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Quick trip to Ecuador

After a sleepless night packing and repacking my shiny new Sportube with spearguns and accessories, I made the long journey from Toronto to Miami to Caracas with little fanfare. The organizers of Reto en el Abismo 2004 (Challenge the depths), a week of freediving world record attempts in Venezuela seven days from now, had paid for this first part of the trip as I am to be the primary judge.

Having long been interested in exploring the Ecuadorian coast I tacked on an extra week ahead of time to scout for inexpensive winter-home opportunities. Unfortunately the only flights to Ecuador that matched my schedule included a five-hour stop-over in Bogota enroute from Caracas to Guayaquil. Needless to say I was a wreck when I checked into a small pension late that night.

I woke up anxious to see the ocean but there was at least another four hours to go. The packed bus from Guayaquil to the coastal town of Montanita was reminiscent of the many trips I had taken through Central America.

Traveling at incredible velocities the old Mercedes bus seemed to smooth out somewhere around 140 km/hr giving the illusion that the driver was in control. Counteracting this illusion was the random half-stops at populated crossroads where either more passengers or vendors of various types of food would board. Squeezing their way up and down the aisles the vendors would peddle their wares until the next crossroads where they would jump from the moving vehicle and wait for a bus going in the opposite direction.

Some offerings were more interesting than others, dripping grilled chicken skin on a stick for example, however my favorite was the guy who meticulously selected single miniature crackers for each passenger (served with a pair of tongs) before returning with bottles of soda pop and plantain chips. It is surely an impressive feat to board and disembark from a moving bus with a cooler full of soft drinks and sticks of dripping chicken skin.

My destination was Casa del Sol, a small surf hotel run by Californian Randy Hood. Randy is a pioneer of Montanita with beachfront property one kilometer from town where a nice little point break generates the best wave in south Ecuador. We had met via email and he had offered to show me around a little, an offer he made good on over the next few days.

In the meantime I sucked up as much of the atmosphere as I could. Making regular forays into town and setting out on little adventures I got a feel for the state of things, the strongest impression being one of hopeful, expectant opportunity to come by locals and gringos respectively.

In many ways this is exactly what I had hoped to find. A great location with basic infrastructure ten to twenty years behind places like Costa Rica where speculation by North Americans and Europeans had already changed the costs and rules of engagement. Of course signs that some had tried to do so were also here, semi-abandoned resorts and hotels, monuments to over anxious investors ahead of their time.

The geography was also very interesting. From here south the land was arid and dry while just to the north things became lush and even forest like. It reminded me of the drive from Flagstaff to Phoenix which goes from alpine to desert in much the same manner. The diversity seemed indicative of the opportunity.

Coastal Ecuador is farther and more expensive to get to than my familiar Central American stomping grounds. Hassle factor is higher and as for marketability, the place just doesn't have a sought-after travel reputation. As a result many of the tourists are back-packers looking for dirt-cheap fare and accommodation. Not ideal if one is going to rely on walk-in tourist trade for sustenance. On top of all that is the fact that the water is a little cooler (now I will admit to being a warm water wimp but you have to agree there is something special about surfing in trunks). I ponder all this as I consider my plans for the winter.

Randy too has been thinking this over, wondering how best to build the business without spinning his wheels. It doesn't take long before I am immersed in identifying key strategies and walking him through the process of creating a solid business plan. When the two of us finally come up for air I realize I have hardly done any fishing.

A warm breeze slips under the overcast skyline and along the beach. Flat light. Without the wind on your skin it would be hard to distinguish oneself from the panorama. I wade into the familiar Pacific Ocean greeting it with my thoughts and swim out to the end of the rocky point.

A few short dives reveal a series of tiny fjords, which while close together on the surface, open up below where the usual suspects congregate. Visibility in the ten-foot range offers little encouragement and so I hunker down into some rocky formations and wait for something edible. There is relatively little activity and after twenty or so dives I come to the conclusion that parrotfish is going to have to do.

With two bands loaded on my Riffe speargun I dive down and lock into a large iridescent blue parrot. The spear flies from the teak stock and catches the fish mid flank, knocking it sideways. It's a poor shot but secure. Then, reaching for my knife to dispatch the fish I suddenly realize its not there. I must have left the sheath open.

Angry with myself I come up for air and pull in the float line attached to my bright orange float and stringer. In the process of trying to brain the fish with the stringer I lose my grip on both it and the fish who, clearly as upset with the situation as I am, decides to make a prompt departure. The next few dives turn up nothing, surely my due. Continuing to dive and preoccupied with my funk I am oblivious to the arrival of a small fishing boat in the process of laying miles of netting along the reef. By the time I sense their presence one of the four fishermen aboard is curiously pulling my float from the water with a long steering pole.

Oi! I shout giving them a start in return. Shocked by my sudden my appearance from nowhere it takes them several beats to react. Slowly my float is lowered back and they resume their task. Sure enough on my next dive I see the long black netting snaking its way along the ocean floor. It's relatively easy to avoid but I have no knife to cut myself free should anything happen. I shudder at the thought of getting caught below.

Not too long ago I heard a story in which someone said they were not ready for the sea. Apparently this was one of those times.

The next several days reaped similar results, poor visibility and a lack of desire on my part as important factors as any. At one point a large spotted devil ray flew by just to remind me that in fact there was much more going on than I was able to manufacture.

I was not disappointed really, the purpose of my trip being fulfilled I could leave with a good understanding of the place and its opportunities. Something to ponder as I consider my plans for the coming winter.

Meanwhile I was amazed to learn that the bus back to Guayaquil was capable of greater speeds than the one out to the coast. It was the chicken skin man who helped check my fear, if he could go about the business of selling his skins then surely I could sit quietly and read my book.

Posted by pike at October 18, 2004 09:37 PM