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my head hurt with stoke |
Thus far the journey was planned, this is where I wanted to be, where my tickets had brought me. Over a period of two weeks I pushed myself, got incredible waves, broke a rib and caught the flue. This wasn’t going to stop me. I needed something new, spontaneity, no plans just a progressive manifesting journey. Soon I befriended another traveller, solitary in character, with whom I mentioned a few of my ideas. With his fluency in the local dialect and our shared need for adventure the universe must have heard us because the ball began rolling.
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considering what the horizon held for us |
During the night the word was instantly out. Two white boys needed accommodation, a boat and crew for tomorrow morning. The accommodation is best described by my diary entry:
“…fancy shit this, a breakfast of rice and oily prawn crackers included in the price. As if telling us this would make it feel we got a real deal! The ceiling is falling in, the carpeted floor sticks to the bottom of my slip slops, spider webs net the corners of the bathroom walls. A dirty eastern style toilet, with no shower, only a bucket of water to clean myself. I’ll opt to stay dirty while crammed into this tiny room next to the road. It was hot, noisy, my pillow felt greasy and with compliments came the wafting scent of concentrated urine from the toilet. Fuck my rib hurt, I couldn’t even sniff without feeling like a midget was head butting me. Jo stuck surf wax in his ears, providing a muffled relief from the road, my coughing and my cursing.”
Incredibly, soon after waking we were, with bags on our backs and a board under each arm, loaded onto two scooter taxis and taken to the water’s edge where we were met by our crew and floating home. On the ocean we took a detour to visit a historical site, the source of magnanimous destruction and power. Advised not to climb any higher than half way up the volcano, we ignored the warning with teenage stupidity. Slowly creeping up the last quarter on our hands and feet, the merciless gradient and loose black gravel meant every so often we slid downwards a few meters. Reaching the summit and sitting on the steaming hot caldera, we looked into the core of the Earth while having sulphurous fumes bellowed into our faces. I’ve never been more stoked to be immersed in the smell of rotten eggs. With a panoramic view enabling us to see the edge of the Earth and knowing that falling in was equally as likely as falling back down meant that the stoke and adrenaline were coursing through our veins, numbing us to the heat burning our arses and removing the soles from under our shoes.
As She passed wind, we smiled and marvelled at Her beauty |
Arriving at the island was extraordinary. We rounded the headland of the bay, between two majestic, intimidating black rocks. The ocean swell was big. I could see a ship wrecked on the beach. The forest was lush, thick and uninhabited. Soon the boat stopped and the captain pointed using his thumb, while saying, “we wait, you surping”. Only seeing from behind what appeared to be a small set, the disappointment was huge and obvious on our faces. Jo said we need to jump in and check it out. While paddling we debated what was wrong, maybe the swell direction? On observation we realized why it looked so small. From behind you simply couldn’t see them. They hugged the reef at an acute angle, reeled like a steam train, endlessly, hollow, down the line with unhindered energy. “It’s perfect”, we muttered, “but, are they makeable? It sucks dry in some places.” This is too dangerous. I needed booties and a gath, of which I had neither.
We waited. Jo picked one off hooting as he came over the shoulder and sharing some survival tips. I snatched one, never having surfed so fast I managed to just sneak over the shoulder before a close out section. I seriously kakked myself. “I want another”, I said. Honestly, what was I thinking? I spotted a bigger one, turned, looking down a perpetual the line. There’s no room for hesitation or mistake with the reef nearly sucking dry on takeoff. The wave is feathering in front of me no matter how fast I weave. I hear the liquid tunnel catch up from behind and speed ahead, I’m focused, experiencing total ecstasy balanced by equal fear, I’m in survival mode, locked in while chasing an exit that never seems to draw nearer. The adrenaline slowed time, creating an incredible clarity as my brain interpreted every feeling with amazing speed. This wave never ends, my legs are aching. I start panicking a bit. I can see the wave angle change slightly. It’s definitely going to close. I try my best to punch through the back but at such speed I simply bounced on the water’s surface only to have, “this is really going to hurt” run through my head. Suspended in a second with that single thought, realty changed to real time as I felt the wave pick me up and throw me over the falls. I got repeatedly nailed, my foot was totally grated, the inside of my leg too. Two fins were bust out. I stood up noticing the water wasn’t much deeper than my shin. In a moment I saw copious amounts of vermilion blood running down my legs and Jo surfing a volatile looking barrel before another wave hit me. I didn’t feel pain but total stoke. No regret. That was the most intense wave I’ve ever had in my life.
Sleeping required skill and innovation on our floating home |
We had two more days of surf to ourselves, surrounded by natural beauty and silence. What more could we have asked for? Our journey back stretched from 4 to 12 hours as our engine died. We sat bobbing in the ocean, no food or water luckily to have a fishing boat discover us, give us fish and water, while towing us back to land.
Looking back, in its own jaded way climbing that volcano and surfing that island against all odds were perfect experiences in their own right. There no what ifs, imagine ifs or we should haves because we did it, we tried it, we experienced the consequences and rewards with no holding back. I’m a better surfer and person because of it all and thinking about it makes me stoked to be alive.
Our secret spot, “Cicadas” |
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