Enchanted Secrets

"This is a very important aspect of The Crossing," reads a paragraph on the project's quicksilver.com website. "While the basic route is outlined, no specific references are given in regards to surf spots. Everyone connected with the project respects keeping known and unknown surf spots a mystery. In fact, everyone who is invited on board The Crossing must sign a confidentiality agreement not to disclose locations."

I had signed nothing.

Once free of the city zone, the two-lane road bent away from Lake Managua and toward the coast like an asphalt river. And like a river it seemed to pull civilization along with it through the jungle, small towns and villages bordered right up to its banks, all modes of transportation sweeping purposely either upstream or down: pedestrians, couples sharing rickety bicycles, two-wheeled carts drawn by tired ponies, big-rig tractor trailers, roaring by like steamships.

We were following a Land Cruiser carrying photographer Tom Servais and Britney Huntington, a marine biologist on hand to participate in The Crossing's work with The Reefcheck Foundation, monitoring the world's coral reefs. It was a decidedly odd experience to be driving through this exotic landscape with absolutely no idea as to our final destination, although not an entirely unpleasant one. I knew we were headed for a port in the north, from which we were to be ferried either up or down the coast to the waiting Indies Trader, which was anchored at this reported point break. I had my own ideas about where. Unlike the pros, who'd probably signed their non-disclosure agreements in advance, I'd purchased a detailed map of Nicaragua and was already using it for reference. A certain amount of whimsy is fine on a surf trip, but ultimately it's nice to know where you're headed.

We were to meet Martin somewhere up this jungle coast. I'd have to put away my map.

Surfing's charts changed dramatically in the 1970s. Unlike those 14th century Portuguese maps that in so many ways resembled surfing's-poking their way along the coast of Africa, charting point after point, headland after headland in fine detail-our maps grew more and more blank, despite a spate of rich discoveries. Take, for example, the memorable series of travel features produced in the 1970s by Kevin Naughton and Craig Peterson , in which the "show great photos but name no names" gag order was in full swing. In 1973 their first article, titled simply "Centroamerica" featured La Libertad, El Salvador, but was referred to only as Rocky Point. This was the same La Libertad that only three years earlier was unabashedly identified in "Perils of the Tropics." In the ensuing three years a veritable colony of visiting and ex-pat surfers had set up camp at La Libertad's Punta Roca, a community Naughton and Peterson were only too happy to join once they arrived in town, tired, penniless and eager for companionship. But by not specifically naming the break in the eventual full-color magazine feature, what higher purpose were they serving? I had spoken to Naughton about this very topic not long after his return from his first chartered trip to the Mentawai islands (see "A Lovely Cruise" vol. 44#10), catching the restless regular-foot on the eve of departing for Tavarua, a break he introduced to the surfing world 20 years ago on the cover of SURFER.

"We were really sensitive about not naming spots," he said "We'd talk about the general areas freely enough, but when it came down to actually naming the spots, we wanted to share the stoke without running the sense of adventure for the guys coming behind us. Surfing a new spot, even when it's just new to you, is always a big thrill."