A Barney in Bali--Day 21 (double sesh), 28JUNE2011 TUE

Mini Breakthrough:

    It’s 1300, and I keep telling myself that the tide will start going up again, but the reef gets more and more exposed by the minute. Chad, the Canadian Surf Gypsy, spots me and has a seat. I’m jealous at the news he bears. Apparently, yesterday evening he got his first barrel. He said the wave was over head, he made himself small in the wave, he felt like he was going to get pinched, but he pulled out of it unscathed. He said, “It felt so smooth coming out of it.” Fuck. I tell him that I’ve been looking for that feeling lately. I’m envious, but I congratulate him. He says he’s been staying at the warung for 100,000 Rupiah a night, which is somewhere around $11. I tell him that I saw him laying out in the sand next to some chick. He says that she’s German, traveling alone, and just doing her own surf thing. He invites me to go cruising around to explore the other surf breaks on our mopeds, but I pass because I don’t feel like getting lost.

    I wait until 1400 to let my sandwich go down. The tide is the lowest that I’ve ever seen it, but I still see people getting rides, so I figure I’ll just play it safe and wait for the outside sets. The reef dance is brutal, but I run into Edward the eel again, so I take another photo of him. I’m caught in knee deep water as waves start breaking on the inside. I hurdle two of them before I start paddling. I have no doubt that the crowds at the warungs are watching to see me get pounded; I disappoint them.

    A big set rolls through as I paddle to the peak. From there I sit and wait for the next one. Too bad for me it’s a long ass wait. One rogue set appears, and I paddle out for it. A couple T&G waves roll by, but they don’t feel right, so I pass them up. Of course, I regret that decision later. I look back and see people walking out, just short of the line up. I’m sitting on the outside hoping to catch a wave early, but they’re only breaking on the inside. The tide still gets lower. “Ain’t no way I’m catching an inside wave,” I tell myself. Guys are standing in shallow water at the end of their rides. Too risky, no way. No outside sets come for a while. I’m already into the second hour and still . . . nothing. The top of the wave is still working, but I don’t like that wave because each ride ends in the impact zone; there’s no channel like the bottom of the wave. Plus it’s more crowded. There’s one guy over there getting barreled like a pro. He’s regular foot, his trailing arm is inside the wall, he’s crouched so low that all I see is his head and shoulders, he’s grabbing rail, and his whole body is perfectly slanted in the small, angled almond. He’s so deep that his black hair makes the barrel look even darker, but he still makes it out. Inspiring.

    A rare set breaks on the outside. I catch it, but there are two problems. One, there’s a dick on the inside, right where I need to draw my line for my bottom turn. Two, some guy drops in on me anyway, and since the first guy’s in my way, I lose the wave. So I’m forced to jump off my board and eat shit, but something awesome happens. I’m in the impact zone, the rest of the set is coming, and this is usually where I get my anus tapped. However, on my first duckdive, I mange to keep my foot stuck to my tail on the whole motion, and I actually punch through the roaring white wash. The second wave hits me, I tilt to tail too much too soon, I shoot straight up, uncontrolled, but it’s better than getting washed around. These are my cleanest duckdives ever; it’s some kind of progression for me. I spend more time taking beatings that riding waves, so maybe now I can have more energy to surf. All I need to get down now is how to fall safely on the kamikazes.

    The tide bottoms out, so now there’s a little bit of tide push. With the tide push, comes more sets, but it’s twice as crowded into the early evening. There’s a flying barracuda that keeps busting airs from the water. Surfers nearby are caught off guard and flinch. I’m in position for a set wave, but as I’m going down the line, there’s a ballheaded guy in my way paddling out. Fuck, second time already. I let out a “Shiiiiiiit!” as I draw a line right over him and jump off. Somehow, I miss him, but it’s another good wave gone to waste. I catch a series of closeouts. I’m frustrated, and I’m looking to end the session on a good note. I’m passed the two hour mark. I don’t mean for the session to last this long, but it’s so hard to get out. I’m in position just behind the shoulder on my next wave, but some longhaired fuck drops in on me. At this point I’m short on being humble and kind. I feel the aggro inside of me, but I try my best to suppress it. Just then, Chad paddles in front of me. He says, “Hey, Matt, how’s it goin’ over here?”

    “Eh, frustrating.”

    “Awww, man. Well, hey, I’ll rub some of my good luck off on you.”

    I give him a thumbs up as he heads to the top of the wave. I think he is good luck because a set comes my way, but I scratch out. A Balinese guy gets the wave, I’m in position for the next one, but that same Balinese guy paddles back and takes that one too. What the fuck!

    Well, it’s just not my afternoon. I catch a last ride that turns hollow, but it’s over shallow reef, so I straighten up and belly ride as far as possible. It’s a beautiful evening. I pay my bill at Froggy’s and start packing up. It would’ve been nice to have an epic session, but a couple things were accomplished. I got more familiar with failed barrels, and my duckdive got a little better.

Dogs playing on the beach.

   
Real Stress:


    I had this in the back of my mind the whole day, that if I stayed too long I’d catch rush hour traffic. I cruise out of the Bukit, but I’m met with a sea of vehicles on the highway. It’s fuckin’ brutal. I weave in between cars, reach gaps too narrow, work my way to the shoulder, and inch my way forward with all the bikes. We’re like lemurs: stampeding, pushing, shoving, to our fate. But in this case, we’re all just trying to get where we have to go. It’s stressful. Not only am I trying to squeeze in and flow with traffic, but I’m doing it with a surfboard next to me. It’s constant stop and go, my foot hits the ground for balance just as much as I’m on the throttle. It’s completely dark by the time I’m home. I know I’ve said it before, but I have to reemphasize it: every time I make it back home safe and unscathed, I take off my helmet, wipe the sweat off my brow, and feel lucky to be alive.