In Search of Lonesomeness
The smell of tear gas has barely faded from the previous night of small to medium sized riots. My eyes are no longer watering as if I was cutting onions several hours ago as my surf partner Diego and I load four boards atop his small sedan. The car is also filled to the brim with thick wetsuits, booties, clothing and an ungodly amount of carbs. Insofar, we snuck out of the rebellious central Chilean city of Valparaiso just before daybreak in search of places more suited for the happiness of the lonesome and the goofy-footed surfer. We’d begun our miniature expedition to reap the benefits of the land of the lefts.
With a rough idea of where we wanted to go things always change with any adventure one embarks on. Especially in the summer with surfing; waves become fickle, swell sometimes becomes non-existent and wind is almost always onshore during the day. But this is Chile, a place exposed to some of the most powerful swell the Pacific has to offer, so there’s always a chance.
Puertecillo
Lonesomeness and empty waves in the land of lefts is almost impossible to find until you’ve made it past the country’s most notable surfing reserve: Punta de Lobos. Although, deciding to take a pass on the latter location, we went to check out the less notable spot in this area along this 4,000 plus kilometer coastline. Puertecillo; a beach that doesn’t scream adventure given that there’s a café about 500 meters from the point, became our first stop. A razor sharp, perfectly aligned wave, reeling off rocks at the base of a towering cliff topped off with trees reaching for the clear blue sky. As the sun hit the water a tint of turquoise appeared making one wonder whether you’re on an island, but then you remember your hands feel like they’ve been stuck in the refrigerator and the rest of your body is covered in five-millimeter neoprene. Thus, snapping you back into reality.
As night approached we ascended up the steep gravel hill to take us back to the next decently paved road an hour away. Being in a non 4WD vehicle it gave us the luxury of feeling every bump and rock along the path. Eventually we headed south down the coastline and found an open space tucked inside trees and lush shrubbery somewhere past Punta de Lobos and before Bucalemu. As we ventured closer towards Antarctica, it was more or less the same. A feeling of absent isolation, but knowing it was near.
Constitucion
We then traveled 3 hours further south well before daybreak and hit a small port city by the name of Constitucion which featured a grocery store, a few restaurants and even a tiny smidge of tourism. We found our way to where the road ends and turns to gravel where a wave called Maguillines breaks off an abundance of rocks. Above these rocks a small mountain, but better described as a giant hill is engulfed by a flurry of dark green trees that resemble a cold and damp environment. We parked the car and paddled out alone a little after sunrise. A slight offshore was keeping the wave nice and rideable as the morning sun did its best to warm us up. It was a long left that presents a canvas to any artisanal surfer; one who only wants to draw lines.
The night approached and the offshores returned from their midday. We threw on our neoprene hoods for the second time of the day and got a minor brain freeze from the lack of dryness and began to surf backlit lefts. The cold night and the fact that we planted our tent on a beach without any illegal consequence gave us a sniff of what we were searching for. Our first full morning spent at this spot, we woke up to a sunrise that had a full color palette and extremities that were nice and cold prior to putting on soaking wet wetsuits; making us remember how much cold-water surfing embodies a love-hate relationship.
Punta Parron
South. Less people. No people. It was coming slowly and steadily for a few days and then we found it. As we drove further south alongside open land of cows, horses and bulls, we stopped a few times and found waves, occasionally empty. Waves breaking off rocks near the highway. At one point we got out and watched one wave for a while atop a cliff; alongside us were a few people doing some sort of construction or maintenance for something. One guy assumed we were surfers and told us, “Ve a la puerta verde. Hay una ola. Sigue el camino, está a la derecho.” We continued on, scratched our original idea of going to Curanipe, and headed towards the possibility of this wave. As we drove slowly down the highway we eventually found a green gate around 30 minutes later. It was closed, so we opened the gate and drove down the dirt path that came after.
After 10-15 minutes of driving we were greeted by both large sand dunes and a giant stretch of forest to each of our sides. We parked the car and headed west towards the sand dunes. As we arrived atop one of the dunes, what lay ahead of us looked almost African desert-like; or just Chilean, I’m not sure. Although, to our left there were a few broken metal shacks, to our right was an enormous strip of sand that formed in the shape of a crescent, and directly in front of us was pure magic. A reeling lefthander breaking perfectly over sand. The face was wide open and the offshores pushed the wave upright creating a face that allowed you to slide right down the beach towards the Chilean hills and lush vegetation in the distance.
We ran back to the car and moved it to a new spot atop a hill that was veiled with trees giving us a perfect view of each set. As golden hour approached, the offshores got so strong paddling down the face took more effort than paddling out. Alone, amidst a lineup to ourselves, solitude was found. Head-high, perfect, and clean waves of our choosing.
As nightfall approached, we walked past a mysteriously placed sink-like object situated in the center of the beach, crossed the estuary and made our way up the dune to where we’d camp and hear the sounds of perfectly clean lefts break for the night.
Buchupureo and South
As we moved further down the coastline, buildings became trees, roads became rockier and waves became emptier. We began venturing towards Buchupureo, a place that supposedly is home to a heavy, yet stunningly gorgeous lefthander that only breaks when the swell is big. We tried our best to time it right, and apparently, we did in some regard.
The sun was setting and a miraculous golden light began shimmering rays over the ocean. Diego paddled out while I decided to shoot on the beach. The sets were heaving, some barreling, some more suited for carving. As each wave approached the point, there was an oddity. The wave would hit the rocks and explode as if someone threw a grenade. The first section being practically un-ridable, made the second section the first. Diego and two others surfed until dark, finding small barrels and long lefts. Once night had officially arrived in this small, lush and rural pueblo of Southern Chile, we pitched a tent some 400 meters from the shoreline. Only to be disturbed by the stars blanketing the sky in a crisp white.
The following morning we surfed the point alone, offshore for the most part, smaller in size and clean. It felt like the end of the earth. Eventually, our final session would come later in that day as we headed further south to Rinconada. Within 30 minutes from Buchupureo, we reached a pueblo, bare and silent during the hours that still counted as early morning in Chilean time. We followed a road and eventually saw a man walking on the street and asked for directions. He gave us a few turns and we eventually saw another left hand point break in sight. When we arrived, we passed a few tents near cows roaming as if they were on the pasture and then parked the car alongside a few boats. Sets were big, heavy and cold. A theme that seems to be quite prevalent in Southern Chile. Walls of cerulean blue rolled towards the shore asking for surfers, sometimes seen as one of the many types of artisans in the ocean, to paint a canvas of carves. This signified the blissful lonesomeness along Chile’s enormous coastline and the farthest point south of the 6-day expedition.
