Bomb Cyclogenesis

Okey dokey, here I am at Tiki Rob’s, hanging out waiting for the arrival of the swell. May as well cycle back to the beginning and start from there, eh?

This all happened on very short notice, and I’m still not sure if I can even afford it or not. And, I suppose, if I wind up living in a ditch as a result, it’s still worth it. After all, what’s the point in having money (even just a pittance), if you’re not going spend the sonofabitch on something really worthy every once in a while?

Right this minute, it’s just about noon on Tuesday, March 18, 2008.

Two weeks ago, the long-range forecast models began to hint at the development of some sort of low pressure area off the east coast of the U.S.

As time went on, the models all converged on bomb cyclogenesis, east of Hatteras.

Two days ago, the low emerged off the coast and began to deepen rapidly as it moved east northeast, out into the swell windows of a wide swath of coastlines.

Back in Florida, the yammering of nitwits ramped up, even as the low deepened. As the talk of the coming swell for Florida headed for a crescendo, other parties were looking elsewhere, and I was one of them.

As the first quickscat passes began to reveal what was going on east of Hatteras, the thought of coming down here entered my mind for real, and I began examining my options.

An email to Tiki Rob in Puntas was answered promptly, and yes, the room is available if you’d like it.

I’d like it very much, thank you.

Helluva damned fetch out there.

Hurricane Force

Yesterday, after examining an alarmingly red quickscat display with literally hundreds of thousands of square miles of Atlantic ocean being worked by storm to hurricane force winds aimed toward Puerto Rico, the decision was made, and I purchased my JetBlue ticket on line for departure that evening from Orlando to Aguadilla, one-way. Things started happening fast, and before the day was out, my goodbye’s had been said, respects paid, notifications given, and I’m driving to the airport.

It was clearly visible that there were going to be some serious waves headed down to Puerto Rico.

Made it to and through check-in in excellent time, and once that was done it was time to relax and hang out in the airport and wait until it was time to go to the gate and board the plane.

Found some free wireless, and texted back and forth with Lisa a few times. She’s been down here with me twice before, but is not going this time. I’ll miss her on this trip. For myself, this will be trip number five to the balmy shores of the Enchanted Isle.

Boarding is called and it’s on to the plane I go, and departure was right on time at 11:20pm. The lights of Orlando, and then all of Florida faded into the distance off the right wing as we flew southeast. Scattered clouds above the ocean were plainly visible under the light of a fat gibbous moon.

After passing the absurdly lit-up lenticular shape of Nassau, it was open ocean and darkness for the next couple of hours.

Through my window on the right side of the plane, glimmering above the hazes of the distant horizon, I just could make out the familiar shape of the Southern Cross, tilted to the left, as it rose above the horizon.

First time I’ve seen it in a pretty good while, and like seeing an old friend again, the sight of it was pleasant and somehow reassuring. As time passed, while everyone else in the plane was glued to the small screens on the seatbacks ahead of them showing some mindless entertainment or other, I watched the cross, with my own screen blacked out. In exquisite slow-motion I watched it rotate towards a straight upright position, and as our aircraft pressed ever southwards, it was also drifting higher and higher above the moonlit horizon.

Very nice.

After a time, first Beta, and then Alpa Centaurus came glimmering into view to the left and slightly below the cross. I enabled the screen on the seatback ahead of me and clicked till the display of our position came up, and it confidently showed us in the vicinity of the Turks and Caicos islands, 38,780 feet above the ebony water below, doing 530 miles per hour. Out the window, Alpha Centaurus laughed like a fool at me, twinkling against the black, four and a half light years distant, smirking that it was the closest star in the entire sky. The plane didn’t seem to be going anywhere at all as the turbines hummed in the night.

The lights of Hispanola began as a yellow smudge against the horizon, and increased in size and area until they delineated separate towns. Puerto Rico approached us unseen in the dark, dead ahead.

Final descent, and the cross and Alpha Centaurus both disappeared beneath smears of ashen clouds.

In the distance, the lights of Puntas hove into view, sticking out from the coastline into the darkness of the sea.

Cross the coastline, things on the ground now close and moving fast.

Touchdown. Nearly 2am in Aguadilla.

Had to wait a good while at baggage claim, but finally my ridiculous bag stuffed with a pair of longboards comes out of the little hole in the wall onto the conveyer belt. Very well, they didn’t bump the sonofabitch. Nice that. Lot of other board bags coming off the carousel. The word’s well and truly out on this one.

I arrive at Tiki Rob’s near 3am.

Tired.

Arrival sets off the dogs, and Chopper and Lucky bark and bound around in greeting. Snowball lingers at the back porch, and Harley is somewhere around front and I don’t see him.

The hubbub awakes Rob, who comes out to greet me and settle me in to my room, which abuts his house on the southwest corner.

Leave everything right in and on the car, hit the sack, lights out.

Tiki Rob. Extraordinary, meticulous, and very creative.

I sleep till 8:30am and when I get up Rob is out on the back porch painting a couple of large hand-lettered signs. His work, as ever, is extraordinary, meticulous, and very creative.

Unstow the gear and get it all sorted out in the room and on the board racks.

Once the gear is disposed of, I head down to the water’s edge, to examine the ocean for any signs of incoming waves.

A check of Domes, Maria’s, Tres Palmas, and Little Malibu, and everywhere it’s the same. Flat flat flat. At Domes, there are surf lesson people in the water, going at it in the knee-high short-period refracted trade wind drippage that’s coming in every once in a while.

This time tomorrow, it should look a bit different. I haven’t checked today, but last check yesterday and NWS San Juan was still holding to a forecast of four meter plus north swell for Wednesday. That’s pretty damn big, and they also mentioned that it should be the largest swell event in “several years.” Oughtta be interesting when it gets here.

Rain begins to fall and I finish my little jaunt by heading into Rincon to the Econo and stocking up on food. Coming back to Rob’s, hit the Punta Mar bakery and grab a few more goodies to take back and put in the refrigerator. The wind has switched around to the north and has begun to blow like hell. Whitecaps to the horizon. Hope it’s clean tomorrow.

Back at the place, and Rob’s still at it, doing the signs and I depart to the opposite side of the house where the enveloping peace and calm cannot distract me as I write these words.

It’s just me and Harley now, with the choppy ocean to our north across the rooftops, and Wilderness in the far distance.

Looks to be some whitewater out there at Wilderness, but it’s hard to tell, with all the north wind and whitecaps, what’s actually going on.

Ok, that’s about enough for now. Lisa wanted me to take pictures of the dogs for her, so I guess I’ll do that now. The rain has stopped and the light looks good for doggie pix.

/////

Chopper

Ok, Chopper’s been photographed. Hung out with Rob. Yapping and sign painting apace.

Now it’s time to go back down and look at the ocean, this time to Parking Lots.

Down the hill and into the nook where the parking lot is, and low and behold, the waves are arriving. But the wind is all over it, and it’s a complete mess. Head high to fairly well overhead, but just as disorganized as anything you’ll ever see in Florida. Looks like it’s coming in on the wind, with no real sign of any deep trenched long-period swell underneath all the garble.

Down towards Pools, there’s a few folks out, but they’re not catching any waves. Another minute of looking at this, and let’s head down toward Maria’s.

Up and around the hill and back down again, and all of a sudden things have really changed. Cars ALL OVER THE PLACE at Maria’s. There’s whitewater moving around and lots of people in the water, but the waves are really really messy. I don’t even bother to stop, and instead pull on down to Domes. Drive down the slope and park the car by the sand and give it a look. An even bigger mess. Sets are surging around the point and warping and wobbling in all over the place. Nobody in the water surfing. A few folks desultorily giving it a look, but nobody seems interested in paddling out, and with good reason. Choppy, drifty, windy, chunky, crud. No thanks.

Enough of that, and let’s roll back the other way.

On the way to Maria’s, I stop and look at Indicators, almost in the shadow of the Lighthouse that sits on the extreme westernmost point of land in all of Puerto Rico, and there’s boogie boarders out, but once again the organization is low and the crud factor is high. With rocks sticking up here and there just inside of where it’s breaking. Nope.

Past Maria’s again, and down toward Tres. Tres is without whitewater, although you can see some surge moving around a little bit out there.

Let’s go look at Little Malibu, why not?

Head on down the road, take the turn, and park right in front of the Black Eagle bar, which appears to not be open today. Walk around the left side of the bar where I can see the wave. And there, whizzing down the point, are these perfect little thigh to belly-button high clear-water zippers, sparkling under the late-afternoon sun, with a lone stand up paddle surfer in the water, sort of picking then off every now and then at the far end of the wave’s run. This little bit of beach faces southwest, and the wind that is wrecking things elsewhere is straight offshore here. Brushed velvet conditions.

It’s beautiful, although nobody’s kidding themselves as to how dangerous it could be at this size. This wave breaks in SHALLOW water, with fire coral, and a near-solid carpet of sea urchins. Falling off the wrong way in the wrong spot could have some serious consequences, and would not be a good way to start things off for the coming days of wave riding.

There’s one other guy there looking at it, and he pulls a little bitty blue twin fin out of the back of his truck, and informs us he’s going out.

I think about it for a very short while, and decide, what the hell, let’s go back and grab the board and see about it.

I return with the sun closing in on the western horizon, and then I’m in the water, with a couple of stand-up paddle guys, and my twin-fin friend for company.

Once in a while little funnelers reel down the point like zippers.

I start catching them and it’s game on!

Two frontwards to get a proper feel for what the wave is doing, and from then on, with just a few exceptions, it’s backwards city, with the lip nipping at my feet, and all sorts of contorted coral formations flying by, just beneath me in the clear water.

Golden sunshine and blue skies accompany me.

Smiles and chitchat all around between those few of us in the water, and nobody gets aggro, nobody gets grabby, and nobody gets sullen. Just a few people enjoying the gift of these sparkling small zippering waves.

In no way was it any kind of epic, but the fun factor was on in full force and effect.

And on and on we surf as the sun heads toward the horizon.

A trio of boogie boarders join us after a while, and sit farther up point, inside, and laughingly take their share as well.

I finally get my fill, and take one as far as I can, almost all the way around the corner, into the protected cove water on the other side. Paddle to the boat ramp, and exchange pleasantries with the guys entering the water with a jet ski and at least one board with tow-in straps on the deck. They’re just taking the equipment out for a little test spin prior to tomorrow’s expected macking swell.

Off I go, walking around back to the bar, where I lay the 9’8” on a picnic table in the back yard and sit and bask in the fullness of the beauty that’s falling down all around me. It’s certainly a pleasant damn day out here today, now isn’t it?

I’ve caught a lot of waves in my hour and a half session and am fully sated.

Nice.

What a very pleasant little surprise this session has been!

Nobody fell in the wrong place, the wrong way, and all’s well.

The fire coral and urchins will just have to wait till another day to extract their due from some unfortunate rider at this deceptively lovely little stretch of coastline.

On the way back, I stop and check Maria’s and although it’s much improved from previously, it’s still pretty wonky looking out there. A pretty girl exits the water right in front of me and I inquire as to the disorganization factor out there, and she confirms that it’s quite a bit less than stellar and we then discuss the possibilities for tomorrow, before she smilingly heads off to her car, surfboard under her arm.

Sun has set and darkness is descending, and it’s back to Tiki Rob’s I go.

Considering that it was dead flat at first, and then went to howling north wind chop, the day has ended quite well.

Quite well indeed.

And whatever’s coming tomorrow will be here when the sun comes back up.

Should be interesting.

Back now in the room, I’m done and fed.

Time to close this for now.