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The Bay of Biscay is one of the most treacherous bodies of waters on the planet. Huge swells roll out of the North Atlantic and bombard the towering, rocky coastline of the Basque region - unstoppable force meeting immovable object. The estuary at Mundaka is choked with fine particulates, sand to you and I, the result of eons of relentless erosion, through which the river winds its inexorable way to the ocean. Where the two meet, the combination of river and oceanic currents have sculpted a sandbank that has an almost mathematical perfection - angles, curves, depth, all seemingly precision engineered to produce one of the most awesome waves on the planet. Even before surfing arrived in this tiny fishing village, locals must have been mesmerized by the monotonous regularity and beauty of the cylindrical waves that rolled through the crystal waters like mother natures own toppling domino extravaganza.
In a world of hyperbole and spin, this is one wave that lives up to all the hysteria. In the fall season of 2006, many of the top 44 joined locals to feast on a reborn and rejuvenated Mundaka. Surfers like the Hobgoods, Andy Irons, Joel Parkinson, and Mick Fanning, guys who's job requires them to tour the world taking on the most pristine waves, described scoring some of the best barrels of their lives. Imagine scoring a stand-up tube-ride that lasts ten seconds? Count them out and you realize just how long that is. That is what Mundaka can offer. That's why you meet surfers staying in the village who've come from the other side of the planet, one semi-gun, no car, one mission.
Access is simple enough, a gentle paddle from the harbor, but this isn't an easy wave to surf. The water detonates onto the shallow sand bank in a steep and pitching lunge, and although it is sand bottomed, from here on in it breaks like a reef. Those who hit the bottom are surprised just how hard it hurts. The outer peak is dominated by a huge pack of locals, a crew that has grown up on this punishing wave. They all have scars to prove it. Many visitors who paddle out onto the outside peak are ordered inside the take-off zone. This is probably the best place to be until you get a feel for the place. Patience pays off and can help snag a few that sneak through the jostling pack or when someone fails to make the elevator drop. However it pays to double check, as often surfers are so far back in the tube that they get dropped in on. Hook into a set wave, grab the rail, hold on for dear life, and Mundaka can deliver one of the defining moments of your life. Afterwards, chill on the harbor wall reliving your session and watching the gladiatorial action.
-- Chris Nelson
It's on. You've seen the big-ass low swirling out in the North Atlantic and made the midnight drive from your cozy Hossegor carpark at your VW van's top speed of 35 mph toward the goofyfoot's Promised Land. Through the lush (read: rainy) valleys west of San Sebastian/Donostia, missing turns 'cause the street signs have been changed from Spanish to Euskadi and back again, you sputter and wind past the black-shawled revolutionaries in the mountain village of Guernika. No time for cafe con leche as you round the final hill and see lines of swell marching into the open arms of Mundaka's fantastically shaped rivermouth sandbar, creating solid, 200-yard-long, top-to-bottom barrels. This is what you came for.
You fly down the hill and straight into town, straight into quaint cobblestoned one-way lanes -- and then you stop flying. Many a hapless traveler have seen paradise from the hilltop and been so amped to get there that they forget one key thing -- Mundaka is a tiny, conservative fishing village that has not allowed itself to be swept up in the crazy kind of surf tourism that Hossegor succumbed to. In other words, there ain't no "this way to Mundaka" signs in four languages. You have to navigate patiently through a few little one-way alleys, check the main little carpark by the church above the break and find a parking spot somewhere on the narrow lanes.
Change into your suit, run down toward the harbor, plug your nose and jump in. The rip that runs along the side of the cliff is perhaps surfing's ultimate saltwatery escalator -- it's a paddle-optional trip straight to the peak. Not that you're gonna get a set wave or anything -- between the fiery Basque locals and dozens of semi-transplants and travelers, all of the cold, green walls are spoken and accounted for, thank you very much.
Once this fact is accepted and you move down the line a hundred yards and start picking up the 5-second-barrel "scraps," pumping and ducking and weaving through the sand-sucking pits, you realize that Mundaka's essentially a 200-yard-long shorebreak wave. It gulps and warbles and barrels top-to-bottom like the best inside beachbreak you've ever seen, and keeps going.
When you finish the wave -- especially when it's bigger -- it's best to prone out and head back over toward the cliff rip rather than kick out and paddle back along the edge of the wave, though the view's definitely better from there (plus you do stand a chance of picking one off the end section). But face it, if you're paddling 100-plus yards after every wave, you're not gonna last as long as if you use the escalator.
-- Marcus Sanders
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low
NW
double overhead
S
9
sand
intermediate to advanced
shortboard and gun
September-February
The streets in Mundaka are a confusing mess of one-ways and alleys, but if you can navigate your way to the church parking lot in the middle of town overlooking the break and find a spot, consider yourself blessed.
There can be as many as 100 guys out on a really good day in season, and more than a few are likely to be Basque separatists who think nothing of car bombing, so tread lightly.
There's a definite macho atmosphere in the water and you're tripping if you think you can get a set wave off the locals. Sit farther down the point and you'll get the best scraps of your life.
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In a word, tapas. Almost every bar/cafe in Mundaka has a delicious array of tasty appetizer-type treats that can easily add up to a fairly affordable meal, especially washed down with the local vino tinto. Above city hall, there's a crazy 200-pound Basque guy who'll serve you a more substantial dinner if you're over finger foods.
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Most of the feral van-dwellers park down by the bridge just outside town, but if you've got a few bucks and like showering, stay in the Portuondo campground (00 34 94 687 67 00 www.campingportuondo.com) right by the cemetery on your way in. There are three similarly priced hotels in town: Hotel Mundaka (00 34 94 687 67 00), Hotel El Puerto (00 34 94 687 67 25), Hotel Atalaya (00 34 94 687 68 88). If it's flat, it's worth staying 15 minutes inland in one of Guernika's many pensiones. The Mundaka tourist office (00 34 94 617 72 01) could also help a brother out.
Apartamentos Mundaka ( www.apartamentosmundaka.com) is also a suitable place to stay and prepare your own meals.
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You can freeclimb the bridge as you're coming into town with the other psycho Basque climbers if you need an adrenaline rush. If you're feeling a little more melancholy, head up the hill to the cemetery on a rainy afternoon. But if it's Saturday night, you have no choice but to head out to one of Guernika's many bars and nightclubs. You can also head 35 kilometers over to Bilbao and check out the crazy new Guggenheim Museum.
(NOTE: Guernika -- made famous by the Picasso painting -- is a haven for Basque poets and philosophers and punks and, on Saturday nights, acts as the center for all the surrounding mountain towns' revelry. They're the friendliest people you'll ever meet -- no French arrogance here.)
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Mundaka Surf Shop (00 34 94 687 67 21, e-mail: mundsurf@jet.es), just down the road from the overlook, has everything surf related you're likely to need. The owner, Craig Sage, is an ex-pat Aussie who really likes big Mundaka and is a good guy to have on your side -- go in for a bar of wax and a yarn.
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