Loc:
East Java
Time:
0600-0800
Crew:
Sonia
Conditions:
2-4 FT, light offshore
Fins:
JF-1 side fins (medium), Rusty Q-R trail fins (small), nub
Bris been a little under the weather since
making climate shifts from SoCal summer tot tropical Indo, so I suggest that
she rest and opt for a long evening session instead. I switch my fins again,
smaller this time with the nubby nubster just in case the board’s too loose.
I hear a couple mopeds rev and leave. On
the way to my moped, a Spaniard asks me if I can take his board for him. “I do
not have ze surf racks,” he says. He seems like a nice guy, but he’s also
greedy. Yesterday he was in my line. I kicked out for him, and he said,
“Sow-ree!” At least he apologized.
I do try to be friends with some of the
guests. Remember, I’m the harmless noob from Cali. After parking, I jump off
the scooter and throw on Bri’s Roxy rashguard. One of the German chicks Claudia
is here. “This is a rashguard for a frauline,” I say. “What do you think?”
“It suits you,” she says.
The surf has dropped off, or it could just
be the morning. Afternoon’s here have been better. Seven of us are out,
including Tina, who trades off on sessions with Edo. Initially, I sit way
inside to hopefully sneak some rides. My first wave is short, but my second is
really fun. The wave breaks at the sandbank and just opens across the break. I’m
pumping hard, noticing just a little less drive with the smaller fins. I bottom
turn and set up for a top turn, and for the first time I get a solid gouge off
the top, full torque with as much power as I can muster, and the board holds.
Finally, this fin experiment pays off. Flying down the line, I cutback,
rebound, and stick two more gouges.
Yes, I’m thinking. Can’t wait to get more.
However, the waves start breaking further out. My sitting wide technique isn’t
working. I paddle to the top, and then the ocean just goes into a massive lull.
We’re all waiting. Even Gigantar paddles inside in hopes to get something.
I’m stubborn, not moving for about fifteen,
twenty minutes. Of course, when I leave in impatience, an outside set pops up.
Gigantar takes the first wave. Claudia, with a wide water-bug stance, takes the
second. Good fucking waves. On the third, the rest of us scratch out.
Mark from Switzerland tells me that the
swell is dying and picking up again Thursday. It’s the smallest I’ve seen it
since arriving. One by one, people catch waves in. The Spaniard and I are the
last to leave.
#
Time:
1415-1700
Conditions:
4-5 FT+, consistent, crowded
Fins:
JF-1 side fins (medium), Rusty Q-R trail fins (small)
People start trickling out of the compound
to surf at around 1300. I’m thinking that it’s gonna be too early. Not only
that, but if low tide is gonna be at last light, I’d rather paddle out around
1400 to ensure a three-hour surf. When none of them come back, I start debating
if I had made the right decision.
At 1345, I tell Sonja that Bri and I are
getting ready. A couple smears of Waterman’s SPF 50, and we’re out the
bungalow.
The surf looks small. The tide's going from
mid to low. It’s still low enough to walk half way to the lineup. The lines are
coming in small and soft. The next two days are supposed to be like this.
When we get to the lineup, everyone else is
sitting outside. I sit more inside to avoid the crowd, starting off the sesh
with a racy wave, pumping only to be left behind.
All of a sudden, a freak set pops up on the
outside. Bri and I are deep, so we have to duckdive at least three waves. Then
I realize that it’s not a freak set. The in-between waves are breaking at the
top of the point, and then the sets come in stretching across the whole break
and breaking wide. It’s the most consistent session since being here, and I
don’t know how this is possible with how shitty the morning sesh was.
Into 1500, more and more surfers arrive,
topping out at 17 people in the lineup. Five of them are noobs who can’t catch
anything. One is a Frenchman who can at least draw a line after a late popup,
but chooses to swim and drag his board every time he goes back to the lineup. A
local kid’s behind him, shaking his head in frustration. This is also the same
Frenchman who is trying to be the comedic relief of the compound, and he sure
likes calling me out for being an American every time we talk.
No bullshit, two foreign dudes were in the
kitchen talking about Greece’s financial crisis. They both said it was because
of what’s happening in Ukraine, and then they said that Obama was behind it. So
since then, Bri and I have mostly been keeping to ourselves. I’m telling you .
. . in the eyes of Euros, Americans are pieces of shit. They don’t like us.
Despite the crowd, Bri and I get a lot of
wave. Bri works the inside, taking the waves that everyone’s too far to get,
and she gets the good ones, too, that line up all the way to the inside. Later,
I see her on another, a set wave that everyone is too deep for. With
determination, she puts on her paddle face, keeps her head down, and commits
herself to the wave. In four days, she’s improved so much. So many other people
here start off with a good paddle and give up when the wave gets to them, or
they pop up too fast. The boyfriend of a German surf couple has to babysit his
chick whenever she’s in the water. I’m grateful for Bri, and I’m stoked that
her backhand will have improved eons by the time we leave here, six months of
surfing worth from three weeks of double sessions.
As for me, my session goes well. Guys who
were sitting on top of me get served a dose of their own medicine. My timing’s
impeccable, working the inside lines during the lulls and paddling back out in
time to get the sets. Gayung (local phenom), Mark from Switzerland, and Victor
the Spaniard have to back out for me because I’m outpositioning them.
But for some reason, I’m not ripping as
well as I’ve been the last couple of days. I feel good with my quad setup, but
I’m just making some mistakes and feeling sluggish. I blow a cutback by
wrapping too high on the line, I’m not recovering as fast rebounding off the
whitewash, and I blow the fins out and fall on some power carves. Regardless,
it’s the most waves that I’ve caught in a single session this trip. It’s not
even 1700 yet, Sonja’s on the shore taking a break, and Bri’s toast. Truth is,
I am, too.
Bri and I forego the outside, catching the
scraps, but the scraps are still good, two-to-three turns minimum, with plenty
to spare.
It’s barely 1700, and we’re done. I barely
have enough energy to walk out of the shallow water. Bri rolls in on a
whitewash belly ride past me. My nipples are shot and scabbed up. Even my left
knee is sore. Yesterday I got my first thigh burn during the evening session. I
can’t imagine how we’ll feel in a couple more days if we keep this pace up.
