Surf Points 38

CHRISTOPHER Columbus discovered Puerto Rico in 1493. Surfers found the place in 1968. Puerto Rico has long populated the stories of the Renaissance seafarers, who knew much about the fierce Mona Passage - which Columbus also traversed - wedged between the west coast of Puerto Rico and the east coast of the Dominican Republic.

Hurricane-generated swells are one thing in the Caribbean, whipping up huge waves for surfers in the summer months. But in the northern hemisphere winters at this time of year, cold fronts freeze states such as New York, then push off the mid-Atlantic coast and send deep, powerful swells south.

They regularly funnel into the Mona Passage for waves that have been attracting surfers since the west coast of Puerto Rico burst on to the surfing scene. The 40th anniversary of the fourth world surfing championships was celebrated last month. The final was held at Domes Beach in 3m swells near the village of Rincon.

At nearby Tres Palmas - which is arguably the biggest wave spot in the Caribbean and rivals Hawaii's Sunset Beach - waves were breaking at 5m. Few then were willing to take it on. So it was in 1968 that there was suddenly a deeper understanding why there are so many shipwrecks in the area.

Since then, Puerto Rico has become an open secret among surfers, particularly those from New York, where hardened locals from Long Island in the depths of winter will think nothing of trudging out through snow-covered beaches to surf their local break. However, they are also attracted at this time of the year by the warm sunshine and mild waters of the Caribbean.

American surfers don't need a passport to travel to Puerto Rico, which has been a US territory since the Spanish-American War in 1898. As a result, it has become a dropout zone for many. It also serves as a destination for family vacations, attracting ageing surfers who are keen to escape the sleet and snow on the northeast coast and capture some of their roaring days from the 1970s, now usually with their sons and daughters in tow.

"I know guys who never came back," says Ed Wengler, a Long Islander who has been making the trip to Puerto Rico for decades. "I had friends who were lifeguards who used to go down to Puerto Rico, collect unemployment cheques and live down there cheaply over the winter."

Wengler, the vice-president of a financial depository organisation, is probably not going to make the pilgrimage this year. His firm is an integral part of the plumbing of the world's financial system and he describes the meltdown on Wall Street as a "frightening time".

I first met Wengler in February 2007 in Rincon. He and his family had rented a three-bedroom beachside house that was split into two levels, with his apartment above ours.

We arrived, three young children in tow, and within 10 minutes of meeting this gnarled wave veteran he was whisking me off in his rental car to give me a tour of the surf spots of Rincon.

"It's huge!" Wengler said, pointing up the beach in the direction of some angry white water that appeared to be engulfing the point. "That's Tres Palmas." Soon we were standing above the point: it was 1968 all over again. Tres Palmas, a long right point break, was roaring, with a few brave souls paddling into a line-up three to four times their body height; in the old language of surfers, it was a solid 20feet.

It was late in the day and Ed invited me on a dawn surf trip. The next morning - the rooster in the house next door having woken me well before dawn - Wengler and I, his son and a couple of his New York pals made our way to Wishing Wells, a more modest point break but still running at well over headhigh.

Wishing Wells was about a half-hour drive north of Rincon and could be found down the end of a muddy track near a brace of Puerto Rico's ubiquitous towering kapok trees. It also was not far from the Aguadilla airport, where surfers from New York disembarked after a four-hour flight.

In one of those memorable surfing sessions one experiences - good times with new friends, while swapping tall surf tales - we had the surf break to ourselves for the next few hours, rotating waves off the point at will.

Living in landlocked Washington, DC, meant one's paddle fitness suffered and I could barely lift my arms after two hours of this Caribbean wave-making machine, with bands of swells as blue-green waves swept towards us and jacked up into long walls as they hit the Puerto Rican coral.

It's little wonder, with this kind of surfing perfection on offer and the airport nearby, that the area is a haven for east coast surfers.

As one grizzled American surfer said to me over a beer during one of Rincon's spectacular sunsets - and this was a bloke who had spent some time surfing in Australia - Puerto Rico was like the Noosa of the 1960s. Or using my own historical reference, I'd imagine probably like Margaret River in the '70s. Although development has come to Rincon, it has come in a fairly slapdash way - some beachfront hotels in the calmer waters in the lee of the rocky surf points - and it maintains an earthy and rugged charm that gladdens any surfers' soul.

The local surfers I found friendly, and in any case you are more likely to find a New York policeman or firefighter waiting for a wave than a Puerto Rican, a generic term for a melting pot of races that reflects Puerto Rico's position at the heart of imperial ambitions over the centuries.

On the island, descendants of African slaves have mingled with the indigenous South American Tainos, Spaniards and other Europeans. And now the area is heavily influenced by US culture, from '60s New York dropouts and draft dodgers, and, more recently, property developers looking to cash in on the surf economy.

To old timers, the influx of the money men has meant a loss of innocence. "There is a whole crew of us who have been going down steadily for years," says Mike White. "But it's too much now; I end up running into some of my buddies more (often) in Puerto Rico than in New York."

White, 55, first surfed in Puerto Rico in 1980. Before then he had headed to Hawaii but learned through his Long Island surf mates that Puerto Rico was a better option.

"Hawaii was too far to go and too expensive, and we could get Hawaii-like surf in Puerto Rico anyway."

White's downtime in the surf was a welcome relief from his day job as the head of New York's bomb squad. He has since retired but remains involved in security work as a consultant. He was a cop when he first travelled to Puerto Rico and arrived back in New York in his baggies and flip-flops - board shorts and thongs to Australians - and caught the train to work. "I dumped my gear and board in my locker and went straight out for a midnight shift."

He's not your stereotypical New York police officer. I first met White and his son while surfing in Puerto Rico in 2007: they were recovering their nerves after being "eaten alive" when huge set waves at Tres Palmas gave them a lesson in respect.

As it happens, I've returned to Puerto Rico this month. In the same way as Wengler and White, I'm drawn to the place. And, sure, it may have changed, but the influx of tourist dollars hasn't been an entirely bad thing.

Surf tourism - along with the rise of the eco-tourism associated with the magnificent sea turtles, migrating humpbacks and shipwrecks in the area - is a testament to the area's beauty and power.

It has helped put Tres Palmas on the conservation list, making it Puerto Rico's first marine park, in an effort championed by the Surfrider Foundation.

Who would have thought surfers would unite to protect this treasure from any would-be pirates of the Caribbean?

Geoff Elliott is The Australian's Washington correspondent.