A Barney in Bali--Day 5, 12JUNE2011 SUN



The Pre Blog:


     It’s 0500 in the morning, and the wind is dead outside. That’s good news. It means that we’ll either go to Nusa Dua or a new spot on the other side of the island. I woke up about fifteen minutes ago, and since then I’ve done my morning routine with more of an awareness: brushing my teeth, drinking my water, etc. Outside is still pure darkness with a faint blue haze in the sky. I peer through the tinted windows to look at the palm tree that isn’t moving. It kind of hits me then: Bali . . . my expectations were ridiculous. Deep inside, I expected a fun playground of perfect waves. I hoped that I’d over stress on the thought, build a monster, and be welcomed with gradual waves that would let me in, then throw out over my head only when I was in the right position for the barrel. No . . . it’s not that at all. Bali can be that way for someone already seasoned or at least saltier than I; that is the truth. My brother said his favorite spot is a spot that only barrels; every wave is nothing but a barrel. We haven’t been there yet, and honestly . . . I won’t be surprised if I don’t see it, not on this trip.

     I had ridiculous visions of returning to California, stepping off of that plane, like an enlightened monk that’s returned after a long journey from the Shaolin temple. I would turn to my friends with the look of wisdom and say: “Yes, I’ve seen the light. I know now, my friends, I know. I know it all. Barrels, big waves, everything; I know the secrets to surfing.” If there’s anything that I’ve gained so far, it’s perspective. The only thing I know is what I need to be, and I am not there yet. In reality, I may step off the plane, let out a sigh of releif, and say, “Fuckin’ A . . . I made it. . . . My balls are still between my legs, and I’m home.” A Barney in Bali, it’s a bit of irony I guess. A random title, but I see that it actually fits. I am the Barney at your leisure, and I will report the trials and the tribulations of a Barney in Bali.--0512

Skunked:


     My brother checks on me as I’m writing this. He tells me that the wind’s dead, and that our best bet is to gamble on a spot called Sanur. He starts his warm up ritual in the living room, and I do mine in my bedroom. We are in a bit of a rush to leave; the energy is off a little. It’s probably because I struggle with posting my last blog before it’s time to go. We hope that the wind stays like this, and we ride to Dunkin’ Donuts for their breakfast special. It’s too early to wear our shades, so dust and bugs irritate our eyes. We shoot the shit, look outside, and still see that there’s no sway in the trees. We grab our sandwiches to go and head to the Bukit (the small head of Bali where Nusa Dua and Uluwatu are). The traffic is light, Randy gives an extra twist to the throttle, and my glasses and helmet are unstable from the rushing air. We reach the village towns again as we escape the busy city. Trash is burning.

No waves! Randy angry!

     There’s waves, but they’re being knocked down by the wind. That smooth reef that we walked across on day two has white wash over it. We gamble, we lose. It turns out that Canggu was the right call, but we both wanted something different, especially after two consecutive, choppy, and blown-out sessions there. Either way, Canggu is in the opposite direction, and we’d have to backtrack to get their--inconvenient.

     Randy takes me sight seeing to another spot which is a secret and could only be posted in the pics. Because of the wind, these spots aren’t working, but the left barrels when the conditions are right. The sights are beautiful, and I snap some photos regardless.

Dhyana Pura:


      That local break in Seminyak that we looked at yesterday evening is called Dhyana Pura. It’s our best bet because it’s on the way home. By the time we’re driving back through Kuta again, everyone is heading to work, so there’s a lot more jockeying involved to get through, and more ass-clenching on my part. We arrive to find only three Balinese locals in the water. The water’s glassy, and the wind hasn’t reached that part of the island yet. It’s amazing how a little distance makes a difference.

     “It’s not gonna last,” says Randy.

     I find it hard to believe. “But it’s so beautiful out!” I reply.

     The water’s smooth, glassy, silky, and it’s sunny and hot, but there is one major problem: there’s not much shape to the break. Randy warned me the other day, that we’d only surf here if we just needed the quick fix. We lost on a gamble, and this is the consequence. The locals make it look fun, as they catch some quick shoulders for some decent rides. In between the sets, the water is so motionless that it looks like a flat mirror all the way to the horizon. But when some of shoulderless sets come, the crashing lips looks like lines of exploding dynamite. It would be a picky session.

     We paddle out and Randy identifies our landmarks. He calls me into the first wave, and surprisingly it’s a left hander with a peeling shoulder. I pop up late but fail to get the drop. I’m stuck on the highline. I even do the “California shuffle” to the nose of my board and only drop in to mid face before the wave closes out. What a shame . . . a good wave gone to waste.

     Randy does his normal thing as the locals watch him feast on their waves. I paddle for waves that are close outs. He tells me to practice hitting the lip or even doing a floater to end my ride. I paddle, I try, but the lip always seems to be curling the whole time I’m chasing it. The plus sets are about four feet in the distance. I work and duckdive to get past them. Two chicks paddle out, and then four more are on long boards, probably Aussies. One paddles in front of Randy and I and starts giggling. We smile back and look at each other like “WTF?” For all you single guys out there, I think you’d like Bali.

     I don’t know how long we surfed. I’ve taken a step back from timing my sessions; I’m on vacation. After about an hour the wind arrives as Randy predicted. It’s not blowing hard, but the texture’s in the water. The local boys start hooting at every set, but it’s not the type of hoot you’d here in a Cali line-up. Randy gets some long rides that I still find hard to fathom given the conditions. My rides are short bottom turns that go nowhere. There’s a long lull while we wait to catch one in. I go first. Just like my first wave, my last has shape. It’s not pretty, but I trim down the line for a long ride and do three half-assed top turns.

     We kill off our sandwiches while we dry off. Sure, not the best session, but at least we paddled out. I’ve always said that I can do nothing all day long, but as long as I surfed, I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

     We go home, get cleaned up, and eat Dum Sum after. We cruise through the surf ghetto to do some shopping. The streets are so narrow that you literally browse each store front while sitting on your motorcycle. In the evening, the whole family and Randy’s friend go out to eat at an Indian buffet. Tomorrow is another early morning. The swell is dropping off, but the wind will still be there. The call will be Canggu. Maybe we can catch it before the wind picks up. Being a Monday, it shouldn’t be crowded.

A Barney in Bali--Day 4, 11JUNE2011 SAT

Prickly Little Bastards:


The plan was to wake up at 0500. I woke up and noticed light entering my room. I looked at my watch--0620. I jumped up, entered the living room, and saw my brother reading the swell forecast. He had tea ready. He said he expected that I’d fall into a coma sooner or later and that it’s normal from the travel. Also, he pointed outside to the windy conditions--not good. The only spot within reach, protected by the wind, was the world renowned Uluwatu. However, it being a Saturday, Randy said that the crowd factor would be ridiculous, not to mention the lack of swell. Once again, the call was Canggu.

By now, the rides on the back of the motorcycle are less of an “ass clencher.” Like dejavu, but in a bad way, the wind and waves were similar to yesterday evening. The size didn’t bother me, as 3-4 foot conditions could still be fun, but the wind, the wind was just fucking everything up again. Burgers was empty, and the crowds at River Mouth and the southern peak were similar as well. We see only two people paddle to The Burger. Decision made, and this time we didn’t forget any gear.

Randy said, “I’m not expecting anything from this session.” I wasn’t either, but all I needed was a couple good ones to make the session, and that’s always possible.

We paddled out and became separated. The rip pulled me past the line up, and I finally noticed Randy’s distance. The two guys that paddled out before us weren’t guys at all; they were two little Balinese brothers. One was elementary school age and the other could’ve been in sixth grade. There I was fighting the current, and these kids didn’t look troubled at all. Little local groms, the older brother had dark Balinese skin and was really cut. Also, the little kid ripped. He got a lot of waves and maneuvered down the line unleashing bits of spray here and there. The little brother was so small that he was being tossed in the surf as if his board was a leaf. He wasn’t as good, but he tried and paddled hard to get into some waves. Oh the irony. Decades older than these boys, the same thing was happening.

The surf was a bit choppy, and the rip current didn’t help. Regardless, I was still able to get some of the lefts that rolled through. Doing nothing crazy, I caught my first wave but took it too far in. I was having too much fun drawing a high line, pumping, and racing against the section. I was over the brown rocks again and jumped ship over a couple feet of water. I paddled back to warn Randy.

The rest of the my rides weren’t significant. The waves broke weird, like the wind was making them break early. It affected my timing. Some waves were too fast and others bogged because they were doubled up. And of course, there was my skill to blame first and foremost. Randy said that even the pros surf shitty waves, but they make them look good. Me? I can’t do that yet.

On my second to the last wave, I caught a fast left. The section was beginning to close, but I stayed committed to get a couple pumps out. It wasn’t even head high, but when the wave closed out it sucked me down with it. I wanted to hurry and get back to the surface, so I felt for the sand to see if I could push myself up. Wrong move. Instead, it felt like I touched a bed of rocks made out of sharp glass; I felt punctured. It was that deep sharp pain and in both feet. I yanked my feet away as fast as I could, but that deep, dull sensation was already there; the damage was done. I was pissed off paddling back. That could have been totally avoided. I knew I was going to pay for it later. I was more worried to see what the damage was, but I waited ‘til we were home. I felt for my right heel and pulled out part of a sea urchin needle that was sticking out. Right on cue, Randy said he was ready to paddle in.

While Randy and Jessica ate Christine’s home made cooking, I was digging out sea urchin from my feet with a needle. The thought of what was down there scared me. Could you imagine a bad wipe out on a big wave in the wrong place in that spot? There could be a whole bed of sea urchin down there, just waiting for you to get smashed on and roll around in. Fuck that! I’m going to be really cautious when riding left at that spot.
The wind never died, so we cruised around Seminyak instead of surfing again. I got to see what the market looks like, and we went to the local breach break to see if there were any pulses in the water. I hope that tomorrow’s conditions will be better. Just because it’s Bali doesn’t mean it’s perfect. The surf is still at mercy to many factors, like every surf break is in the world.

Dhyana Pura

Bali--Day 3 (double sesh), 10JUNE2011 FRI

Canggu Round Two:


As mentioned, Randy was disappointed that the swell didn’t hit. The plan in the morning was to come back around noon when the swell would arrive. He was hell bent on surfing this swell. For me, I didn’t have one gripe. We were surfing . . . what was there to worry about?

Given the noon time traffic, there were more motorists on the road. The route was still beautiful, but the sun was balls dripping hot. Fuck that, butthole steaming . . . my anus was melting. Same place, different time, the cows didn’t notice we were gone. We walked over that same black sand hill and took a gander. Well, if my brother was disappointed this morning, he must’ve been beyond that this afternoon. The size dropped off at least a foot, but what was worse was the wind. It was blowing really hard sideshore, but there were still some people out, mostly at River Mouth. We sat under a bale hut on the sand for a good twenty minutes to see what it was going to do. It was a definite opposite from the morning.

A guy showed up with his whole family and stopped to talk to us. He was an Aussie named Tony. We all had a little small talk about the swell, and he and my brother talked about their different surf adventures. He was a really mellow guy, once again supporting the mellow mood of surfers I’ve been talking about.

The swell was hard to read. Pulses showed up at The Burger, but not consistent enough to make us want to surf there. We decided on the southern peak that had about five heads.

We reached for our rash guards and found nothing; we forgot them. In this intense heat, all we had was Vertra face paint. There we were, two brothers, smearing Vertra on each other’s backs. WTF. When we got to the line-up, my brother conversed with another surfer. I thought about the crowded line ups back home, the times I’ve said “good morning” and only received a straight face back.

The potential for that wave was there, but the wind changed it all. The peaks came in, but the wind knocked them down which made the wave faster than it had to be. It turned out to be my worst session here so far. I tried taking off on the shoulder, but the breaking peak had so much momentum that I’d get slung into the face too fast. Randy said to take the peak. I tried, and it was still pretty fast. This was a serious reality check. Before leaving to Bali, I expressed my nervousness and wondering if I was ready. A comment I told my friends was, “Not everyone who goes to Bali rips, right?” I don’t want to say I was completely wrong, but since being here, I’ve only seen one guy that was barnier than I. The surfers are mostly Aussies, and the rest of the majority from Europe. Randy said he’s met some Brazilians out here too. What I’m saying is, I was eating the most shit out of everybody out there.

My worst wave so far was during this session. I had a remarkable wipe out. It was a right which jacked up as I paddled into it. I thought I had a chance to pop up but was pitched then sucked under into the foamy explosion. I went straight down feet first, so fast that my camera in my right pocket pulled my shorts up and left my ass cheek and right testicle exposed. I was certain that my camera did not survive this, for it is waterproof, but not shock proof. I resurfaced, pulled out my half G-string, put the mouse back into the house, and went back to the line-up. It was a bit embarrassing. I overheard the word “wipeout” being mumbled between a couple Aussies. Yeah, that was me all right. . . .

The conditions continued to get worse. There was a lot of backwash which made the water more choppy, the current kept sucking south, and the waves became harder to read. On one of my last waves I actually popped up on a fast right. Triumphant, I looked down the line, but I saw some fuckin’ guy slipping and sliding all over his board paddling out. This is the Barney I was talking about. I jumped ship to avoid a collision, resurfaced, and we were face to face. No need to get upset, I thought. I got aggro for a second, but I don’t want bad karma on this trip. I was in someone’s way this morning, and he didn’t yell at me. It’s just something that happens as a surfer. Surf on.

The session was more than frustrating. My brother ripped the whole time. My waves weren’t even worth mentioning. We looked down Burger Peak and saw that it got more consistent and the shape was better. Oh well. So I got worked, but I walked away unscathed and unharmed. I still took the positive away from the experience. Conclusion: I must surf harder and get better.

A surfer still gets some spray going left.

Later at night we took a cruise along the Seminyak coast. He showed me the expensive beach resort area where all the bule (foreigners) stay. It was cleaner, and tourists were scattered all along the shore. The local break was before us, and it was closing out like El Porto. He told me that it gets crowded here because all the hotels are near, but good surf is barely fifteen minutes away. I have 27 more days to get some of that good surf, and I hope to capitalize on it.