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| For all of our convenience store needs, the world famous Indomaret |
Time:
0615-0820
Conditions:
5-6 FT+
Fins:
JF-1 thrusters
I hit the snooze button at 0445, or do I?
All I know is that I do something to my phone that turns the alarm off.
My eyes pop open at the sound of a rooster
crowing. Light’s coming into our bungalow through the white curtains. Fuckin’
A. It’s 0545. I’m late. I brush my teeth and stumble to my damp boardshorts and
rashguard from the morning dew. The air is cold. Definitely does not feel like
the tropics. It’s one of those mornings when the Dry-Walker Gods try to
convince you that you’re too tired to surf, to crawl back into bed and wrap
yourself into a blanket burrito.
“We’re late,” I say to Bri, who’s still
lying down.
She sits up in bed and says, “Is it okay if
I sleep in today?”
I’m not gonna be a dick about it. Her
choice, her body. I can’t blame her. My shoulders ache. Even my left knee hurts
from all those carves, back foot on the kick of the tailpad like, Get it!
“Sure,” I say.
It’s a cold ride to Choco Point. The sun
still hasn’t cleared the mountains yet. I pass an Indonesian jogger on the way
and some water buffalos. When I reach the point, I see that the surf hasn’t
backed off from yesterday evening. Now this
is the swell I’ve been waiting for. Row upon row of six-footers are rolling
in, but it’s a bit messy. The face has some warbles in them, the inside a mess
of churning whitewash.
I walk out to the point. Sonja, Mark, and
Hypto Crypto Jonas are the only ones out. Sonja’s the first one I greet in the
lineup. I’m still half asleep, so I can’t even respond intelligently during our
conversation. All I know is that there’s an inside wave coming, and Sonja looks
deep, so I’m gonna go for it. I don’t look back and just start pumping. I get a
check turn off the top, but the wave sections off. I turn around. She’s not too
far behind. Sorry Sonja.
Paddling back, all I see is a mountain of
water that’s slightly tapered, shouldering out deep into the bay, but out in
front is pure work. Even though Choco Point is a forgiving wave, this is the
biggest I’ve surfed it this trip, and it still demands some respect. The 5’6 is
easy to duckdive. Not the best craft for paddling, but I manage. Into the
fourth wave of the set, the size is not tapering off, nor the consistency. For
the first time here, I get that queasy feeling like I’m in over my head. I
mean, I know I’m not, I’m fine, but it’s just that similar feeling that I get
at Porto on big winters when you’re just getting werked. It’s a little
unnerving.
Like a dumb ass, I don’t pass on the
insiders and sit at the top. No, I’m a quantity kind of guy, so I don’t pass on
the wave buffet. I turn and go, sitting at the inside bank, and take the
unclaimed waves, but since these are remnants from the sets, they line up a
little unorganized. After a turn or two I have to kick out. And then,
motherfucker, the O.G. waves pop up out the back, and I’m just caught in the
worst place. I’m already further inside because of the waves I’m catching, but
now I have the whitewash mountains to deal with. That queasiness comes back.
I’m actually glad that Bri took the morning off because I would be worrying
about her. Right next to me, I see Mark assisting Jonas. Broken leash. I look
deep towards the cliff and see the German longboard duo. Turns out they decided
to ride shortboards today, and they’re deep deep in the impact zone in a spot
worse than mine. Jan the yoga bitch looks at me. Her eyes are wide, cartoonish,
like Wyle E. Coyote before the dynamite explodes, and all I can do is smile.
Yup, fucking greedy ass bitches. You’ve been hogging all the waves up until
now. You’re payments are due.
Back at the top, Sonja, Edo, Bintang,
Randy, Spaniard Victor, and Groucho Marx are out. When the next set comes, I
have a chance at one of the waves, but Bintang burns me. I can’t call him off
though. He’s local, he’s cool, and I really don’t want to have to call him off.
Instead I say, “Go, go, go!” just to let him know that that was my wave. Rest
of the set I’m out of position. Bintang comes back and apologizes, and that
makes all the difference.
The next set is a little smaller with
better shape, and it’s about to break at the top of the point. Edo and I have
position. He’s too far outside, so he yells, “Go,” and I take the wave. The
ride starts off racy, but there’s so much speed that I’m not missing the quads.
I get just above the pocket, and looking down the line is like hitting the rest
button. Before me, lining up all the way to shore, is the beginning of the
steep shoulder. I’m off to the races. With speed I swoop down the face, bottom
turn, and draw a tight frontside snap into a carve back into the pocket.
Remember, this is a solid rippable six feet, so at the same time I really have
to take care not to blow it. My second turn’s right in front of the German duo.
Feels good, like a statement maneuver that says, “This is how you’re supposed
to surf this wave.” I pass Mark, Jonas. On my fifth turn all the way on the
inside I feel gnarly thigh burn. I kick out. Out back in the distance,
everyone’s a small black dot.
I take the rest of the set on the head, but
that queasy feeling’s replaced by something else.
#
Time:
1540-1740
Conditions:
5-6 FT
I had discovered a small ding on the nose
and tail of the 5’6 after yesterday’s morning session, so I tried to bandage
the wound with a couple stickers, but the hasty repairs didn’t work. I told
Randy, and he told me to just give the board to Gayung for repairs.
While the board was in the shop, Bri and I
went to a fast food restaurant called Quick Chicken. Randy recommended the
chicken burger, so I ordered two. I must say, the chicken patty was deeply
fried and yummy, but man . . . did they drench the shit out of it in ketchup
and mayo. Literally, if someone were to be served this burger in the states, it
would have to be a practical joke. This country likes its sauce, and we also
discovered something they don’t like . . . wait for it . . . dental floss. You
can’t find dental floss anywhere in this place, not the convenience store or
the pharmacy. My brother’s been searching all around town for some, and he
keeps getting directed to the dentist office, which is miles away from Indo
Napili.
I’d like to paddle out at 1430, but when we
get back, Gayung’s still working on my board. It’s so friggin’ hot that Bri and
I have to leave the comfort of our bungalow to get some of the ocean breeze.
At 1515, my board is done.
We’re late reaching the point, but only about
four guys are on it. Back at the compound, every chick, except Bri, is scared
to paddle out after this morning’s session, even this New Zealand chick who
rips wants nothing to do with it. The tide’s still kind of high, and the waves
have some chop on the face.
Since the tide’s not low enough to walk to
the lineup, we do the Spartan paddle from the beach. After a few duckdives, I’m
cool.
The top of the wave is packed. My brother
told me that the kids don’t go back to school for a couple more weeks, and this
afternoon crowd shows it.
Semi-pro, Supri is out. He’s the local grom
who won a Rip Curl contest out here, one of the only locals who can bust airs.
He waves at me in the distance. I throw him a shaka back. Jonas also says hi. A
kid who I had seen here two years ago paddles by me and asks how I’m doing.
This kid . . . he’s missing a couple of teeth and barely looks like he’s grown
at all, but I’m stoked that he remembers me.
Every kid in town is out, even a couple of
fathers. Since Bri missed the morning session, she’s hungry for waves, so she
paddles into the thick of things in hopes to score a nug.
Me? Shit . . . my body still hurts from
this morning. I had caught my fair share of waves already, so I don’t even want
to battle it out with the locals. I’m perfectly content sitting wide, and my
patience pays off. Huge bombs come out the back and section off too fast at the
top. I’m in prime position to turn and go when the waves hit the sandbank. I
catch waves bigger than the ones at the point, only problem is that the big
sets don’t peel right. I pop up, pump down the line get a snap, and a
wraparound cutback before I have to kickout. Even though my rides are short I
catch them unmolested without having to battle it out. I watch guys at the top
paddle in and get caught behind the section, and then I turn around for steep
drops.
I maintain my technique until I drift out
of position and end up sitting too deep. On the next big set, I duckdive the
first two and barely miss the third. It peels by unridden, the main lineup
scattered throughout the impact zone. That could’ve been the wave of the day.
“Fuck!” I yell. Now I’m pissed. Naturally, I ditch my spot and head to the top
of the wave.
Good luck catching waves here. I turn and
go on a few and get caught behind the sections, doing exactly what I was
watching other people do earlier. When the bombs come through, I’m out of
position. Frustrated, I paddle back to my initial position in defeat. In the
distance, I watch the hoard of locals, kids and adults, and all the foreigners
fucking each other in the ass over the same wave. I still manage a few more
rides.
When the sun goes down, that’s when
everything changes. The surf’s still consistent. Three-fourths of the lineup
leaves, and now the top of the wave is open. Bri and I sit there with Randy and
a few others until it’s dark, trading off waves. None of my rides really
standout, not to say that there’s an issue with the surf, but I just feel like
I’m surfing tired, forcing myself to take the waves because they’re there. I’m
a robot.
I turn to Bri and make the signal for one
more wave, but she shakes her head, No. She still hasn’t had her fill.
We surf until last light. For dinner, Sonja
and Randy take us to a place called Mie Jakarta Ayam, me and Bri’s second night
here. The noodle soup is only 80 cents. It’s good.
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| All this, barely $4.00 worth |
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