BARNYARD JAVA: Day 7 (double), THU 23JUL2015



My surf partners in crime, Bri and Sonja

Time: 0545-0800

Conditions: 2-4 FT

Fins: Simon Anderson 2 quads

     I hit the snooze button at 0445. Even though we had gone to sleep at 2130, my body still likes to wake itself up at 2330, 0100, and 0330.

     Sonja’s in the kitchen drinking tea. She says she’s not feeling well and is sitting the morning out. Randy’s drinking coffee at the kitchen table, the two German chicks sit at the end. He says he’s going in after his coffee.

     This place was hot last time I was here, but the mornings right now are cool. I should’ve brought a lightweight jacket, even better a wetsuit jacket. Yeah, that cool in the morning.

     Bri shivers behind me on the way to the point, holding onto my waist. We should be the first one’s here, but we pull up to find Mark and a new guy. The new guy has the Hypto Crypto board. I’m surprised to see a Hayden shape here, so I compliment him on his surf craft.

     I switch my fins to the SA-2 quads. Don’t ask me why. This is the first time I’ve been able to sample fins on consistent consecutive sessions on the same wave, so before I make my final decision on which setup to go with, I want to do more testing. So far, the JF-1 fins have worked great, thanks to Klaude who knows I need a lot of drive when I surf.

     Even though the air is cool, the water’s warm. Mark and New Guy catch a couple rights, nothing crazy but enough for them to get some backhand wraps and a few soft snaps. To be honest, I don’t know how I’d fare on a wave like this on my backhand. So far, none of the regular footers here have been tearing it up, save for one local guy, Mr. Stubble. Mark isn’t a bad surfer, but his stance is too wide, and he doesn’t use his bottom turn to set up for powerful snaps, but it could be the wave. I think of my friends who would do well here. I know Rick would kill it here, easily, but he can be a bit wave hungry sometimes, and I know that would cause problems here. Gary would kill it, too, but he craves more critical surfing, which this place doesn’t offer unless it’s six feet plus every day. Klaude would do well here, but it goes back to what I said about this being more of a goofy footers wave. Long sections can be hard to make backhand.

     I talk to the new guy. His name is Jonas from the U.K. He says he just came back from East Timor, surfing a spot called T Land. “A better wave but really crowded,” he says.

     “Where do you like it better?”

     “There better, but my girlfriend likes it here.” He tells me that he bought his board second hand, a 5’10 at 34 liters, loves it. It’s a trip meeting the surf gypsies here. Just like two years ago, so many people travelling all over the South East Asian archipelago, talking about places like Sumatra, Sri Lanka, Lombok, like, “You’ve never been there before? Why not?” And these cats aren’t even intermediate surfers. They just go and take a chance.

     I catch a couple insiders, managing some weak pumps and a few cutbacks. Damn, not really jiving with these fins anymore. I’m no fin expert, but the JF-1 model has a wider base for drive, and I feel the difference despite the bigger fin area of the SA-2 fins.

     After a lull, I sit at the top of the wave. The German chick duo is out now. On the next set, I’m way too deep. Mark gets the first one. I scratch out on the next. On the third wave, one of the German chicks is looking at the wave. I turn and go but scratch out again. She gives me that look that says, “What the fuck?” I had seen her on a flyer on top of the kitchen table, a professional one on high quality paper. It said her name was Jan and that she operates a yoga school in Portugal. When I first arrived, her eye was bandaged up from surfing this slab called Machines. All it took was her hitting the reef once to keep her out of the water for a week.

     Well, yeah, I missed the wave, but she still could’ve gone and kicked out if I had gotten it. I still feel embarrassed, so I sit deep on the inside again.

     More people come out: Randy, Edo, Bintang, Yaya, Boris, Boris’ chick, Sophi, Paul (an old fat dude who looks like Groucho Marx who was here two years ago), another local guy. The swell forecast says it’s supposed to be bigger today, but the swell isn’t here yet, and everyone is on schedule for it.

     I give up on the outside bombs. Too crowded for me. I stay on the inside, milk a couple three footers, getting distance but starved for solid carves and wraps. The swell still isn’t showing.

     We’re an hour and forty-five minutes in. Bri and I are cold from inactivity. Worst surf day since being here. She catches one in. I go back to the top, hoping for the bomb to end this drought.

     A set approaches. I’m too deep. Bintang takes the first, Edo takes the second. I scratch out on the third. In the distance, Bri’s on the sand, waiting.

     Edo and Bintang have been trading off all morning. Next set, I know I can go, but I also know that I’m way too deep, so I take off behind Edo and catch the whitewash on my belly to shore.

#

Time: 1530-1730

Conditions: 5-6 FT

Fins: JF-1 side fins, Q-R Rusty trailers, nubster

     People start leaving to surf at around 1400, and they’re not coming back. The tide’s supposed to be high still. At 1430, I tell Bri to start getting ready, but the owner of the compound comes back from a recon of his own and says that the surf is still soft.

     We don’t leave until about 1530. Some small four footers are peeling on the inside, one behind the other, surfers on each wave. Looks decent, but there are also eight heads at the top of the wave, stagnant.

     Instead of doing the walk out to the point, Bri and I decide to paddle straight out. It should take longer, but with the surf being small it shouldn’t be an issue. As soon as our feet touch the water, a bigger set rolls in. The lake that we were once about to paddle out from is now roaring whitewash. Since we’re already at the foot of the sea, we say fuck it, wait for the set to roll through, and begin our paddle.

     I lose Bri right away. It’s a long ways, and I pride myself in being able to move around so much on a 5’6. According to size, I’m the shortboard champion with no one riding anything smaller.

     There are a few waves to duckdive. Jan the German yoga chick is on a set wave, no turns, just squatting to hold her line. At this point, I’m convinced that there’s something wrong with Germans. One, they’re greedy, and two, come on . . . you’re on a fucking longboard and all you can do is go fucking straight. Challenge yourself a little! Turn, do something! They’re greedy as shit, too.

     When I get to my inside spot, Jan paddles over and says how fun it just got, and that it had only turned on thirty minutes ago.

     I want to get a wave from the top so badly, but I play the inside game first. I even paddle way deep nearest the cliff than anyone and snag a racy closeout. Further wide, I catch a few single and double hitters, nothing too crazy.

     The lineup thickens. By 1600, everyone from Indo Napili who surfs is out, and the sets start to get bigger and more consistent. Finally, that swell is beginning to show.

     I luck out on a couple of waves by casting my voodoo spell on the people who fail to make the first section or fall. Even though I’m catching the waves from the inside, there’s still so much distance from the first sandbank to shore.

     And then . . . the swell really shows up. Way outside, you can see the top of the rest of the set behind the first wave, marching in like soldiers. First wave, everyone is caught off guard. It’s an instant cleaner upper. Those who are weak get weeded out. Deep inside is a trainwreck of ditched boards and fucking Germans. Claudia, who is part of the German chick longboard duo, points her board towards the sand and disappears. Same with Sofi and Stringbean. Sitting wide, I’m in position for the sets, and I turn and go on a few. Only thing is that they’re so big that they just stand up and section off, so I have to kick out. Paddling back to the lineup, I see Bri on one of the bombs. She’s not quite there as far as throwing buckets, but she’s bottom turning and delivering glancing blows to the lip. This trip’s going to do a lot for her surfing. She’s not just drawing a straight line either, but she’s timing the sections right and pumping on her backhand. I’m proud.

     With the top of the wave a little less crowded, I paddle over. A set comes. Jan turns and goes. I’m on her inside, so I could take it, but she has better position, so I paddle over the wave. Behind it, nothing follows. I look behind me. The section was too fast anyway.

     “You should’ve gone,” says Randy. “She didn’t make it.”

     I pull out an earplug and look back again. “It wasn’t makeable, was it?”

     “Yeah it was.”

     Fuck. Now I’m mad at myself. I should’ve just gone. Why be so picky? I have to surf like I believe that I’m going to make the section, but I feel I’ve been here long enough to know what the wave’s gonna do.

     The first wave of the next set appears in the distance. Randy and I are sitting deepest. We both paddle for it. “You going?” says Randy.

     “Yeah, yeah,” I say in a way that sounds like I should be saying, Awww shucks. I swing my board around early to make sure I’m catching it just a hair late for insurance. When I pop up, I point my nose down the line and force pump as fast as possible. The wave looks like it’s gonna run away, but I actually reach the shoulder. Bri’s the only one I recognize hooting me. I whizz by a few dark bodies. This wave is a solid six feet.

     On this 5’6 Dumpster Diver shape, I definitely feel undergunned. I mean, this is an extremely forgivable wave, but I feel hung up on my turns and nearly blow them. Instead of surfing radically, I have to throw in some balance so as not to eat shit. Pumping down a rampy face, I bottom turn, top turn on the slope, wrap it back, see the section standing up before me, and then pump to do it again.

     I want to put some umph! in my turns, but I’m going so fast that my man-turns end up being check turns, and there’s still spray going out the back. Suddenly, I wish I had a thruster setup to get more pivot on the turns.

     I kick out before the wave closes out. Bri’s throwing me a shaka way in the distance. Back at the top of the wave, I paddle over there and catch another bomb just like the last.

Mie Aayam, or chicken noodle soup. Kind of like the Javanese ramen. 8,000 IDR, which comes out to 60 cents U.S. I ate two of these.