A Barney in Bali--Day 6, 13JUNE2011 MON

The Wave that Rocked my Anus:

     Posting blogs last night was ridiculously frustrating. I gave up at about 2230, and then I woke up at 0330 to give it another shot. Tasks which could be done in fifteen minutes took hours. With a slight lack of sleep, Randy wakes up on cue and starts the morning rituals. The wind is dead.

      We check out two different online swell and wind forecast sites to find out what’s in store. According to the forecasts, today is supposed to be smaller than yesterday. We contemplate on gambling on Sanur but determine that a small swell is not worth going out of our way for--another day. We deliberate on Canggu which sounds good, but the tide is high. We know for sure that we can catch The Gu before the wind picks up, while Sanur is a gamble. The Gu it is.
    
     Some of the sights are beginning to get familiar to me now. I name things on the way. There’s that nice stretch of road where there’s nothing but vegetation on each side: The Canggu Mile. There’s this hill that always hurts my ass every time we go over it: Ass Clench Hill. I fumble for my camera to snap some pics of the countryside, but the road is too bumpy, and I need both hands to save my ass.

     A van with about five boards on top of it drives by and heads in the opposite direction. We both know that’s not good. I mention the wind already picking up, and Randy looks at the trees to validate this himself. When we pull up we have low expectations. I see the slight texture on the water before we even go over the hill, but what we see next is a surprise.

The left in front of the Warung (restaurant). Seems to be working this morning.

    River Mouth is jam packed for being so early in the morning. I learn that the southern peak is actually called The Sand Bar, and that the locals usually dominate it. On this morning, Sand Bars is a little swamped by the tide, but the peaks are still well defined. The southern break next to Sand Bars is called Warung because it’s right in front of the resort. I haven’t surfed there yet, but we’re in time to see a good set roll through. The rights are long and lined, but the left breaks perfectly with a small hollow shoulder. Only two guys are on it. The sets are lined up one after the other, the take off spot in the exact same place each time; it looks like a wave machine.

The Sand Bar

     “Did you just see that guy get shacked!” says Randy.

     He’s motioning towards River Mouth. I missed it, but I watch others fail in their attempts to get barreled. I’ve never seen The Gu working like this; it’s impressive. We take a look at The Burg. There’s only three guys out.

     “We’ll definitely get waves at the Burger,” says Randy. I point out the break in front of the resort, but he says, “Look.” I turn my head and see four more guys paddling out, and there are already a couple more people out there.

     I’m still stoked, so we walk to The Burg. The river mouth is deeper than usual. Some Westerners walk by with their dogs. The dogs howl at the test before them to pass the deep, fast, river water. A gray dog is missing a hind leg. He struggles, but he makes it across.

     I now have a feel for that peak, at least where to sit and where to paddle out. We get sucked out through the channel as a set approaches. I’m in prime position for a four foot (Bali scale) wave, the wave jacks up in front of me. Randy yells for me to go, and then he lets off another sound when I pass it up. I felt like I was too deep. Another wave just the same pops up, he tells me to go again, I see a guy on my inside paddling for it, I back out of the wave, and the guy doesn’t even get the slide.

     Randy says, “You gotta go for it. Just paddle for it. Don’t pull out.”

     A little bit of sulking starts the session. I now curse myself for not going for the first and that last wave. The    current and rip sucks us out and north; everyone is out of position. Another set appears, the pocket begins to darken, and Randy says, “GO!” Yes, his words are said with a purpose, as I paddle with a purpose. I’m not good at kicking my feet when I paddle, but I’ve been trying. I am indeed right on the peak. It’s a left with a steep mooshy drop with a juicy shoulder to work with. I pop up, but there’s a problem. I have toes like fingers, in fact, they’ve been called “eagle claws” on more occasions than I can mention. My praying mantis toes actually catch my leash when I pop up, so I’m riding my board frontside, with my leash caught between my big and middle toe on my front foot. I have no slack to spread my stance, so I am forced to ride the back of the board. I still pull off the bottom turn, but my top turns don‘t have the right weight distribution to be clean. However, it‘s still a long ride, and I milk it for what it‘s worth, eagle claws or not.

     I get back to the peak. There are now six guys at The Burger. I catch a right hander. God damn . . . on this mooshy, high tide morning the set waves are big (for me), but the mooshiness reminds me of Trestles. My confidence boosts, but it could also mean my downfall too. It looks like a carbon copy of a juicy right hander at Lowers. When I pop up and set up for my bottom turn, two Aussies are on the shoulder watching, on the brink of dropping in. I bottom turn and hit the lip to ward them off. I’m not sure what the spray factor was, but it felt good; I felt alive. I transition into a sloppy backside cut back and hit the lip again. When I straighten up from the turn, an Aussie is paddling out and in my path. I am forced to eat shit to avoid him. Staying positive, I resurface and paddle back. I hear him yell something. I turn around. He congratulates me on my ride.

     Back at The Burg, everyone wants to sit at the same place; every position is covered. I hate crowds, but for some reason it’s manageable out here. I take the situation as a good practice opportunity. I scratch out on a couple rights, and then Randy tells me to stop sitting on the shoulder. He was right. I get another set wave going left. I’m weary of the sea urchin farm hiding down there and of the rocks. Randy says that Burgers barrels on a good swell, and I see the potential first hand. I’m pumping down the line and approaching the shallows. I stall for a second before I penetrate out the back. The wave stands up, but this time, the shoulder remains. For a split second, I see the wave throw out over me. I can either stay tucked in, earn my barrel badge, and retire. Or . . . I can get barreled and get dragged across the shallow rocks that I’m already riding over. I choose the third option and punch through the back.

     I paddle back to Randy, excited like a little kid that just had something awesome happen to him. The next left stands up as I’m sliding down. Randy later tells me that the wave hit’s a shelf and barrels on big days. It looks like it’s turning hollow. I tuck myself close to the face and get pinched.

     My daily debacle happens on my last left. It’s a wave from another juicy set, but it breaks weird. I’m on the peak, but it doesn’t break first. The left hand section in front of me breaks, so I’m behind it trying to catch it. I fail, and a roaring bed of white wash stampedes over me. I’m where the sea urchins are, so I try to fight the washing machine and stay near the surface. Instead, I’m tumbling backwards and my anus lands on a hard, blunt rock. Let me type that again: I landed hard, on my ass, the round edge of a rock literally TAPPED MY ANUS . . . hard . . . in an ungentle manner. The whole time I’m thinking, sea urchin sea urchin sea urchin! I get dragged a little further and get the top of my shins and legs a little banged up. I resurface and see Randy paddling back out, most likely off of one of his smooth stylish, non ass-raping waves. I groan in pain and share my experience with him. Despite my tampered anus, I am grateful: I’m not cut open at all, but it definitely shakes me up.

The Burg's getting crowded.

     Other guys in the water over hear my rape tale, as they glance at me curiously as I paddle pass. I no longer want a piece of the left. Burger my ass. . . . While I was getting violated, more people paddled out, including two chicks. There’s about a dozen heads out. Everyone’s distracted by the poon in the water, so we sneak back to the peak. Randy turns to me and says, “Hold your position.” It’s kind of funny. The other ten surfers don’t realize that they’ve drifted too far north. Well, the joke’s on us because the tide makes The Burg inconsistent. We paddle for the sets that are now breaking closer to the inside; we miss them. The other’s are now alerted, and we are now all nut-to-butt like a carton of eggs. We agree to call the session and hunt for our last waves. Two waves come, but I pass on jockeying for them. A surprise bump appears, and I catch a right-hander back to shore. I get one top turn before it turns mooshy. It reforms on the inside, but I step off the rail to walk back to shore.
    

The Burg

     River Mouth is still going off, and all the local Balinese guys are there, even little kids. That spot is at least twice as packed as Burgers, with people working the outside, middle, and inside. Gangly, little kids playfully hoot for each other and ride left after left, unmoved by the foreign presence.

My girlfriend Lauren will kill me for this pic. I took this one strictly for the fellas that read my blog. Please leave a comment in appreciation to keep me out of trouble.

Randy, Burg in the background.

     Randy catches a right in and says that one guy got in his way twice, and that that last wave turned into a battle. Well, we’re on the sand, unscathed, and happy with our decision to go to The Gu. Just then, good, solid, consistent sets roll through. We watch guys get pinched in the barrel, others gouge the lip releasing massive sprays. We marvel at natures gifts, smiling, satisfied.

Right hander at River Mouth

    

I prepare my camera for the ride back and take pictures of “the sights that sold my brother on Bali.” I’ll post them. You can decide for yourself.

Ass Clench Hill