My First Surf Trip
by Sheri Crummer
The van was packed and ready to go. Excitement was high…cross country and to Puerto Rico and the World Surfing Contest. This was my first surf trip out of the country, and at 18 to be going out of the country to free surf was amazing, not to mention I was traveling with some of the world’s best female surfers. The three other women surfers, Joey Hamasaki, Phyllis O’Donnell from Australia, and Penny Whiting from New Zealand, were seasoned travelers and competitors in the event, while Bruce who owned the VW van, was going as a spectator.
We left LA in the morning, traveling out of the hustle and bustle of the cities into the quiet silence of the desert. Well, it wasn’t exactly so silent…the 8 track tape player was playing at decibel and the stories and chatter were endless. I was truly amazed at the scenery. Only such vistas I had seen in pictures, now majestically came alive in colors and smells.
The drive was uneventful until we stopped in Benson, Arizona. Gas was needed and a much wanted hot meal was in order. Benson, Az. was a small town with nothing in any direction for miles around. As we drove down the main street, we spied a family style restaurant and it was agreed upon this would be dinner.
The van pulled up to the front, the gravel beneath the tires crunching as it came to a stop. The surfers all piled out of the van into the quiet, hot evening, stretching and making bets who would get the bathroom first. Truly we must have been a sight. Here in the middle of the desert were three not so girly girls, a woman who spoke with a foreign accent and a man with shoulder length hair, getting out of a VW van with flowered curtains and surfboards strapped on top.
After a quick bathroom break we entered the restaurant. All eyes turned to us in disbelief. We found a booth at the back and sat down. All eyes were on us. It was like a scene out of the movie Easy Rider. Rude comments from the patrons were being thrown in hushed tones, some just loud enough for us to hear. We waited for the waitress to come…and waited…and waited… and waited. She never came, just stared at us as she leaned up against a wall with her arms crossed and snickered. The atmosphere was getting a little tense so Bruce suggested we leave before things got out of hand. The five of us left the restaurant, relieved nothing else happened, got gas, stopped at a drive through and made a hasty retreat from Benson, Az. with Bruce at the wheel.
In today’s time this wouldn’t all seem so strange, but this was 1968. Martin Luther King had recently been assassinated, the Viet Nam war was raging, psychedelic music and the hippies were clashing with the “Leave it to Beaver” denial era. The country was going through a shift of culture, with most focusing on only their point of view.
It was decided before we left LA that each person would take a turn driving. Bruce had driven thus far, so when we were safely away from Benson as the sun was setting, Phyllis took the driver seat. I rode shotgun and the rest eventually got some shut eye. Something about driving long distances in the dark after eating drive thru makes one want to drift off into dreamland. I fell asleep shortly thereafter and Phyllis was on her own. About 2:00 A.M. Phyllis was done. Everyone else was still asleep so I agreed to drive.
I plugged in In-a-godda-davida by the Iron Butterfly and settled in. Phyllis soon fell asleep. Not a building in sight, a dark two lane highway, jamming to “in a godda davida honey, let me take your haaaaaand”. Well, after about 2 hours of this, it was time for a switch in tunes. One problem, Phyllis’ knees were firmly planted on the glove box. Did I mention the 8 track tape player was in the glove box? I was getting a little squirrley by this time but my only choice to end this madness was to wake Phyllis. I didn’t have the heart or nerve to wake her…heck she had driven for hours already and needed sleep. About an hour later the road became bumpy, very bumpy. I wondered why they didn’t fix the roads in these parts. After another hour the Phyllis finally woke up and said, “You still playing this song?” I told her she just couldn’t wake her and damn the road was bumpy. Phyllis looked out the windshield and in amazement said, “Sheri, those aren’t bumps in the road, they’re rabbits!” Rabbits, herds of silly rabbits, running across the road like in an arcade game. In-a-godda-davida for 4 straight hours and hitting herds of rabbits! Welcome to the world of long distance driving. I’ve never quite got over that one.
The hours of driving, looking at the country, the stories being told, and the experiences of a diverse culture in the US, were bringing the five of us into a warm friendship. Each one stuck by the other, sharing and caring. This may not seem so odd but it was wonderful in a changing age, an age where prejudices from all sides in this time period were the norm. All five were of diverse backgrounds, from different countries, genders and sexual orientation. They had become a mini family on the road.
Our route was through the south. Bruce was driving when we arrived in Selma, Alabama. Tensions were still high with all the events of the era. Bruce told everyone to get in the back, get down and close the curtains. He had become the big brother watching out for this brood of women. I was sitting behind Bruce. Curious as I was, I peeked through the curtain. There were groups of African American men standing on the street corners. People were on their porches, in the houses on stilts. Others were just milling around. The atmosphere was tense. Four white women and a white man with long hair in an odd vehicle really wasn’t the best place to be. We made it out of Selma, unscathed, but the memories etched in our minds for a lifetime.
Finally after hours of driving, we arrived in Jacksonville, Florida and got lost. The freeway system there went in circles and they were continually driving in circles. Cell phones didn’t exist at that time, so we stopped at a payphone and Bruce called a friend. It had been pre arranged that we would stay at Mike Tabling’s house until our plane left for Puerto Rico. Fifty six hours after we left LA we arrived at the house. A welcoming arrival greeted all of us and new friendships were formed.
Early the next morning Mike excitedly woke everyone up. The surf was going off! We rushed down to the beach and looked in awe. It was horrible, junky and blown out. For Florida though, this was good. Years later I would realize that some of the best surfers came from this kind of surf. To be able to surf this well one can rip anything.
On the way back to the house the unthinkable happened. The engine in the van blew. Good thing it happened in Florida. Mike had a good mechanic and the van was left with them. Mike took everyone to the airport and we boarded the plane to paradise.
After a brief plane ride on TWA Airlines from Florida, we arrived in Puerto Rico. We procured the rental car, a VW bug. After strapping the boards on top, we crammed inside and were on our way to Rincon. Traveling through San Jose and into the country, I couldn’t take my eyes off the scenery. San Jose was just like any other city, just different architecture. The hillsides in the country were packed with tin roofs and colorful clapboard sides. After my later trips to Mexico, I would liken this to Mexico in the tropics.
Linda Benson had already arrived at the house we were staying at. This house was up in the mountains above Tres Palmas with a spectacular view of the valleys and ocean. Joyce Hoffman had been staying in the house, but had moved down to the competitors village in Rincon to train. Bruce had also made other accommodations.
Joey Hamasaki, Phyllis O’Donnel, Linda Benson, Duline McGough, Penny Whiting and myself stayed at the house. There was not much furniture in the house, so Linda cut down some bamboo and made us furniture. Mosquito nets were common and we all set them up. I still have Joey’s mosquito net to this day. There was the most lovely lady across the street. Joey still fondly remembers her. Every day we would walk her goats down to the pasture. In return the lady would bring us over tamales baked in banana leaves and coffee con leche. I can still taste them, as they were the best tamales I ever had.
Soon after we settled in, a surf check was in order. Rincon is a right hand break, with a rock bottom and covered in sea urchins. We all went for a surf and it was good. Some of the guys that had arrived advised us of the sea urchins and how to take care of the situation if we were to encounter them. Easy for the guys, not so much for the women.
Our next surf break adventure was Domes. All of us paddled out and were having a blast in the small surf. As I looked to the shore a crowd was growing. After each wave the crowd would cheer. Eventually I realized they thought we were the contest!
My favorite break was Jobo’s. There was a restaurant at the top of the hill. After our meal we traveled down the dirt road for a surf. During this period of time the beach wear had zippers instead of Velcro. We were told that lightning does hit the water and to not wear metal in the water. If the storm was coming…paddle in. Jobos’s was a fun right hand break off the point. Off to the left there was a lefthander. As I was paddling out by the left, Joey Hamasaki pulled into a very large barrel and came out of the doggie door. This is one of the waves in my lifetime I’ve always remembered viewing in person.
Out of our group only Phylis O’Donell and Linda Benson competed in the event. Honestly, I don’t remember much of the contest except hanging out on the beach. The one thing that does stick in my mind is Gail Couper from Australia. Gail had foot prints painted on the top of her board so she would know where to stand.
What I really liked was our side trips. One of the trips was to the rum factory. That was so fascinating not to mention the tasting rooms. I was 18 at the time and it was legal for me to drink in Puerto Rico. On another side trip we let Margo Godfrey-Oberg drive the VW. Well, she went down the one way street the wrong way. Duline was the most experienced speaking Spanish and she thought she was telling the officer we were sorry. The reality was she had said *money* instead of *sorry*. He thought we were trying to bribe him and wasn’t very happy. After much discussion it all worked out and we were on our way.
During the flat spells Joey and I would walk down to the valley above our house and explore. The valley overlooked Tres Palmas. We heard stories about how big it got and wanted to see it from the valley. On our walks we encountered cows and found a stream. This is one of the most peaceful places I’ve been, so quiet only our footsteps and the sounds of nature could be heard.
Time was ticking down and it was time to return home. We stopped in San Jose at a bar on the way to the airport and Joey sat in on drums with the band that was playing. Such a treat as Joey was not only a great surfer but an accomplished drummer as well.
Our trip home was relatively uneventful. Bruce got a speeding ticket in the VW bus in Georgia, imagine that. In Arizona someone left the side door open when we stopped. It was snowing, and the floor inside the bus was dusted with snow. Did I mention the heater didn’t work very well?…a bit cold and wet. We finally arrived safely back in California.
Reflecting back, this trip was the absolute inspiration to continue to compete and travel.
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