An April Encounter with Siargao Waves
On Surfing, Patience, and Understanding Waves
“They are rather small,” the hippie selling souvenirs at Cloud 9’s boardwalk shrugged her shoulders when I motioned the fierceness of the waves.
“They seem furious enough,” I countered. We were at the three-story boardwalk, looking at the lapping tongues of the Pacific as they peaked and exploded by the lighthouse. The ocean’s roaring and breaking left shy tremors beneath our feet. But the hippie just continued singling out hair strands from her scalp and uprooting them while I was already entertaining the idea of possible tsunamis hitting the Siargao shore.
“Ber months, come here in –ber months,” she said, swinging her hammock with her body. In September, Siargao hosts an annual surfing competition, and wave riders — local and foreign — surge in this part of Surigao del Norte as –ber months approach.
But on a sunny April afternoon, no one was around except the two of us and two dogs idling on the floor.
“These waves are big enough for me,” I admitted. She then advised me to take a surfing tutorial.
“I might do that tomorrow,” I answered.
“Wa lagiy taw? (Where are the people?)” I then asked, uncomfortable with the silence filled by thunders from the ocean’s bowels.
“Wap-a may taob, (The tide has not arrived yet),” she answered. True to her words, around three in the afternoon, as the sea started to swell, men and women trotted the boardwalk with boards as varied as their nationalities. Advanced surfers, beginners, and spectators like me huddled around the three-story structure. Cloud 9 became — as the locals jokingly said — crowd 9.
Perhaps this is what surfing is all about: to know when to surrender, to know when to rebel.
Before bringing the doe-eyed newbies to the waves, each surfing tutor oriented them about the basics: the right positioning of their feet, the right body posture, the right paddling.
“No going to the advanced waves, OK? Look at other surfers’ boards to avoid ‘boogs!’ OK?”
The local surfer with a body sculptured by the Cloud 9 waves collided his two hands against each other to provide a mental picture of boogs. Somehow, the European tourist could grasp what he was trying to say.
Aside from the thunderous waves, the chest-deep water below the boardwalk was filled with feminine screams. Intermittent woo-hoos of those who successfully rode the waves interposed the shrieks of failure. Past the excited and eager-to-learn, past the light tower, were the advanced ones — kids and adults glistening under the April sun. Perhaps these kids’ umbilical cords are connected to the sea; their affinity is one with the waves.
Confidently riding the boards, they glided on the Pacific giants, and hopped from one swashing wave to another. Their sleekness reminded me of the performers of Cirque du Soleil. They surrendered their body to the waves only to reclaim it once more. They abandoned their bodies to the surge only to go against it.
Perhaps this is what surfing is all about: to know when to surrender, to know when to rebel.
“When the waves are coming, get ready. Put your weight on your upper body, climb on the board, left foot perpendicular to the board, right foot parallel to the nose. Put more of your weight on your left foot,” Jet, whom I bumped into at the airport, instructed me. He picked up a guest while I was looking for a ride to Cloud 9.
We were west of the boardwalk — another place for the beginners — to avoid the crowd at Cloud 9 that swelled with the sea.
“Look at the waves,” he told me after another failed attempt at riding a relatively small wave. Not far from me, a foreign woman shrieked when a wave toppled her board over. It was her first successful ride after an hour or so of practice.
I diverted my gaze to my instructor and started doubting his tutorial skills. I found his American accent phony, especially when he dropped the tutorial price.
“It’s three hundred for the tutorial. Two hundred for the board. All in all, five hundred an hour,” Jet said on our way to Cloud 9. Despite the hefty price, I agreed.
If Siargao’s uniqueness can be found in its waves, then I must ride it. But with his advice, “look at the waves,” I started questioning myself if I made the right decision by hiring him. My inability to follow Jet’s instructions did not bother him, and he remained calm and smiling.
“Paddle!” he shouted at me. He did not look too far away. I started paddling toward him, but I did not get any nearer. I soon noticed surfing, especially for the newbie, was more of paddling and waiting than actual riding of the waves. It is a test of patience, and those who do not have it, will flunk, fall into an ocean of disappointment and embarrassment. Paddle after a tiring paddle, I was able to reach him.
If Siargao’s uniqueness can be found in its waves, then I must ride it.
“There are too many waves. Which one should I ride?” I complained. The waves all looked the same — all greedy to reach the shore. But the more I stared at them, they started to vary. So perhaps what he meant by “look” was “read.”
Read closely, just like reading a complex novel. And perhaps, the test of patience can only be achieved through close reading. Read closely to completely grasp the unpredictability that is Siargao waves. All this time, Jet was reading the waves for me.
“That’s a weak wave. Wait for the perfect one.” He pointed to a coming one. I followed the direction of his gaze.
“Get ready. A good one is coming,” he said. I saw a beautiful, big-bellied wave coming our way.
I paddled and rode the board while he pushed it from behind. “Balance!” he shouted. I had a shaky start, but I instantly made my footing confident and strong.
“Pump! Pump!” I pumped the board with my right foot to prod my ride further. When the wave reached its limit, I freely fell into the sea. Upon surfacing from the water, my grin rivaled the April weather — sunny, warm, blissful.
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