A Barney in Bali--Day 18, 25JUNE2011 SAT

Pre Blog: I can’t believe it’s been eighteen days. And then again, what’s eighteen days or thirty days, really, once a surfer adds up his time in the water in the end? If we all look back to day one, we’ll probably find someone who couldn’t even sit on a board. So with that respect, each day/increment is worth something. So how much of an impact can thirty days of surf travel have? Not just Bali, there are so many other surf destinations in the world. What I’m doing isn’t new. It’s kind of a surf pilgrimage, or as I heard an Aussie refer to it in the line up: a sabbatical. I can’t expect my surfing to totally change in the thirty day period that I’m out here, but as I fight post nappy-poo discombobulation, I feel the toll on my body: my once snug shorts drape lower from so much activity, my hands are weak from all the duckdive gripping, and discontent scabs that aren’t given a chance to heal sting at my knees and fingers. In the midst of all this, the show goes on, and every day has it’s own tests and lessons. Today I try something new and open a door which further reveals the little I knew in the first place.

Looking for something else:


    For the last couple of days, Randy has been explaining what to look for in the barrel section and the best ways to “fall.” I’m so used to the El Porto “step off the rail ass plant,” and doing that’s not a good idea over reef. He tells me to either dive into the base of the wave to shoot out the back, or to shoot forward in the barrel if I’m getting pinched. Seeing his barrel shots make it look easy, and we’ve all watched hours of compiled footage of guys doing the same. So it looks easy and never really is. From what I can tell, I need to stay near the pocket instead of pumping just to get to the safe zone, fade out, grab my balls, and just pull in. This morning would be dedicated to this task.


The Trial:


    I’m woken up by Randy opening my door. It’s 0520; I overslept. Too much caffeine at the internet cafes has me up too late. I lethargically pack all my gear, and we are on the road just after 0600. Ten thousand Indo Rupiahs later, and my gas tank is full. Randy asks if I want Dunkin’ Donuts, but I choose to skip this portion to get straight to the surf instead. We park at Froggy’s and are greeted by the worker, the one addicted to cigarettes. We offload our gear and grab a front row seat to the morning’s surf. The surf has definitely tapered off in size a little. There are some good sets coming through, but not as frequent, and the top of the wave seems to be working best. It’s mid tide and getting lower. We watch three Aussies doing the reef dance. They start paddling south near the cliff. I watch them drift all the way in front of us and get worked over the reef by the white wash. One guy drifts even further north, and is trying to duckdive where it’s barely a foot deep. He finally stands up, turns around, and sits on the shore, defeated. His buddies follow suit a couple minutes later. I can’t help but empathize with the guy. I actually want to talk to him, let him know that I just went through the same shit days ago, and guarantee him a ticket to the line up if he’s willing to follow me out. And then again, these are just dues that everyone pays, and this ain’t the Make a Wish Foundation, so I go on to prep my gear.

    Since it’s not low tide yet, I paddle out pretty fast. Surprisingly, the lineup is quite empty for a Saturday morning. I tell Randy that everyone must’ve been partying last night. We sit at the bottom of the wave. I’m surrounded by jellyfish again, but Randy’s been telling me that it’s sea fleas that have been stinging me, and not the gelatinous fellows. I’m stung everywhere: my stomach, my balls, and my anus. I go for my first wave which has a long, slight, descending line for a shoulder. I manage the drop-in, angle myself down the wave, and see the enveloping lip coming down. I dive into the base of the wave; it works. I’m not dragged further back, and I paddle to Randy.

    “Warm up wave . . . the local guys on Maui used to do that,” he says.

    “What, just go for the close out?”

    “Yeah, for the first wave, just to get things goin’.”

    I paddle for another wave; same thing.

    “Stop going for the closeouts,” says Randy.

    I’m looking at the next set and not going for it. This morning it’s just hard for me to tell what’s closing out and what’s going to open. “They all look like their closing out,” I say.

    Randy shakes his head, points behind him, referring to a couple guys that got some longer rides towards the inside. He says, “If you’re gonna sit there, you gotta go for the big ones.”

    A couple minutes later, I hear Randy talking to himself. He splashes water, and then he uses the front of his board to splash something away; it’s clearly out of character.

    “What is it?” I ask. His actions are making me nervous.

    He paddles away from his spot. I follow. He says, “Sea snake.”    

    “Water snake?”

    “Sea snake.”

    “No shit!” I look around myself to see if there’s anything. “Are they poisonous?” I ask.

    “Yeah. It was a long striped one. First time.”

    I spend the rest of the session wondering if that slithery little bastard is coming back or not.

    It’s hard for me to be patient; I really want a wave. I tell myself that I’m just gonna go for whatever. An outside set approaches, and I paddle outside to beat it. There’s a “turn-and-go” wave, but I don’t feel comfortable with the last second task, so it passes me up.

    Randy paddles up and says, “Maaaaan, you passed up a good one!”
    “I know.”

    “I saw that, I was like . . . shaking my head.”

    Yes, I know I passed it up, and I’m already hard on myself as I have been every time that I’ve done the same thing since I’ve been out here. It’s really not what I need to hear, especially in a disappointed tone.

    I’m even more eager now to make up for my foible. On the next wave I paddle a little deeper, away from the shoulder, to get some lift. I get the slide and see the section building up; there’s an open shoulder. Instead of pumping to race the section, I fade out a bit and linger just outside the pocket. I’m not in the wave as much as I’m riding right next to it. Time seems critical, as I’m watching for the section to turn hollow, but it doesn’t, and the shoulder is getting farther and farther away. Still, it’s not getting hollow, but the lip is beginning to feather. In a desperate effort, I pull in near the face of the wave and hope that it will magically barrel with the lip throwing over me. I can’t tell you what happens next because all I see is blue water before everything turns black; I wipe out.

    Another hard thing about this new experiment. Since I don’t get a long ride, I’m not in the safety of the channel, and I’m in the impact zone. I linger here for a while getting washed around before the set’s over.

    I paddle back to Randy, explaining that I tried. I’m thinking to myself that that wasn’t easy. For me it’s a sacrifice. There’s a perfectly good shoulder up ahead, while I’m risking eating shit trying to fade out and pull into something hollow. Yes, not easy, but today seems like a good day to experiment, all at the possibility of achieving a milestone. Why not?

    My next wave, I try the same thing. The section is opening up beautifully to another forgiving shoulder. It’s fast, but I get a couple good pumps to catch up to the pocket while a couple surfers back off as they see me coming. Once again, this all happens sooo fast. I’m fading, hanging near the pocket, waiting, and the wave just closes out on me. Fuck . . . I can’t even tell you if I tried to tuck into the face or not. This barrel business is kicking my ass. What’s worse is that there went two nice shouldery waves that I chose to forego for glory. I’m not blaming anyone because I definitely want the tube ride. But at the same time I hear Pabs’s voice in the back of my mind, “Don’t force anything.”

    On my third attempt I come undone. The section opens up, but this time I pump to the shoulder, making the barrel mission secondary. It’s a good ride, I take it towards the inside and see the wave building up. Shit, should I wait to see if it goes hollow?! I’m caught in my indecisiveness and dive straight into the high part of the lip that brings me down with it. Luckily, I penetrate enough that I don’t get sucked down deep. I resurface, and Randy’s right there pissed. He’s telling me again to dive at the base of the wave, and that my lapse of judgment will get my ass hurt. I’m frustrated. I know he’s trying to help, and he’s probably mad because it looks like I’m not following his advice, but all these pointers are new that I can’t perfect in one session. His tone is mad and serious, so I paddle away.  “Look at me!” he says.

    Constructive criticism is good but not when it‘s condescending. It's an ugly moment. I accept him for who he is, he‘ll never change, it's part of being a younger brother, so I paddle away to give us distance.

    I was on some good waves, but I was looking for something else in them, something that my experience and ability wasn’t primed for yet. I could’ve made the open section and just worked on my turns, but I’m grateful for the experience and challenge at trying something new. Getting yelled at earlier kind of ruined my vibe. I catch a clean, long wave in, but I’m not stoked.

    I find Randy chillin’ at Froggy’s. We act like nothing happened; it’s water under the bridge. I order a banana-cheese jaffel and a Bali coffee. As I munch on my breakfast, I can’t decide if I actually like this banana and cheese combination or not, but I know that I’m starving, so I don’t care.

    Randy says that he needs to head back home to watch Jaya while Jessica gets a massage. He feels confident that I can find my way back, so he recommends that I paddle back out after the tide bottoms out.


Surf Gypsies:


     We watch this guy paddle in. He sounds American, but I can’t be sure. He nods his head towards us in a friendly gesture as we both wave. He’s blond, long haired, ripped, and traveling alone. Randy and I saw this guy arrive at camp a couple days ago when we were buying our photos. He didn’t even drive here. He showed up with a rolling suitcase, greeted everyone, and then told the worker that he needed a place to stay. So since then he’s just been cruising, borrowing a board, and surfing his brains out . . . alone. I talked to him in the line up after a clean up set. He was the only one that didn’t get washed away. I was astonished by his humble and kind character.  “That’s the way to do it,” Randy says as the guy passes us. This guy doesn’t even have a board, no bike, was probably dropped off, and he’s traveling in surf country with only the belongings that fit into his bag. It’s the way to do it, indeed.