We are ferried ashore from the G-Land Express and after wading across the shallow reef are greeted by the jungle taxi, which you see here, and the driver utters the words “Welcome to the Jungle” which I thought I would only ever hear in Guns N’ Roses lyrics.
I have to say I was glad that the local guys carried our boards and bags in from the boat and across the coral. There is no way I would have managed it without upending myself into one of the rock pools.
Along with an international crowd of surfers I am staying in Bobby’s Surf Camp.
It is largely guys staying here and they have travelled from all over the planet to bag some of the gorgeous rides available here. There are surfers from Peru, Brazil, Hawaii, California, France, as well as Australia’s east and west coasts.
I am sharing this cabin with a dude called Quentin from Western Australia. Having been working in the mines there for weeks he is absolutely frothing at the mouth to get into the waves and unpacks a board and some shorts as soon as he puts his bags down.
His enthusiasm will put me to shame over the next few days. I actually woke one day at 4am to see him in his surfing gear sat on the end of his bed waiting for the first hint of daylight. The sun didn’t come up until 5.30am!
I was however laid pretty much flat by the oppressive heat of the jungle for the first 24 hours. It two naps and a gallon of water before I could even function properly. However it doesn’t take long to get settled into the pace of life here, and apart from the reef my only concern is that there might be a repeat of the Tsunami which took place here in 1994 turning the whole camp to matchsticks and sweeping all the surfers several hundred metres through the dense jungle. That nobody died is a miracle.