BARNYARD JAVA: Day 7 (double), THU 23JUL2015



My surf partners in crime, Bri and Sonja

Time: 0545-0800

Conditions: 2-4 FT

Fins: Simon Anderson 2 quads

     I hit the snooze button at 0445. Even though we had gone to sleep at 2130, my body still likes to wake itself up at 2330, 0100, and 0330.

     Sonja’s in the kitchen drinking tea. She says she’s not feeling well and is sitting the morning out. Randy’s drinking coffee at the kitchen table, the two German chicks sit at the end. He says he’s going in after his coffee.

     This place was hot last time I was here, but the mornings right now are cool. I should’ve brought a lightweight jacket, even better a wetsuit jacket. Yeah, that cool in the morning.

     Bri shivers behind me on the way to the point, holding onto my waist. We should be the first one’s here, but we pull up to find Mark and a new guy. The new guy has the Hypto Crypto board. I’m surprised to see a Hayden shape here, so I compliment him on his surf craft.

     I switch my fins to the SA-2 quads. Don’t ask me why. This is the first time I’ve been able to sample fins on consistent consecutive sessions on the same wave, so before I make my final decision on which setup to go with, I want to do more testing. So far, the JF-1 fins have worked great, thanks to Klaude who knows I need a lot of drive when I surf.

     Even though the air is cool, the water’s warm. Mark and New Guy catch a couple rights, nothing crazy but enough for them to get some backhand wraps and a few soft snaps. To be honest, I don’t know how I’d fare on a wave like this on my backhand. So far, none of the regular footers here have been tearing it up, save for one local guy, Mr. Stubble. Mark isn’t a bad surfer, but his stance is too wide, and he doesn’t use his bottom turn to set up for powerful snaps, but it could be the wave. I think of my friends who would do well here. I know Rick would kill it here, easily, but he can be a bit wave hungry sometimes, and I know that would cause problems here. Gary would kill it, too, but he craves more critical surfing, which this place doesn’t offer unless it’s six feet plus every day. Klaude would do well here, but it goes back to what I said about this being more of a goofy footers wave. Long sections can be hard to make backhand.

     I talk to the new guy. His name is Jonas from the U.K. He says he just came back from East Timor, surfing a spot called T Land. “A better wave but really crowded,” he says.

     “Where do you like it better?”

     “There better, but my girlfriend likes it here.” He tells me that he bought his board second hand, a 5’10 at 34 liters, loves it. It’s a trip meeting the surf gypsies here. Just like two years ago, so many people travelling all over the South East Asian archipelago, talking about places like Sumatra, Sri Lanka, Lombok, like, “You’ve never been there before? Why not?” And these cats aren’t even intermediate surfers. They just go and take a chance.

     I catch a couple insiders, managing some weak pumps and a few cutbacks. Damn, not really jiving with these fins anymore. I’m no fin expert, but the JF-1 model has a wider base for drive, and I feel the difference despite the bigger fin area of the SA-2 fins.

     After a lull, I sit at the top of the wave. The German chick duo is out now. On the next set, I’m way too deep. Mark gets the first one. I scratch out on the next. On the third wave, one of the German chicks is looking at the wave. I turn and go but scratch out again. She gives me that look that says, “What the fuck?” I had seen her on a flyer on top of the kitchen table, a professional one on high quality paper. It said her name was Jan and that she operates a yoga school in Portugal. When I first arrived, her eye was bandaged up from surfing this slab called Machines. All it took was her hitting the reef once to keep her out of the water for a week.

     Well, yeah, I missed the wave, but she still could’ve gone and kicked out if I had gotten it. I still feel embarrassed, so I sit deep on the inside again.

     More people come out: Randy, Edo, Bintang, Yaya, Boris, Boris’ chick, Sophi, Paul (an old fat dude who looks like Groucho Marx who was here two years ago), another local guy. The swell forecast says it’s supposed to be bigger today, but the swell isn’t here yet, and everyone is on schedule for it.

     I give up on the outside bombs. Too crowded for me. I stay on the inside, milk a couple three footers, getting distance but starved for solid carves and wraps. The swell still isn’t showing.

     We’re an hour and forty-five minutes in. Bri and I are cold from inactivity. Worst surf day since being here. She catches one in. I go back to the top, hoping for the bomb to end this drought.

     A set approaches. I’m too deep. Bintang takes the first, Edo takes the second. I scratch out on the third. In the distance, Bri’s on the sand, waiting.

     Edo and Bintang have been trading off all morning. Next set, I know I can go, but I also know that I’m way too deep, so I take off behind Edo and catch the whitewash on my belly to shore.

#

Time: 1530-1730

Conditions: 5-6 FT

Fins: JF-1 side fins, Q-R Rusty trailers, nubster

     People start leaving to surf at around 1400, and they’re not coming back. The tide’s supposed to be high still. At 1430, I tell Bri to start getting ready, but the owner of the compound comes back from a recon of his own and says that the surf is still soft.

     We don’t leave until about 1530. Some small four footers are peeling on the inside, one behind the other, surfers on each wave. Looks decent, but there are also eight heads at the top of the wave, stagnant.

     Instead of doing the walk out to the point, Bri and I decide to paddle straight out. It should take longer, but with the surf being small it shouldn’t be an issue. As soon as our feet touch the water, a bigger set rolls in. The lake that we were once about to paddle out from is now roaring whitewash. Since we’re already at the foot of the sea, we say fuck it, wait for the set to roll through, and begin our paddle.

     I lose Bri right away. It’s a long ways, and I pride myself in being able to move around so much on a 5’6. According to size, I’m the shortboard champion with no one riding anything smaller.

     There are a few waves to duckdive. Jan the German yoga chick is on a set wave, no turns, just squatting to hold her line. At this point, I’m convinced that there’s something wrong with Germans. One, they’re greedy, and two, come on . . . you’re on a fucking longboard and all you can do is go fucking straight. Challenge yourself a little! Turn, do something! They’re greedy as shit, too.

     When I get to my inside spot, Jan paddles over and says how fun it just got, and that it had only turned on thirty minutes ago.

     I want to get a wave from the top so badly, but I play the inside game first. I even paddle way deep nearest the cliff than anyone and snag a racy closeout. Further wide, I catch a few single and double hitters, nothing too crazy.

     The lineup thickens. By 1600, everyone from Indo Napili who surfs is out, and the sets start to get bigger and more consistent. Finally, that swell is beginning to show.

     I luck out on a couple of waves by casting my voodoo spell on the people who fail to make the first section or fall. Even though I’m catching the waves from the inside, there’s still so much distance from the first sandbank to shore.

     And then . . . the swell really shows up. Way outside, you can see the top of the rest of the set behind the first wave, marching in like soldiers. First wave, everyone is caught off guard. It’s an instant cleaner upper. Those who are weak get weeded out. Deep inside is a trainwreck of ditched boards and fucking Germans. Claudia, who is part of the German chick longboard duo, points her board towards the sand and disappears. Same with Sofi and Stringbean. Sitting wide, I’m in position for the sets, and I turn and go on a few. Only thing is that they’re so big that they just stand up and section off, so I have to kick out. Paddling back to the lineup, I see Bri on one of the bombs. She’s not quite there as far as throwing buckets, but she’s bottom turning and delivering glancing blows to the lip. This trip’s going to do a lot for her surfing. She’s not just drawing a straight line either, but she’s timing the sections right and pumping on her backhand. I’m proud.

     With the top of the wave a little less crowded, I paddle over. A set comes. Jan turns and goes. I’m on her inside, so I could take it, but she has better position, so I paddle over the wave. Behind it, nothing follows. I look behind me. The section was too fast anyway.

     “You should’ve gone,” says Randy. “She didn’t make it.”

     I pull out an earplug and look back again. “It wasn’t makeable, was it?”

     “Yeah it was.”

     Fuck. Now I’m mad at myself. I should’ve just gone. Why be so picky? I have to surf like I believe that I’m going to make the section, but I feel I’ve been here long enough to know what the wave’s gonna do.

     The first wave of the next set appears in the distance. Randy and I are sitting deepest. We both paddle for it. “You going?” says Randy.

     “Yeah, yeah,” I say in a way that sounds like I should be saying, Awww shucks. I swing my board around early to make sure I’m catching it just a hair late for insurance. When I pop up, I point my nose down the line and force pump as fast as possible. The wave looks like it’s gonna run away, but I actually reach the shoulder. Bri’s the only one I recognize hooting me. I whizz by a few dark bodies. This wave is a solid six feet.

     On this 5’6 Dumpster Diver shape, I definitely feel undergunned. I mean, this is an extremely forgivable wave, but I feel hung up on my turns and nearly blow them. Instead of surfing radically, I have to throw in some balance so as not to eat shit. Pumping down a rampy face, I bottom turn, top turn on the slope, wrap it back, see the section standing up before me, and then pump to do it again.

     I want to put some umph! in my turns, but I’m going so fast that my man-turns end up being check turns, and there’s still spray going out the back. Suddenly, I wish I had a thruster setup to get more pivot on the turns.

     I kick out before the wave closes out. Bri’s throwing me a shaka way in the distance. Back at the top of the wave, I paddle over there and catch another bomb just like the last.

Mie Aayam, or chicken noodle soup. Kind of like the Javanese ramen. 8,000 IDR, which comes out to 60 cents U.S. I ate two of these.

BARNYARD JAVA: Day 6 (double), WED 22JUL2015

Time: 0545-0800

Conditions: 3-5 FT

Fins: JF-1 Thrusters

     Last night, after dealing with the surf crowd, Sonja suggested that we do a legit dawn patrol at Choco Point to be the first ones out, so this morning I roll out of bed right when my alarm goes off at 0500. 0530 would be a good time to be in the water, so I figure I’m making good time.

     I load up the boards while Bri gets ready. No sign of Sonja or Randy. They’re probably still sleeping, but Gigantar is fully dressed and sitting on top of his boardbag at the compound gate. Holy shit, is this for real? Is he leaving? I want to ask, but I don’t want to make it obvious. He comes back inside and walks towards me on his way to the kitchen.

     “Good morning,” he says without looking at me. As Klaude would say, it doesn’t count if you don’t make eye contact.   

     “Where to next?” I say. “Bali?”

     “No!” he says, and then he makes a grunting sound before walking off.

     The rush of morning air against our bodies on the moped is cool, or as the locals would say, “Fresh.” August is dry and cool while May is wet and hot. Mental note taken.

     Pulling up to park, I already see three mopeds with surfracks. What the fuck? Three people are sitting at the point. One of them’s a goofy footer, and I can already tell it’s Randy. The next surfer goes backhand on the next wave. Sonja. They had already been up, had their coffee in the kitchen, warmed up, and hit the water. The tide is drained. A set breaks at the top but sections off at the inside bank. The waves aren’t quite lining up yet.

     I bust out the rashguard vest that Rick had given to me a couple years ago, which will now be a local donation. My poor nipples. They’re scabbed up, and I only barebacked it once since being here. Scratching into waves, I feel my nipples chafe against the deck. The harder I kick the more abrasive.

     For Bri, her injury is on her knee. In Cali, I backed off on getting on her about using her knees while popping up, and now, without a wetsuit for paddling, she’s paying the price. The skin on her right knee is tearing from constant friction against the board. We’ve tried waterproof bandages, but the knee is a tricky area to secure.

     Randy, Sonja, and Mark are sitting wide and outside, so it takes a while to join them. Right when I reach them, a solid four-footer rolls in off the point. I turn and go. The first section is pumpy, but it connects through the sandbank and offers some open face. On this thruster setup, I feel the loss of speed that I would have on my quads, but I can still get down the line, it just takes more effort. I wrap my first cutback, and the board feels loose. Redirecting, I jam a frontside snap, and it’s the deepest gouge that I’ve stuck since being here. It comes to show, quads=speed, thruster=pivot. Which do I value more?

     After my last turn I feel the tension from my leash release. Fuckin’ leash snapped. It’s a long paddle to shore. I start swimming. My board’s not too far away. The next wave pushes me closer to my board. The leash was a hand-me-down from Gary, a comp leash, and I guess the consistent sessions wore it out.

     Back at the lineup, my brother offers me his leash. “I’m gonna switch boards anyway,” he says. “Also, I want to change out this.” He tugs at his wetsuit jacket. We swap leashes, and my session’s saved.

     Claudia and another German longboard chick paddle out, but they’re not on longboards, thank goodness. I ask about Gigantar. They say he’s going back to Germany and then to another surf trip to France.

     France . . . that motherfucker’s going to France just to rent a longboard, even though he has his own boards, to just pump down the line and take all the waves. I feel for the surfers at his next destination. Well, that’s good news. No Gigantar, and the German chicks are on medium boards. Hopefully they suck.

     When Randy comes back we trade off on a couple of waves. I’m getting used to the feeling of thrusters on this 5’6, and the board isn’t too loose at all. I still blow my layback carves, though. Feels like the board is so rockerless that it’s flat across the water when I drop-wallet and try to stick the maneuver. Of course, it’s probably just me, too, but my turns feel much gougier and snappier. Very satisfied. For now, I’ll take the sensation of quality turns over speed and hold. Maybe when it gets smaller I’ll switch.

     At about 0730 the tide softens things up. Sonja leaves and so does Randy. I work the inside and get a couple more mooshy waves before calling the session.

     Back at the compound, Randy’s talking to Edo over a cup of tea. The kitchen’s empty. No smartass French guy, Gigantar’s gone, and Sonja is making omelets. I end the morning with a nice shit, my first one in three days. As it slithers like a tube of putty from my anus, I notice the bright oranges and light browns in its solid body.

So Randy took Bri and I to Quick Chicken. It's like the Javanese fastfood franchise out there. 10,500 IDR for a chicken burger, which is only 80 cents U.S.

Time: 1520-1730

Conditions: 3-4 FT

Fins: JF-1 Thrusters    

     We show up a little later because of the tide, but four people are already in the lineup with three-foot waves peeling across the point. Maybe we could have come at 1430.

     Paddling out, we sit on top of the small group and catch some inside runners. Though, our waves don’t line up all the way inside. Pretty soon, everyone wants to sit at the top now. I move inside, switching places.

     The German longboard chicks aren’t out. With Gigantar gone, too, it’s the mellowest session Bri and I have had since we’ve been here. Without any greedy Germans, there’s plenty to go around, and everyone is catching waves. Stringbean Elena is the compound mascot. We all encourage her to catch waves, and now she has enough confidence to sit at the top of the point.

     I do all right on my waves, getting my frontside snaps in and a couple wraparound cutbacks, but I seem to keep losing my board whenever I blow the fins out. At this point, I’m not sure if I’m better off on a quad or thruster setup, but with how slopey and sectiony this wave is, quads make sense to get enough speed and drive connect all the way down the line.

     Randy paddles out when the locals do. Bintang, a guy who I had met two years ago, paddles up to me to say hi. About ten locals are out, combined with all the late shifters from the local homestays, that’s a total of 21 people in the lineup. After a while, sitting wide and inside doesn’t work. A few noobs get in the way of the locals, either ditching their boards while snaking, and quite a few are caught on the inside, ditching their boards as well.

     I sit outside but find myself too deep. I miss a couple sets, but get some decent in betweeners.

     Frustrated, we leave before it gets dark. Half the crowd is still out with the surf getting better as the tide goes down.

     Later, we go to the night market and eat some nasi pecel, which is a coconut rice dish. Afterwards, we buy some martabak, which is like a pancake sandwich with chocolate and peanuts in this case.

     Back at the bungalow, Bri and I are drained. This has been a true surf trip, just surf in the morning, eat after, surf again, eat again, and then go to sleep. We don’t have energy for much of anything else.

Even in what East Java considers to be a small town, there is still so much going on here. Riding on my moped with Bri behind me, holding on, the wind in my hair, and the sun in my arms, I couldn't be happier to be here.

BARNYARD JAVA: Day 5 (double), TUE 21JUL2015

FUCKING INTERNET HERE SUCKS. CAMERA ALSO BROKE. OH WELL. I'M A ROXY BITCH.

 

Loc: East Java

Time: 0600-0800

Conditions: 4 FT

Percentages

     Randy was supposed to be here, via bus, by the time I woke up. I clawed out of the mosquito netting at 0515 and flicked on my porch and bathroom lights just in case he had been waiting. After brushing my teeth, I headed towards the kitchen and found Sonja drinking tea. “He should be here soon,” she said. “I messaged him last night.

     I took a seat, bareback in Hurley shorts still wiping sleep from my eyes. It was still dark out.

     “It will be cold,” she said, shivering and holding her teacup. It’s funny how dawn patrols are always the same. It’s always too easy to be unmotivated in the early morning.

     Gigantar already left. So did Claudia, both German longboard hogs. Since Sonja said she’d be paddling out later or going for a run, I asked her to let my brother know where his boardbag and moped keys were.

     A set was peeling through Choco Point when we pulled up. Three people were out, the third Swiss Mark. Bri and I walked out to the lineup, caught two racy closeouts, and made our way back out. Our natural course took us to the right spot, inside and wide right next to the sandbank.

     Within the hour, more people paddled out. This Japanese dude was struggling. I had seen him go straight on a wave the day before, his best wave yet. Gigantar, Mark, Claudia, Spaniard Victor, French Sofi, and some stringbean redhead German chick (aside from Sonja, the only cool German).

     I didn’t want to have to battle it out with anyone, so I stayed inside. A few waves broke at the top of the point, and only Gigantar and Claudia were able to get them, but the ones they missed came straight to me and Bri.

     Having concluded my fin experiment, I was content with the recent setup, but my surfing was still off. I cleared a couple sections, but my turns felt forced, like attacking the wave with the same enthusiasm since I got here wasn’t working. Again, next wave, I got a few turns, but I wasn’t clicking, and then I realized that my body was worn out, not just physically, but I had been surfing at 100% the last four days. My last trip to Java, even Bali, wasn’t as consistent as this trip. Now, Bri and I were literally just waking up, hitting the waves, coming back to rest, and then doing it all over again, a minimum of four hours a day on a consistent pointbreak, no long moped journeys involved.

     I told myself to taper my surfing down to 70%. On my next wave, I surfed fluidly, bottom turning, relaxing as I climbed the face, and gracefully carved my way into a torqueing snap. I didn’t tighten up or even pump too hard unless I had to make a long section, but tapering off on how hard I was surfing made me feel in form again.

     Bri sat at the top of the wave and picked off the inside ones just under the pack. I watched her pop up on a perfect four-footer. As she made her way closer to shore, I noticed small pale tosses of water out the back. Already on day five, she was showing signs of a backhand snap.

     I gave up a lot of main sets to the guys up top, but when the really big ones came through and swung wide, I was in perfect position. Surprisingly, no one caught on. Monkey see monkey do, everyone wanted the top of the wave, so I had a bunch of long insiders all to myself.

     We surfed until 0800 when the tide made the surf too soft.

     Back at the compound, Randy was already chilling under a bungalow talking to Edo. We hugged. Looking at him, it was the happiest I had seen him in a long time, genuine happiness, not just endorphins because we’re here together but that his life was good. He didn’t have that gangliness to him from nonstop surfing. He had wellness in his life, fully nourished with insulation. Balanced.

LOWER JAVA

Time: 1420-1720

Conditions: 3-5 FT

Fins: GMB 5 quads

     More people show up to the compound, and that’s bad news. Last night, a couple had walked in. They looked Euro. I tried to help by asking, “Are you looking for the manager?” The woman ignored me. “Are you looking for Edo?” I said again.

     “Hello,” she replied.

     Hello? Fuckin’ bitch thought I was saying hi. “Nevermind,” I said,” as I made my way to Edo’s office to grab my brother’s moped key. Instinctually, the Euro couple followed. When I got the keys, they spoke fluent English with Edo, and then it hit me. They treated me like I was “the help.” Just fucking ignored me, assumed I didn’t speak English, and didn’t even listen to what I was saying, even though they could have understood if they would’ve made the effort.

     Reflecting on that, I thought about how I’ve recently been frustrated in local public places, when some Javanese talk to me. I don’t want to deal with how stupid it is that I don’t understand Indonesian, but maybe I make them feel the same way I felt. From now on, I need to make an effort to at least learn how to say, “Sorry, I don’t understand,” or “I don’t speak much Indonesian.”

     Aside from that couple, an Aussie and three chicks showed up, but they’re actually cool. Two more German couples also showed up. Fuck. Something about the Germans here. They are so clickish, they keep to themselves, don’t talk to anyone else, and have shitty wave etiquette.

     Anyway, more people at both compounds one and two means more surfers in the lineup.

     Bri and I reach the point at 1400. Sofi and Victor are sitting on the sand. “No waves,” says Victor. Sonja arrives shortly after. Looking out, the tide’s still too high. Mooshy peaks are crumbling through with a strong sideshore wind.

     We sit, we wait, and fifteen minutes later Sonja, Bri, and I decide to go for it. Why wait on the sand?

     When we do make it to the lineup, which is pretty far from the shore, the surf is actually a foot bigger than it had looked. It’s not prime time yet, but I manage a few pumpy rides before the wave sections off towards the inside. The three of us have it to ourselves. Little by little, the tide drops, and then I’m able to at least get some single hitters.

     By 1500, our private session gets infiltrated. I don’t mind Sonja. Victor, he’s actually pretty cool. He had told me on the beach how he doesn’t like the board he’s renting. It’s a 6’3 with glassed on fins and channel technology underneath the board, but it’s brown and weather beaten. I initially thought that he didn’t know how to surf. He’s good at getting down the line, but he just looks like shit doing it. Now it makes sense because every time he’s on a wave, it looks like he’s battling against his board. Whenever he can’t get a wave, he’ll call me into it. I had done the same with him days ago, so it’s nice he returns the favor.

ALOHA R.I.P.

     I tried to bring that Francis and Ohana 26^th Street style to the lineup, but I can do it no more. Fuckin’ German longboarders at the top of the wave, three of them now. One of the chicks actually has a cutback. I can respect that, but with 17 assholes sitting on a pointbreak, three longboarders are too many. On day 1, I was stoked to hoot people on, but watching the same people get wave after fucking wave just irks me, and it’s not like I’m the only one who’s left with the scraps. There are a bunch of noobs out here trying to get waves, too. It’s like Lowers in Java. Same story everywhere. How many tourists have traveled to Lowers just to end up frustrated? Well, the same can happen here.

     The highlight of the day is watching my brother in the lineup. Bri says that our styles are similar, but I know they’re not. Seeing him on a left, he’s just way more fine-tuned, like every movement, pivot, body positioning, pose is done for a reason. You can see it in his turns. I watched him do a layback carve and recover so quickly that it could easily be missed by the untrained eye. With his arms out, he just has this twang as he jams each turn. Legit jam, not graceful carving but jamming gouges that just scream, “UHHH!, UHHH!, UHHH!” I know my surfing’s not there yet because I still hold back on some movements, like fully committing my body into layback jams. I’m still easing my way into them. Even when I blow the fins, I rarely recover.

     I try doing my inside and wide technique, and it works okay, but once the lineup is at full capacity, the waves are usually taken from the top. Now I’m the asshole on the inside thinking, Fall, fall, fall, fall. I sneak a couple waves this way, laughing the whole time. What a dick. . .

     “Too much longboarders,” I say, paddling up to Victor.

     “Fuck them,” he says.

     And then the locals all come out. Even Gigantar has to pull out for these guys. I hate not getting waves, but I know that these guys deserve them the most. It’s their wave.

     My brother sits with them. Technically, he’s an honorary local, so he gets his pick.

     Frustrated, I move to the top of the wave. I hate doing this. I hate battling. I sit deep because it’s the only place up top where no one wants to sit, and the reason’s because it’s hard to make the sections from here. I hope to get lucky, but I blow two waves in a row, leaving some lucky asshole way on the shoulder the ride of his life. Even Randy’s trying to call me into waves. Fuck. Charity. That’s how bad my vibes are, so easy to read.

     When I get my last legit ride, I surf it angrily, over exaggerated mannerisms on the pumps, Dane Reynolds imitation on the carves. I get pretty far. Bri’s already on the sand, so I take the next closeout in.

     That night, I vent to Randy and Bri over dinner. “I might end up being that angry guy in the lineup,” I say. “I can feel it.”

     “Don’t be that guy,” says Randy. 

     “Yeah,” says Bri. “You don’t want to be getting into fights with twelve year olds.”

     After dinner, Bri and I chill at Indomaret with our ice cream and cold drinks. Riding on the moped through the dark streets of Indo Napili, I quell my negativity. I tell Bri to look at where we are. We’re in a third-world country riding on a moped through beachside streets after two surf sessions and chowing down on some Indonesian cuisine. The kid at the Indomaret had actually spoken to us in English. He didn’t have to do that, but it was cool. Indeed, look at where we are. Coming from the SoCal surf environment, it’s easy to get upset over crowds, but I don’t want to be upset to the point that I can’t appreciate what’s right in front of me. It’s surreal. In a couple of weeks from now, I’ll be sitting back on my couch in El Segundo, missing all this.