Adventure

Meander with the Trades

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.

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”

Save yourselves! Save yourselves! 

Save yourselves! Save yourselves! Is all the second mate could manage, in a high pitched shriek, as he abandoned ship and headed across the reef for shore. The boat had gone sideways, and foamies were bashing into all 80ft of us. Roosta and I were down in the hull in the sleeping quarters, searching for valuables and passports, and throwing anything we could find, up to the Irish brothers, who packed it all into bags and sent the stuff to shore. The huge pot of oily chicken curry falls out of the kitchen window onto the deck, making it slippery but great smelling. The chickens had escaped their hocks and were trying their best to be seagulls, getting sucked under and around the boat with each surge of angry foam. The waves weren't even that big. But they packed a big punch against the side of the huge hull, pulling and pushing us about in the cabin. We could not fight the impact. Just go with it. Brace against the mast or walls - and bang! Another one would hit, inching us closer to the beach each time. My hard shell backpack cracked trying to protect my computer and video camera an my back.  The television went overboard.

In fact, everything was overboard by now. Even the fuel. 500 litres of fuel in plastic Jerry cans was threatening to spill out all over the pristine reef. A human chain was setup, and we salvaged the fuel and scuttled the entire ship, motors and all. Oh ya. I forgot to tell you where we were. Desert Point. Lombok. Indo.

Back to the beginning...

Rocky. The man.

Bingin, Padang and Ulu's had treated us nicely, and we surfed acrossthe island, some right handers. But it was time to get out there. This Rocky chap had gotten himself into the sweet position of organising surf charters from out of Bali, to the fabled Lombok waves and beyond. We had met up with the two Irish brothers - the worst drivers on Indo...and that's a claim! Then we found a few youngsters from the Channel Islands, two Ozzie Captains, a lesbian, and a few others, making sixteen. A big crowd, but not a problem to us at all. We needed the numbers to bring the price down anyway. Stoked. My first time in Indo, this was in about 2002 btw. Off we go. For a while anyway. One of the three outboards cuts out. We head for a little inhabited island nearby. Anchor. And the Indo crew start overhauling the motor. Or try to anyway. An hour goes by. The Bintang starts flowing. We snorkel. Talk shit. The nervous looking Lesbian climbs to the highest point possible. The motor isn't fixed. Hours have disappeared. One outboard gets mounted on the skiff, the broken one and two crew disappear over the horizon at high speed. The sun get's hotter. We are sick of beer now. Rice wine! I swim into the island and unbelievably find myself tearing down an island track on a rented DT125! I got an empty 5l bottle, and I buy all the ric e wine on this little isle.

Swim back to the boat and now the party is on.Turns out it is St. Patricks day, and the Irish brothers go beserk on the foredeck. Music pumping, but the underlying frustration wouldn't go away, until the skiff appeared back over the horizon, victorious. They reinstalled the motor and it fired! But. The skipper - Lucky, wasn't into traversing the ultra deep channel to Lombok, as it was too late, we would get there in the dark. That's when it went pear. The blokes wouldn't have it. Mutiny. Lucky and his nervous crew were overthrown and the anchor upped. A few hours cruising and into the sunset. A sailfish jumped in front of us. We all saw it. The music was blaring. The Irish dancing jigs. The Lesbian slightly more relaxed. 15 vs 1! Then, out of the blue it came. Pitch black and straight at us. Major squall. Complete blackout with huge winds and pelting rain. The Irish are dancing harder. I clamber up to the Lesbo chick's perch and she welcomes me. Must have been the storm. Boat is rocking. We slow to about 5 knots. It is now dark and getting darker. And then it clears. Ocean is melted plastic. We can almost see. Small swell rolling us gently in the current. Indos start flashing torches to the beach, and someone responds. The boat rocks a little more than usual, we can feel it way up in the perch. I instinctively look around and in the hue of night, I see a shape. As I holler, it breaks. Not so big. But we definitely on the button for a pounding. Huge outriggers snap like matches as the foamy picks us up and pounds us directly onto Desert Point. Awesome!

Personal space in Indo is a relative concept.

Wow, what a trip. We all sober up immediately, except the Irish. They going mad, loving it! Survival instinct takes over and Roosta, myself and the two Ozzie Captains - for Ozzies they were way cool, spring into action. First we chucked the boards off, figuring they can float and will be washed in, and could be used by anyone who needed. Then the call for booties all round. This was the best decision made all day. Then the passports and valuables.

The Irish always know how to start a party.

This is where we cut back in...

Human chains. Unbelievable walks across the treacherous reef, floating drums of fuel and whatever we could, onto land. This is where the fun actually starts. Now Lombok is where they chopped that dude's arm off with a machete, when he gave chase after they robbed him while camping on the beach at Deserts. Every local in the point area, about 50 or more, arrived within minutes. We made a laager with all we could. Made a huge fire. Put the kids in it. Got them sleeping. The Irish, drunk as hell, still pulled their weight massively, and deserved many praises. Now a Lombok dude has no convention of personal space. They stand next to you, touching arms. Even though you don't know them. Very strange. They touch you. They stare at you. They ask for cigarettes, booze, water, sugar, food, anything they can see...They don't ask permission for anything. We give them chewy sweets and it keeps them busy. One of these local idiots almost poured petrol onto the fire from the jerry can. He would have exploded all over us! Roosta stopped him just in time! Roosta led the Irish in our security detail. They walked around the laager like soldiers, Bintangs as rifles in hand, 'til the morning. I lay back on my backpack, on a dune next to the laager, and tried to sleep. I thought it was a cockroach runing over me at first. It was a crab. One of millions of little pink crabs that like to explore. They crawled over my face, my feet, into my bag, everywhere they were. But they were roach sized and harmless. Wierd. Get some sleep. Day broke to a spectacle I shan't forget. A true and truly shipwrecked party on the sandy beach of Desert Point.

This is what we risk life and limb for.

Things lying all over but contained in a semi-semblance of security and safety  provided by the laager. Around the perimiter of the lagger we are surrounded by locals. All we could do now was surf. So the Irish, and myself and Roosta sampled the pristine waves of Desert Point.  In the meantime, the Ozzie Captains - legends - were making a plan. The boat was hopeless. At high tide it floated right in to the beach and was now well and truly VAS. We still had beer. And lotsa food. Which eased some of the pain. Then the sun really came out. We built lean-to's. Drank plenty water. We were actually having quite a jol, in the wake of the incredulous experiences of the night. But we were in deep shit. No comms. No escape. Anything could have gone wrong and could still go wrong. The plan by the Captains was simple. They had a map. Off they went. They found this tiny village. It had a truck. They rented the truck. That would take us 4 days or something, through Dengue Fever soaked forests, 16 up, to get to a port across the island, that would cost another fortune again, to charter a boat to get us back to Bali! Sheeeiiit. But we were poked with NO options. The Indo crew resigned themselves to their fate. They would get word back to Bali and Rocky somehow, maybe with us, and Rocky would have to come to their rescue. Bringing punishment with him. We wait in the blasting sun. The locals have not budged an inch.

This is big entertainment for them. And they are entertaining us. A crowd are close by, smoking what looks like tiny bamboo things - and they are teaching a 1 year old baby to smoke too? Then finally, the truck shows up, and at lunch time or later, we start loading. This is going to be a major problem. Not enough space. I mean me and Roosta have two coffins, and packs. Everyone else has pretty much the same. Plus hand luggage. It's a tipper truck. 4 Cubes maybe... Then another all of a sudden. Would you believe it? Here comes a yacht from around the corner...a really cool looking yacht. And what's that?

A really cool looking yellow skiff being lowered, that comes racing into shore, right in front of us. I run down. This is all slow motion. He asks the buzz. I tell him. He says - wait here. I wait. He buzzes and comes back. With fantastic news. 5$ each and we back in Bali today still. They doing sea trials on their new yacht, and the 5$ includes beer and snacks?

Salvation a sweet sight.

Heavens alive?! Well, what a surreal feeling of relief. Offload the truck. The skiff does multiple trips to the yacht and back with boards and packs and stuff. Some people get a ride out too. We decide to swim. Across the 4th deepest channel in the world, towards the yacht, looking oh so pretty. Only thing, the 4th deepest channel on the planet hosts the 4th strongest current as well. One by one we were swept away...through ideal Tiger Shark waters. I had my hat on...could not make any speed. Others were tired. Roosta and a few good swimmers made the yacht...but the skiff was dispatched to rescue the rest of us stragglers. We finally clambered aboard. The anchor was weighed. As I stared back at Deserts and that boat on the now distant reef, all I could think to do, was find a place to simply...sleep! I found a luxurious saloon with aircon and passed out. No beer required. Back in Bali. Getting the money back out of Rocky wasn't easy, he was performing and throwing things around, brandishing a knife, but Roosta and I did get our $250's...we found out later we were the only ones refunded. Rocky just dissed all the others?! Back to the peninsula and into the comforts of a Bingin waram, where we played with the fun left and  partied with a bunch of mad touros, for our last few days. At

least we actually got to Deserts!

This was the view that greeted me when the sun came up on my first morning in Indo. It was like stepping into a surf film.

Bingin, Bali © Ashton Hayes

Its hard to imagine that not long before this shot was taken I was on foot and lost in an Indonesian jungle crossing streams with nothing but a dying cell phone light to guide the way.

I arrived in Bali at midnight with my surfboard bag, my main back pack and a small back pack. The plan was to get to the Bhukit Peninsula that night so that I could wake up to an array of perfect point breaks and step into my first Indo barrel. I met this Aussie on the plane who Indo’ed regularly and he mentioned to me that he was staying in Kuta that night (the main town in Bali) with a bunch of mates. He said I should party with them that night and head down to the Bhukit Peninsula tomorrow. In hind site thats exactly what I should of done and I debated it for a good 10 mins. But eventually the thought of rolling out of bed and into the water was too tempting so I decided to turn down his offer and head out that night .

I didnt think much of it when the taxi driver hadnt heard of Leggies, the bungalo resort I was staying in. He knew where the village Bingin was and I knew this place was right on the beach so it couldn’t be that difficult to find. Right? So off we went. It was about 1:30am when I started seeing signs for Bingin and the taxi driver turned down a street that I recognised from google maps, Impossible Beach road. So I knew we were really close. The road eventually reached a dead end so the taxi driver pulled over and said that the resort is at the end of that pathway. The pathway went straight into a dark Indonesian forest and I thought: Wow that looks scary, but the taxi driver was already pulling out my boards from the car so I went with the flow and trusted him. He handed me all my bags, I payed him and he cheekily asked for a tip. So I handed over a few more tens of thousands of Rupiah and he was off. I looked at the opening to the forest and then looked back at the taxi moving off. I almost shouted to him to come back to take me back in to town but I hesitated and then it was too late.

I entered the forest and what little light there was from a single street light quickly vanished and I literally could not see the ground I was walking on. I considered turning around but the houses back on the street were seriously dilapidated and I had no idea what I would find if I were to start knocking on doors. Especially because I had all my valuables and money with me. So there I was at 2 in the morning on the other side of the world standing alone in a pitch black Indonesian forest not knowing if there were any dangerous animals in there nor dangerous locals. To top it all off I could hear the airy sound of wind chimes coming from within the forest. What the Fuck. I started swearing at myself under my breath. You fucking idiot, you’re such a fucking idiot. There was a point where I thought I was going to break down and panic but luckily I managed to bury the fear for the time being. So I put down all my gear and with my heart racing I pulled out my cell phone to use as a torch (I didnt have roaming so calling someone was not an option). I could see the path sloping downward fairly steeply. The thought of Leggies bungalows possibly being just a little bit further down the path reassured me somewhat and I decided to push on.

I fumbled onto a stream at the bottom of the slope and managed to get across it without getting soaked but on the other side I was met with an even steeper bank. To make matters worse my cell phone battery fizzled out and now there was no way I was going to find my way back out the way I came. There was no other option but to carry on walking deeper into the forest, with no light to guide me.

I climbed the banks and then completely lost the path. At this point I was considering getting into my boardbag and waiting till morning but I managed to find what I thought was the path and continued on. the vegetation started getting really thick and I was having to step over bushes and duck under branches. All of a sudden I had a realisation that there was not a single breathe of wind and yet the wind chimes all around me were still sounding. That freaked me out. My mind raced to try figure out what it could be. Locals watching me from a distance came to mind. I quietly began edging further forward when the next thing the front of my board bag rammed into a massive animal. It scuttled and let out a deep grown. I got the biggest fright of my life and quite possibly let out a girlish scream before my mind registered what animal the grown might be coming from: It was a cow. I had literally walked straight into a cow. Luckily I remembered reading that cows were sacred in Bali and that they are leashed into stakes in the ground all over the place. I was relieved to know that the wind chimes were cow bells that would sound every time they moved their heads. I didn’t know that some of them had horns like this guy. Stuff this, I’m going to head back to the stream and search for the real path.

I eventually did find the real path and followed it. The thickness of the forest began to ease up and I could see a light in the distance. The light was coming from a village and thankfully the houses were well looked after. I pushed on a door of the first house and it opened up into a garden. So I put my board bag down and with that I realised I had left my main back pack at the entrance of the forest on the other side of the stream. I put it down to get my cell phone and in the panick I literally walked on without it. What do I do now? After a brief moment of speculation I decided to leave it. There was no way I was going to go back into the forest. I would try get to Leggies Bungalows and then see if someone could lift me back to the aptly named Impossible Beach Road. So I just walked through the door of this house, into the garden and started calling out for someone. Hello! Hello! An old shirtless Balinese guy came rushing out of his room with a confused and concerning look on his face. I said: “I’m lost”, do you know where Leggies is? He spoke back in Balinese and we reached a dead end. With that this young Balinese kid walked out of his room and he said: “whats wrong man?” Ah what a relief. He could speak English. I said I’m lost. Do you know where Leggies is? He said: “yeah my uncle is Leggie, but you are far away from there. Do you want a ride?” Finally a bit of luck. The first house I walked into and it ends up being Leggies’ nephew’s house. I said: ” Please man I am desperate to get there”.

I jumped onto the back of his scooter at about 3 am with my two bags and he sped off. There was enough time to tell him the story and he laughed all the way through. He seemed like a really nice kid, so I mentioned to him that I left my main bag on Impossible Beach road and he said no problem we’ll go fetch it after weve dropped your other bags off. What a legend. So i dropped off my stuff and we head out again on his scooter. I asked him if he thought my bag would still be there and he was shocked at the question. “Of course it will be” he responded. His name was Agus, he was 16, and he surfed. So we chatted briefly about the breaks in the area. He also told me about his school and thats where he learnt to speak English. My bag was still there and I was so stoked that this ordeal was coming to an end. He dropped me off at Leggies, I thanked him profusely, mentioned that I would of been sleeping in the forest  if it wasn’t for him, gave him some cash to say thanks and bid him farewell. “See you in the water” I said.

I lay down on my bed and starred up at the ceiling. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. I could not believe what had just happened. I slowly began to relax. I set my alarm for 5:30am. I was going to get in my dawnie surf no matter what!