BARNYARD JAVA: Day 16 (double), SAT 01AUG2015

 

Another vacation ended. Mark, leaving the compound.

 

Time: 0530-0700

Conditions: 3-4 FT+

Fins: JF-1 Thruster

     The window for manageable tide is opening up again for first light, so the plan is to do a legit dawn patrol.

     I get out of bed at 0430. The mornings were cold when we first arrived here, but lately it’s been stifling hot, especially at night, so hot that we’ve had to leave the fan on. I throw on my damp shorts and rashguard and load up the moped. Sophi is already up, the German Dad, San Fran Brennan, and Randy. He’s sitting there sipping his ritualistic cup of coffee. When Bri makes her way through the compound brush with her board, I tell him we’ll be at the point.

     It’s still night out, but the full moon is giving off plenty of light. Two mopeds are ahead of us. Fishermen. One turns right at the skate park, but the other goes straight, and that’s when I get a view of a surfboard strapped on it. Damn. Another surfer’s beating us.

     When we reach the point, I see that it’s Mark. Mr. Consistent. He’s dawn patrolled every morning. Since there’s no hint of first light yet, Bri and I walk to the waterline and warm up. It looks like there are waves, but it’s still hard to tell. At 0515, more people show up and paddle out.

     On the way to the lineup, waves are becoming more visible. Someone’s taking a legit five-foot set wave, a long one. Mark’s on the next one. We’re not even at the top of the wave yet, and we’re caught in the midst of a consistent set. I try to go but scratch out. Blackbeard takes the next. Somehow, Mark is right next to me again. He must’ve fallen behind the section of his bomb. Even though the wave should be mine, I feel like I’m too deep. Mark, who’s on the shoulder, turns and goes.

     Now the surf lulls out. I’m out back, waiting. Despite how early it is, there’s a sense of urgency in the lineup. We all know that we’re fighting the tide, that’s it’s already going from mid to high, and that every set will be softer than the last.

     I finally get my set wave. One. Bri gets two. From there, I play the inside game with her, trying to milk the surf for what we can without having to compete so much.

     After an hour, the surf turns mooshy. We call it an early morning. Blackbeard says bye to us before he hops on his moped. It was his last morning for surf. He, Tom, and the rest of their friends are heading back to Australia.

     Back at the compound, Mark says he’s on his way home, too. “I theenk I need to apologize for takeeng a wave,” he says. “You could have gone, bot I went. Eet eez my last day. I hov to.”

     I appreciate the apology, and . . . I understand. On my last day, I may pull that same card.

     Everyone who paddled out is having his/her cup of coffee and breakfast. Since being here, Bri and I haven’t frequented the community kitchen much, but sitting down with everyone is actually nice. Everyone’s mellow after the dawn patrol and chiming into each other’s conversations. Brennan’s talking about the tech jobs in NorCal. Aaron’s saying how he heard Randy wake up this morning, and how he saw him shut the compound gate so that no one else would follow. Randy tells us about Vietnam, how we need to go there and perhaps teach English there one day. It’s a romantic idea, a traveling lifestyle of surfing and exploring.

     High on caffeine, I spend the rest of the morning writing. For lunch, Randy takes us to the fish market restaurant that overlooks the harbor. We expect a weekend crowd, but there’s only one Javanese family there. The owner, an older Muslim woman, remembers Randy even though he hasn’t been there in a year. He orders the whole shebang. They’re basically going to get a sample dish of everything they have for us to eat.

     We go back to rat-race talk. Is it worth it to be a nine-to-fiver, buy a house, take out a loan for a mortgage, and work until you die to pay it off? Or do you work enough just to get by so you can still dedicate quality time to the things you love, possess less things that may possess you, and travel your ass off? Option B. definitely doesn’t fit the American grain of life. Option A. is definitely the way my grandfather had raised us, he who came from a small town in the northern Philippines and hopped on a boat to Hawaii for a better life. Funny how he escaped the very thing that I’m trying to immerse myself in now. Sipping on my coconut water, I think about the options. How would Bri and I make things work to be in places like this for at least two, three, or even six months a year? Would we be able to give up the luxuries of living in Southern California?

     Sitting at the counter overlooking the ocean with seven different dishes to pick off from, it’s the nicest meal we’ve had since we’ve been here. It reminds me of Kimo’s on Front Street in Lahaina, Maui. A view and a meal like this in the states would be at least fifty bucks for the three of us.   

     When we’re full and done, Randy pays. The bill is barely five bucks.

#

Time: 1410-1730

Conditions: 5-6 FT

Fins: JF-1 Thruster

     Lunch was heavy, so I need ample time digesting. By 1345, we’re ready to head out again.

     As soon as we pull up, the barbarian crew is packing up and leaving. They say Machines is still crazy, that’s why they’re here. “Still good on the sets here,” they say. Leaving, they don’t give any additional goodbyes. I’m perfectly fine with not seeing them again.

     The tide is so low that Choco Point is breaking in a way I’ve never seen before. With the swell still holding size, and the shore nearly ankle deep at the first sandbank, waves are standing up all the way from the cliff and lining up far, way past the parking area. Only issue is that the waves are racy.

     Paddling out, Bri and I aren’t sure where to sit. The top of the wave is crowded, so I gamble on catching an insider by the sandbank and hoping it lines up.

     Harry, the owner of the compound, paddles out. He paddles half way to the top of the wave and gets a long soft four-footer that sections off at the sandbank. A few more waves come, but I scratch out. They’re hard to get into. My timing’s off.

     Out back, I witness the first real set, and because of the low tide, the set is breaking really far out. Everyone is deep. Boris gets one that lines up all the way past me. Harry pulls out on one and tells me to go. Getting into the wave, all I see is a long pumpable wall. I go down the line, working hard to gain distance. When the wave stands up, I try to kick out but get sucked over the falls. Resurfacing, I see that I’m far into the bay. The inside waves here are bigger and dumping. I get worked trying to get back out. It’s the farthest paddle I’ll have to make.

     Bri’s smart, taking some waves just underneath the main pack. Slowly, I work my way there. None of the insiders are connecting as well. Turns out the top of the wave is much more crowded than I thought. There are new faces, other people from Machines that I haven’t seen yet.

     Bri tells me that she talked to one of the chicks who’s wearing dental floss for surf bottoms. She’s from Spain with her Puerto Rican boyfriend and his homeboy, but they all live in Australia. PR Guy is pushing his chick into waves, but she already knows how to make the sections. It’s pretty annoying.

     The PR crew is aggressive, but the boyfriend really knows how to surf. He’s goofy foot and pulls off these long cutbacks, rebounding out of the pocket so vertically that his tail is at twelve O’clock. It really puts my own surfing into perspective. I had been clowning a lot of guys, but I still have a long way to go.

     The other fresh faces are unsmiling and aggressive, putting the lineup in disarray. Even Tina, Edo’s wife, is getting frustrated. Bri gets a bomb that one of the Puerto Ricans has to back out for. She makes the section. I’m stoked to see her get respect.

     Bodies are everywhere. Because the peaks are one long line, people are paddling into waves and falling behind the sections. Those taking off at the right spots are the ones who win.

     Boris paddles up to me and asks what time it is. I’m surprised he’s even talking to me, but it relieves the tension between us. I’m actually glad.

     In the midst of the chaos, I sneak up to the top after the lineup gets washed away and get a couple set waves for myself. The faces are so long and pumpy. When I get to the open face I draw wide carves off the curling tips of the lip, sending sheets of water out the back with help from the offshore wind. The chaos and consistency keeps me in the running for rides.

     When the locals paddle out, they’re a Godsend. Yeah, the guys who I had accused of being greedy when I first arrived, Augus and Gapang, they go to the top and regulate the lineup, taking waves at will. Yah-yah shows up. PR Guy pushes his chick into a wave, and she drops in on him. He yells at her to kick out. Hell yes. The upset look on her face makes me so happy. Fuck them! Once Neon Rian, Gayung, and Supri paddle out, it’s over. Whoever doesn’t belong is gone.

     The tide fills in, and the wave starts breaking the way it should, scattered and connecting. Whoever’s lasted the long haul is tired. By time 1700, Randy and Edo make it out for a mellow finale. It’s hard recalling waves ridden, but over the three hours and twenty minutes we were out, we caught more than our fair share. We walk towards our moped with the sunset behind us, heading into another evening, stoke drunk and exhausted.

BARNYARD JAVA: Day 15 (double), FRI 31JUL2015

 



That's Jonas, leaving and heading back home. French Sophi in the background, gearing up for a sesh.

 

Time: 1200-1420

Conditions: 6 FT+

Fins: JF-1 Thruster

     The plan. . . Today the second solid swell since we’ve been here will be coming in. Again, we’ll be doing a Trestles invasion style siege over Choco Point. We plan accordingly, sleeping and resting well, buying snacks and drinks for later, and sharing one lunch from Padang’s for nourishment.

     While at Padangs, we run into Jonas and his girlfriend. “Prefilling for the sesh?” she says. That’s funny. Surf bums. We’re on to each other. She and Jonas say that they’re leaving today, going back home to Sweden. It was nice having them around. Back at the compound, I get his FB info and take a pic with him, Sophi in the background gearing up for her sesh.

     Looks like everyone has the same plan. Choco Point is packed. The Aussie Hoard is out there, the two-man Japanese team, the German asshole couple, and new faces I’ve never seen before. A van’s already parked here. A surfer dripping wet approaches it. So that’s one van with fresh faces. Wonder where they came from.

     Randy pulls up, looks at the crowd, and he’s over it. “See you guys at four,” he says before riding away. Just as he disappears, another van emerges from the brush. Fuck. The Aussies from the other day are back. Imagine that. You’re at a great break that’s already crowded, and then a van with boards stacked on top pulls up. Fuckers.

     The same bloke who talked to us last time steps up to us. He looks like an older Joel Parkinson on steroids. Balder and hulkier. “Looks like they’s some good ones out ‘der,” he says.

     I’m all small talk in my reply. I don’t want them here. His mates step out of the van like barbarians entering a peaceful village ready to rape everything moving. They’re a bunch of burley fucks. One guy’s bald with a long beard like ZZ Top.

     They’ve come from the local heavy break that I had nicknamed Machines. Since this swell is solid, Machines must be too big. That’s the usual reason why people from Machines venture out from their abodes. They need to find a spot holding. The problem is that our village already has a hierarchy, even the people I can’t stand have a certain level of respect that we won’t just burn each other outright, but when outsiders come in, and you know they’re just here until the swell at Machines is manageable, they’ll take every wave they can get.

     Six foot lines are already breaking outside and wide. Guys sitting at the main take off zone are too deep. No Spartan Paddle today. Bri and I walk to the point.

     About ten people are out, but they’re sitting way too inside for some reason. Maybe they know something I don’t.

     I sit outside, so as not to just insert myself into their congregation. A few insiders pass, and then, a nice bump sprouts up on the outside, right at the top of the wave. One good thing about solid swells here is that the surf gets consistent, and the peaks become scattered. You don’t have to sit at the top. You can sit inside, wide, way wide outside, or at the main takeoff spot. No matter where you are, you will catch something.

     On the first wave of the set, I turn and go with ease. People on the inside rush the shoulder to get out of my line. It’s the perfect way to start the session. As I had said, with these bigger waves, especially on a short 5’6, the goal isn’t to shred, it’s to not fall, or should I say, shred with balance in mind not eating it. There’s a whole beach full of people also watching. Don’t be that guy where everyone says, “Ohhhh!” when you wipeout. Big and steep is the only way I can describe it, yet shouldery. There’s so much face with each pump it’s like snowboarding the side of a mountain. You don’t even need mustard on the turns, just doing a carve by itself displaces water out the back. I get about five turns before kicking out. Stoked.

     Now the Barbarians from Machines are making their way out. I catch a long inside wave. One of them gives me a nod of approval as I pop up. After that, the pillaging begins. These fucking barbarians sit at the top, one by one, they take each wave of the next set. I can only counter this by shifting around. Since peaks are kind of scattered, I sit wide and outside, taking the bombs that others are too deep for, but some of the waves are so big that they race away across this half of the bay. I do still manage to get lucky. When people don’t make the sections, I’m there for the cleanup job, double-turners at least. I even sit deep inside sometimes, but it’s hard to settle for the smaller waves when you know that set is eventually gonna come and swing wide.

     Bri . . . I don’t know how she’s doing it, but I barely see her the whole session. She’s doing her Donny Duckbutter impression, using my own tactics against the lineup. Every time I spot her, she’s either popping up on a good inside wave or paddling all the way back from shore.

     “Did you see my turn?” she constantly asks every time I see her. I have to tell her I haven’t seen any of her turns because I’m losing track of her.

     One of the McGillicutty’s paddles up to me, he’s a foreign dude who had dropped in on me about three days ago. He says, “You let me have a wave yesterday.”

     “I did?” I say

     “Yes.”

     “You sure it was me?”

     “Yes,” he says again, smiling. “It was the best wave of my life.”

     I’m awkward. One, I don’t remember giving him the wave. Two, I now feel like such an asshole for calling him Kooks McGilicutty. “You’re welcome,” I say. I motion towards the outside. “Go, go get another one.”

     He smiles and paddles away.

     Tom’s with a different McGilicutty, who’s on a longboard. He’s beefier than Tom. They could be twins, except his brother doesn’t surf. A set wave’s building on the outside, and everyone is darting to get out of the way. Tom looks back and motions towards his brother to paddle harder. He’s trying, but he’s about to get obliterated. These waves aren’t gnarly at all, but for a first time surfer, I bet all he sees are gigantic walls coming at him. Something strikes me while watching. I don’t see Tom as a greedy Aussie or his brother as a kook. What I see is a man concerned for his brother, a bond.

     An hour and a half in, and the pillaging is done. The tide’s bottoming out, so the surf is dropping just a hair in size. The usual suspects are at the lineup again, but everyone’s already drained from the chaos earlier. I run into Bri again. She’s laying her head on her board like she’s ready for a nap. Too many waves for her. What a nice problem to have.

     I call our next waves in, and she gets another good one before I do. Sitting out back, I already see her heading to our moped while I’m still waiting.

     I catch one in. She’s rummaging through our snack bag. “Those guys left,” she says. They had asked her about her Sideways board, said it was an Aussie board, and asked her where she got it. She said it was Randy’s.

     “Did they say there were coming back?”

     “No, but they said, ‘See you later.’”

     We chill on the scooter, eat our bread, and drink three vitamin drinks between us. After twenty minutes, Bri says she’s done. She can’t surf another session, so I bring her back on the bike.

#

Time: 1500-1710

Conditions: 6 FT+

     Coming back to Choco Point, I’m rushed by Supri and Rian AKA Neon Rian. I’m putting on a fresh coat of zinc. “Can I have some?” they ask. I’m surprised. The locals don’t use shit for sunblock, nor wax. That’s a bule (foreigner) thing.

     “Sure,” I say.

     Rian takes the stick and motions with his fingers. “It’s okay?”

     He wants to know if he can scrape some off. “Yeah! Go for it!”

     So I found out Supri doesn’t speak much Indonesian or English. He’s pure Javanese. Rumor has it, there was an issue with him securing his Ripcurl sponsorship because one of the stipulations was for him to study Bahasa Indonesia, but work, obligations, and other matters prevented him from doing so. Regardless, I get nothing but positive vibes from him. I try, try, and try to communicate with him any way I can. You think I’m dark? Guy is three times darker than I am, and that’s two shades darker than Randy.

     After Rian and Supri hit the water, I’m now approached by an older tourist couple.

     “Good wave?” the husband says. After a minute, I realize he has a Spanish accent.

     “Habla Espanol?” I ask.

     He says yes, but that he’s Brazilian. From there, I start using my broken up Spanish, trying to leave out the “Guey” that my homies use back home. We talk Gabriel Medina, Felipe Toledo, and I fill him in on everything that my Spanish will allow about the local surf here.

     Finally paddling out, a selfish feeling overwhelms me. It’s different surfing without Bri. Randy’s not here yet, so this is a true solo sesh. I’ve only had a few since being here. It’s that same feeling I have when I do the solo trips to Trestles. Selfish. All about me. My waves. Despite the selfishness, I’m also tired. The first session was frustrating, but I still did get a lot of waves.

     The local heavies are out now. Augus. He’s the guy who almost got into a fight during my first paddle out. Gapang. He’s the guy with long hair and gray stubble on his chin. Lately, I’ve loved it when these guys are out. They’re crowd control. Whenever people are too greedy, they regulate by taking every wave. So far, my technique’s worked. Sit wide, let them burn everyone and put the hive in disarray. I take the insiders and the double-wides.

     The Barbarians return, but surprisingly they only stay for about a half hour.

     I rarely have to sit at the top. Surf is so consistent and sporadic, that I’m on waves that no one is in position for. Controlled cutbacks, carves, and conservative snaps on the waves with size. I even practice my layback carves and stick a few of them. Issue is riding out of them. Sometimes I come out of the maneuver at such a sharp angle that I’m too slow at getting the board back under my feet and redirecting, but the attempts are good for me. They feel natural, especially on the end sections, unforced.

     Brennan from San Francisco paddles up next to me. I give up one of the bombs for him. He comes back and says that was his wave of the day.    

     At 1630 Edo and Randy finally make it out. By this time, I’m tired. Randy falls on an outside wave, and I turn and go, catching the rest of it to shore. It’s my best wave of the afternoon.  

     The sun has set. The lineup’s thin. Edo gives me a wave. I fall behind the section and lose it. Randy gives me one. Same thing. That’s how I know I’m tired. I’m surfing like shit.

     I get a bomb on the next set, unmolested. I get a couple cutbacks and a weak carve to end it. Looking out back, the main lineup looks so far away. I could paddle back out and go for another one. I’d like to, but I face the shore and catch the whitewash in. No more.

     For dinner that night, Bri, Randy, and I go to the night market. Randy orders food from three different vendors—tempe penyet, nasi uduk (coconut rice), and bakwon goreng (fried goodies). The whole time I can barely speak. They both say I look drained and that my eyes are bloodshod red.

     We end the evening at Indomaret with some ice cream. Back at the bungalow, I fall asleep early, but I toss and turn the whole night. I haven’t stretched once since being here. Even lying still, my shoulder muscles ache like hell.

     At dinner, my brother had asked me how I would rate the session. Even though there were barbarians to deal with along with the crowd, fuck I caught so many waves. I had told him it was probably my best one. Sitting there, tired and drowned with stoke, in my mind all I could see was wave after wave.

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.

BARNYARD JAVA: Day 13 (double), WED 29JUL2015

At the Indomaret, looking for those deals!

Time: 1100-1200

Conditions: 2-3, Occasional 4 FT

Fins: Quad. JF-1 side, Rusty Q-R trailers (small)

     After sleeping in, Bri and I head to the kitchen for breakfast—a meal of instant cereal, coffee, and chocolate crackers. Walking up to the kitchen table, I see Randy sitting there.

     “What time did you get here?” I ask.

     “Five thirty.” He’s been sitting there for about two hours, drinking coffee, and just chillin’. He said that he had knocked out on the car ride when he left here, but that he missed his train. He was forced to ride executive class, and the seats were so comfortable he crashed out.

     I ask if he’s all right with all the travelling, and he says he’s fine. He just traveled fourteen hours each way, seven by car, seven by train, and now he’s back. This kind of commute is normal here. Kind of makes the drives to Vegas, San Diego, and even Tijuana a joke.

     I spend most of the morning fumbling with the internet, trying to update this blog, and then I finally give up. I’ll have to try again at the hotel lobby tomorrow, now on Bri’s computer because it’s faster than mine.

     We have to choose a good window to surf. High tide was at 0730, so we plan to check the beach around 1030. When we reach the point, it’s as flat as a lake. A few dripping whitewash lines break at the top of the wave. The tide’s already going low. Bri and I don’t even rush the beach. We leave our boards behind, approach the water, and then stop in our tracks when we see a small three-foot set. Mind you, no one is out nor even looking at it.

     “It might be bigger out there,” says Bri. This is true. The point’s a solid paddle out, so things are always bigger once you reach the lineup.

     The first ten minutes are slow. I catch a baby dribbler, walking the nose and just crouching to get some kind of distance. Bri and I paddle back to the top and bullshit with each other, and then behind a small wave is a legit set wave that’s about to break wide. We both dart out for it. Bri’s too deep. I turn and go. Just like that, I’m pumping down the line on my quads. The speed feels great for the sections. My snaps aren’t as crisp, but my cutbacks feel much better, especially the speed when rebounding out of the pocket, like one pump and you’re reset on the highline once more. Paddling back out, I see Bri on the second set wave coming down the line.

     It’s hot. I’m starving and tired from not having anything to eat since this morning, so I can only imagine how Bri feels, yet every fifteen minutes a decent set comes in. Even though it’s a small day, just being here by ourselves is what makes the difference.

     Forty-five minutes in, and the New Zealand chicks start to paddle out. On cue, I catch my third set wave of the day. When there’s no stress or crowd to ruin my sesh, I feel I surf differently. I just gracefully pump and do some slow cutbacks down the line.  

     Bri catches her last set at the one hour mark. I’m already sitting inside from having caught a wave. “Straight to shore,” I say. It’s our shortest session since being here, but we got some good quality waves in that short time span.

     For lunch, Randy, Bri, and I head to Padangs for lunch. I try their fried chicken for the first time, and so does Bri. “This is really good,” she says.

     “Yeah,” says Randy. “They use a special kind of batter.”

     I bite into my own drumstick, and yeah, they definitely have their fried chicken down.

     “What do I call it when I pay?” I say. “Ayam Goreng?”

     “Kentucky,” says Randy.

     “Kentucky?”

     “Yup. They’ll understand. They’ll know.”

     How much of a trip is that? KFC is that goddam popular that Kentucky automatically means fried chicken. How would someone from Kentucky feel? Honored?

     Afterwards, Bri and I head over to the harbor and go to the same old lady for coconut drinks.

#

Time: 1530-1730

Conditions: 2-3, Occasional 4 FT

Fins: Thruster. JF-1

     The plan is to surf at around 1430 for the tide push, but we’re so full from lunch that we have to wait it out a while longer. We reach the point at 1530 and see about six people out. That’s not too bad. Since the swell’s dropped, Jonas and Mark, the Swiss duo, are now out on longboards. These guys usually share, but there’s something about a longboard that transforms a nice surfer into a wave hog. I watch guys sitting inside have to constantly back out for Jonas. Mark catches a good set wave. When he comes back, he tries to back paddle me, but I still catch the wave deeper than him.

     The offshores strong this evening, and it’s creating sheets of spray out the back when paddling into waves. I even get blown over the top, forced to exit the wave the wind is so strong.

     On the best set of the afternoon, Bri’s on my outside when I’m turning around to go for it. I yell for her to go. She kicks and scratches. I get into the wave just in case she misses it, but she doesn’t. Legit set wave for her. It’s a long one.

     I spot my brother way on the inside on a funboard. Also, about a half dozen longboarders also paddle out, and . . . they suck. One of them drops in on me. I try to call him off, but he has no control and only knows to take the wave. On top of that, he eats shit. I’m forced to bail. “Sor-ree,” he says.

     Aaron, dark man from Singapore is back, tells me that these guys don’t know etiquette. It’s true. They’re beginners and shouldn’t be out here. Two of them go for the same wave and just wipeout, longboards flying everywhere. They’re lucky they didn’t get hurt. I wave Bri over to sit wide to avoid an accident.

     The local heavies paddle out. One of them has to push a ditched longboard out of his way as he’s going down the line.

     Yahyah paddles out with his son and pushes him into waves, a little nine year old. I admire the father-son connection, but fuckin’ A, there is no priority in this scheme. His son is a license to take two waves whenever he wants, one for him, one for his kid.

     I get a few waves, but none of them are legit bombs that go all the way inside. It’s my first session when I haven’t been able to score a long legit bomb.

     For dinner, Bri, Randy, and I head to the night market to eat nasi pecel and some fried tempeh and tahuisi (fried tofu with vegetables inside). For our sweet tooth, Bri and I ride to the roti bakar guy to get some grilled bread. One with cheese, one with chocolate. Only thing is that he’s not there. The guy in the next shop over tells us that the guy just went to go eat really quick, so Bri and I wait . . . for a half hour. This dude’s not back yet.

     A customer approaches, and a little kid from the same shack comes out the back and starts cooking an order of roti bakar. Bri look at each other like, “What the fuck?” We’re just spoiled in our western ways. Bad customer service, but we can’t do anything about it. There’s a language barrier. For all I know, this little kid might be only allowed to make roti bakar for his homies or something, I don’t know.

     Regardless, we’re turned off. We end up going to Indo Maret to buy three ice creams. We bring one back to my brother and tell him the whole thing.

     The ride back to the compound was the first time when I was in a rush to get back, probably our worst day here since we’ve arrived. A good but small window of surf to start, a shitty evening sesh with the crowd, and then roti bakar guy isn’t there.

     Yet, tomorrow we’ll be inside of a week left. Even though we have more time, we’re already starting to feel short like our vacation is about to end. Despite how today’s events transpired, East Java has been so good to us. It’s gonna be hard to leave.

Aris, the Martabak Man