Ten years ago, Yemma stumbled upon an untouched surfing wonderland in Nicaragua and ended up transforming the place forever, and for the better. On the other hand, "The Reef," the region's most breathtaking wave, can take care of itself. Photo: AJ Neste

PARADISE BUILT

THE ESM INTERVIEW WITH JJ YEMMA

By Matt Walker/ Surfing Magazine 

"You start at the bottom, then work your way up." That's how James Joseph Yemma, III -- aka "JJ" -- describes his teenage time washing dishes and cooking in Jacksonville Beach, FL, restaurants. But it also applies to his years in Central America. In 1995, the 17-year-old quit school and moved to Costa Rica with $700, a Mazda B2000 truck, and thoughts of one day running a high-end surf resort. Then, in 1997, while renewing his visa across the northern border, he found the location that could live up to his vision. After one failed attempt, he began building the Popoyo Surf Lodge in January of 1999 in its current Las Salinas location, taking his first cutomers in June of 2000. Today, after just seven years, his four-star operation of cabinas, piscinas, perfect waves, and offshore winds has not only helped put Nicaragua on the surfing map, but filled two seaside mountains with gringo landowners -- many of them East Coasters -- all of whom seem equally vested in the dream of building a surfing utopia. Not bad for someone who never got his GED. "He kind of went his own path," understates Jax pro sensation Asher Nolan, who first met Yemma in an ESA event before JJ stopped competing at 14. "And it's obviously paid off for him. What's funny is, in the process, he's become an even better surfer." 

Yemma's certainly Nicaragua's top talent, from the smallest beachbreaks to its ledging, world-class lefthander, called simply "The Reef." However, JJ feels he's improved in even greater ways, most notably being "saved" six years ago. Today, the former party scene fixture focuses on his role as a family man to wife Kim and daughters Mikayla (seven) and Marina (two), applying the same paternal instinct and business acumen to his adoptive home, from building churches to exploring new water systems. No wonder if you stop for a wandering Nicaraguan and say you're heading to Popoyo, they'll smile and reply, "Jota-Jota!" Chances are, they'll keep smiling as the Yemmas and a growing community of ex-pats cook up bigger plans for a land that was once a patch of green coast, empty lineups, and huge potential.  

"Here we are 10 years later, just praising the Lord for all He's done down here," says the man who just turned 30 in April. "And we're so stoked to do even more. This is a major opportunity -- not just for surfers, but for everyone."

ESM: A lot of Costa Rican ex-pats go to Nicaragua to renew their visas. You stayed. Why?
JY: Well, I came three times in 1997, and it was offshore every time, dawn to dusk. The locals said, "This is our wind. It blows like this all the time." And it was pretty amazing: No one here. Perfect A-frame. Why go anywhere else? Our second trip we found a half acre at $360 a year for 99 years. I had $500 to my name and started forking it over right there. And that was right on the beach at Popoyo, which is actually on the other side of what we call Popoyo now, which is actually Sardinas. But the name stuck so it's Popoyo now [laughs]. 

ESM: Obviously the camp's in a different spot. What happened?
JY: I went back to the States and worked two restaurant jobs, day and night for six months. I drove back down with $5000 and a friend who put in $5000, so we had $10,000 to build a surf camp. It was gonna be two thatch-roofed huts. Rent one out and live the awesome life in the other. Four months later, in October of 1998, we were out working on the property and ex-President Aleman drove by with an entourage of nine four-wheelers. Sitting with the president was the mayor who sold me the property; in the back of the line was the Minister of Tourism, Lorenzo Guerrero, who stopped and said, "Did you know you are building on land that's not yours?" And I asked "Whose is it?" And he said, "It's mine. The mayor screwed you." It was just a huge scam. But by then I was making friends in the community. We found this property right here, which was 28 acres. I was able to sell half of it; that's where Lance Moss (of Surfari Charters) got his acre, and other friends got really beautiful hills. And that was kind of how we were able to start the whole camp. So, God had a different plan. And it worked out way, way better. 

ESM: It's funny. People who come down now just see the finished product -- the cabinas, the pool, the gardens. They don't realize how long you were really roughing it, and starting a family at the same time.
JY: Yeah, Kim was pregnant in a little 14x14, two-story thing I built, using a five-gallon bucket for a bathroom [laughs]. Before that, we had a tent pitched under the first thatch-roofed rancho. That's it. No walls or floor or anything. It was pretty cool, but the next year Mikyala was here. Throw a kid into the mix and you start worrying about their safety. It's a whole 'nother equation. Which we found out the next rainy season when we had to paddle Mikayla across the river in a backpack. 

ESM: A backpack?
JY: That was before the bridge in Las Salinas. When that river fills up, it'll be chest-deep for two weeks at a time. You can't cross with a vehicle. We knew we couldn't spend another October with a newborn baby -- what if she got sick and we couldn't get across? So I booked Kim and Mikayla a flight home for October 4th. On October 1st, it started raining. I came back from Rivas that morning and the river was already waist-deep. So I left my truck on the other side, waded through, and ran the two miles back here to get her ready to leave. We made it back three hours later and it was flowing like the Amazon. I remembered there was a surfboard on the other side at Bar la Tica, so I sent a friend to bring it back. Kim was all emotional like, "There's no way we're crossing the baby in a backpack!" And I said, "Trust me. It'll be okay.'' I crossed Kim first and by now the rumor was out: "The crazy gringo's taking his baby across the river in a backpack!" So the whole town, 50-plus people, was out watching while Kim was on the other side crying. I took this small backpack and put Mikayla in and she fit perfectly. Then I went to zip it and it busted wide-open except for the zipper at the top of her head. But by this point, I was like, "I'm charging it." I grabbed the surfboard and walked up two blocks because the river was flowing so fast that if I missed the exit spot I was gonna go all the way to the ocean. I jumped in and did the super arched-back paddle in the pouring rain, dodging logs the whole way. Got to the other side and Mikayla came out of the backpack smiling. My friend passed her over to Kim, and the whole town started clapping -- it was a big moment -- but then the next two rivers were full [laughs]. The truck died after #2 and we ended up back at La Tica that night. The next day, a guy in a tractor towed us all the way to Rivas. Typical Nicaraguans: abrazos abieretos (open arms).  

ESM: Things have changed, huh? Nowadays, the gringos are helping support Nicaraguans.
JY: Yeah. There's some development and growth. Some people have solid jobs. We have 20 Nicaraguan workers at the camp; that's 20 families that can put food on the table. They put a kitchen outside so it's not filling the house with smoke, little stuff like that. But there's still more to do. And now construction's down, the economy's slowing down, and the people are feeling it. We've only sold one lot this year; Century 21's sold two. I think that Daniel Ortega and the whole thing with Presidents Chavez (Venezuela) and Ahmadinejad (Iran) has people worried. Even the Sandinista Party is starting to realize they screwed up. The more the media plays up Ortega, the more nervous people get, even though he's actually worked to secure American investments. But ultimately, the hardcore surfer's gonna come down and charge it. And I think it's actually a positive thing. Because when you have that big of an explosion, you need a little recess to let things catch back up. 

ESM: Was that part of your original mission when you came here: to help the community?
JY: Please! The only thing in my head was me, me, me. "I'm gonna get barreled every day! I'm gonna be a millionaire by 35...!" That's what brought me into my relationship with Christ. I wanted to surf for a living, I wanted a wife, I wanted kids, I wanted money. And as each dream was fulfilled, I was still finding this place in my heart that wasn't right. I'd never been brought up in church but somehow knew it inside of me. There were times when people would be rolling a joint out of a page from The Bible and I didn't want any part of it. I don't know why, but I always felt like that. I had no idea who this Jesus guy was. But I finally said, "I believe in you, Lord. Show me your love." Now I'm able to look back at all those things -- going to Costa, the property being moved from there to here, crossing the river -- every little detail was God setting things up for me. And He's shown me how I can help the community here. Surfing is at the roots of it, but there's many branches going out in many directions that are giving fruit all over the place. All the people who have bought land from us see that community tie whether they're Christian or not. Which ultimately has the opportunity to really make Nicaragua something unique and special.  

ESM: Do you worry the influx of crowds will sour the situation -- especially when they see a surf article like this one?
JY: It can happen. We just heard of this Hi-Lux zooming through town, dousing people with puddles. They pulled up at the break this morning, radio full blast, banging their heads against the window. It kind of reminded me of me a long time ago [laughs]. But I told them, "This isn't the kind of representation of Americans that this place needs." We've had some bad vibes at Santanas already and it takes months to remove that anger and aggression. So if there's one message all of us who live here want to put out, it's "Let's keep this place awesome." Drive slow through the towns. Leave a T-shirt with someone. Bring some wax. Instead of just coming and taking the waves, take the local kids surfing. And you'll help it be even more awesome when you come back. As far as articles coming out, if we can portray that message and keep people stoked, it's all good.  

ESM: You used to be the only camp. Now there's eight. Plus, the guys from San Juan Del Sur. Is it getting harder to get waves?
JY: The more boats, the harder it gets. And unfortunately, we don't communicate enough (with all the camps) to know where everyone's gonna go. And we can work the Indo rule a little bit -- wait an hour after you show up and go in slowly -- but mostly it's still every man for himself. So when you're the first boat there and two more show up, the vibe goes down. We just kind of prep our guys: "Take it easy. We're all gonna get good waves." So, yes, it's more crowded. But can you still go get waves yourself? Absolutely. I still surf by myself all the time.  

ESM: It used to be just you surfing the outer reef.
JY: Me, Lance, and Manuel. Now it's getting to where there's 15 core guys out there when it's good. Guys from Gigante and San Juan del Surf. Oliver Solis is pretty much the gnarliest Nicaraguan guy so far. He's beyond mental.

ESM: Can you describe your first session there?
JY: It was 1998. I was on a 6'3". It was probably only a six to eight-foot day, but I paddled out by myself and realized that was the biggest, gnarliest wave I'd ever seen. At first I surfed the right, which is like this mushy insider. But I kept seeing the left ledging when I paddled back out. I finally caught one and went over the falls... and nothing happened. I paddled right back out and every wave after that was just an airdrop, super late. Then I got a 6'6", a 6'9", a 7'6", and suddenly big-wave surfing became a whole new level for me. Not like it's really a big wave -- it gets what, 10 to 12-foot? 

ESM: Maybe not big by world standards, but it's a heavy wave. Even the Hobgoods say so.
JY: Yeah, it's a real wave. And it's not perfect. You can get spit out dry, or it could ledge mid-face in the barrel as you're driving through. I've gotten pretty destroyed a few times. There's been a lot of cuts, guys getting held down a long time. But I think I got hurt worse than anyone so far when I bruised my tailbone. I got to the beach, went to stand up, and couldn't. I had to crawl for a while and Lance's wife, Kristin, had to help me get back home.

ESM: You quit competing at 14. Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you kept going?
JY: Yes, but when CJ and Dam come, I realize those guys have a different drive inside than I do. Would I like to do a pro event at a good spot I know I could do well in? Maybe I'd do alright. But for the most part, I'm stoked to be here doing this. 

ESM: You might be one of the few surfers with a better lifestyle. Looking back, from 1998 to now, do you ever go, "Whoa? What have I done?"
JY: Well, if I didn't do it someone else would've. Nicaragua was gonna happen without me. I just happened to be here at the right time. 

ESM: The difference is, you're here for good. Or are you?
JY: We're here. There's more businesses popping up. Local people are starting restaurants. It's starting to be... no, it is a surfing community. We're just kind of moving forward in different areas now -- with the church, building wells. There's a lady starting up a dump project where everyone pays people to take trash to a dump instead of burning it. Just little things like that, tightening up and moving forward with this awesome little relationship God keeps setting up all around us. It's not the Nicaragua it was 10 years ago or even five years ago. But it's a great place, the ultimate surf trip. Everywhere else I've been -- Tahiti, Samoa, Indo -- I still surf more here. June, July, and August are packed now. When there's 30-plus people at Popoyo, eight out of 10 clients still say, "I surfed more this week than I've ever surfed. Ever." That's a good quote. And that's the reality.