BARNYARD JAVA: Day 14 (double), THU 30JUL2015

Time: 1200-1400

Conditions: 2-3, Occasional 4 FT

Fins: JF-1 Thruster

     Dawn patrols are a no-go. Too much tide in the morning. After yesterday’s bad call of leaving the lineup after only an hour during the first session, we’re not making that same mistake again. Since we have ample time to kill in the morning, it’s straight to the hotel lobby around the corner. Unfortunately, attempts at posting my blog are a failure again, but I at least get one post in, my day 9 post.

     The plan is to stack sessions on top of each other, Cali Trestles style, where we bring snacks and drinks to the beach, rest after two hours, and then paddle right back out again. We have to eat small so we’re not too full at noon, so we have a cup of coffee at the hotel along with some overpriced French fries. On our way to the coconut lady at the harbor, we’re stopped at the entrance by a security guard.

     “Ticket,” he says.

     “Minum,” I say. “Air kelapa muda.” I’m trying to tell him that I’m just here for the coconut water. I also tell him that I’m staying at the surf compound.

     He nods his head. “Ticket,” he says.

     The security guy still wants me to pay. I say thanks and drive away. Unfortunately, this happens in time. We’re foreigners. We have money. They charge the locals but not us because there’s a gentleman’s agreement with the local surf houses, but every once in a while, some asshole’s gonna want a little extra on the side. Here and there, you’ll get charged a little more. Foreigner equals Rich.

     We drop our computer shit off and head to Quick Chicken, pick up three chicken burgers (one for Randy), and then head to the Indomaret for coconut water and some snacks for the session. After mauling the burgers, we’re at the beach by 1145.

     The surf is a little bigger than yesterday, and the water looks so damn inviting. Too inviting. Eight fellow foreigners are out. Also, I had previously mentioned how the sun here is on skin-cancer mode. Bri and I cake the shit out of our faces with zinc. I even do my calves for the first time and put a little extra on my arms. As much as I’d like to bareback it, I don’t. My nipples are nice and healed, but I don’t want to chance it. Also, I better keep as much as this noon sun off of my skin as I can.

     No walk to the point, but it’s hardly a Spartan Paddle because the surf isn’t big.

     When Bri and I make it to the lineup, about four people leave. Good. Swiss Jonas and Mark are out on longboards again. Boris and his chick are out here, too. Initially, I’m worried that Mark and Jonas are gonna be some wave hogs. I don’t attack the main spot right away. I sit inside, catch a couple small insiders, and then wait for everyone to frenzy over the next set before I sit at the top.

     Sitting at the top can have its pressure sometimes. In a way it’s a statement. You’re saying, I’m sitting further out than you guys because I want the best wave possible. I’ll pass on the smaller inside ones and leave them for the rest of you cretans.

     But if there’s a lull, then you’re just sitting there, furthest out, with your ass exposed. How long can you hold out? Sometimes you can be sitting there for like twenty minutes, letting the little ones go by, hearing the surfers take them way behind you on the inside. You turn around. Two assholes are behind you waiting for their turn at the top. You need to hurry up and get one, is what they’re thinking. Or are they? You’re mind fucked. Do you A. Hold your ground, or B. give up and move inside. From my experience, you choose B., and guess what? That’s when the outside set comes, and you’ve just dislodged your perfect perfect position that you had tried so hard to maintain.

     Luckily, neither is happening right now. The sets are coming in more consistent than yesterday, maybe not all big, but every ten minutes there is something. I pass on the insiders and end up on a solid four-footer, passing the rest of the guys coming back from the initial set. Only issue is how today’s waves are on the soft side. The offshore wind is hanging me up, too. But it’s not tiny. There are waves. I just won’t be able to really get any performance rides. Still though, pumping down the line and doing easy turns on a fairly empty pointbreak left? Yeah, man. I can settle for this.

     Mark’s waiting out the back for a set. Bri’s sitting deeper than he is. They both go. As late is Bri is, she pops up quicker than she ever has before and makes it around the spilling section in front of her. She’s progressing well, easily the best foreign chick here, her superior being local standout Sanini, but that’s really it for chick competition. She’s even better than most of the guy beginners here.

     The next setwave is breaking too deep for Mark. He wants it badly. I tell him to go, so I give up the wave, and watch him scratch out on the shoulder. “Ahhhhh!” he yells in self-deprecating frustration, while still having a smile on his face.

     There’s a third wave to the set. “Mark, Mark!” I yell. It takes a while to get his attention. He turns around and looks at me. I point towards the wave that’s standing up right in front of me. He turns, he goes, he gets it. Not to toot my own horn, but . . . that’s sharing. That’s etiquette.

     I’m now left out back in the lull. I could have gone. Jonas paddles up to me, acknowledging how I gave the wave to Mark. “It just makes for a better environment if everyone is catching,” I say, dummying down my English. “Everyone is happy.”

     I take the next wave. When I get back to the lineup, Mark thanks me, and at that moment, that’s when we go from surfing to holding hands and singing kumbaya. Even Jonas’s girlfriend gives up a wave for me and tells me to go. How’s that? Sharing is caring. Boris and his chick are gone, and for a solid hour all five of us are in solid rotation, trading off wave after wave, never burning each other, calling each other into waves when one of us is out of position.

     At the hour and a half mark, we’re invaded by the Aussies. There’s this guy named Tom who looks like A.I., surfs bareback, and he’s here with a guy with a black beard. Let’s call him Blackbeard. So, not only do these two yahoos paddle out, but fuckin’ A., they bring three of their longboard kook friends who fucking suck. Now . . . there’s no law against sucking or being a kook, but if you do fall into that category, you shouldn’t be sitting at the top of the wave where it’s breaking best.

     So Tom is pushing this guy I call Kooks McGilicutty into waves, and this motherfucker is just falling on every pop up. Tom’s whole crew is just in the fucking way. McGilicutty and Mrs. McGilicutty take a wave at the same time and collide. Really? I watch this from the inside. Mrs. McGilicutty’s board flops down on top of her head after the wipeout.

     “Are you okay?” says Bri.

     She’s embarrassed, and her reply is more annoyed than assuring she’s all right.

     Tom takes waves from the top after inserting himself. Blackbeard blows set waves, paddles to the top again, and takes another set. Fuckin’ A. German, Aussie, who’s worse?

     During this invasion, I take the insiders. The Aussie Hoard eventually drifts out of place, so I just drop in on them. They’re too deep, and most of them aren’t going to make it.

     At exactly the two hour mark, I call me and Bri’s last waves. Time for a break.

 

     Coconut water and a pack of egg coated peanuts. Bri and I stand in the shade next to our bikes. Sunburn negative. Horrid arm and neck tan, affirmative. Fuck the snacks, I wish I would’ve brought more drink. I chug through the coconut water like nothing. We sit on our bike, munching, chilling like the Indos do, and that’s when we hear a couple mopeds behind us. It’s Sonja and Randy.

     “You guys paddle out?” says Randy. He takes a closer look and sees we’re still wet. “Oh. Nevermind.”

     Sonja laughs. “You look like a lady with the mascara,” she says.

     It’s true. I’m the guy in the lineup with way too much zinc on, but if you’re paddling out when the sun is its strongest, you better protect your skin. No regrets looking like Mascara Lady.

     Randy heads out ahead of us. After a total of forty-five minutes rest, Bri and I reapply some sunblock and head back out for round two.

 

     It’s 1500. We walk to the point because we’re full. The tide’s low. A good window’s about to open. I was hoping that the Aussie Hoard would get tired. The McGilicutty’s leave, but Tom and Blackbeard stay. The local crew shows up. It’s gonna be a replay of yesterday. Luckily . . . LUCKILY, Bri and I had already scored the first session. The second is a bonus.

     Since the top of the wave is clogged, Bri and I sit inside wide and get some good ones. Problem is Tom and Blackbeard are doing the same thing. Fuck . . . I hate that. Inside wide is what I do. No one else. So not only is there competition at the top, but there’s comp at my backup spot.

     Waiting for my wave, Tom paddles up to me and says, “Some good ones right here, right?” He laughs and puts his index finger to his lips. “Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone.”

     I don’t like him. I just smile. I really don’t want to talk to him. The next insider comes right to me. I turn and go. It’s a good one. Blackbeard tries to paddle for it on the shoulder. He sees me and pulls out.

     From the inside, I see Bri gearing up for the next wave. Blackbeard’s on her outside, but she pulls off a late take off and actually makes the section. Blackbeard throws his arms up in frustration. Yeah. I’m stoked for her.

     Blackbeard drops in on me on my next wave. He thought I wasn’t going to make it, but I did. I got around the section. He looks back and sees that I’m crouched, riding the flat face behind him, catching up. He goes for a lame cutback and sees that I’m now hovering over the top of the pocket. I could hoot him off, but I don’t. I’ll have something to say if I have to ride the whole wave on his ass like this, but he does one more lame turn and kicks out. The rest is mine.

     On one wave, my back foot completely slips off the deck. I’m riding with just my right foot planted. Tom, BB, and Randy are on the inside. I don’t know how, but I do a single leg squat and get my back foot back on without losing the wave. Tom laughs and hoots out loud for me. I get two more turns.

     Blackbeard paddles up to me and says, “That was a mighty fine recovery, mate.” And just like that, that’s all it takes. One positive comment, and I’m disarmed. As my fellow South Bay local and Surf Blogger, Whiffle Boy, would say, “Killing them with kindness.” Well, then I guess I’m killed. Tom chimes in, too. He says they’re leaving on Saturday. Suddenly, they’re not so bad.

     Boris and his chick return, and the lineup is even more crowded now. Twenty plus, mostly locals. I watch him at the top of the wave. He has to kick out every time. I see his frustration, and I can’t help but smile. He actually gets one of the set waves, and local boy Rian drops in on him.

     “Heyyyy!” yells Boris.

     Rian turns around and yells, “Awwwwwwrrrrghhh!” as he kicks out. My brother looks at me. We’re both surprised. Rian is one of the mellowest dudes ever, and we’ve never seen him go off on anyone.

     He paddles up to me and says, “If I am in front of you, you can say, ‘Watch out,’ but you don’t have to yell at me.” I nod in agreement. He’s a local. You don’t call a local off your wave. It’s the rule here. He paddles off.

     Boris paddle back unhappy. Tensions are rising. Choco Point turns into Lowers, but I’m actually enjoying the entertainment on the sidelines. Bri and I are toast. We’re done. Tired. It’s okay. We’ve gotten our fill. We watch the kids burn each other. Poor Aaron, he’s not getting anything. The little kids swarm on him like me over my own farts (because they smell so wonderful). Even Edo, local shaper and surfhouse manager, is having a hard time against his very own locals.

     Tom and Blackbeard leave. Bri and I wait for people to blow the sets and take the insiders at the sandbank. Yah-yah blows one. I take it. A couple kids collide, Bri takes it.

     At 1700, I call our session. It’s the two hour mark. Early for us, but we’ve put in our time. No hot showers here, but it’s time for that dry towel.

     People are leaving. Just the grownups are out. A left is coming. I turn and go. Supri, local super grom, is on my outside. He’s been burning foreigners all day, torching them. He sees me coming and actually pulls out for me. He hoots as I pass.

     “Terima Kasih!” I yell back. Thank you.