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A friend recently invited me to join him on a surf trip. Actually he was re-inviting me. Two years prior he’d booked out an entire camp in mainland South Sumatra and asked friends to come along and celebrate his 40th birthday. We all know what happened next.
One afternoon, Kelly paddled out with Nathan Fletcher. A noticeable excitement rippled through the lineup. Not many sports find you shoulder to shoulder with the best ever, but everyone worked hard to play it cool. Freshly dispatched from the G-Land event, Kelly was eager to put on a show and to reassert his status, despite a slide down the ratings. He blitzed every wave he rode. Witnessed at close quarters his surfing is even more beguiling. Between waves he held court and raved about how good it was to be back in Bali. Two months later, he was still there making strike missions to Desert Point and the Mentawai chain. Indo life was better than chasing the CT it seemed. Kelly ditched two comps and decided he wasn’t going anywhere.
After Bali, mainland Sumatra was a revelation, a step back in time to a wilder Indonesia. We drove along winding veins of jungle-fringed bitumen where huge macaques (monkeys) threatened to ambush us from the side of the road and the dense trees concealed long-forgotten mysteries. They say tigers still lurk here; elephants are often sighted, and the white rhino remains a whispered truth.
Arriving at Mandiri beach in South Sumatra, I looked north and south and watched 10-foot waves explode from the inside out as far as I could see. Sitting on the porch of villa number three at the Mandiri Beach Club I descended into a state of sand-bottom bliss. After a few days the swell eased and the whomping peaks became an A-frame wonderland and tube-hunting season was officially open. What began as a mate’s trip became a story that had to be told.
I returned to Oz with plenty of hollow dreams to reflect upon, but it was soon clear that I wasn’t the only one who’d been travelling. Waiting for boards at Oversize Baggage, I ran into a couple of salts who were still dripping in stoke from a run to the Banyaks. “Best waves I’ve ever had,” one of them assured me. The same thumping swell I’d enjoyed in South Sumatra had obviously flexed and coiled across the Indo archipelago – my, how she provides.
Once I settled back into the routine of regular life the stories began to filter through. One friend, Curt, had made a strike mission to Fiji. Four hours across the Pacific to find himself staring up at 15-foot Cloudbreak and a plane load of Hawaiians who’d flown in for the swell. Eventually he hit Restaurants where he shared a funneling six-foot lineup with Julian Wilson. At the end of the trip, Curt gave the Fijian kids he was staying with five bucks each. Their mother was so shocked she thought they’d stolen it. As an island nation Fiji depends on tourism. Make no mistake they want us back.
Out in the water, another friend, a young doctor named Henry, told me he’d just hot-tailed it to the Maldives and seized the opportunity to go on a father-son surf trip while that combination was still possible. COVID had killed complacency it seemed. Got somewhere in mind? Just Go! Who knows what tomorrow might bring?
My favourite story, however, was about two local mates with a generous friend who makes bank in real estate. Boony was desperate to hit G-Land and wanted some buddies along for the ride. He floated them the trip and then when they landed in Bali things went next level. He chartered a chopper and flew a quartet straight to G-Land. “Welcome to the Jungle boys!” Like I said, COVID killed a lot of travel dreams but now people are making up for lost time. When it all boils down to it, life is about making meaningful memories and a surf trip is a sure-fire way to fill the cranial hard drive. Hit up the crew at LUEX for your next surf sojourn.
