Our Story
Ever since I saw The Endless Summer II in a movie theater in high school, I'd been dreaming of seeing Witch's Rock with my own eyes. In 1998 I was twenty years old, and me and my buddy Andy decided we were gonna go check it out.
Tamarindo was just a quiet fishing village at the time. Dirt roads and no more than a few hundred people. Dial-up internet was brand new. Cell phones didn’t exist. Hardly anyone used email. Our entire navigation system was a thrashed copy of a Lonely Planet guide stuffed into an old-school external frame backpack.
When I finally set eyes on the Witch’s Rock wave, it looked exactly like the movie. I didn’t fully realize it yet, but surfing had won.
Two years later, I graduated from UC San Diego with an art degree. I found myself in the ugly fluorescent lighting of a car dealership, looking at a Passat station wagon just because I could fit a surfboard in the back. I was about to dump every cent of my hard-earned savings into a commuter car just to work a job I didn't want.
That's when I realized my biggest fear wasn't being broke, or even dying. It was waking up early every day. Driving a bumper-to-bumper forty-five-minute commute to an inland industrial park. Sitting behind a desk all day while the waves were firing. That moment at Witch's Rock came rushing back. I bailed out of the dealership and decided right there I was gonna start a surf camp in Costa Rica.
I bought an old, retired school bus, ripped out the seats, and converted it into the ultimate surf camper. It was basic, but it was rad. I convinced nine other people to go with me, including my dad. With the bus packed to the ceiling, we headed south. We didn't bring any paperwork, so every border crossing became an exercise in charm, negotiation and creative bribery.
At the El Salvador border they pulled us off the bus at a military checkpoint with heavy machine guns. Things only got crazier from there... In Guatemala we completely lost our brakes while driving down a volcanic mountain pass. In Honduras a semi truck broadsided us, and the police blamed us, took our passports, and refused to let us leave town. I learned Spanish fast because survival depended on it. By the time we got to Costa Rica, I was past the point of no return.
We set up shop in Playas del Coco, with the idea of taking people on boat trips to Witch's Rock and Ollie's Point—I thought that was what a legit surf business looked like. But advanced surfers were often difficult. Elitist. Looking for bro deals. Pissed off if the waves weren't firing. Plus, running multiple boats full of surfers out to a remote peak just crowded the break and burned out the locals.
I realized there was no long term future in it. I was running out of rope.
Meanwhile, I'd been giving lessons in Tamarindo for extra cash, usually to people who had never surfed before. One day I watched this kid stand up for the first time and completely lose his mind on a wave that wasn't even firing. That was when it hit me. My whole life, I had built my identity around being a legit surfer. I’d surfed on the UCSD surf team. Put brand stickers on my board and van. Even had all the cool gear.
But watching that kid stand up for the first time took the ego right out of the sport for me. I realized surfing wasn't about being good. It was about being stoked. I opened Witch's Rock Surf Camp in October 2001, with a simple mission: to get as many people stoked as possible.
Everyone said we were crazy for setting up where we did. Now Tamarindo surrounds us on all sides. Robert August, the guy from The Endless Summer movie, ended up shaping boards here at the camp for twelve years. Hollywood stars, billionaires in boardshorts, college kids, families from California and New York, surfers well into their seventies, and budget travelers who saved up for years just to get here. All hang out here on this single stretch of sand. Titles disappear. Skill levels don’t matter. That’s the whole point. I love what I do. But people assume that after twenty five years a business like this becomes an automated machine where you just sit back and watch sunsets. That is a total fantasy. Hospitality is a circus.
If this was only about money, I would have sold this place years ago, put the cash in the stock market, and done nothing while making a lot more. But that was never the point. We don’t quit and go home, because we’re already home. This is what we do. I still paddle out most mornings. Hope to see you out there, getting stoked.
Pura Vida,
Joe Walsh
Founder, Witch's Rock Surf Camp
