A las siete de la mañana ya había amanecido. Unos rayos de sol entraban por la ventana, proporcionando un dulce despertar. El día para nuestra sesión de surf había llegado. Preparé el equipo y cargué todos los materiales en el coche. El día anterior nos citamos a las ocho en la Plaza de Numancia. Me dirigí al punto de encuentro. La ciudad a esas horas estaba con poca circulación. Santander vivía un día festivo, con todos los comercios cerrados.

De camino a la plaza, la ausencia de coches en las carreteras y el Sol posando sobre las calles, causaban unas sensaciones especiales que acompañaban el recorrido. Al llegar al lugar, dos colegas estaban esperando. Introducimos con destreza los materiales en el vehículo. Otra gente se acercaría a la playa más tarde. Con la música sonando en el coche y conversando de olas, atravesamos la ciudad. En la rotonda de Corbán se aglutinaban más vehículos, colapsando el cruce. Parecía que todo el mundo había pensado lo mismo, disfrutar del buen fin de semana que se presentaba. Al paso por la localidad de Liencres, el último semáforo de camino a la playa; se cerró. En una plaza, anexa a la carretera, había varias carpas y puestos de venta ya montados. La luz del día lucía la celebración de la festividad en la localidad. Una cola de vehículos esperábamos la luz verde del semáforo para continuar el trayecto. Varias caravanas y un par de furgonetas cerraban la hilera. La señal se abrió, continuamos ordenadamente, conformando una imagen bucólica incrustados en el paisaje y el ritmo de avance. A tres kilómetros de la playa, las emociones iban picoteando el estomago. La carretera que cruza el Pinar de la Dunas de Liencres, suponía el último paso antes de llegar a la playa.

Entramos primero al aparcamiento de Canallave. Su media ocupación hacia pensar en un buen día de surf. Surfers vistiendo el traje de neopreno, otros de camino al agua y un numeroso grupo de riders ya en el mar. Imágenes que reflejaban la preparación hacia las olas. La bajamar sucedió a las seis de la mañana. La playa mostraba el fondo rocoso e irregular. Las ondas hábiles aparecían en un par de picos lejanos, situados a seiscientos metros de la entrada. Asomados a la punta que separa las dos playas, fuimos estudiando las posibilidades. A la izquierda Valdearenas mostraba varios picos de olas cercanos. Bajamos con el coche hasta el aparcamiento principal. Las plazas próximas a la entrada estaban ya ocupadas.Estacionamos el vehículo a media distancia. Mientras cada uno de nosotros preparaba su equipo, charlábamos sobre las mejores zonas. En la conversación apareció el tema de las corrientes fuertes, presentes en la zona. Hablábamos de evitar los lugares adyacentes al final del arenal y las rocas de la entrada.

De pies sobre la arena, mirando al Mar Cantábrico, imaginaba olas ideales a lo largo de la jornada. Olas definidas, largas, practicables y seguras. No pensaba en sus tamaños, sólo en la calidad. Sobre el agua, las series llegaban con ocho de período y metro y medio de altura. A lo lejos, en la parte izquierda, el mar golpeaba con fuerza las rocas de Robayera. El agua salía despedida en el aire, siendo visible a un kilómetro de distancia. Después de calentar los músculos, entramos al agua. El oleaje que llegaba hasta la orilla dificultaba el avance y hacia sentir en cada paso la fuerza de la corriente. Tras treinta metros, el agua cubría hasta la altura del cuello. Una ola rezagada se abalanzó sobre mí. Buceando, con la tabla a un lado, evité su elevación. Me moví hacia el lateral del pico de olas. Remando con fuerza y haciendo la cuchara, conseguí llegar hasta una zona tranquila; a la que habían llegado los demás.

Flotando sobre el agua, con los brazos extendidos, descansé durante unos minutos. Doscientos metros de agua hasta llegar a la arena, reducían la visión de los objetos a pequeñas figuras. En aquella posición, las olas nacían con apenas un metro. Corrían la mitad del trazado, aumentando progresivamente el tamaño. Unos instantes después aparecía un rizo sobre ellas que se desplazaba a izquierda o derecha. Terminaban estas su viaje a cincuenta metros de la orilla. Permanecimos sentados, esperando que llegara una ola más grande. Por lo visto hasta aquel momento, podía suponer un trayecto superior a cien metros. Subiendo y bajando a la cresta, maniobrando con tiempo y libres sobre el agua. El Sol se ocultaba detrás de unas nubes que dejaban pasar algún rayo de luz. La sombra que procuraban las dunas y el pinar, conservaban el agua aun fría que contrastaba con la excitación de los que estábamos en el mar.

Moments of Liencres. Saturday, dawn

At seven o’clock in the morning already it had dawned. A few beams of the Sun were entering the window, providing a sweet to wake up. The day of our surf session had come. I prepared the equipment and loaded all the materials in the car. The previous day we arrange an appointment at eight o’clock, in the Square of Numantia. I went to the point of meeting. The city at those hours was with few traffic. Santander had a holiday, with all the closed trades.

On the way to the square, the absence of cars in the roads and the Sun posing on the streets; were causing special sensations that were accompanying the tour. On having come to the place, two colleagues were waiting. We introduce nimbly the materials in the vehicle. Another people would approach the beach later. With the music in the car and talking about waves, we cross the city. In roundabout of Corbán, more vehicles were arriving, collapsing the crossing. It seemed that the whole world had thought the same thing, to enjoy of the good weekend that one was presenting. Through Liencres’s locality, the last semaphore of way to the beach; was closed. In a small square that was near the road, there were several tents and already mounted market stalls. The daylight was illuminating the celebration of the festivity in the locality. A tail of vehicles were waiting for the green light of the semaphore to continue the travel. Several caravans and a couple of vans were closing the row. The sign was opened, we continue tidily, shaping a bucolic image incrusted in the landscape and the pace of advance. To three kilometres of the beach, the emotions were pecking the stomach. The road that crosses the Pinegrove of Liencres’s Dunas, supposed the last step before coming to the beach.

We enter first to Canallave’s parking. His half occupation towards thinking in the good day of surf. Some surfers were dressing the wetsuits, others were walking to the water and a numerous group of riders were already in the sea. All these Images were reflecting the preparation towards the waves. The low tide happened at six o’clock in the morning. The beach was showing the rocky and irregular bottom. The skilful waves were appearing in a couple of distant beaks, placed to six hundred meters of the entrance. Overlooking the top that separates both beaches, we were studying the possibilities. To the left side Valdearenas it was showing several nearby beaks of waves. We went down with the car up to the main parking. The parking spaces near the entry were already busy. We park the vehicle to half a distance. While each of us was preparing his equipment, we were chatting about the best zones. In the conversation there appeared the topic of the strong, present currents in the zone. We were speaking of avoiding the adjacent places at the end of the sandbank and the rocks of the entry.

On the sand, looking to the Cantabrian Sea, I was imagining ideal waves along the day. Definite, long, practicable and sure waves. He was not thinking about his sizes, only about the quality. On the water, the series were arriving with eight of period and meter and a half of height. In the distance, in the left part, the sea was striking strongly Robayera’s rocks. The water was shot and was dismissed in the air, being visible to a kilometre of distance. After warming the muscles, we enter to the water. The surge that was coming up to the shore was impeding the advance and had been making to feel its intensity in every step. After thirty meters, the water was covering up to the height of the neck. A lazy wave rushed on me. I dived, with the board aside, I avoided its elevation. I moved towards one wing of the beak of waves. I rowed hard and I did the duck, I managed to come up to a calm zone; to which the others had come.

Floating on the water, with the widespread arms, I rested during a few minutes. Two hundred meters of water up to coming to the sand, were reducing the vision of the objects to small figures in the sand. In that position, the waves were born with scarcely a meter. Them were traversing until the half of the tracing, increasing progressively the size. A few instants later a curl was appearing on them, that was been displacing sometimes to left side or right. Them were finishing his trip to fifty meters of the shore. We remained seated, hoping that a bigger wave would come. Apparently up to that moment, it could suppose a distance higher to hundred meters. Rising and going down to the comb, maneuvering with time and free on the water. The Sun was hiding itself behind a few clouds that were allowing to spend some beam of light. The shade that the dunes and the pinegrove were giving were preserving the cold temperatuee of the water, that was contrasting with the excitation that each one had in the sea.

Durante la semana, las lluvias y el frío habían ocupado los días. Por las mañanas amanecía el cielo cubierto con un tono gris oscuro. Los chubascos se repartían durante la jornada y las olas aparecían dispersas a lo largo de la costa. Los servicios meteorológicos predecían buen tiempo a partir del sábado. La próxima semana llegaría cargada de olas.

El viernes por la tarde el cielo se despejó totalmente. El viento acompañó la jornada y al final del día una línea anaranjada se posó sobre el lejano horizonte. Después de charlar con unos amigos, nos acercamos a la playa de Valdearenas; para contemplar el atardecer y ver el estado del mar. Por la carretera que cruza el Pinar de las Dunas de Liencres, el viento avanzaba entre los árboles. El movimiento de las ramas y sus hojas producía un sonido melódico y natural que daba calidez al viaje. La conversación dentro del vehículo se centraba en el mar, las olas y las auto-caravanas que otros días habían ocupado el aparcamiento, que da acceso a la playa. Una brisa ligera atravesaba el interior del coche, animando la conversación. La última cuesta antes de llegar ocultó parte del paisaje. En dirección contraria venía una furgoneta. Por el cristal, de una ventanilla trasera, asomaba parte de una tabla de surf y el resto del equipaje, saltando al compás que marcaban los baches de la carretera. La curiosidad nos acompañó hasta que Llegamos al aparcamiento.

Las olas golpeaban contra las rocas de la entrada. Llegaban en una serie larga y reposada. Con un metro de altura aproximadamente, describían trazados limpios y medianos a lo ancho del mar. La contemplación de aquella imagen fue acompañada por un lúdico silencio, donde cada uno observó sus preferencias. Entre exclamaciones y comentarios salimos del coche. Varios surfers disfrutaban en el agua de los últimos trazados. A la derecha, otro colega, recogía su equipo. Un par de decenas de furgonetas ocupaban lugares alejados en el parking. La música sonaba distante en una de ellas. Sobre su maletero, levantado, colgaban trajes de surf. Parecía que el buen momento de olas se había adelantado. Descalzo sobre la arena, fui caminando paralelo a la orilla. Los otros jugaban con una pelota de tenis, a medida que avanzaban. La arena gruesa de Liencres sostenía cada paso, almohadillando el camino. Es en esta playa donde los granos de arena tienen un tamaño que revela su origen. Restos de conchas y caparazones troceados, juntos con otras partículas, se pueden ver al coger un puñado con la mano. Sobre el arenal corría el viento que llegaba del oleaje.

A dos horas de la pleamar, las olas tomaron cuerpo. Salpicaban su recorrido sobre la superficie y a distintos niveles de profundidad. Tras la curva inicial, la playa se extendía hasta el final, para encontrarse con la Ría de Mogro. En aquel punto las ondas se desmoronaban zozobradas por el agua que entraba y salía de la ría. Era una zona no practicable, sólo útil para el paseo y la distracción. Comentábamos la fuerza de las corrientes en esta playa, y la violencia que llevaba la mar en la zona de la desembocadura. A trescientos metros del comienzo nos sentamos sobre la arena con las piernas cruzadas. El olor a mar cargaba cada respiración. Grupos de personas venían de vuelta de la punta. Haciendo ejercicio, con la mascota, o simplemente de paseo. A pesar de la hora, la pequeña algarabía, recordaba lejano el bullicio de la ciudad, que se perdía en el olvido con cada pisada.

Sentados debajo de las dunas, divisábamos toda la playa. Tres picos de olas había en el mar. Al fondo aparecían otras zonas donde nacían olas. Sobre la mitad de la playa, a ciento cincuenta metros de la orilla, llegaba con regularidad una serie de olas de un tamaño algo mayor. Abriendo a izquierdas, desplazaba un rizo similar a la caída de fichas de domino. El espectáculo relajante hacia pensar en los viajes y maniobras sobre aquellas masas de agua. Recostados sobre la base de las dunas, hablábamos de otros momentos de surf en la zona. La noche se acercaba ya. Antes de volver, subimos a la cima de la duna, para ampliar la panorámica. Las vistas, ya oscurecidas, mostraban las siluetas lejanas de los islotes que salpican esta parte de la costa cántabra.

Regresamos al coche, haciendo planes para madrugar al día siguiente. Alternativas, horas, materiales, y demás temas se discutían y entrelazaban en el camino de regreso a la ciudad. Al llegar, fijamos un horario y nos despedimos hasta el día siguiente.

Moments of Liencres. Friday

During the week, the rains and the cold had occupied the days. In the mornings, at dawn, the sky was covered with a dark gray tone. The storms were happening during the day and the waves were dispersed along the coast. The meteorological services were predicting good weather from Saturday. Next week would come loaded of waves.

On Friday evening the sky cleared totally. The wind accompanied the journey and at the end of the day an orange line settled on the distant horizon. After chatting with a few friends, we approach Valdearenas’s beach; to contemplate the late afternoon and to see the condition of the sea. For the road that crosses the Pinegrove of Liencres’s Dunes, the wind was advancing between the trees. The movement of the branches and its leaves was producing a melodic and natural sound that was giving warmth to the trip. The conversation, inside the vehicle, was about the sea, the waves and the auto-caravans that other days had occupied the parking which leads to the beach. A light breeze that crossed inside the car, was encouraging the conversation. The last slope before coming concealed part of the landscape. In the opposite direction a van was coming. Through the crystal, of a back window, a part of a surfboard and the rest of the baggage, were jumping to the peace that the pot-holes of the road were marking. The curiosity accompanied us until We Come to the parking.

The waves were throbbing against the rocks of the entry. They were coming in a long and quiet series. With a meter of height approximately, them were describing clean and medium tracings widthways of the sea. The contemplation of that image was accompanied by a playful silence, where each one observed his preferences. Between exclamations and comments we go out of the car. Several surfers were enjoying in the water of the last tracings. To the right, another colleague, was gathering his equipment. A couple of dozens of vans were occupying distant places in the parking. The music was sounding far away in one of them. On its back porter, raised, wetsuits were hanging. It seemed that the good moment of waves had already arrived. I took off my shoes on the sand, I was walking parallel to the shore. The others, were playing with a ball of tennis, as they were advancing. The thick sand of Liencres was supporting every step, fluffing the way. It is in this beach where the grains of sand have a size that reveals its origin. Rests of shells into pieces, with other particles, can be appreciated; taking a handful with the hand. Over the sand, the wind that was coming from the surge.

Two hours before the high tide, the waves took shape. Them were splashing its tour on the surface and to different levels of depth. After the initial curve, the beach was spreading until the end, to meet with the Rivermouth of Mogro. In that point the waves were crumbling overturned by the water that was entering and going out of the outlet. It is a not useful zone, only useful for the walk and the distraction. We were commenting on the force of the currents in this beach, and the violence that was taking the sea in the zone of the rivermouth. Three hundred meters from the entry, we sat down on the sand with the crossed legs. The smell of sea was loading every breathing. Groups of persons were coming back from the end of the beach. They were doing exercise, with their pets, or just taking a walk. In spite of the hour, the small gabble reminded distantly the hustle of the city, which was getting lost in the oblivion with every trodden of them.

We sat under the dunes, we contemplate the whole beach. There were three beaks of waves in the sea. In other zones were appearing areas with new waves. On the half of the beach; to hundred fifty meters of the shore, it was coming regularly a series of waves of a slightly bigger size. Opening to left side, it was displacing a curl similar to the fall of cards of dominoes. The relaxing spectacle made us thinking about the trips and maneuvers about those masses of water. We leaned on the base of the dunes and spoke about other moments of surf in the zone. The night was already approaching. Before returning, we rise to the top of the dune, to extend the panoramic one. The landscape, already got dark, was showing the distant silhouettes of the islands that splash this part of the Cantabrian coast.

We returned to the car, thinking plans to get up early the following day. Alternatives, hours, materials, and other topics were be discussed and interlaced in the way on returning to the city. On having come, we fixed a schedule and said goodbye until the next day.