Days had passed and the boys hadn’t had a proper air wind session. I quietly laughed at their misfortune. But as fate and Allah himself would have it, on the last day of the trip, we surfed one of the few places where local Agadir guys hang out and regulate. It’s a Lower Trestles-like setup, with a long rippable right and shorter left, replete with a cobblestone beach entry. Because we were with a local guide and surfer himself, we had a hall pass to film and shred their spot, but a couple bars of wax, hats, stickers, and tees went a long way and ensured that we wouldn’t get hassled by the locs.
The session kicked off without a breath of wind, but as it wore on, lips began to crumble, a texture appeared on the surface, and whitecaps could be spotted out the back. “Air wind!” someone shrieked. And so it began. Punts, airs, full rotators, fins flying, boards spinning. The air wind had arrived.
And then it all made sense.
Seeing the guys throwing themselves haphazardly and stomping huge airs was damn fun to watch—and obviously even more fun to actually do. This bloated desk jockey even got into the spirit of things and attempted a backside jump (it was so far from an air that to label it so would be an insult to aerialists worldwide).
The following night, the Coffins and Oliver packed up and left with ear-to-ear smiles and a hard drive full of clips and banger photos. Tropically Yours director Dave Malcolm and I had some unfinished business to tend to—another morning to surf—so that next day we went back to the local boys’ spot and were blown away. It was three- to four-foot with light offshores. Yes! We went on to shred the lights out of it without the shame of getting ripped by teenagers. Good times. That afternoon, as we drove by the spot on our way to the airport, the air wind had shown up, and, I shit you not, one of the local boys popped a little air as we passed by. Stranded at some random airport and getting charged 700 dollars for his board bag, Parker Coffin laughed at me.
Frequently asked questions to someone who just got back from Morocco:
Q: Was it sketchy?
A: Not at all. People are cool as long as you aren’t a total idiot and follow local customs and procedure, i.e. you don’t walk down the street in a g-string while drinking a beer.
Q: How do you get there?
A: It’s a five-hour flight from New York. If you live on the East Coast of the States it’s a no-brainer.
Q: What are the chicks like?
A: The waves are great.
Q: Did you bring back any hash?
A: Have you seen Midnight Express?
For the adventure of a lifetime—and perhaps a nice Air Wind—book a trip with Moroccan Surf Adventures at morocsurf.com