just in case you guys didn't get a copy of last sunday's MB, reproduced below is my article on surfing at bagasbas beach in daet.

Riding waves, saving lives: Surf’s up at Bagasbas Beach
Text and photos by Alman Dave O. Quiboquibo

“Something must be taking place in the Pacific,” says Owen Andrade, as he looks out onto the long stretch of Bagasbas Beach one peaceful Saturday morning, during the transition between summer and the season of typhoons. This is an odd time for this slice of beach on the outskirts of the town of Daet in Camarines Norte. Usually, at this time of year the waters are flat, and approach the dark, fine sand of Bagasbas quietly, tumbling in with little froth, secretly keeping the otherwise perilous back currents that have pulled many unsuspecting beachcombers to treacherously dangerous depths.

But the beach, a gloomy stretch of dark sand where not a single palm tree stands, and which could be ghostly empty on weekdays and when waves are absent – is bustling with activity. Moderate waves are rolling into the beach, and boards long and short are busy shuffling from water to sand. Surfing season in Bagasbas arrives usually in late August, and may well last until September, when winds swirling in the Pacific Ocean push in swells that swallow novice riders whole, and intimidate even those who are experienced.

Back in the day, locals referred to the sea that lapped the shores of Bagasbas as dark water, owing to the fact that it has claimed many lives. But less and less people have drowned since Owen organized the volunteer lifeguard brigade, composed mostly of local surfers who share boards and duties of watching over the beach. The prominent warning about dangerous currents and swimming at one’s own risk placed near the lifeguard station had been temporarily put aside – there are several life guards on duty, and at play as well.

“We can’t surf knowing that someone is still under the water,” Owen explains. Whether he put together this brigade to save lives, and surfing became secondary, or whether they were surfers first, who also happen to be trained in saving and resuscitating drowning victims, isn’t important anymore, considering their contribution to bringing life back to Bagasbas Beach.

And the program has yielded recruits, as well as converts. Mocha Edusma, a local surfer and also a volunteer lifeguard, is one of the top women surfers in the country today. She moved to Daet 13 years ago, and although she’d often seen other people riding the waves, she only got very interested in the sport when she and two of her friends were saved from grave danger by a surfer. Although a capable swimmer, Mocha and her friends were swept into deep water by a sneaky back current, and were it not for the efforts of a surfer who paddled to their location, she might not be riding waves today.

She was only 14 years old when she approached a local surfer and asked to be taught the sport. At the time, no other female, particularly of her age, had shown any similar interest in surfing. She recalls that there were instances when she had to steal boards in order to be able to surf. Now, she has traveled to many of the archipelago’s surfing spots, collecting accolade for her grace on the water.

As a kid in the 1970s, Owen first watched American Peace Corps volunteers rushing into the tumultuous waters with boards that resembled the shape of a pili nut, a local delicacy. When martial law was declared and the Americans made a quick exit, surfing in Daet also immediately disappeared. The waves have always been there, but interest in the sport and culture of surfing emerged only fairly recently. It was not until sometime in the 1980s when Owen’s cousin arrived from Japan with a surfboard that his curiosity for surfing was revived. With a movie on surfing as his only instruction and lesson, Owen took the board into the tempestuous beach and attempted to surf. He failed, miserably, and locals found his attempts pathetic, that they had described his antics as a slow and extended suicide.

It was not until Owen met a traveling surfer in the early 1990s that he finally learned the basics of the emerging sport. Now, surfing in Daet lures curious folk wanting to try something new and different, and even seasoned surfers bronzed by sea and sun will find its best waves challenging. Owen is convinced, and has some clippings to prove his claims, that Daet hosted the first Philippine surfing competition in the mid-1990s. But with the steady growth of the sport, so did attention for places with surf. In a country of islands, surrounded by water and visited by typhoons, there should be an endless number of places one could find waves worth a ride.

What attracts people to surfing may be any of an infinite number of reasons. When I arrived at Bagasbas Beach, I watched without interest, how newbie surfers were attempting to ride moderate waves. I have a profound respect for water, having nearly drowned myself as a kid, and am very cautious when I am surrounded by it. I was happy to get only my feet wet, watching as the sea retreated to expose a beach filled with morning revelers playing volleyball, throwing skim boards onto the shallow part of the water, throwing frisbees, kicking footballs. There was a free surfing clinic and I didn’t even bother to have myself listed.

But someone else submitted my name, and I was shortly called for a brief lecture. Surprisingly, I wasn’t completely unprepared. I put on my rash guard, telling myself that I would merely try the sport, and convinced that I would walk out of the water embarrassed and swearing off surfing. My personal teacher was a 19-year old local who was extremely patient with me even as he demonstrated the fine art of standing on a moving board while we were still on dry land.

We proceeded to the water, and there was a gentle thump in my chest. I was scared to drown more than anything else, and also a little concerned that I would expose myself to a lot of embarrassment. Sure enough, my first attempts at surfing as waves came in were pathetic. And after about 20 minutes, I was all ready to march back to shore. But the minute I managed to stand, regardless of the fact that it was no longer than 5 seconds, provided me with a thrill I could not remember experiencing, not since I first encountered a roller coaster loop. It was addicting. So addicting, in fact, that I refused to surrender the board, even while other newbies were interested to try the sport. I have never used this word before, because I have never tried to surf, but now that I have, I was completely stoked. At the end of the lesson, I was riding that longboard nearly all the way to the beach.

The color of the sand at Bagasbas Beach, and the peculiar absence of natural shade along its considerable length might disqualify it for any references as paradise. There won’t be fantasies of lying in a hammock, sipping on a cocktail, watching couples walking by around these parts. But its other qualities are certainly appropriate for many other things, surfing being just among them.

Today, Bagasbas Beach is Daet’s biggest tourist draw. Restaurants and videokes have popped up along the Boulevard that run astride it. Daily, the Bagasbas Builders Club, composed of local volunteers, sweep the entire length of the beach collecting trash and sea grass washed ashore. Hardly anyone is paid in Bagasbas, either to save lives or to keep it clean. And if you’re lucky like me, you could even get taught to surf for free.

Tags: bagasbas beach, camarines norte, daet, surfing

i had just endured an 8-hour journey, most of which i spent awake, with my eyes closed, but my ears fully aware of everything. i felt every turn, each stop, all the bumps on the road, which ended very early in the morning in daet. so when i was asked if i would be interested in trying out the surf, i politely declined. i have a short, yet tumultuous history with water, and my past experiences, though few, have served to sour my relationship with it. i had nearly drowned as a child, and although i was born near water, it never endeared itself to me. so although the pacific ocean gently rolled into the long, black stretch of bagasbas beach, i was not in the mood to try out something new. the sky was heavy with uncertainty, and a drizzle late in the morning made for a very bleak outlook on this suddenly-hatched weekend.

but i had exhausted my curiosity after just a few hours: i had taken pictures of local youth throwing their teardrop shaped boards on the fringes of the beach, catching the sea as it retreated. i had looked without interest at the wall erected by power-up, and decided that i wasn't keen on playing volleyball. neither was i attracted to ultimate frisbee beyond being a spectator, and i knew i would only expose myself to humiliation if i even dared try beach football. skimboarding was out of the question as well, and i wasn't too keen about taking my shirt off when the beach was populated with sculptured abs. the edges of the beach frothed with activity for the bagasbas summer surf, hoping to catch the last dregs of a season that had more rain than sun. so despite my absolute lack of attraction to what seemed to me a novel and poseur sport, i decided to just dip my fingers, as it were, into the thing just to be able to say that i did it. at least once in my life.

i put on my rash guard, tightened my board shorts, and headed to the where the boards were placed when they called out my name. i had deliberately chosen the red board. it could be seen from very far away, and figured that it would at least make for good photos. without much hesitation, i handed my camera to a stranger, who turned out to be owen andrade -- no less the father of surfing in bagasbas and the figurehead of the volunteer lifeguard brigade. john, aged 19, volunteered to teach me. it was a surf clinic, after all.

10 minutes into his lecture, my vocabulary already grew with at least 5 surfing terms, dude or surf's up not being among them. we headed to the water, he carrying my big, read board. i had to ask: why start with a long board when it's less maneuverable than the short board? owen had an immediate, if not ready answer: when we were kids, didn't they teach us to write with a big pencil? i attached the board to my left ankle. i was goofy-footed, john said. so we proceeded to the water, and the first order of business was balancing myself on the board. it wasn't as easy as i thought. i always tilted to one side, but john patiently assisted me. then wave after wave came. i was pushed, and i was very focused on the balance. although i began the day without interest, i tackled the challenge with a method. the goal, of course, was to manage to stand on the board, but it wasn't the first thing i wanted to do. i had to get there, one step at a time.

after i managed to balance the surf, i next decided to kneel, with my body parallel to the board. did it on my second try. on the third, i put my right foot forward, but with my hands still holding on to the edges of the board. i did it again. that wasn't too hard i thought. on the next few tries, i was washed out by a multiple. i held my breath for many seconds because the short surf's white water crashed over me. see what i mean about surfing lingo? my next goal was to keep my left knee on the board, but my hands off the board. that was easy enough.

and now comes the hard part: standing on the board. i kept forgetting john's instruction to keep both knees bent, to lower my center of gravity, and t keep both feet as far apart as possible. for the next few surfs, i kept falling into the water, a few times getting tumbled in with my board. one time or another, another surfer nearly crashed her board on me. this probably what scared me the most about surfing. i had observed better surfers at cloud 9 in siargao in the past, and i always worried whether freak accidents have resulted in open skulls. boards have fins underneath, which aren't very sharp, but at certain speeds, can probably cause serious injury.

after a series of falls, due mainly to my inability to balance, or often due to the wave's strength and size, i was nearing frustration. "makatayo lang ako okay na tayo," i told john. i was so wrong, and he was in for a huge surprise. when i finally managed to stand longer than 5 seconds, i heard wild cheering all the way from daet! actually, it was just me, john, and a few other curious surfers who found my attempts at surfing funny. but i managed to stand. i was actually there, pushed to the shore by the surf, on a board about 9 feet in length! so i suddenly broke my promise and decided to surf some more. without me expecting it, i was immediately hooked, just because i managed to stand, just because i rode a modest surf, which was nothing much really but the bubbles of a receding wave. but who cares? i managed to do something which was initially beyond me, and actually liked it.

only 45 minutes was alloted for the lesson, but due to the collusion of certain events, including the wireless mic running out of battery, the announcement to return the board never came, and i only decided to end the ride because i feared john might be bored to death (he denied he was) watching a newbie getting overly excited at the ability to stand up and balance. also, my body was beginning to bruise from getting stirred too much in the water. so i returned to the beach, a huge smile of accomplishment pasted on my face, and still astonished for not having given surfing the credit that it deserved. i had passed up on the chance to surf many times in the past. while i didn't necessarily regret my belated discovery, i certainly was amazed that i would like it with such feverish excitement. i was humbled by the experience, no doubt about it, but i've never stood up so many times from having fallen an equal number of times. looked forward to the following day!


the evolution of a surfer dude
however, before i could even spread the word about my newly discovered passion, i was not unwillingly baptized into the world of wild surfing culture. that evening, still dreamy from lack of sleep, we proceeded to a party by the beach. a show band tirelessly performed before a stoic crowd. they were unresponsive, the crowd, almost appearing deaf, if not numb. it may have been the band's talent, which was not a lot, but i couldn't say with certainty that they had none. of course, the surfers and skimboarders weren't necessarily interested in the music of fergie and nicole, nor that of sean kingston. because when coffee break island began to perform, the space in front of the stage began to fill with people holding stale, lukewarm san miguel pale pilsens. i was handed a bottle but balked at its bitter flavor. when i found maui, nicole's brother, we went to a nearby store and got ourselves some red horses.

the party itself was all-consuming. i'm not such a big fan of reggae either, and the sound was broken, but i've been an advocate of: when no one knows who you are, go crazy! of course this has been disproven many times: someone almost always knows me, and it has happened while i danced with wild abandon outside mcdonald's during the masskara festival street party and while i went over the fence in boracay: some person or other has approached me to say: hey, i know you. but anyway, it's not like i was being more controversial than i usually am, but then again, my actions were generally unbecoming of my professional stature. but to hell with it, right?


di ba ikaw si alman? apparently, i climbed mount labo with dax, on the far left | with the kids of the daet skimboarders association
so when smirnoff vodka came my way, i didn't refuse. when a group of strangers handed me a water bottle with suspect liquid inside, i didn't decline. even when the grand matador and coke was about to go somewhere else, i specifically asked for it. haha. what an alcoholic! i was so happy that night, and although louella and i decided to go home at 10pm, we were still partying till after 11pm, when coffee break island sang its last song and the show band took over. i volunteered to buy a case of beer for a group of complete strangers. i'm like that when i'm drunk with a fantastic realization: and of many things as well, not just surfing, not just of surfers, and not just of daet's many delights.

but like a couple of cinderellas, louella and i had to go home at midnight. we were going to look for a tricycle, but our new friends volunteered to bring us home. i was too drunk to realize the danger of the situation: sam's scooter had no headlight. i didn't care, and i jumped behind him without much care. after a few minutes on the road, without the ability to process anything, we were on the road. we'd actually lost balance and skidded. it was my second scooter-related accident in 7 months! i stood up, and the first thing i checked was my camera. i didn't feel like i was injured; nothing was in pain. i was okay. sam, my pilot, also said he was fine. we proceeded to canimog, and only there realized that sam had some scratches. i had small scratches too on my toes. otherwise, i was fine, and i fell asleep immediately.

that morning, i woke up with my head split in two. louella and i were running late. we had arranged for a trip to manukan island with sam and his friends. when we reached bagasbas beach, it had more people than i could count. i was looking for paracetamol when i chanced on a reader of my blog. then we proceeded to the fish port: a shallow body of water that flushes out into the philippine sea through a small break along the beach, and took the same boat that's on the SEAir ad to manukan island, which is about 30 minutes away, and is nearer the pacific than the rest of camarines norte. there are several islands off the province, and i've been to at least 2 others in an earlier trip. that morning, i realized that other than small scratches on his legs, sam's chin had absorbed much of the fall the previous night: it was black, blue, red, and swollen. poor kid.

manukan is a small dot halfway between daet and another mythical place: calaguas island. it is surrounded by a nice, cream-colored beach. one side, the one directly pointing to the pacific, is fringed by flat rock, which looked like layers of cracked, rectangular biscuits. a lump of white rope, the diameter of which is the size of my leg, is coiled and deposited on the other end, one cane imagine the great forces of nature that brought it there. we spent half a day there, and i began imagining about my return, although i said the same about apuao as well.

we returned to bagasbas beach and we had lunch at cantina ni angel. the food wasn't divine, and we were asked to stay outside because we were wet and would track sand into the dining area. why build a restaurant in front of the beach when you turn away customers with sand on their slippers? during lunch, we found out that just that morning, a drunken tourist in jeans was fished out a difficult back current. a little later, after another hour of surfing which i terribly enjoyed regardless of how it made me look silly, and which imbued me with more than enough confidence and resolve to pursue the sport, and which lasted till i burned my nose, i had a chat with owen and he regaled me with stories about how surfing began in daet, and how his passion for the sport is fueled more by his desire to save lives. bagasbas has an evil ring about it, it almost sounds like bad water. i found in him a potentially good story i'd like to write in the future.


a phallic coral at manukan | the late afternoon sun over bagasbas | owen's surf hut
but alas, it was time to return to manila. the trip home would be a little shorter, which gave me less time to contemplate the past weekend. i had many realizations, and i didn't just try a sport, i was impacted, rather profoundly, by a totally new culture, not too different or far apart from my own, but certainly something that gives me and my mountains a different dimension. i will confess: i was stoked, and i cannot wait for my next surfing trip. do you want to join me?

Tags: bagasbas beach, camarines norte, daet, manukan island, skimboarding, surfing, travel