The search continues...part deux

...our first night camping on Little Andaman was a success (except for the sand fly bites from sleeping on the beach.) The next morning, Toni and Krishna headed back to Hut Bay to catch the next ferry to Port Blair. Camping was not exactly their cup of tea, even when it was facilitated by such great guides. Thus, Noah, Ryan and I were left with Manu and company for the rest of the excursion, which made things easier as we all got along so well and were motivated by the same factor: surfing. That second day the waves were even bigger and we had two really good, long surfs in the morning and at night. In the middle of the day the sun was a little too intense to be in the water for so long. Noah and Ryan slept in hammocks set up in the shade and I took the time to catch up in my personal journal. My company was now so great that I got to really enjoy these moments alone, whereas in the first portion of my trip I felt overwhelmed by the lonliness.
While surfing, we could look west just far enough to see the south-western tip of the island, the location of the world-class wave, Kumari point. We had been expressing to the guides (with some difficulty now that Krishna, our unofficial translater, was gone)that we wanted to hike the rest of the way to Kumari point. They said it was another 10 kilometers and were very wary of the idea as it entails journeying deep into the Onge tribal reserve. They finally said that we would leave the next day at noon, when the women and one man would head back to their home at Harminder Bay with loads of fish. Two men, Manu and Vimon, would be taking us to Kumari Point. Life camping at the lighthouse was very good. We had great surfing and very good meals waiting for us whenever we got out. The feeling of surfing a remote break that has been surfed by a very limited number of people, in such a beautiful setting, is indescribable. Being out there with new friends, hooting each other on was also an extraordinary feeling. I felt as though I were finally living that dream that began when I was 6 years old, standing on the arm of our living room sofa, arms stretched wide in my best surfing position, moving my hips to the sounds of the Beach Boys' "Surfin' USA." I feel truly blessed to have the opportunities I have to live all of my dreams.
The next day we went for a long morning surf, again with great, hollow, peeling left hand waves, then began to pack up for the trek to Kumari Point. Again Ryan, Noah and I sped ahead in anticipation of even greater waves, if that was possible. We left right at midday, which made the walk brutal in the intense heat. I would constantly apply loads of sunscreen, and then my face would burn as though it were insulated and I would sweat profusely until the sunscreen once again dripped off my face. To make it worse, we were unsure about the fresh water situation, so we were trying hard to conserve our 3 litres per person ration - making the hike and the heat the worst we suffered the whole trip. A couple hours in, I spotted a dark spot in the sand way ahead that looked like a possible river bank. We approached and discovered the most beautiful river with a little waterfall near the mouth. It wound back and allowed us to view deep into the thickets of the jungle. Immediatly we all pounded a litre of water, feeling very gluttonous and letting it spill down our chests, and then refilling our bottles using my filter. We were now at the base of the cove that led out to Kumari Point and were near the Island's western side, deep into Onge territory. Everything about this side of the Island seemed more wild. We saw lizards that measured at least three feet and, looking upstream, the jungle looked thicker, greener and larger than any we'd viewed in our time in the Andaman's. We waited by the river for our guides, partly to soak our feet and relax, but mostly because we were so nervous about running into the tribal Onge's. Our guides carried much heavier loads than we did (another reason we were so far ahead) and were exausted when they finally arrived. They announced that the river, named Jackson Creek, would be our campsite. They would go no futher. So the three of us dropped our stuff, and headed out the rest of the way to the point with a litre of water. The sun was getting low and there would be no time for a surf, so we just wanted to check it out, return to camp and get our surfing done in the morning. On the walk up we could see white water working its way down the point. Though, as we neared, the size of the white water did not appear to grow. Alas, we reached the point only to discover knee-high waves lapping directly onto the shore...not even surfable. We looked around and discovered dry patches of sand in between raised, dead coral. We believe that the tsunami killed and lifted the reef (as it did in a number of places) and thus killed the epic right hand known as Kumari point. Ah well...we would have to settle for really good lefts at the lighthouse (we called the spot 'lighthouse lefts')...poor us. We spotted an Onge hut just off the beach and decided it was time to head back to camp. The beach between the point and the river was the most beautiful I've ever seen: a huge expanse of packed, perfect white sand, boardered by the most magnifiscent, calm stretch of aqua-teal colored water (there were no waves or wind at the base of the point to ruffle the water)on one side and the thick jungle full of greens not even seen in the great Pacific Northwest on the other. The sun set as we walked back and the sky opened up to the stars. The moon came late and, being who knows how far from any sort of light, every single star in the sky was illuminated. The flat expanse of white sand was now a soft silver and so smooth and uninterupted that I could walk the whole distance with my eyes to the stars without having to worry about tripping or stumbling. That night, after Manu cooked dinner and said, "now I am woman," we sat on a log by the shore and drank a flask of vodka with our guides (upon their request.) The next morning we left early to avoid the heat, and hiked the entire 20 kilometers back to Harminder Bay. We left our surfboards at the village, then ventured back to Hut Bay to gather supplies for our second voyage to the lighthouse and to inform the manager of the lodge that we still needed our single room to store all our extra baggage. The following morning we were back in Harminder Bay. Vimons son greeted us and took us to his hut where Vimon had carefully stored our surfboards in a safe place - he understood how important they were to us. Vimon, who had been rather quiet on the trip, now greeted us with big hugs and welcomed us into his home, where he fed us and served us his home-brewed rice beer. We had gathered a crowd of some twenty children and adults in Vimon's little hut as he excitedly danced around and spoke to us in a very fragmented english. It was absolutely wonderful. "My home, your home," Vimon told us, and we knew that he was as sincear in his gesture as humanly possible. Vimon explained to us that he had adopted many of the children we saw around, who were, we assumed, orphaned by the tsunami. We would've liked to also see Manu, but he was already back out fishing! Vimon did not let us leave until we were all a little drunk...and so we half stumbled out of his hut, surfboards underarm, our packs now heavy with rice, pots and other supplies, and with a line of about 20 kids behind us. We made a couple wrong turns and the kids, giggling, redirected us on our path. Then we were off. And again I only have a minute left on my card, so I must sign off. More to follow on my amazing adventure. I hope that everyone back home is happy and well. -Sam