Never mind your deluxe Maldives and Mentawai jaunts, Phil Jarratt chose a slightly less exotic destination for his most recent surf trip. What it lacked in mod-cons it balanced with a whole heap of heart.

Knowing I was driving from the other side of Mexico, Corky emailed me detailed instructions on how to find the Casa de Surf. “When you come to the village of Los Llanos, take the dirt road through town and down a hill and head for the coast. When the road veers left take the dirt track right where there’s a sign saying Casa Pacifica or something. Then take the second left (don’t take the first or you’ll end up bogged in the salt pan) all the way to the beach and turn left. We’re the first house on the right with the sign on the gate that says Dogs Bite. (They don’t.)”

If you blink you’ll miss Los Llanos and I apparently did, but I turned around and circled back before too much damage was done and took the rough little road towards the coast. As towns go, Los Llanos had all the appeal and architectural splendour of, say, Kowanyama or Port Kembla. Outside the three grungy supermarkets, messy drunks were waiting to tax gringos who might emerge squinting into the sun with a six-pack or two. There was a thick coating of dust over everything and faces peered out of shabby windows as you drove by. All in all, it was my kind of town. The only hint that there might be surf nearby was that the signs pointing the way to La Saladita were all old surfboards.

Corky Carroll has called this little stretch of coast home for a dozen years or so now. His name might not mean a lot to some, but when I was growing up on a diet of Surfer Bi-Monthlies and Bruce Brown surf movies in the ‘60s, Corky was the shit. He was everywhere – beer billboards, swimwear commercials, bringing out a new Hobie model every other week, all over the magazines, and the surf movies, had his own TV show and got gonged off the Gong Show.

A flashy goofy footer, Corky could really surf, but because he was his era’s best self-promoter, his detractors were many. Water off a duck’s back for the Corkster, who won three US titles between 1966 and ’69, finished third behind Nat Young and Jock Sutherland in the ’66 world titles, was one of the world’s best paddleboard racers and endeared himself to many Australians of my generation when he was suspended from the 1970 world titles in Victoria for starting a food fight in the Torquay pub. What’s not to like about the guy?

“Cowabunga, dude!” cried Corky, now 66 and as ebullient and funny as ever, as we pulled into the Casa de Surf. “Wind’s only just comin’ up, if you hit the point right now, you’ll get a good hour in.” It was a hot, dry day just ahead of the wet, so I didn’t need much encouragement, grabbing a single fin Hobie off the rack and hitting it. The breeze was knocking the take-off section about a bit, but the long inside wall cleaned up as it bent into the bay and the wave faces were smooth. In fact, over a week of diminishing swell, I found that some of the best sessions were after the wind got up, when most of the good old boys had disappeared to their hammocks and beers, and you could pick off clean inside runners at will.

I first met Corky about 1980, when he was advertising manager of Surfer Magazine and I had just become a contributing editor, then in later years I’d often run into him at trade shows. We were never more than acquaintances, but I always found him full of fun, so when a mutual friend suggested a visit to his surf camp, I jumped at the chance.

The Casa de Surf is a relatively modest two-storey bungalow on the driftwood-strewn beach of La Saladita, about 300 metres north of one of the more celebrated left hand point breaks of mainland Mexico. Since Corky built his casa much bigger adobe palaces have sprung up to either side along the beachfront, while the Casa has taken a beating from earthquakes and hurricanes, so that the roof leaks and the pool has a few malfunctions. But for down-home charm it can’t be beaten, much of it issuing from the gregarious couple who run it. Eight years ago Corky met Raquel, a beautiful photographer from Mexico City whose family name adorns one of the country’s better tequilas. They were married and now Raquel takes surf photos in the mornings and prepares a sumptuous dinner for the guests each afternoon.

At precisely 6.15pm each evening, Corky’s old Seal Beach buddy, Tim Dorsey, arrives with his pack of hounds, chewing ferociously on an unlit stogie. He’ll pour himself a red wine (or his other favourite, cold beer poured over half a glass of salted peanuts) and sit down to shoot the breeze and watch the sun go down, before Raquel calls him into the house to assume his role as salad server. Tim’s now well into his 70s, but he was chief lifeguard when Corky was growing up, and Corky never forgets old mates and mentors.

In fact the whole of Saladita is a parade of faces from Corky’s storied past, along with crazy characters like Backwards Bob, who stands on his board backwards, but plays a mean guitar in the cantina up the road. Corky too is still playing music, four or five dinner shows a year at a nearby resort.

The swell got smaller and smaller and on the last day but one I was forced to paddle a SUP in the bay instead of riding the point. But then a storm grew on the horizon as we drank our sunset Corkaritas, we got smashed all night by one of the most ferocious electrical storms I’ve experienced, power went down all over Saladita, a 6.4 earthquake down near Acapulco gave us a good old rumble, and we woke in the morning to an eerie darkness and solid lines on the point.

We surfed clean overhead waves all morning under a leaden sky, with lightning bolts dancing on the surrounding mountains. As he had all week, Corky cruised the line-up, meeting and greeting, calling people into waves but rarely missing the best of the runners across the inner reef, cackling wildly as he pumped his 7'2" fish through section after section. Still got it, and still smiling.

Located just 35 minutes north of Ixtapa and 45 minutes north of Zihautanejo’s international airport, along Mainland Mexico’s most fertile surf coastline, the Casa de Surf is beachfront, with a swimming pool, television, internet (bring a laptop) and three guest rooms available. More information on booking at www.corkycarroll.com