BARNYARD JAVA: Day 9 (double), SAT 25JUL2015

The homey Victor from Spain had to head back to Jogja for school. He was one of the few guys here who was actually cool and knew how to share waves. A rarity in these parts.

Time: 0600-0900

Conditions: 3-4 FT+

Fins: JF-1 thrusters   

     I hit the snooze button once and fall into a very light sleep, and that’s when our bungalow starts shaking. It’s an earthquake. I wake Bri up. “Earthquake,” I say.

     “Yeah,” she says.

     “You feel it?”

     “Yeah.” Yet, Bri’s not moving. She doesn’t give a shit. There’s a rumbling noise everywhere. Our bungalow’s still swaying. The quake lasts a while, and then it just stops.

     Before we leave, I check the internet to make sure there aren’t any hazards. A report measures the quake at 5.7, 138 kilometers southwest of Jogjakarta. No tsunami warning.  

     The German duo and Sonja are the only ones out at the point. Sophi, the French obstacle, is sitting inside. As far as Claudia and Jan, this is their last morning here. They’re on longboards, milking this place as much as possible before the head out.

     Mark and Jonas arrive the same time we do. When we all get to the top of the wave, we trade off a bit. My first couple rides don’t line up well.

     I’m wearing Bri’s Roxy rashguard, my go-to equipment for the morning. Despite only barebacking it once out here, my fucking nipples hurt so much. I rub them whenever I’m sitting in the lineup. Pressing them into my chest, I feel that scabs and the sting from the salt water entering my torn nipple flesh.

     I turn and go on a small but rippable wave. Only problem is Sofi’s paddling right in my line. I draw a low line around her and fall behind the section. Fuck. I’m pissed at her. Even Bri had to kick out early on a wave because she was in the way, but what would you rather want? A noob in the way or a greedy surfer who takes every wave? Could be worse.

     The German duo exits the water early. Farewell. More waves for us. There’s a nice hour-long window with just the normal morning regulars, now minus Gigantar, the German duo, and French dickhead leaves today, too.

     The swell’s tapered off dramatically, but I snag a big handful of four footers, even doing the turn-and-go on the inside bonus section while paddling back out. I try to experiment with a carving 360, but blow both attempts terribly. I just don’t feel it, so I won’t try it. Stick to what I know. I meet my quota for snaps and wraps. Snaps and wraps, the Donny Duckbutter story.

     Edo, Randy, and Bintang paddle out, too, along with some new faces. Mark snakes me on a wave. It’s nothing new. Truth is, I kind of backpaddled him, but I’ve watched Mark blow so many sections when I should have gone that the tally can go in my favor if we were to count. Bottom line is, I should be able to back and sees me. I could kind of make the section, but his wake is making it difficult. I yell, “Go!” and kickout. I take the next wave, but it sections off and leaves me at the inside sandbank just in time to catch the next four-foot insider that no one at the top had caught. So I turn and go on this wave, and it’s fun and rippable. Three turns, no thigh burn.

     At the top of the wave, I see Randy talking to Mark. I have a feeling something’s up. Even though I can only see Randy’s back, his arms are crossed, and the body language just isn’t right.

     I paddle to the top and Mark comes over. “I didn’t mean to drop on you,” he says. “I just thought, you know, it was no big deal.”

     “I know,” I say. “That was actually your wave. I kind of backpaddled you, and the bonus wave I got was actually good.” Randy’s paddling over.

     “Okay,” says Mark, “because I didn’t mean to do it.”

     “Then why did you do it?” says Randy. I see the look in his face. He’s upset.

     “Don’t worry about it, Bro.”

     He catches the next wave, leaving me and Mark sitting out the back. Mark’s actually been really cool, the least of my worries. If anything, the locals, even Edo, have taken more waves from me than Mark. The fucking Germans have been the worst culprits.

     When Randy paddles back, he apologizes, and says that he just doesn’t like it. He tells me how before he had injured his ankle surfing one morning, that he was going to say something to some Aussie guy who kept snaking Sonja. I understand. He just doesn’t want to see anyone get burned. If Randy would’ve been here long enough to see Gigantar’s actions, he probably would have let him have it, too.

     The surf is actually getting cleaner. The window for good tide opens up. More new faces come out who I’ve never seen before. A guy on one of those progressive Vader boards with the chopped nose paddles out in a short-sleeve fullsuit. More white people from who knows where.

     After a long wave all the way inside, I find myself near Bri. I point to shore. We surfed for about three hours.

     Back at the compound, Victor the Spaniard says he’s leaving back to Jogja University. He thanks me and Bri for being nice to him. I had let him use the Xcel rashguard vest that Rick gave to me, and I also picked up a couple waterproof bandages for his chest rash. Bri snaps a photo of us. He’s a cool dude. It’s nice to meet good people when travelling. I tell him to hit me up if he ever comes to Cali and that I have way better boards for him to use.

Flies are a motherfucker in these parts...

CJ Hobgood's board was delivered to Edo shop for repair.

I couldn't resist. This is CJ HOBGOOD'S BOARD! With Edo, local board guru, and my brother Randy.

#

Time: 1600-1730

Conditions: 2-4 FT+

Fins: JF-1 thrusters

     I am not looking forward to the crowd at Choco Point. It’s the weekend, so it’s supposed to be crowded. My brother suggested surfing the beach break right in front of the compound. Bri and I take a look at it at about 1530, but it’s soft and disorganized. We can either not surf, surf out front where it’s shitty, or surf where there are good waves with a fucking crowd.

     It’s almost 1600 when we pull up to Chocos. With low tide being after dark, we expect the surf to be soft. Surprisingly, there are a few nugs out there. Six people are already on it.
 

Dang, I have zero patience in waiting for a set in the background. Gotta get out there.

     Mark and I usually shoot the shit in the water, but he’s purposely avoiding me. Maybe things are gonna be awkward between us from here on out.

     I begin the sesh by going for some inside waves, and one of them actually jacks up upon hitting the sandbank. I get a couple snappy turns and a few wraps, but what catches me offguard is that the wave is going hollow on the end section where it’s shallow. Instead of pulling in, I fade out and finish with another snap.

     Resurfacing, I see Jonas making his way back out. “There was a little barrel there,” he says.

     The session’s starting on a good note. I get about two decent waves to my name, and that’s when the local invasion begins. The same gap-toothed kid from yesterday is out. Actually, most of the kids from yesterday are now out. They all sit at the top of the wave. These gangly little kids. You watching them, thinking, There is no way that dude’s gonna get that wave, but then he does. They’re just so light that they can paddle into anything.

     Bri’s in the hornet’s nest. I don’t know how she can maintain without wanting to kill someone. On every wave she goes for, someone’s on it.

     Mark goes for an inside wave. I’m going for it, too, but I pull out because he has it, but he doesn’t get the drop. Now I’m mad at myself. How many fucking times have I been through the same thing?

     Sitting inside wide, I get more and more discouraged by the second. I have diarrhea from something I ate, so I take a shit right there in the lineup. All I can do is watch. I mean, I could paddle to the top, but it’s just not the way I enjoy surfing. It’s not fun to have to battle.

     I watch one of the German’s, Boris, who I’ve been pretty cool with since day one. He gets a set wave, passes me, and rides all the way to the inside. On his way back out, he robs my priority and takes another wave right next to me, one I was waiting for. “You just had one!” I say as he passes me again. Motherfucker. It’s the straw that breaks the donkey’s back.

     I leave my perch and sit at the top. When Boris returns, I sit on him and his girlfriend. I try to catch a wave, scratch out, and then I sit right back on him. The next outside set comes, and I paddle battle with him to the outside. He paddles over the shoulder, and I take the wave for myself.

     After my ride is done, I don’t feel like going back to the top of the wave again. Just too many people. It’s like sitting outside of Lowers, watching the flies on shit just go for it. A little super grom, barely four feet tall, stalls on his backhand and gets a little coverup in one of the inside slots. I couldn’t believe it. Textbook. I mean, this little dude knew exactly what the wave was gonna do.

     Once the sun sets, people start leaving, but there are still about ten people out. I sit at the top of the wave. It’s my turn. I need a set. Boris is gone, Edo comes out, and a few other Euros who I don’t know.

     It’s getting so dark that I mistime the sets, either being too deep or too far out. Edo gets two waves under my priority. I’m beyond pissed at this point. It’s the dark side of stoke, the anti stoke. It’s one of the worst places I can be.

     Pretty soon Bri and I are gonna be the last ones here, so I give up my position and start paddling towards the inside. Oh, and I also forgot to mention that Bri gets way more waves than I do this session.

     I fail to even catch a last wave. It’s the paddle of shame in Java. Bri’s on the shore waiting for me while I flounder through the whitewash.

     My aura is negative. Randy and Bri know it. I just want to put this day behind me. I think about how I can possibly remedy this. The crowd factor is worse than California. There’s no etiquette here. I hate surfing like a fucking dick, but is that what it’s gonna take to get some waves around here? I try to be stoked. That’s how I am when I’m home. I hoot people, I wait for my turn, I call people in, but these unwritten rules that I abide by don’t count here. Maybe I do need to say, “Fuck it,” and surf like a dick.

     For dinner, Randy, Bri, and I go to the nasi pecel vendor at the night market and eat some fried tofu for appetizers before the main dish. It’s called tahuisi, which is fried tofu with vegetables in the center of it. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. All I know is that that first bite of food makes everything appear like things aren’t so bad after all.

BARNYARD JAVA: Day 8 (double), FRI 24JUL2015



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.

All this, barely $4.00  worth