As Indonesia’s peak season draws to a close, I found myself reminiscing on a moment in 2022 when I witnessed Nathan and Ivan Florence doing their thing on the best waves I’ve seen surfed at HT’s.
I was aboard the Melaleauca – a modest sized Mentawai surf charter – when we puttered around the southern tip of Sipura. We knew there were waves, but up until then we had been blessed with consistent SW ground swell, so we had grown accustomed to pulling up at breaks and watching thick coils funnel across reefs. However, what was out of the ordinary was the lack of boats in the channel. Particularly, considering that (unlike Macaronis where each charter is now legally required to book a timeslot to avoid overcrowding) HT’s is subject to a first in best dressed policy. Why was no one there?
The skipper dropped anchor where he thought it was deep enough. A few of us took the tender to take a closer look and upon reaching the channel we sighted two, lonely heads. We thought we had hit the jackpot… well that was until the first line appeared. Sweet here comes a typical postcard-esque HT’s, shimmering azure roll in, which would stand up at the usual part of the reef – my 6’1 pintail would be perfect.
I looked to the two silhouettes, one had a go pro held by a mouthpiece and the other well, looked like a normal dude with no hair. I wasn’t interested in who they were, but rather how they were going to take advantage of an unusually empty, world class wave. Yet instead of cashing in, the figures started scrambling (and for good reason). From the channel we could see several mountains of water on the horizon, beginning to form on the outer reef. They seemed to be getting bigger, thicker and well… bigger. Fuck.
I looked towards the Melaleauca. The captain had obviously seen the same threatening lines and had begun heading to safer waters – maybe this was above my pay grade. The silhouettes (whom we subsequently discovered were Nathan and Ivan Florence) had paddled out from the land camp. They seemed unphased at first, letting most giant peaks go unridden – patient and particular. Well, that was until Nathan snapped his board. I remember seeing him turn and go for a set wave that feathered in usual HT’s fashion, making for a clean, unencumbered roll in. It was mesmorizing – Nathan glided down the face, took an effortless bottom turn and set a high line as a clean wall formed mechanically in his cross hairs. It was in this moment that HT’s seemed to change character. Instead of a kind, patient, gentle mass of azure, the bottom dropped out and a violent, fluorescent cylinder formed. It was then I realised that the seats in the dinghy were beginning to feel awfully comfortable. I remember the sheer thickness of that double-up, the energy you could feel from the boat – goosebumps formed despite the beaming, relentless Indian Ocean sun.
Nathan got seriously slotted. Yet, it wasn’t one of those pits where the surfer bursts out and you can visibly see expressions of ecstasy. It was more like shit I need to paddle wide pronto to avoid copping the rest of the set on head. Even that didn’t work and shortly thereafter we saw three things floating, the new “thing” being half of Nathan’s board. I remember being astonished by how cool, calm and collected he looked in the water trying to navigate his way back to shore with half a Pyzel barely keeping him afloat.
The session continued and from the channel we were having the time of our lives, it’s not often you get front row seats when two masters of their craft are at work. Ivan got a couple of backhand screamers, one of which I captured below.
His initial pump to high line was a marvel of fluid movement and he continued to make it look effortless as he held the backside track through heaving water. The ensuing hour was no different. We sat in the channel in awe, witnessing what felt like was a surf edit – everything was so faultless, if only I (sitting rather comfortably in the channel) had the testicles to join them.
