BARNYARD JAVA: Day 10 (double), SUN 26JUL2015

 

Time: 0700-0945

Conditions: 2-3, Occasional 4 FT

Fins: JF-1 thrusters

     Since the surf is supposed to be smaller, and low tide a bit later, Bri and I sleep in. In the early morning, we’re constantly woken up by something running on our roof. At first, I think it’s an earthquake, but then a second set of footsteps start running after the first. Maybe something chasing a mouse?

     The music from the mosque plays every morning for prayer. Combined with the sound of roosters cawing, and I mean like an army of roosters, it sounds like a bunch of walkers are outside of the compound eating people.

     After yesterday evening’s stress sesh, I’m already prepared to start surfing like a dick. Time to just sit on top of everyone. Fuck priority. It doesn’t exist here, especially when you have surf tourists who have never had to learn etiquette before.

     We get to the beach just before 0700. Only five people are out. It’s a beautiful sunny Indonesian morning. The air’s a little cool, but the sun helps fix that. I’m happy about the uncrowded lineup, but I can see why this is so. The surf is inconsistent. I haven’t seen a set yet, and the in-between waves are only about three feet. The issue with size and this wave is that it’s so soft that you definitely need size to make it fun, that or surf a funboard, fish, or longboard.

     A few new people are out. Usually I make conversation, but . . . talking to people and trying to make friends doesn’t work out here, so I paddle out without saying a word.

     Bri and I are at the top of the wave, everyone else is inside. Slowly, while waiting for a set, people start moving into my space. After about fifteen minutes, a set appears. I’m the first one to see it and the first to dart out for it. Bri’s on the shoulder, but she’s not going for it. I turn and go. A German’s in my line. He duckdives, and I bottom turn around him. Recovering, I start my initial drop to set up for my ride. Thank goodness the wave is at least four-feet. It’s what this wave needs to be rippable. I bottom turn into a wrap. What’s really fun is rebounding deep out of the pocket. A couple pumps to a double bottom turn, and I pull off a frontside snap. A couple turns later, the inside stands up and gets hollow. I know this. I’m trying to work my way around the section so I can get clearance around the lip and pull in, but it shuts down on me. The inside doesn’t barrel all the time, and I’m not good enough yet to instinctually pull in. Usually I’m so carve minded that I don’t realize that the wave’s barreling until it’s too late.

     After that wave, I’m content with taking my time. I sit inside wide, wait for someone to take the next set, and then I sit out back again. Since the surf is smaller, the lulls are long. The first shift leaves, and Bri and I only have another couple to share the wave with. Fifteen minutes later, Randy, Bintang, and a bunch of tourists in the Indo Napili area come out.

     At the top of the wave, I scratch out on a set, and Bri catches it a little deeper from where I’m sitting.

     “She got it,” says Bazil, a German guy, one of the last German guys who’s on my “okay list.” Even Randy looks back. We all have a laugh. Bri’s doing better than I am right now. I’m cool with that.

     Even though the session wasn’t firing, it was less crowded and much more hassle free than yesterday. I’m centered and calm once again.

 

 

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Time: 1630-1730

Conditions: 2-3, Occasional 4 FT+

                                        

Pre Blog: So I’ve had a few technological difficulties since being here. One, my waterproof camera, the same one I took here two years ago, took a shit on me. On top of that, internet access is a bitch. My brother hooked me up with an internet thumb drive, but the internet still runs slow, which makes posting pics and blogs really difficult. This morning I let Bri use the thumb drive on her own laptop, and . . . fucking internet is flawless. The internet issue isn’t with the services here, it’s with my slow, cheap ass fucking ASUS laptop, the one which I had prided myself for in getting such a good deal on. Sure, it was bottom of the line, but man . . . this thing is fucking SLOW. You get what you pay for.

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R.I.P. to the Brown Rabbit. Little guy got mauled by a cat three days ago. I had no idea that cats are bunny killers. . .

     It’s 1600, and we’re desperate. People coming back from the beach are saying that the surf is too small. With low tide being after dark, there’s just too much water, that combined with the current swell backing off. Randy says the surf in front of the compound might be okay. Bri and I have a look. The swell entering the bay strikes biggest here because it’s unprotected beachbreak, but it’s usually disorganized. Plus a howling sideshore wind is making it junky. Outside walls are coming in at an easy five feet.

     After a bit of discussion, Bri and I decide to just head back to Choco Point. We’re prepared for whatever we’ll have to face. The weekend crowd, small surf, greedy Germans. Whatever the cost, we just want to be in the water.

     Showing up and parking the moped, two Germans are getting out. Behind them, the point is small and weak, only about four people on it.

     “Eet eez smull,” they say. “Bot you might get goot weyb.”

     As the put-put off on their bike, a three foot set breaks and peels off the point. Rian and one of his homies walk by on the sand, pointing towards the waves.

     When Bri and I get to the lineup, we go straight to the top. Rian, his homey, another local dude in a full suit, three kids, and German Basil and his girlfriend Jeanine are the only ones out. I’m waiting for the lineup to get more crowded, but no one else is approaching from shore.

     There’s a lull. As bad as the surf should be, I see lines out the back, but whenever they come in, they break on the inside. Little Javanese kids scream at each other at high pitch, fighting for waves. Rian laughs. Whenever one of the little groms scratches out, his smile and eye-roll speak a universal language, while his buddy’s hooting himself on down the line. We’re all here to surf. We love it.

     Just then, an outside wave appears. Bri and I go. I hope there’s a second one behind it because I’m going for the first. Careful not to lose the wave, I turn and go a little early. I nearly miss it. Because of its size and power, I’m able to drop in. Set wave, first wave, just like this morning. It’s a gem. I’m careful not to blow it, choosing my cutback spots with calculation, and pumping hard not to fall behind. I get stuck on one of the turns from my stance being too wide, but at the end of the wave I have four turns under my belt before I kick out. The next wave behind it, Rian is tearing it up, going past me for even more distance.

     Out back, Bri’s still sitting there. She didn’t get the second wave. I turn around and look at the shore. Still, no one else is coming out. What luck? Not only is there surf, but the locals called their weekends early, opting for home instead of the beach. Also, the Germans are done. Rian and the local crew want to sit inside, so Bri and I have the outside to ourselves.

     On my next set wave, the offshore wind holds me up, and I fall behind the section. Big mistake. My mistake. I shouldn’t have taken the slopiness of this wave for granted and pumped harder.

     My next set wave is legit. Four-turn range again. Resurfacing on the inside, I see Bri charging down the line on her own set wave. On her backhand, she’s so focused on the section in front of her that she doesn’t even see me. “Last wave,” I yell to her as she passes. Her wave’s even longer than mine.

     When she resurfaces, she says she doesn’t want to leave yet. It’s so hard to go after a good one. The syndrome, one good wave deserves another. Time to paddle back to the top, but playing this game is a gamble because you’re never guaranteed another good one.

     We have to get back early because my brother has to leave town to handle some business. He’ll be back again later, but the plan is to have dinner with him by 1830.

     The sun’s already set behind the mountains. We’re waiting for another set. Bri moves inside and catches a smaller wave to shore. Ten minutes later, I see her on the sand. I’m patient. I have to be. Rian is out here with me, the little groms long gone. A set appears, and I take off deep on the first one.

     This wasn’t supposed to be a good afternoon for surf, not even a good day with all the factors from yesterday. All I know is that I’m pumping down the line and cutting back over the inside sandbank. Before me, the shoulder stands up and turns rampy. I’m ending my session on a solid five-footer.