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Back in the early eighties, adventurous young men were heading out to explore and re discover relatively unknown, and pristine, coastal regions of Central America the Caribbean, or any other area with a potential for rideable waves. Running over uncharted waters, El Capita=n Accelerator piloted his vessel to collect information for the first nautical charts of Costa Rica. All the while filing away memorable images and experiences of the rich coast, its friendly people and its un frequented beaches. Other than the few military advisors loading up the Freedom Fighters with guns n ammo, and the few spooks who were riding AOllies@, CR was on the down low. The next adventurous Page is written by a surfer with 2 Stix. He and his close sailing buddies set out for lands, and pieces of lands, East and South of Florida. Islands found. Islands surfed. Glazed eye stories of a great break in San Salvador. A wild channel, sharks, and razor coral. Know one knew. Some guys hit the Glitter circuit. Tortola, Tres= Palmas, Megans Bay, Barbados. Sure, they stayed in second rate hotels, ate flying fish, built some bridges, and drank local beer, but it was a mission of discovery...heart and soul. Even the Glitter circuit was still relatively un surfed. Working under the watchful eye of that famous industrial butter firm, Lu Lu, Lu Lu, and Lu Lu, The Sky twins, point and Q, with much nautical research, debated every hydraulic-quantum theory related to the glide. El ARoca@ expanded the boundaries of normal East coast surfdom by journeying to the ice cream headache land of the great Main coast. With just a partial Everlast wet suit, and a desire to jab the green tubes of the North East, he singlehandedly laid many a mile of virgin rail line. Had a confrontation with a wild moose, and sampled the frigid swells of the wild Main Maritimes. As stowaways on the Concorde Jet, a daring team of pre-Iguana brothers infiltrated such little known surf destinations as, Maui, (to pick up chicks), Mexico, (to pick up chicks do tequila research and take photos), France (to pick up wine and chicks, take photos), and So Cal. (Chicks wine tequila photos and what-not). Every encounter was handled with Suave, and every break was magically Double-Overhead. At the same time, on a quiet tropical bay, precisely on latitude 9 north, a single palm stood guard on a wide beach. It stood there as a surreptitious beacon for the military cargo planes landing on that pristine outpost. The bay was closed out with way over head surf. Around the next headland in front of a small fish shack, an ex Virginia Beach Life Saver-gone cosmic traveler, dropped into some outside-top-to-bottom-perfection. Surfing alone over a lava flow bowl, Guia, -(natwillgo.com), watched the rancid terror of brown-black rock reveal itself as the falling tide hollowed out monster tubes on this up to now, un ridden break. After turning gravity sideways his lonesome session ended with a fish sandwich, papas fritas, and of corse, an Imperial. Thus, the seeds of the Iguana Surf Club were sown. In a small local bar over Tuesday night shrimp, after numerous waves, beers, and divorces, this tight group of surfin= bros said, Alets have a party.@ The Iguana Surf Club was born. |
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