and I

Stepping onto the plane, we wondered if maybe we should have volunteered to take the bus instead. There were cracks in every surface from the seat, to the window, to the wing of the plane! A previous flyer had felt the same anxiety and had written, “say your prayers” on the back of one of the tray tables. Good advice, I figured. We were as relieved to touch down safely as we were to hear our friends arrive only a few hours after we had, telling a harrowing tale of their own of a long taxi drive followed by a sketchy bridge crossing across the border while lugging all their gear, to a relatively pleasant boat ride out to the island of Bocas Del Toro. Stories of the journey seemed funny and worthwhile as we relaxed on a comfortable deck overlooking the water with a refreshing breeze blowing the travel stress away. The cold drinks and gourmet appetizers, the first hint of what would be a week of incredible food, did their part to ease the pain and help us shift to an attitude of relaxation.


Bocas is a great place to just relax on the beach with friends. Photo: Jon Steele

Mike and Jessica Zoob met a few years back in Maui, where Mike captained a boat and Jessica ran a surf camp. Looking for a change of scenery they fantasized about the world’s most interesting locations and eventually decided to move to Panama. After spending two years exploring the islands of Bocas Del Toro, they opened a high-end women’s surf retreat called Azucar Surf. Luckily for us the place seemed just that, a retreat from the hustle and stress of our normal lives. As pro surfers competing on the world tour, we are accustomed to sharing tiny hotel rooms, having to worry about piling all our baggage into rental cars, and practicing at the contest break. For us as well as Jenni who recently took a job as a legal assistant, and Helina, slogging away at High School, Azucar provided a much-needed break from the real world. The open and airy house filled with beautiful teak wood and simple but comfortable furnishings opened up onto a deck adorned with a hot tub and steps leading down to a private dock. We took a look around and let out a collective sigh of relaxation.


Helina, enjoying one of the gourmet meals at Azucar Surf Camp

Me, getting right into lunch!

The first morning set the routine for the rest of the week. After an excellent cup of strong coffee and a delicious breakfast, we hopped into the boat and were taken to one of several surf spots. Mike took extra care to make sure we surfed alone as often as possible, and the first few days we had the lineups completely to ourselves. That first morning, with only a small swell running, we motored along a wide strip of beach towards what was known to be the most consistent peak. Unfortunately it was already being enjoyed by a handful of surfers, so we did the respectful thing and continued on ‘til we found a peak to call our own.

Kyla Langen rips! Photo: Jon Steele

After an hour or so, another boat showed up, full of surfers sniffing around our location. Surfers too often show the characteristics of lemmings, following others rather than thinking for themselves. With a wide-open beach and plenty of peaks, there was no reason they needed to swarm ours. Mike rode out to the invading boat on the jet-ski and strongly suggested they go someplace else. When they ruffled their tail feathers in defense, Mike made a circle on the ski, charged towards the boat at high speed and then cut away just before hitting it, sending a rooster tail of seawater over the side of the boat and showing that he was serious. We watched this altercation from the lineup with a mixture of support and disappointment. We definitely didn’t want that boatload of other surfers to takeover, but then again, we weren’t sure about supporting such aggressive tactics. Still it was nice to be defended. It wouldn’t be the first time our guard dog would have to bark at would-be surf pirates.

Me, cutting back. Photo: Jon Steele

Having only ever surfed the crowded and low quality beach breaks of our home-town in Southern California, Helina was particularly impressed with the surf. I am the oldest of 5 girls, which makes Helina my second youngest sister. When I was first trying to learn to surf, my very old-fashioned mom was anything but supportive, so I made it a point to make sure my sisters didn’t meet the same resistance. As soon as I could, I got them each surfboards and wetsuits and drove them to the beach. None of them picked it up quite as fast as I had hoped and the dream of all five of us paddling out together is still very important to me. Of all of them, Helina has shown the most aptitude, carrying on my legacy by joining the high school surf team. She still has a long way to improve, but she loves the sport, and I love that. She has grown up hearing stories of my adventures all over the world, so she was very eager to taste the lifestyle herself. I was just as eager to share it with her, and hopeful that she would appreciate it.

Helina, appreciating the moment! Photo: Jon Steele

Of course considering the promise I made to my mom and the fact that Helina had never really surfed over reef before, the first morning we woke up to see actual lines of whitewash on the reef in the distance and realized that the swell had finally picked up, the excitement I felt was tempered by nervousness for Helina. As we pulled up to the long left pointbreak and eagerly jumped out of the boat, I slowed down to give some older sisterly advice. “Just sit a little wide and watch a few of the sets until you feel comfortable,” I told her. The sun was still low, the air cool, and the lineup empty, so the rest of us paddled around in excited circles, chasing down set waves and trying to figure out how best to position ourselves in the new lineup. Helina did as I suggested and timidly started paddling for a few of the smaller waves, without much success.

The views in Bocas are pretty good! Photo: Jon Steele

After about an hour I heard the dreaded sound of another boat motor. I paddled over to Helina and said, “ok, it’s about to get crowded. Now is your best chance to get a good wave. All the girls will back off for you. Just pick a wave and go!” She gave me a nervous nod, and turned to paddle for the next wave. It lifted her up and she teetered at the top for a moment. Then clumsily got to her feet, sliding down the face and out of sight. “Good, at least she got one,” I thought to myself, and then re-focused on getting as many as I could before the inevitable crowd arrived.

Jenni Flanagan is the most stylish female longboarder i’ve ever seen. Photo: Jon Steele

It wasn’t long before the boat came into view, a silhouette in the warming sunrise with no fewer than ten bodies and surfboards, that immediately fell overboard and loudly swarmed the lineup. We looked around with disappointment and decided to paddle towards the inside section rather than be caught amongst the overly eager newcomers. Helina on the other hand was just making her way back to the takeoff zone after her first wave with wide eyes and a very determined look on her face. She had just caught and successfully ridden one of the biggest and longest waves of her life and was not about to let a pack of guys stop her from getting another one. I sat with her at the top of the peak long enough to realize that the invading crew were very friendly but very unskilled surfers from Israel. They had no concept of the etiquette of surfing and rather than take turns and allow the surfer that had been sitting the deepest or waiting the longest to have priority, they would catch a wave, ride it or fall as the case may be, and then paddle directly back to the top of the point to try again. This frustrated me completely, and after a few instances of having to pull back from a wave that should have been mine because an Israeli who had just had one and had fallen had paddled around to my inside, I told Helina I was over it, and paddled down to join my friends. She gave me a “suit yourself” shrug and held her ground.

Kim Mayer, doing some crossover surfing and crossing up to the nose. Photo: Jon Steele

While the inside section looked smaller from behind, once the waves passed the first section of reef, they would actually re-form and almost double up on the shallower rocks. There were a few little tube sections on offer and tuning into the warm green peeling lips, I temporarily forgot all about Helina and the madness I’d paddled away from. (Sorry Mom!) Sooner or later the thought returned and I paddled back up to see how she was doing. To my complete surprise I immediately saw her on a wave! She was cruising along in her trademark style with one of the Israelis flapping around behind her. I watched her kick out, paddle back into position, let a few waves go by, then paddle for another, drop in on the guy already riding it and cruise along in front of him all the way until the wave died out a few feet away from me. I sat up on my board and tried to comprehend the situation. I didn’t like the idea of my sister burning a bunch of guys, even if they were overly aggressive. But the smile on his face was just as big as the one on hers, and as she paddled over to me for a chat, he gave us both a “thumbs up” sign.

Kim (climbing) and Kyla (spotting) are two of my favorite people in the world! Photo: Jon Steele

“They are telling me to go,” she informed me excitedly. Not wanting to waste any more time chatting with me while waves peeled past, she hurriedly paddled back towards the lineup for another go. I lingered there in the warm water with the sun pouring down, and watched as my little sister did what none of the rest of us pro surfers could do. She held her own amongst a packed crowd and caught the best waves thus far in her short surfing life. I was so proud.

Me, checking out the local wildlife. Photo: Jon Steele

At the end of every trip there is always a moment that stands out as being the most memorable, a certain memory that encapsulates the mood and feeling of the whole experience. For the most part our week in Panama was filled with plenty of sun-baked hours of fun surfing and breeze-cooled afternoons digesting delicious home-cooked food while gazing out over the water. Kim, Kyla, and Jenni created the soundtrack for the evenings with iPod challenges and acoustic guitar performances. I caught my share of long warm rip-able lefts. Still, as I think back on the trip the most enduring image was one of Helina, pushing fear aside to catch the best waves of her life.

An awesome group of girls! Photo: Jon Steele

These housings don’t work! R.I.P. camera! Photo: Jon Steele

If you’d like to visit Bocas Del Toro, check out http://www.azucarsurf.com for more information.