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.

A Barney in Bali--Day 3, 10JUNE2011

     First, my apologies. My blogs are late because of the modem internet in Bali. Wifi is a hassle, and I spend more time trying to upload pictures than actually writing. My memory fleets me a little. Due to the current surf conditions, I hope to catch up and get back on track.

Black sand hill, beach on other side.

The Second Session: Canggu (pronounced: chang-goo)

Nusa Dua was not a debacle. The sight alone and feeling of being on that wave filled me with many surf sensations that I’ve never felt before. Just for the record, that session was priceless.

Day 3, Daz was not joining us. The swell prediction was eight feet for that day. Daz chose to gamble on a different island called Lombok. I can’t recall if it was for swell and wind direction, but Randy said that “The Gu” was the best bet. A little bit of back-info on Canggu: recently Taj, Parko, and some other pros were spotted there. Wherever there are pros, there are cameras. Canggu also hosts surf competitions.

Sunrise at Canggu. Volcano on the left.

I killed off a small piece of raisin bread, we had our morning tea, and we were off. I didn’t know what to expect, but I did know one thing: beach break is safer than pokey reef. After all, except for some of the round cobble stones in Socal, I mostly surf beach break. I thought this would be a good opportunity to push the envelope a little, since the wipeouts wouldn’t be as gnarly as Nusa Dua.

Bale hut

Considered a small day to paddle out by local standards. This is the southern peak.

We rode in a completely different direction from yesterday. This time we stayed away from the main highway and took roads through the villages. My brother once told me that the reason he loves Bali so much compared to Hawaii is that, despite all the tourism, you can always drive a couple miles and be back in the village country side. Well, he was right. There is this one stretch of road on the way, it opens up with nothing but banana trees, palm trees, and rice fields on each side. The road was narrow but empty. The sun was still behind the volcanic horizon, truly majestic.

Randy said, “Remember how I told you I was sold on Bali when I took a drive through the rice fields?”

“Yeah.”

“This is that drive.”

Though rough, bumpy, and full of pot holes, I understood what he meant. He says that the whole island is rigged this way. One can grab a moped and explore the whole island. I could only imagine the roads and places I haven’t seen yet.


Our destination was marked by a small, grassy plain where cattle grazed. They are used to human contact and didn’t budge at our arrival. We parked at the foothill of the black sand beach. When we walked over, I saw glassy, clean, beach break. There are three main peaks: one southern most peak, the famous “River Mouth” in the middle, and Burger Peak (Randy and Daz named it) to the north. The southern peak was a perfect A-frame. About five camera men already lined up the shore as a couple guys were launching airs. River Mouth was the most crowded. Not as peaky, but bigger, and the rides longer. I was stoked at the sight, and of course . . . Randy was disappointed that the swell forecast was off. It was supposed to be eight feet. I think eight feet would kick my ass right now. In the South Bay, eight feet raises a stir within the local surf community. In Bali, it’s expected. He apologized for the conditions again, but I reminded him that I El Porto. So it wasn’t eight feet? Who cares? It was about four feet, close to head high on the plus sets.

The top two pics are peaks further down south not even considered the main part of Canggu. How would you like this as your "throw away" break?

Randy finds a turtle, gives it to the sea.

We changed parking locations and walked to The Burger. Note: It’s called Burger Peak only because it’s smaller compared to River Mouth; it actually barrels on a good swell. There were six heads at the peak, crowded to Randy’s standards. It was in fact one peak, so it did have to be shared. There were no peaks in between, just the three. We were about to paddle out, but Randy said he might have to take a shit, so I left without him. Aussies. They’re everywhere, but some guys in the line-up were speaking French too. Randy struck up a conversation with one of them. Surprisingly, there was no bad edge to the surfers in the water. Everyone was cool. Randy’s advice was to smile in the line up. I do, I get nods and smiles back. Some didn’t acknowledge, but there was nothing aggro about the place at all.


With the crowd factor, I didn’t expect to get many waves; I don’t do well in crowds. There was a slight rip current which actually helped because it placed people out of position without them knowing. Randy filled me in on where to sit, and we constantly paddled to maintain position. The lefts were breaking better this day. Randy called me into a wave. His presence kept others off of it. There’s something about a long-haired, cut-up, dark islander that spells “ripper.” I popped up and pumped down the line. It was long and I took it towards the inside--mistake. I looked down and saw that I was surfing over brown rocks. Son of a bitch, I thought. I used Daz’s “starfish” technique when I dismounted, careful not to scrape the bottom. I returned and thanked Randy for the ride.

Surprisingly, I got more than one or two waves. Even though there were a lot of people for one peak, I found myself in the prime position, even without Randy’s blocking. My wave of the day was another left, this one was close to head high and fast. It felt like it might have been a little hollow, but I learned my lesson from Nusa Dua, and I was worried about the rocks. I saw two guys paddling over the building wave in the distance, one was Randy. I had a lot of speed and stayed just in front of the critical part of the wave. I attempted some cut backs. I didn’t pull off the whole movement, but my entry was smooth and graceful. I crouched down low to keep a low center of gravity and started a wide, arching turn. My problem was my reentry back into the wave. Instead of a smooth transition to redirect my board, I kept getting stuck with my nose down, so my redirection was SLOPPY. Either way, it was a fast wave that I kept up with, and those arching turns felt fast and gouging.
 

Small day, but someone is getting a partial cover-up.


Once the tide started to go out, it was time to leave, as The Burger was starting to shut down. It was a great “breaking in” session. We walked back to the Yamaha and were almost completely dried by the sun when we got there. The southern peak was going off still. It was A-framing so well, but there were so many people there.

We stopped off to get some petro for the bike and took the same scenic route back. We were greeted by Randy’s maid Christine. Lunch was ready.