A Barney in Bali--Day 6 (double sesh), 13JUNE2011 MON

Delicious mangostine! Not sure if I'm spelling this right.

Bean cakes, so yummy!

    
    
     After the morning session, we cruise around town and head back to the market. I notice that Pepperidge Farm cookies are around a whopping eight dollars. Randy explains that things imported are going to cost a lot more.

     We head back, eat Christina’s cooking, and power nap until about 1330. The wind has gotten stronger, and the verdict is that Canggu is no doubt going to be blown out. We make the call to head to Dhyana Pura at mid tide and just stay local. When we get there it’s completely shut down. The tide’s still too low, the swell from the morning is gone, and there’s no shape. I suggest we call it a day if we know Canggu’s gonna be the same, but Randy says that he wants to show me a spot near it called Tugu. Tugu is known for being more of a slopey long board wave, easy, and good to practice turns on. He says it’s more protected from the wind. It’s a hell of a decision to make. The sun’s already low and traffic’s a bitch.

Bad camera shot.

     On the way there, I witness the thickest traffic I’ve seen so far since being here. An intersection is an ocean of motor bikes around vehicles that are bumper to bumper. I hold my breath when we cut right through it.

     “It gets worse than this,” says Randy.

Tugu

     Tugu has a lot of wind on it, mostly side shore from the south. I see what he’s talking about. It’s a long ass paddle out, but there is a left that’s consistent, but it’s barely three feet.



     A Balinese chick appears out of no where wearing a tight green dress, holding a bottle of wine, two wine glasses, and wanders the shoreline as if she’s looking for someone. It’s an odd sight that we did not expect. The next break over is The Gu again, so we go there.

     The Sand Bar seems to be working, but there are about six heads on it. It’s small and choppy, but we figure that we just want to paddle out and get wet anyway, so it doesn’t matter. On the way out, Randy catches a wave on the inside. I continue and sit outside the main peak. I catch my first right which actually produces an open shoulder, but I lose balance on my top turn and fall. The break in front of the resort is giving the cleanest lefts, but it’s a locals only spot this evening, as six gangly looking dudes are trading off. I want to share the peak at the Sand Bar, but I continue to get some random rights, none as good as the first wave. The right seems just a little hollow but closes out fast. Randy works the inside the whole session getting both lefts and rights. It’s amazing what you can do with a strong paddle. I insert myself into the lineup but fail to get any of their waves. One of the Aussies is tearing it up with a single fin.



     The sun’s already down, and it’s hard to make out shapes in the surface. We catch our last waves in. It turns dark, the moon’s bright, and we realize we forgot to bring clear glasses. We ride away through screens of bugs. One gets in my left eye and remains a nuisance the whole way home. When we arrive, there’s a power outage, and we eat in the dark, talking about surfing.

     I’m given words of encouragement to push myself harder and try new things in the water now that I have Bali at my fingertips. I hope I don’t let myself down.

A Barney in Bali--Day 6, 13JUNE2011 MON

The Wave that Rocked my Anus:

     Posting blogs last night was ridiculously frustrating. I gave up at about 2230, and then I woke up at 0330 to give it another shot. Tasks which could be done in fifteen minutes took hours. With a slight lack of sleep, Randy wakes up on cue and starts the morning rituals. The wind is dead.

      We check out two different online swell and wind forecast sites to find out what’s in store. According to the forecasts, today is supposed to be smaller than yesterday. We contemplate on gambling on Sanur but determine that a small swell is not worth going out of our way for--another day. We deliberate on Canggu which sounds good, but the tide is high. We know for sure that we can catch The Gu before the wind picks up, while Sanur is a gamble. The Gu it is.
    
     Some of the sights are beginning to get familiar to me now. I name things on the way. There’s that nice stretch of road where there’s nothing but vegetation on each side: The Canggu Mile. There’s this hill that always hurts my ass every time we go over it: Ass Clench Hill. I fumble for my camera to snap some pics of the countryside, but the road is too bumpy, and I need both hands to save my ass.

     A van with about five boards on top of it drives by and heads in the opposite direction. We both know that’s not good. I mention the wind already picking up, and Randy looks at the trees to validate this himself. When we pull up we have low expectations. I see the slight texture on the water before we even go over the hill, but what we see next is a surprise.

The left in front of the Warung (restaurant). Seems to be working this morning.

    River Mouth is jam packed for being so early in the morning. I learn that the southern peak is actually called The Sand Bar, and that the locals usually dominate it. On this morning, Sand Bars is a little swamped by the tide, but the peaks are still well defined. The southern break next to Sand Bars is called Warung because it’s right in front of the resort. I haven’t surfed there yet, but we’re in time to see a good set roll through. The rights are long and lined, but the left breaks perfectly with a small hollow shoulder. Only two guys are on it. The sets are lined up one after the other, the take off spot in the exact same place each time; it looks like a wave machine.

The Sand Bar

     “Did you just see that guy get shacked!” says Randy.

     He’s motioning towards River Mouth. I missed it, but I watch others fail in their attempts to get barreled. I’ve never seen The Gu working like this; it’s impressive. We take a look at The Burg. There’s only three guys out.

     “We’ll definitely get waves at the Burger,” says Randy. I point out the break in front of the resort, but he says, “Look.” I turn my head and see four more guys paddling out, and there are already a couple more people out there.

     I’m still stoked, so we walk to The Burg. The river mouth is deeper than usual. Some Westerners walk by with their dogs. The dogs howl at the test before them to pass the deep, fast, river water. A gray dog is missing a hind leg. He struggles, but he makes it across.

     I now have a feel for that peak, at least where to sit and where to paddle out. We get sucked out through the channel as a set approaches. I’m in prime position for a four foot (Bali scale) wave, the wave jacks up in front of me. Randy yells for me to go, and then he lets off another sound when I pass it up. I felt like I was too deep. Another wave just the same pops up, he tells me to go again, I see a guy on my inside paddling for it, I back out of the wave, and the guy doesn’t even get the slide.

     Randy says, “You gotta go for it. Just paddle for it. Don’t pull out.”

     A little bit of sulking starts the session. I now curse myself for not going for the first and that last wave. The    current and rip sucks us out and north; everyone is out of position. Another set appears, the pocket begins to darken, and Randy says, “GO!” Yes, his words are said with a purpose, as I paddle with a purpose. I’m not good at kicking my feet when I paddle, but I’ve been trying. I am indeed right on the peak. It’s a left with a steep mooshy drop with a juicy shoulder to work with. I pop up, but there’s a problem. I have toes like fingers, in fact, they’ve been called “eagle claws” on more occasions than I can mention. My praying mantis toes actually catch my leash when I pop up, so I’m riding my board frontside, with my leash caught between my big and middle toe on my front foot. I have no slack to spread my stance, so I am forced to ride the back of the board. I still pull off the bottom turn, but my top turns don‘t have the right weight distribution to be clean. However, it‘s still a long ride, and I milk it for what it‘s worth, eagle claws or not.

     I get back to the peak. There are now six guys at The Burger. I catch a right hander. God damn . . . on this mooshy, high tide morning the set waves are big (for me), but the mooshiness reminds me of Trestles. My confidence boosts, but it could also mean my downfall too. It looks like a carbon copy of a juicy right hander at Lowers. When I pop up and set up for my bottom turn, two Aussies are on the shoulder watching, on the brink of dropping in. I bottom turn and hit the lip to ward them off. I’m not sure what the spray factor was, but it felt good; I felt alive. I transition into a sloppy backside cut back and hit the lip again. When I straighten up from the turn, an Aussie is paddling out and in my path. I am forced to eat shit to avoid him. Staying positive, I resurface and paddle back. I hear him yell something. I turn around. He congratulates me on my ride.

     Back at The Burg, everyone wants to sit at the same place; every position is covered. I hate crowds, but for some reason it’s manageable out here. I take the situation as a good practice opportunity. I scratch out on a couple rights, and then Randy tells me to stop sitting on the shoulder. He was right. I get another set wave going left. I’m weary of the sea urchin farm hiding down there and of the rocks. Randy says that Burgers barrels on a good swell, and I see the potential first hand. I’m pumping down the line and approaching the shallows. I stall for a second before I penetrate out the back. The wave stands up, but this time, the shoulder remains. For a split second, I see the wave throw out over me. I can either stay tucked in, earn my barrel badge, and retire. Or . . . I can get barreled and get dragged across the shallow rocks that I’m already riding over. I choose the third option and punch through the back.

     I paddle back to Randy, excited like a little kid that just had something awesome happen to him. The next left stands up as I’m sliding down. Randy later tells me that the wave hit’s a shelf and barrels on big days. It looks like it’s turning hollow. I tuck myself close to the face and get pinched.

     My daily debacle happens on my last left. It’s a wave from another juicy set, but it breaks weird. I’m on the peak, but it doesn’t break first. The left hand section in front of me breaks, so I’m behind it trying to catch it. I fail, and a roaring bed of white wash stampedes over me. I’m where the sea urchins are, so I try to fight the washing machine and stay near the surface. Instead, I’m tumbling backwards and my anus lands on a hard, blunt rock. Let me type that again: I landed hard, on my ass, the round edge of a rock literally TAPPED MY ANUS . . . hard . . . in an ungentle manner. The whole time I’m thinking, sea urchin sea urchin sea urchin! I get dragged a little further and get the top of my shins and legs a little banged up. I resurface and see Randy paddling back out, most likely off of one of his smooth stylish, non ass-raping waves. I groan in pain and share my experience with him. Despite my tampered anus, I am grateful: I’m not cut open at all, but it definitely shakes me up.

The Burg's getting crowded.

     Other guys in the water over hear my rape tale, as they glance at me curiously as I paddle pass. I no longer want a piece of the left. Burger my ass. . . . While I was getting violated, more people paddled out, including two chicks. There’s about a dozen heads out. Everyone’s distracted by the poon in the water, so we sneak back to the peak. Randy turns to me and says, “Hold your position.” It’s kind of funny. The other ten surfers don’t realize that they’ve drifted too far north. Well, the joke’s on us because the tide makes The Burg inconsistent. We paddle for the sets that are now breaking closer to the inside; we miss them. The other’s are now alerted, and we are now all nut-to-butt like a carton of eggs. We agree to call the session and hunt for our last waves. Two waves come, but I pass on jockeying for them. A surprise bump appears, and I catch a right-hander back to shore. I get one top turn before it turns mooshy. It reforms on the inside, but I step off the rail to walk back to shore.
    

The Burg

     River Mouth is still going off, and all the local Balinese guys are there, even little kids. That spot is at least twice as packed as Burgers, with people working the outside, middle, and inside. Gangly, little kids playfully hoot for each other and ride left after left, unmoved by the foreign presence.

My girlfriend Lauren will kill me for this pic. I took this one strictly for the fellas that read my blog. Please leave a comment in appreciation to keep me out of trouble.

Randy, Burg in the background.

     Randy catches a right in and says that one guy got in his way twice, and that that last wave turned into a battle. Well, we’re on the sand, unscathed, and happy with our decision to go to The Gu. Just then, good, solid, consistent sets roll through. We watch guys get pinched in the barrel, others gouge the lip releasing massive sprays. We marvel at natures gifts, smiling, satisfied.

Right hander at River Mouth

    

I prepare my camera for the ride back and take pictures of “the sights that sold my brother on Bali.” I’ll post them. You can decide for yourself.

Ass Clench Hill

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.