Desert Point Adventure (9/22 - 9/25)

Sep 22

    Today Diego, Jon, and I did the gnarliest mission from Bali to Desert Point, Lombok. A last minute strike mission, set up by Oscar last night over beers, even though he couldn’t come, was under way. We got picked up from my hotel at 9AM by our friendly driver Wira, loaded up the boards and we were off to Padang Bai Port, about 3 hours away on the east side of Bali. From there we’d take a ferry across several islands to Bangsal Port, Lombok and then it's a 3-hour motorcycle ride south to Desert Point.

    Getting out of the Bukit was magical, we entered real Bali. Going up the east side of the island gets much more lush and green. Incredible scenes of rice fields with people working the land beneath tall and steep mountainsides covered in jungle. Tops of ridges have Hindu temples made of black stone with tall minarets. The Bukit is arid and super touristy, all built up, and continuing to develop for the surf economy. Out here you’ve left that all behind and it’s just locals going about their business. I was so happy to be back in a tropical setting!

    Padang Bai Port was hilarious. Full of tourists looking to get on the ferries that take you to the Gili islands, a place to party and swim and snorkel, and people trying to sell you shit. We were the only surfers with boards on our boat. It was packed and luckily we snagged a spot outside, I didn’t want to get sea sick and there was swell that we were rocking through. Our captain took us over open water swells, we got soaked by the ocean spray coming over the sides and at one point this Irish dude, dripped out in Jordans and religious tattoos, almost flew overboard. He looked like he saw a ghost, it was sketch.

    While on our drive, Jon arranged for a motorcycle rental company to drop off 2 dirtbikes and a scooter (for me) with surf racks in Bagsal so that we could rip to Desert Point. I had to give the guy my passport as collateral, didn’t love that. We loaded up our shit and found out that Diego didn’t know how to ride a motorcycle. It has a clutch and gears you need to switch through and he’s never even driven a stick shift. I considered giving it a go and giving him my scooter, but I’d only even been on a scooter for 2 days in my life, let alone a real dirt bike, and he has way more experience than me driving in Indo. The four dudes chiming in with broken English didnt make it go smoother either, they just overwhelmed Diego. We had to kinda make it down the road a bit so that Jon could just teach him one on one, calm and collected. Eventually we were off to the gas station and filled up. Just our luck, they had chilled Milo in the fridge! We slammed two each, loaded up for our journey ahead.

    By the time we reached Bangsal and got Diego sorted on his bike, it was around 5pm, sunset, we were in for a 3 hour night ride across Lombok. Rolling out of the port we go through this beautiful sunset going up switchbacks on the jungle mountainside, monkeys playing by the side of the road. Lombok is Muslim, Bali is Hindu, so the vibe is totally different and as we begin our ride we hear the chanting of the call to prayer from the Mosques all around. It began to drizzle on and off as we carve up and then down the mountainside, totally mystical. It did cross my mind that I would be pretty bummed if it actually started raining for real while riding in the dark, luckily that never happened. The next leg of the ride was through the small city of Mataram, stop and go traffic, scooters everywhere, a real let down. He had to stay glued together in our 3 man caravan so that we wouldn’t get lost from one another. We thought about getting a bite to eat here but I felt that we should just push forward, the sooner we got to Desert Point, the better. In the outskirts of the city, south bound, we hit a long stretch of freeway where we flew into the countryside that once again became lush with little villages and structures built up along the road. Couldn’t see much but did notice we slipped by large bodies of water to our right, I assumed it was the ocean but wasn’t sure.

    We made great time until we hit the final 2.5km of our journey where you are blessed with the most fucked up road I have ever been on. Gnarlier than anything I’ve seen in Baja (that was still passable without 4 wheel drive.). Jagged saw toothed rocks stick out everywhere along a dirt road. It is all covered in a film of powdery dust so it’s all super slippery and the road is uphill, steep, and then downhill, steep, to Desert Point. Bouncing along uphill on a heavy scooter with tiny wheels was pretty difficult, slipping sideways, trying to catch myself, and toppling over several times. I had my board bag on the left side of the scooter so I was constantly leaning right to try and compensate. Trickiest of all is that you need a baseline speed in order to stay up right on the scooter, nearly impossible to obtain when going uphill from a standing start while wheels slide. On my first fall, the bike is sideways, boardbag kinda pinned beneath, with the motor on. I slide out to the right and yank the handlebars up, rev the engine, and skid the bike along the ground. Learned my lesson, when the bike is on the floor run off the engine before pulling it back up.

    At one point towards the beginning of our descent, Diego falls sideways right in front of me and is on the floor with his bike pinning his leg awkwardly underneath. He Screams for help, he thinks he's hurt, broken something maybe. I think he’s hurt. It takes me like 30 seconds to get my bike stopped and propped up on the kickstand due to the crazy angles of the rocks and dust, as he yells for me. I get to him and pull it up off, he stays on the floor covered in dust for a beat. I grab him and tell him to get the fuck up, walk it off. We can’t have an injury out here. He hobbles a bit but soon it’s all good, a real scare. “Why’d it take you so long to get to me?” “I literally couldn't stop my bike.” We laugh our asses off in the pitch black, desert. The journey continues slowly and I nearly consider leaving my bike here and just walking, enough of this shit.

    Desert Point is hardly developed, there isn’t really a village or anything there. A couple structures with accommodations, a restaurant or two, built for traveling surfers to stay. At last we arrive to Budi’s Homestay, on the tip of the point late at night. Our room has two sunken in, shitty mattresses on the floor, stained sheets, with no blanket and a rotating fan hanging on by a thread. We’re all cut up and dusty from the drive in. We didn’t have dinner in the city, we assumed there would be some food we could eat at Budi’s but since it got so late, everything was closed up. We eat a bag of chips and some popcorn for dinner. After that insane journey, I cannot stop laughing at how humble our set up is. This is what we got and we’ll have to make due. Needless to say I passed out so hard.

    This was an incredible day. Totally foreign, surreal, we hit so many landscapes, our travel day had like 6 chapters. This was a true journey in search of the perfect wave.

Sep 23

    Woke up early to the sound of a chicken banging on our room door, screaming. First thing I see when I open the door and step out to check the surf, is a woman gutting the chicken and pulling its feathers. Dinner.

    Right out front the waves looked fun. A really nice left, barreling point break, amazing! Had a quick breakfast and we were out there. By the time we got out it really jumped up in size and started to look perfect 6-8ft, 3ft on the Hawaiian scale. To get out I slowly walk across the reef until I’m in about knee deep water. Unfortunately a set breaks outside and the white water it sends my way is much too strong and swipes me off my feet. Like a complete barney, I try to stick the landing and totally cut up my feet, yikes. Lesson learned, touch the reef as little as possible. Along the reef the current pulls you down the beach but outside a bit the current pulls you up to the lineup and beyond. So the entire time there is no sitting in one place waiting for waves, you are constantly paddling to stay in position or else the current will pull you too deep out of the take off zone. This Aussie dude Ollie, backside, knifed the gnarliest drop on one of the slabbiest waves I’ve ever seen, sticks the landing, and then with his hand on the rail, pulls up violently in a big pump to set his line and get deep within the barrel. Chatting with him later I realized he has a prosthetic leg, that maneuver must have been a technique he’s adapted to his backside barrel riding because of it. There are some heavy, good surfers here.

    I feel a little undergunned on my 5’8” gaffer but I’m not really going for the sets. That’s for the pros. I’m going for the inbetweeners probably in the 6ft range and perfect. Such good waves. The wave is so good that you stand up off the take off and don’t have to pump, the power just projects you forward, all you do is pick your line. I got 6 waves, my final wave of the session being probably the best left I’ve ever gotten in my life. I dropped in, feel speed and drive, gave it a little pump and ended up so far in front, on the shoulder, that I faded backwards, gave it a little wiggle at the trough, stalled, and the wave fully tubed over me. I traveled through the barrel for several seconds. Very similar to the feeling of getting barreled at Mundaka, very quiet and in the zone, yet totally different, crystal clear, light blue water breaking fast over shallow reef. What a thrill!

    Back on the beach we have some lunch, everyone is super nice, stoked on the surf session. The waves go dormant. Meet Scott, a gentleman from Huntington Beach in his mid 50s, doing a sick Indo mission solo for a couple weeks, he hit Bali then G-Land, and now Desert Point before returning to LAX. Got some good stories from him. Also met Isabelle, a cool Mexican charger we’d learn more about later. Our morning window of surf was amazing, so crazy to think about the length of travel we went through to get these moments. This is what it’s all about.

    After the waves went flat throughout the day, it pulsed in the evening and it was on. Everyone paddled out for a flurry of really fun waves. A bit smaller than this morning, the perfect size to have a blast and feel safe, occasionally a large one would come through. With the sky low in the sky, the reef below you looks farther away than it did in the daytime. There’s almost a magnification effect when the sun is overhead that makes the reef seem way closer than it probably is. My orange surfboard is the color of the sky. Jon got one of the craziest visions going left of his life and then got detonated on the reef and scraped himself up along with his brand new pink boardshorts. The wave is a phenom wave, textbook perfection, literally the wave you draw in class when you imagine the perfect wave. Left hand, hollow, fast, rifling, point break. It’s not always perfect, the wind can ruin it, and it lulls, but when it’s on it is.

    Back at Budi’s we learned it was his birthday! Someone brought speakers, his wife made a delicious spread with BBQ chicken and hot red peppers, people were drinking Bintangs. The hilarious thing about a party at Desert Point is that everyone’s done by 9, in bed and gearing up for an early start to surf for tomorrow. What a treat after that fun evening session to come in and see there’s a mini party going on right where we are staying.
 

Sep 24

    Desert Point wake up at 6 am, check the surf, high tide. There are some big ones coming through, bigger than yesterday but not barreling as hard. Hanging with Pablo and Scott watching the waves, Isabelle is out there and so is Jon plus two others. Around 7am it really starts getting nice, the sun’s first rays hit the wave, guys begin getting spit out of barrels, dreamy. I run back to the room, get my board ready, put on my rash guard, and sunblock thinking I’m just going to go out for a quick session and will go in after a bit to get food and then surf all day. Getting back to the point I see that it has fully turned on and it is firing! The waves have gotten much, much bigger. 8-10 ft on the California scale, sets are 4-6ft Hawaiian, full on barrels. I decided I cannot go out there on an empty stomach. If it’s pumping like this all morning and I’m hungry, I’m going to get owned. I want to be out there for as long as possible. Wolf down a quick omelet and a coffee that the nice ladies made me and I’m walking out on the reef watching incredible waves break in front of me.

    On my gaffer, paddling out, I realize I’ve made a mistake already by taking out the 5’8”, for those sets I’ll be undergunned. Everyone out there is on 6’4”s and shit. I also know in my head, however, that I won't be going for the big sets, that’s for all the professional surfers and the big dogs out here. I’ll be going for the inbetweeners, the ones they let through that are still overheard barrels, they’re not to be scoffed at, incredible surf. There are some really good barrel riders out here, for many these types of conditions are clean and fun, walk in the park type days. For me this could be some of the best surf I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t believe the size of these waves and how good the surf is, pinching myself, “am I in a surf movie right now?” My adrenaline is pumping seeing the 8 ft perfection.

    I finally whip into one, probably 6ft by California standards. On the pushup of my pop up, my rash guard got stuck underneath my right hand. As I went to lift, I pulled myself back down and fell down the wave, pinged two or three times down the wave face like a skipping stone on a lake. Got a little pounded, luckily there wasn’t too big of a next wave, and got swept down the reef. Made the paddle back out easily enough and sat out the back. I’m totally out of sorts. The sugary coffee I chugged 30 minutes ago has me jittery, the kind where you can't keep your hand still when you hold it out in front of you. Combined with the adrenaline of the situation my heart is pounding. I sit way off to the side and just breathe. I need to get right in order to catch one of these sick ones. “What the fuck, why now?”

    Meanwhile, guys are pulling into humongous fucking barrels. South African, Jordy Marie, surfs Skeleton Bay a bunch, has insane front side barrel riding technique, double arm stalls into the wave. Peruvian Alonso Correa, who I’ve seen in the Da Hui Backdoor Shootout at Pipeline, is doing massive turns, then stalls into the pit, comes out for another huge turn and then back into his second and third barrels, all on the same wave. The skill level out here is really high. Everyone’s talking about how the waves are pretty good. I’m thinking it gets better than this? Apparently yes, it gets way bigger and on the right day it can barrel all the way through instead of just offering barrel sections.

    This is a truly special place, at this point I’m fully pushing my limits. Diego says, “trust me, go back inside and get your 6’6.” I agree with him, I should be on my 6’6 but I’m scared that if I do I’ll waste a bunch of time going in and back out. Yesterday it pumped for 2-3 hours and then went dormant until the evening session. If that happens again, I risk not being out here while the waves are good. I stick to my guns and just stay out here.

    After several smaller fast ones, I caught a terrific wave, an 8 footer rolled in and it was my turn! It was one of those crazy ones where you don't have to pump, just stand up and it shoots you down the line, perfection. All you do is just little wiggles at the bottom as you wait for the tube section to pitch around you. And that’s exactly what happened. A big barrel threw over me as I glided down the line. It wasn’t like yesterday’s good one, a longer barrel where I actually traveled through the tube for several seconds, this was more of a pocket ride/ barrel dodge. It just felt way more intense, the wave was bigger and heavier and being in the ocean surrounded by guys getting totally shacked, everything is more serious. I kicked out, right in front of two Aussie shredders, my adrenaline through the roof. “Holy shit, this is so crazy!” “Yeah this is great, mate, but it gets way better than this.” “I don’t think I can handle better than this!” We shared a laugh.

    Head in after a while as it started to mellow out. Waves and crowd thin out. The good ones became rare, you could still find them if you waited long enough, and still get an amazing barrel, but no more of the 8 footers rolled through. A couple of the guys remained, including Diego, who was determined to surf as long as he could for this morning window. Wind picked up around 10 am and kind of knocked it down some.The wave face was still glassy but the wave got even faster. Pablo said this is when people get hurt, especially the backsiders because it outruns them and then they have to deal with the reef. When it’s perfect offshore you just glide in and the wave travels with you. What a session!

    I got some eggs and potatoes and stuff and sat down next to Scott who was hanging out with Pablo over by the table that sits right in front of the point, looking at the wave. Scott went for a paddle out so Pablo and I struck up a conversation. Pablo Miller is this kind of legendary surfer sensei, one of the gnarly archetype expats of surf. Came from the United States, a stint in Brazil and Mexico, then discovered this wave back in the 80s, he’s been here every season for 35 years straight. Swell after swell after swell, he’s seen it all. A total low key, soft spoken, humble, barrel monster. He sits out the back waiting for the exact wave he wants. If it doesn’t come he paddles in. He has the place totally dialed. Today for instance, he didn’t paddle out because the wave didn’t look right to him. What a flex, it was some of the best surf I’ve ever seen.

    Back in the 80s and 90s he’d hike in with a few friends, pack in a bunch of rice and noodles, and spear fish off the reef, back in those days there were more fish. They’d set up camp right on the point with some tarps and score. When the waves went flat, they’d sit in the shade and watch the sea. This was before anyone was here, even before the local people that are here now. “What did you guys do for water?” “We built a well. My friend is like a water witch. I know this sounds like bullshit, I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it with my own eyes but he found water.” He explained, his buddy took a stick shaped like a slingshot or a wishbone. Held it out perpendicular to the ground, with one hand on either branch, and walked out into the jungle like that. Eventually the end of the stick dropped and was forced into the ground and there they dug. Water filled the hole and they kept digging and digging. “Who was this guy, some local shaman or something?” “No, he's my friend from Santa Monica.” “No way! That’s where I’m from.” HAHA. They’d have to boil the water they needed everyday but they survived off it for months on end for a while. When the surf season would come to an end, he’d bury his boards and all his shit, and come back next year with more stuff, eventually making a little shack for shelter.

    This man has seen it all over the years, he’s gotten robbed, seen this place change, seen surf culture change. Watched this place develop into what it is now with a couple locals charging for accommodations for visiting surfers. Every year more and more people come. Whenever there’s a big swell it gets crowded, this year being the most crowded ever. Everyone posts their desert point clips, and then complains about the crowd. He’s not really about it any more but still loves the wave and the people here, he is totally part of the small community. Maybe thinks his run here is coming to an end soon. Such a legend. “Where to next?” He’s going to Santa Monica to visit friends, then to Austin TX to stay and take care of his older mother for a while, then to Mexico to surf and get back into shape for next Desert Point season! Year 36.

    He actually knows Isabelle from Mexico. “You know that she’s a huge fucking charger, she’ll go.” No way. “She’s here practicing her front side barrel riding but she’s actually a crazy big wave surfer. She got invited to the Jaws Invitational a couple years back on Maui.” What? Turns out this super cool woman Isabelle, we became friends with earlier, is a hardcore, legendary surfer in her own right too. Exactly the kind of guy Pablo is, a total legend, probably gotten more barrels than anyone on earth, praises someone else and diverts the conversation away from him. “Hey, did Gerry Lopez ever come around here?” “No he and his crew were more over at G-Land, which is good, kept the eyes and circus out there. Kept Desert more of a secret. The wave over here was for the people that really wanted it.”


SURFERS JOURNAL INTERVIEW with Pablo. Really amazing read, especially after talking with him for a while, super cool.

https://www.surfersjournal.com/editorial/the-archivist-foam-ball-satori/


    Went surfing in the evening again for the sunset session, except this time it was on my 6’6. Promised myself I would after the morning session. Just like yesterday, the waves were big in the morning, flat throughout the day, then picked up again in the evening, but a bit smaller than the morning sesh. Beautiful waves, uncrowded. Got some fun ones on the Ordainer, and went the fastest I’ve ever gone on a surfboard.

    A set approached, one of the pros looked at me, asked if I wanted it, I said yes and started paddling. The wave was a deep blue, the reef below was dark, the sky was pink and orange, psychedelic and beautiful. I raced down the line, pumping deep, reaching top speed, connecting it towards the end of the reef. A couple of kids were taking off at the end section, dropping out of the sky into the pit. They peeked over the wave, saw me coming and held back. Sure enough, as I made it to them the wave unloaded and barreled over me, this sick black tube with the orange sky at the end. An incredible experience with those colors and that speed. I traveled through it for a while but didn’t make it out unfortunately. Got pounded and hit the reef kinda hard and cut up my back. Small price to pay for such a memorable ride, one of my faves from Desert Point. Made it in all pumped up from the session, everyone’s psyching me up and stoked. “Dude you’re riding an assym, that’s crazy, that board is beautiful.” This board is a piece of art.

    Sit down for dinner with Diego, Jon, Scott, and Isabelle Leonhardt. I have to bring it up. “So Isabelle, you’ve surfed Jaws?” “Well I can’t say I’ve actually surfed it but I’ve been there.” She was there during the swell of all swells a few years back when they ran the contest and had to shut it down because it was too big and dangerous. “Can you tell us the story?!” It started with an incredible wave and performance during a heat she had at Zicatela, Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca. She dropped in on a monster teepee on a 9’0”, made the drop and got a big score. Then towards the end of the heat threw down on a beast of a closeout and got brutally pounded. Made the heat. When the jetski came to rescue her, she had to jump off the ski and get pounded again because the moment wasn't safe on the jetski. That amazing performance put the WSL or whoever on notice and she got the call up for Jaws!

    Rolling up at Jaws before dawn, the first waves she sees are humongous and she's freaking out. There are two boats for the women competitors, one boat has the 6 ladies in heat 1 and she’s in her boat with 6 ladies for heat 2. In the first heat a set from the building swell washes through the entire lineup and cleans up the entire heat of women. All the jet skis have to rush in and rescue all 6 competitors. She’s like, “what have I gotten myself into, wtf is this, it is psycho out here!” The wave moves incredibly fast, impossible to track down, when a set comes everyones screaming to paddle to the outside and make it over. She wasn’t really surfing, she was surviving, all in a heat. She never got a wave. Her first interaction with Jaws is the swell of the decade as it builds, totally gnarly. Look her up on insta, and sure enough, she’s there as an alternate for the Eddi Aikau event that ran last year. The most prestigious and historic contest in big wave surfing at Waimea Bay, Oahu, and our homie Isabelle was an alternate in the event!

    After dinner Scott gave me his reef booties! What an incredible gift. He’s going back home in a day or two, wont need them back home, and felt bad watching me hobble around the reef and Budi’s. My feet are still totally cut up from that first walk out over the reef where I tried to stick the landing like an idiot. “Here, you’ll need these, save your soft California feet.” They fit perfectly, I’m stoked. I could care less if I look kooky or not, I can rock them and make them cool (haha). Out here the less time on the reef the better.

    Reflecting back on Desert's, it's just amazing how we got to surf here and trade waves on this remote point with literal surfing legends. Such a good vibe, everyone has incredible stories and surf careers. Thank you to all the locals who shared with us and Budi’s wife and her crew who fed us and took care of us for our 3 night stay. We got blessed with good waves (not too good or else it would’ve been really crowded and then people may have been less nice) and a couple new scars, aka Indonesian tattoos.

Here is Surfline’s blurb about Desert Point:

Desert Point is hands-down one of the world's best waves, and also one of the world's most fickle, demanding a giant groundswell before it even thinks about breaking and producing those ultra-long, mesmerizing lefthand barrels. Many feel that Deserts is better than G-Land, and better than any left in the Mentawai Islands. The wave is severely tide-sensitive -- during a big swell at high tide it can be dead flat, and on the next low tide it can be double-overhead and absolutely shacking over shallow and razor-sharp coral reef.

The waves were much better than in the photos below. While it was pumping, we were in the water, not taking pics!

Sep 25

    Today is the return mission to Bali: a long motorcycle ride to Bangsal Port, a ferry across the channel to Padang Bai Port, from there our driver Wira scoops us, and a three hour drive to the Bukit/Uluwatu where we all stay.

    Take off at 9am, oh boy here comes the big drive. I knew we were in for a treat because this time we’d be able to see all the landscapes and zones and change in biomes that we missed last time riding in the night. By day it would be a brand new deal. But of course to start it off, the first 2.5 km of our trek, just leaving the point, we have to hit the worst road of all time. I remember how much I struggled in the dark on the way in. Half of it is a winding climb, and the other half is the winding descent. Diego and Jon have the dirtbikes so I tell them to ride ahead, I’ll be going slow. The second they’re out of sight I get my scooter stuck. I’m spinning my wheels and digging myself a little hole into the silt/dust. Already? Seriously? I turn off the bike and get off to pull it out. I realize all of a sudden that I can’t move, I am stuck as well, on a tree covered in thorns. I had hugged the right side of the road thinking that was a good line on the road but right where my scooter got stuck the tree loomed. As I got off my bike, I guess I brushed up against the tree and my flannel got completely tied up. The more I budged the more thorns dug into my flannel. The right half of my body, arm in the air, was suspended like a marionette on the branches of this frickin tree. I was an insect in a spider web, dangling with my scooter lying helplessly to my left. I’m there for two minutes in this ridiculous position, thinking that the boys would eventually come back down and get me. Luckily two locals, two angels, came and unhooked me and we lifted the bike and I was on my way. I don’t know why it didn't occur to me to take off my flannel. The rest of the way I make it easily. Daylight makes all the difference.

    We ride north through Lombok on a beautiful winding road, pass through rice fields at some points, other times by the calm, still ocean that’s totally flat in the bay, crystal clear water. Eventually we make it out of the country and to the outskirts of the city onto the freeway. In single file we three rip through there as fast as we can, I can only really go 80km/hr but the boys on the dirt bikes can actually go really fast. Kinda tell Diego he needs to slow it down a bit. In the city it is stop and start little by little, crowded, sticking together to not get lost. At one point the main road going north south is blocked by some kind of block party or festival or something. We follow the flow of traffic onto the detour that takes us down alleys and mini bridges, packed with all the scooters and motorcycles that would’ve been on the main road. Really cool to see this, would've never seen these nooks and crannies of the city if it hadn’t been for the road block.

    Once out of the city you hit the jungle and the road winds up and down, filled with monkeys. Incredible views of the jungle valley below with Port Bangsal in the distance. This leg of the drive we had done at sunset last time while it drizzled in that surreal moment, now we could see the terrific scenery and stop and take it in more. Heading into Bangsal we stopped at the same gas station and drank our most delicious coveted milo, a fine reward for getting through Lombok.

    In Bangsal the ferry was leaving soon. When we rented the bikes I had given my passport as collateral and now had to wait for the man to come return my passport, I wasn’t going to leave without it. The ferry man is like, “gimme your bags, we gotta go put them on the boat.” “No way man, I’m staying right here til my passport comes. If I miss the boat, so be it, I’m not returning the scooter or getting on the boat without my passport.” The dude arrives, I sprint across the port to get to him, hands me the passport, I give him a hug and literally hop on at the last second onto the ferry. Perfect timing. On the way over my favorite dodgers hat flew off my head and into the ocean, gone forever.

    Wira picks us up in Padang Bai, close to the town of Antiga, where he’s from. He invites us for a coconut at his place to which we happily accept. He rips us off the main road and into the jungle, through a rural zone with banana trees and rice fields, and we arrive at his house in his family’s compound. It’s amazing, the generations of his family have taken up this entire zone, for example his grandfather’s house is 100 meters to the left, and his uncle is 100 meters to the right. You can’t see their structures because the trees are so dense but he tells us that many of his family are all sprinkled around this area. His house is really quite nice, built it himself, and there he lives with his wife, 5 kids, and grandma. We sit on the front stoop and share coconut water while the kids watch us and giggle. There’s dogs chilling, laying on the floor smiling and chickens of all ages dodging around the patio. His wife fries up some bananas and we happily eat the snack. They were so kind and generous and even though there was a total language barrier, his English isn't great (my Indonesian is non-existent), he showed us around and toured us around his property.

    Over to the side of the house lives his cow, a pig, and 4 porcupines in a cage. “What’s the deal with these porcupines? Do you eat them?” He responds that he uses them for food for the sate, an Indonesian kind of kebab where you eat different types of grilled meat on sticks. “You eat them?” “No.” The language barrier here is confusing but after a bit I figured out that they use the spines of the porcupines for the skewers of the sate, they don’t eat them for their meat. Close by, a stew, his wife is tending, is roaring over an open fire simmering with all kinds of cow organs. Every now and then she throws some salt or spices in. This was my first time really getting a glimpse of how a local Balinese family lives. We kind of saw some of how the locals lived at Desert Point, Lombok, how they’re set up, but here was pure Balinese. There’s a massive Hindu shrine up on a hill above his house, one in his backyard, and one in his front yard. Seems like they are pretty religious, his daughter was weaving the grass baskets that they lay on the floor with offerings by the shrines. He told us that they also believe in white and black magic, like the yin and yang of different energies and forces all around them. Also, Lombok is kind of a weird, spooky zone to them. They don’t like the spirits over there. I don’t know how much of that has to do with the fact that it’s Muslim but in their culture they tend to stay away from that island.

    He drove us back to the Bukit, I got his contact info, gave him a big hug, and passed out. The most epic mission: 4 massive days, 2 big travel days, and 2 days of glorious surf. I cannot believe what a beautiful journey this was all in the spirit of adventure and surfing with friends. Looking back it’s stunning how perfect the wave is, and we only saw it at like 6/10 quality (I've been watching videos of how it looks when it is truly massive and on fire, I recommend you do too.) Every chapter of the trip was special and the couple hours with Wira’s family was the cherry on top of it all.