The Decision:
When I came back from the chat café last night, Randy was up looking at the swell forecast. Tuesday would be the biggest day of the week.
“Tomorrow is supposed to be seventeen feet,” he said. “So, it’s pretty much up to you where you want to surf.” I put together a plate of food and sat down. “You can think about it,” He said.
I chewed . . . chewed some more. “What direction is the swell coming in?” I asked.
“West.”
I asked because this recent swell was too south, that’s why Balangan wasn’t big (Bali standards big). I said “If it’s going to be seventeen feet, then I’ll probably just surf Tugu.”
“Well, we can check out the beach locally and see what the swell is doing first. If it’s too big, then we can go to Tugu.”
“Okay,” I said. I finished eating, brushed my teeth, and contemplated for a couple minutes. I walked back out and said, “You know what, we can go back to Balangan.”
“Straight to Balangan? Good. You can probably chop that in half.” He was referring to the swell size. “But it should be an easy six feet.”
Of course, six feet, Randy standards or Bali standards, both are brutal.
I remember the biggest wave that my brother’s ever saw me catch. It was at El Porto during one of the big swells some time last fall. For me, it was a monster. After that ride I asked Randy how big it was, and he said, “Eh, it was a good six feet.” Last night I thought about that wave, if I could do it again, and how different that size of a wave would be over here.
Round two at Balangan sounded serious, but I thought it a wise choice to go for the challenge. After all, when everything is easy, those memories aren‘t as ingrained as the hard fought ones. As I lay in bed I thought about all the things that could go wrong, and then I turned Balangan into a giant sea monster with tentacles and a razor sharp beak that would cinch onto me and pull me down. I realized I was making the worst of it, so I finally relaxed and let myself drift into sleep. Give myself to the situation, that’s all I could do.
Balangan Rd#2:
I wake up at 0515, and the light’s on outside my door. I walk out, see Randy in the living room, and grab a glass of water. I then eat a small piece of bread. Randy watches me eat, as he prepares our tea. My actions are out of character.
I say, “I’m eating a little bit . . . to push my shit out.”
“You should squat.”
I feel a surge at my backdoor. “Oh, here it comes.”
After I launch a couple ass rockets, we drink our tea and take another look at the forecast. Today’s an early day because we need to catch the right tide window. We pack up and leave before any hint of sunlight. We need petro, so I pull into the gas station first. I forget to put my kickstand down and fumble with the seat to access the fuel door. The gas attendant holding the pump next to me has probably seen this a million times: another bule (foreigner) awkwardly adjusting to the Bali shuffle.
The sky is extremely overcast, as shades of light gray slowly spreads over the eastern horizon. I can see a light drizzle in front of my headlights, and then we’re driving over wet road. I wonder if it’s going to rain harder, but the drizzling soon stops, and we’re on dry pavement again.
The morning drive is harmless. I do my best to remember where all the turns are to get to Balangan. I think of sequences to help me remember, Right-left-right-shrine at this corner. Once we ender the isolated road to the beach, I lose track, and all I know is that we’re taking any road that goes down. The twists and turns are more nerve wracking than yesterday. I take them slow and easy, while Randy disappears in the distance.
There’s only one moped parked when we get there. No one is trying to charge us again, but that’s because there’s only one cow on guard duty. He mulches away while we walk off with our gear.
Whoa:
It’s meant to be that we walk down the steps at this particular moment. It’s flat. I’m thinking, Inaccurate forecast again, it’s gonna be an easy session. We walk about five steps lower, and then the set approaches. The top of the wave breaks first, and then three waves are lined up, hollow, fast, big, and break all the way past the channel.
“It’s big,” says Randy. “It’s up to you. . . .”
The last wave of the set has a moment of gradualness before the section builds and goes fast. If I could just paddle into the shoulder, I think to myself.
“Nah, lets go,” I say.
We go back to the same warung as yesterday, but this time I note the name: Froggy’s. The same worker that helped us yesterday looks like he just woke up, and he’s organizing the beach furniture. He sees us approaching in the distance, and he welcomes us by waving both of his arms. I look in the line up. The top of the wave has about two people, while the second point has about five. We enter Froggy’s, put our stuff on the board racks, grab a couple baskets for storage, sit down, and enjoy the show.
“If there’s anything else you want to ask me, now’s the time,” says Randy.
“I think I’ll be all right. Do you think it‘s a bad idea to sit on the shoulder?”
“I think it’s a good idea for you to sit on the shoulder.”
I scan the second point and think about where to sit. More sets come through, and a couple sections actually hold the barrel. The worker that greeted us asks us where we’re from. Randy says Maui, and then for some reason the worker changes the topic to cigarettes. He’s smoking, and he talks about how American cigarettes are number one. Then he goes further into his affection for cigarettes, explaining how a cigarette is better than a woman. I’m not sure how Randy feels, but for some reason I feel like an American asshole and somehow at fault for this guy‘s addiction.
To Eat Shit or Not to Eat Shit? That is the Question:
No Bali coffee this morning. Randy sets out while I’m stalling way behind him. Instead of the channel, he chooses to walk out right where the action is. This morning I’m using Napili Hau’s very own, local boy, Elijah Agatma’s board. I put it in my mind to be especially careful with it. The board is a little wider than my JS, so I’m not sure how I’ll perform on it. I’m a little weary of it’s size, as I already have enough problems duckdiving the JS, and this thing is more buoyant.
Randy waits for me while I do the reef dance but at a sloth’s pace. Before I can say anything, he says, “Okay, we’re waiting for the set.” Then he gives the signal, “Now!” We’re in thigh deep water, and I start paddling my ass off. He turns his head and says, “Do NOT duckdive!” I go over the waves until I see him start to go under them. It’s a miracle. With perfect timing we’re at the line up, and I don‘t fuck up my board like “day 13.”
There are about eight heads in the water, four of them are an Aussie nuclear family. It doesn’t take long for a set to appear. It’s more than a “bump” in the surface. They are large lefts with a slight angle indicating the shoulder. The pocket grows darker as the first wave gets closer. I paddle out to beat it. The Aussie father looks at his young son who’s on a body board and says, “Is this big enough for you?”
Randy’s already on the inside, just finished with his first wave. I pass up all the waves because I can’t figure it out; I can’t tell which ones are closing out or which ones to go for; they all look the same. I’m not the only one that’s indecisive. Barely anyone goes on the set, and it makes me a little more nervous. First of all, the waves look doable. I know I can paddle into them, but it has to be a calculated decision because I don’t want to risk eating shit on the inside for nothing. I don’t even realize it, but I’m sitting a the peak where no one wants to be. Randy waves me over and says, “Don’t sit there unless you want the big ones. You see the locals over there?” I turn and see a Balinese guy on the inside. “Go over there if you want the smaller ones.”
At this point, I’m thinking that Randy’s never been this watchful over me, and it makes me feel like I must not know what I’m really up against. He takes off on another wave, and I see a smaller bump in the distance. I hit the “go” button and start chasing down the inside shoulder, but I hear Randy yell something. I back out of the wave, look on the outside, and a rogue wave, the biggest one of the morning, is about to crest. With eyes wide open and an anus shut water tight, I race towards it with all my might. It breaks, there’s a huge wall of whitewash, I duckdive, and the wave yanks my board away like a grandma getting violently purse snatched. The once blue line up is now chaos. Everyone’s scattered, like a swarm of ants chillin’ on the yard, washed away by a garden hose. I resurface amidst foamy water with white marble-like swirls blanketed everywhere. I make it to the outside and reach Randy.
“Why didn’t you go for that one?” he says.
“What? Really? I thought you were telling me to watch out for the rogue wave?”
“Nooo, that was a good one you had. I was telling you to scratch for it.”
Fuckin’ A. I think about the reef, and then I tell myself that we’re over deep enough water to be safe until I get to the inside. I paddle for a couple more waves, but I’m too far on the outside and scratch out. An Aussie chick is nearby, and she scratches out as well. This goes on a couple more times. Minutes later, as Randy and I sit side by side, another hill in the water appears. I paddle, Randy gets my attention and says, “No, it’s gonna wall up.” I stop, watch, and see the explosion from behind. He explains that the section was walling up before it even broke. Another one pops up. I turn, I paddle, and he doesn’t stop me. I’m trying to follow Randy’s textbook. I’m in range for the shoulder, but I paddle a little deeper to get some guaranteed lift. My mind goes blank; I‘m all instinct now. The pocket’s turning dark, I see the offshore texture on the forming lip, I’m kicking my feet, scratching, scraping, and my limbs are moving like a cockroach on speed. There’s more to the wave than anticipated, it’s jacking up, and Elijah’s board and I are rising with it. I’m still kicking, I’m still in it, and then I tilt.
Breakthrough:
I don’t know if It’s because I’m paddling with everything that I have, but from my perspective I’m watching the nose of the board slide down the wave. It’s fast, the fastest wave that I’ve had so far since being here. It’s far from The Burger or even the sand bar at Canggu. The wave eclipses the size of my waves at Nusa Dua as well. I’m just under the critical curl. I pop up, and I’m sliding down the wave. The shoulder turns into a wall before I bottom turn. Now my mind is thinking again. First I’m thinking, I’m alive. Second, What the fuck do I do now? When I told Randy that I wanted to get “barreled” when I first arrived in Bali, he tried to explain it to me, but he couldn’t. He ended up saying:
“It’s just experience. You have to ride those kind of ways to know what to do. I can tell you to fade out a little, pull in, check turn, but then what? How will you fade out? And if you pull in, what are you gonna do? Are you even gonna be able to make it out?”
The section builds fast. I’m goofy foot, so next to my head it’s going vertical. I see a shoulder ahead of me, or I think it’s a shoulder. It’s my first time in a wave so hollow that I don’t know if it’s wise to stand up and go, or if I should punch through the back; it’s heavy. I’m thinking, Where’s the reef? As the wave starts to go over my head the shoulder turns into a wall, and I jump through the back and avoid the explosion.
Clearly, it’s not a barrel ride, but for me . . . it’s throaty. I paddle back to the line. Randy’s busy by moving around in the line up. He sees me, he smiles.
“Yeah, you’re paddle’s looking better!” he says.
I’m silent. I have to be because it takes all my will power from turning into a giddy surf queen. My heart’s still racing, but it’s not fear anymore. I’m beyond stoked. It’s the wave that I needed, the wave I’ve been waiting for, and it’s my most defining moment on this trip so far. It gives me confidence. I can ride these waves. I can do it.
I’m still cautious as I am selective. I try to stay away from the inside because I still respect the reef. I turn on. My second wave looks like a perfect shoulder. As I pop up I see the section before me. It’s reflecting off the overcast sky, gleaming white and silver with shadows of black. The section is curved liked a sagging laundry line. It’s one of my most graceful wave entries ever. I’m pumping, but not forcing, I’m feeling the wave, and taking it as far as I can go. It walls up, and it closes out on me. I’m pulled down but not on the reef. I resurface unharmed; I paddle back to the line.
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| Pictures courtesy of Jefferey's Photo, next door to Froggy's. |
I become more free willed. Still, three-quarters of the people in the water aren’t going for it. Returning to the line up, that Aussie chick is still scratching out. For the first time, I’m not just taking air in the line up, and I’m getting waves that only a few people want to go for. I feel Dump Rider worthy again.
I get overzealous. I see a wave that I’m way too deep for, but I go for it anyway. As I pop up, I see nothing but lip ahead of me. I go down with the ship and get sucked down deeper than before. I touch the bottom, stay there for a while, and then I find my leash and climb it like a rope. Still, I’m unscathed. I go back to my brother to laugh it off. He says that I went for a for sure close out, as he mimics the shape of the wave with his hands, indicating two peaking sections that I took off behind. “Yeah, you’re catching them,” he says. I explain how stoked I am. It’s a good day for us brothers, and I don’t mean “brothers” as in Black dudes.
It’s an epic day for me. A catch a smaller wave, and I’m pumping down the line expecting for it to get hollow and build up, but it doesn’t. This wave is a “gimme,” for the powers that be literally just threw me one and said, “Here you go, just play with it.” I’m pumping and waiting for the close out, but it continues to stay open . . . and open . . . and open. I can’t say it’s the longest left of my life, but it’s one of the longer lefts of the day, and it’s definitely my longest left in Bali. Respecting the section, I stay head of it, pump, do a lame attempt at hitting the lip, do it a couple more times, and I ride it to the edge of the reef until the wave has shrunk significantly in size. I exit over the top, still standing on my board, flawless.
As I paddle back, Randy is looking for me, but he’s looking behind him. He finally sees me as I’m approaching all the way from the channel. He acknowledges the long ride. At the top of the wave, near the cliff to our north, we watch a guy connect his section to our break for the longest ride we‘ve seen.
A couple minutes later Randy says, “I’m going to the top of the wave, you can stay here if you want.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
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| The cliff over looking the first point, or what Randy refers to as "the top of the wave." |
We leave behind our morning pack and sit with four guys. They’re not too thrilled about us being there, but I can’t blame them. A guy asks me for the time, and I deliver. Randy catches a big one. I see him drop in, bottom turn, then see his left arm extends as he starts his cutback; he disappears. I scratch out on a couple, and get a short ride shortly after. My next wave seems like that long left that I had earlier, but I miscalculate it. It builds and runs fast, and it closes out on me. As I starfish, I feel the reef under me; it’s shallow. I paddle back out and signal to Randy that I’m going back to the second point. I catch my last wave in. It’s a close out good for a couple pumps, but I’m stuck on the inside. I have to wait for a lull or get pounded by a set wave over shallow reef. I finally get pushed onto shore. Elijah’s board is in tact, and I see Randy sipping on a Bali coffee, enjoying front row seats at Froggy’s.
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| View in front of Froggy's. |
The Cool Down:
I order a coffee for myself, and we reflect on the day’s experience. We watch the waves change as they get even bigger. A kid runs to shore; his board is buckled. He reaches in his bag, pulls out another one, and goes back out there. I ask Randy how big the waves were. As a joke, I say, “It was at least three feet, right?”
He’s silent with that doubtful grin.
I say, “What, you don’t think it was at least three feet?!”
“It was like four.”
Man . . . there goes that Bali scale again. Four feet, huh? Well, I took some pics, maybe they tell a different story, but I thought it was at least six. But then again, what Barney wouldn’t?
A Balinese guy introduces himself. He’s an older guy, balding, and looks like a character from the Sponge Bob cartoons. His name is Froggy. He tells us that he’s happy we chose his spot, and he lets my brother in on a little local knowledge. For the rest of our time there, he’s hooting at the big sets and calls Randy and I every time a G-string walks by.
An Aussie guy walks up and talks to Randy. He’s the father of the kid with the buckled board. We all randomly talk about Bali’s surf wonders. The vibe is so positive it’s unreal.
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| Daily offerings from the Balinese people. These are found everywhere everyday. |
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| Cows gotta eat too. |
After Randy’s second coffee, we check in with the Balinese photog guy to see if he has pics of us. He has a couple stills of me pumping and then wiping out. Randy tells him that we’ll be back tomorrow, and maybe we’ll buy some then.
Where we parked, we find the same local dudes that could have charged us for parking yesterday, but this time they pay us no mind. We start our engines and head out. Traffic is lighter on the way to Kuta. Kadek finished my board repair yesterday, but he’s no where to be found. I leave him a pack of smokes as a “thank you,” and we head back. Meeting gridlock traffic, Randy hops on the sidewalk and takes off. I try to jump the curb on my moped, but it’s wheels aren’t big enough. I try again; I am stopped. I’m stuck behind an endless line of bikes on the shoulder.
Once I finally get free, Randy is gone. I’m going off of memory for the drive home. The ocean’s there, I think to myself. Everything’s familiar, everything’s familiar. Then . . . nothing is familiar. I’m looking for signs that say Seminyak, but all I see is Nusa Dua and Denpasar. I go off in what has to be the wrong direction. I turn left, then make another left, and I basically make a giant horseshoe. I’m actually not worried though. Traffic in my direction is light, and I think of it as being scenically lost. At a major intersection I turn to a Balinese woman and say, “Seminyak?”
She nods her head and says, “No.”
I must sound like an idiot right now. The intersection looks familiar, and I realize that all I need to do is make a left. When I arrive, Randy’s already been home for a while. We tell Jessica about my good session today, and Jessica asks if it’s because of Elijah’s board. She may be right, but I’ll know for sure tomorrow.
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| Elijah, you may not know that I borrowed your board, but thank you. |
I eat Christine’s cooking until I’m full and pass out. A good day indeed. Now I sit at a new café called Bali Deli. First, I took a short cruise around town without incident. When there’s no traffic, I enjoy riding through the streets. I’m sitting at a patio table, it’s open air, and I just ordered the most delicious almond coffee I’ve had in my life. It’s dark, there’s a cool breeze, and candles light up my surroundings. I live for this shit.
