A Barney in Bali--Day 21, 28JUNE2011 TUE

No, no, just a Bali coffee, no buns please.

Refreshed and Ready:

    After yesterday’s lay day, I wake up and feel fully charged. There’s no need to rush because the mornings have been high tide. Randy opens my door at 0630. I take my pills, start warming up, and have some morning tea. After that, things get rather brutal and ugly (I can’t write what, but it’s going on record). We hit the road, fill up our tanks, and traffic is already getting thick because of our late start. The ride starts with a little bit of weaving around other bikes and cars, but we make it to Froggy’s in one piece. The tide is high because the reef isn’t exposed. Randy waits for the tide to get lower. Me, I can’t wait much longer. I put on the day’s paint, wax my board, change, and I’m paddling out to the line up. Today’s the smallest day in the swell forecast, and it shows. There are longboarders surfing the inside over the reef and some in the line up as well. I’m paddling next to a longboarder until he disappears. He paddles by me in the line up and says in a French accent, “It’s so hard coming out here. But you! You are fast!” I laugh at his statement and tell him that he made it, and that’s all that counts. 

    I don’t know if it’s because of the small surf, but the line up is pretty crowded. This morning, the top of the wave is working better than the bottom. Everyone’s wearing their name brand surf gear, but there’s this one short, little, gangly Balinese kid. He’s wearing these tattered brown shorts that look more like they’re for working than surfing. He’s surfing the top of the wave with so much ease, dropping in smooth, drawing a high line, pumping, bottom turning, snapping the lip, and as the wave jacks up before it closes out, he finishes off with an air. No, they aren’t massive airs, but he is in full view from the pack that I’m sitting in. An Aussie grom tries to compete and match his wave rides; it doesn’t work. One great thing about this art is: your surfing is what really does the talking in the end. Regardless of cool looking apparel, name brand surfboards, or physical appearance, surfing is in one’s soul, and it’s represented on the water. You can’t buy that, not with money, only with time, adversity, diligence, consistency, and in some cases, blood.

    It’s a long wait for the sets, and I scratch out on the first couple. A tall, thin, blond haired, clean shaven guy that I’ve seen for the past week paddles up to me. He says, “I’m having a good day today, I actually got one.”

    “Oh, how was it yesterday?”

    “I just paddled around and didn’t catch anything. If you see me going for it, just go. I don’t want to take anyone’s waves.”


 Kamikaze:


    It’s a nice way to start the morning. A friendly gesture from another Canadian surfer. Randy says that a lot of Canadians go backpacking in this country, more so than the Americans. Who knew? My first wave is a close out, no surprise. I still manage to have a decent wave count but most of my rides are failed barrel attempts. Actually, almost all of my rides are. It’s a common sight. From my perspective it’s all a steep drop, a look down the line to make sure I’m clear, a couple pumps, a look at the lip, and it’s already coming down. I tuck in before the pinch on a couple, and I dive into the base of the wave on the rest. On an outside set, I race beyond the lineup to catch it. It’s a turn-and-go (T&G) wave, and this time I don’t let it pass me. I turn and paddle where I usually feel too deep for it, but I go anyway. It’s an instant vertical drop, and as I pop up I feel as if I’m standing with the wave. I should be getting pitched, but the steep angle sends me flying down the line. I see the lip coming down, I can’t tell if there’s any green room, but I tuck close to the face anyway, and I eat it. It was a gutsy wave regardless, and I wasn’t going for the shoulder. I surface to see Randy on the inside paddling out. He’s smiling, but I’m not. The wave held me under for a while, so I’m gasping for air. The second set-wave crashes on me before I can grab my board. I’m holding my breath again; I don’t think my lungs are conditioned for back to back beatings. I take them and paddle back out.

    Randy works the inside line and does his barrel hunting thing. For me it’s another day of failed attempts. I think about it while I’m out there, and I’m actually getting a little used to it. I’m more like a kamikaze instead of a surfer. I’m going for glory in the face of an inevitable pounding, purely self inflicted. To me it almost seems like some kind of sick game. Normal people are sitting at home, eating a bowl of chips, watching TV, or shopping at the mall. Me? I’m taking steep drops into oblivion expecting not to make it, but I must. I’d like to think that this is just life, prebarrel life.

    I get another T&G, it’s from a big set, the tide’s getting lower, so I’m a bit weary to go for the gold. Instead, I race against the section and pump all the way to the channel. It’s not as thrilling, but it’s still fun because the wave is standing the whole way. I’m generating speed each time my knees bend and push  down on the board; it’s the feeling of ultimate fluidity with the water.

    When I get back to the line, Randy is going for his last wave. I catch my last one, straighten up before it closes out, and belly-ride it all the way to shore. I’m still paying dues and taking beatings, but I’m stoked, so the session is considered a good one.

Fisherman

    Randy gets ready to head back home. I decide to hang out for another session and order a Bali coffee. I walk around, take some pics, and go to the photog guy to see my file. He’s busy with another customer, so I take that as a sign not to buy any pics today.

    Randy leaves, and I order a club sandwich to refuel for the afternoon. It’s a beautiful place to be. I’m on Bali, how can’t I do a double session? I don’t have much time here. I might as well soak it in while I can. It’s a still a Bali dream no matter what; I enjoy it here.