Getting to Padang

36 hours, 3 flights, 4 board bags, 4 carry ons, 11 boards, 3 sets of foils, 2 wings, 2 SUPs, 5 in flight meals, 1 hotel stay, 1 hour of sleep, 1 encounter with a mystery bug, 9 welts, 1 panic I have chicken pox (I didn’t), 1 final hotel lunch, 1 yoga session, 1 caravan across town, 5 near accidents, all culminating in arrival in Padang Harbor to board Sibon Jaya for 11 days of surfing countless Mentawais Island waves.

Getting to the Islands

Night number 3 of the trip was the final leg to get to the surf. A twelve hour trip across the channel. Anticipation, I would say hung in the air, but that would sound melodramatic. Instead, anticipation was all there was. Half of us had never been to Indonesia. The other half had made the trek multiple times. The mix of anticipation was made up of the known and the unknown. We docked out, made it a hundred yards and quickly returned to the dock with engine troubles. An hour later we headed out the harbor mouth headed south to Lance’s Right. No one thought otherwise about engine trouble on the first attempt to leave the harbor. Odd. The sun had set, the shoreline frenetic, the ocean calm, peaceful. An hour later the calm peace was replaced with 25 knots of wind side on. 70 foot engine driven catamarans don’t love waves and wind from the beam. Seasickness was our first elevated Indo experience. Rescued by some magical local pills supplied by the boat captain “Bal,” (pronounced bow) a kind, empathetic, very relaxed fellow. Bal no longer has any issue with seasickness himself. His cure came in the form of a storm. In 2016 he was caught 60 miles offshore on a small sailboat. Seasickness was replaced with fear. Ever since, he has ‘no seasickness.’ Too bad we weren’t scared. Not a big enough storm. We did have lightning, rain, and lots of wind, but not enough to induce real fear, just nausea. After 36 hours of travel coupled with the anticipation of 11 days on the boat, the last thing we needed was to throw up for 10 hours; however, the Indo magic pills calmed our stomachs and put us to sleep. We were awakened the next morning by the anchor chain dropping 100 yards from Lance’s Right. We climbed up to the main cabin, scanned 360 degrees to get our bearings, and saw immediately astern 6-8 foot barreling ridiculousness. The anticipation turned to excitement as everyone scrambled to get in the water.

Day One, Lance’s Right, Injuries

The first session was a definite exercise in acclimation. Where to sit, where to take off, how heavy, how fast, barrels, no barrels, what was the lineup like, dog eat dog or chill, and most importantly, where’s the reef, how shallow, and how sharp. Warm water buoys courage. Dane was picking off a bunch of waves sitting a touch inside at the risk of catching set waves on the head. In a lineup with 20-30 people, with a limited area to take off, several of our group were looking to get only a handful of waves. My goal was get one. In session one, I got one and ducked dived countless. Quinn settled in and got his handful. Then went for a barrel, got closed out, washed in over the reef, attempted a shallow duck dive, went over the falls, and ended up with the first blood of the trip. No real award for that, but with more blood to come, maybe there should have been. Spent after a relatively long session, we paddled back to the boat for breakfast. It was 8:30am. 11 days to go.

The second session for Quinn and I was another break 100 yards the other direction. An open water reef wave 8-10 feet (see the photo), more mellow, but plenty big, perfect for foiling. Mediocre for surfing. I surfed. Quinn foiled. The photos tell Quinn’s story. My story is boring and dumb. After catching one wave, I got caught inside foolishly drifting inshore during a bit of a lull. Paddling like a mad person to get outside the first of three set waves found me exactly in the impact zone. In the midst of my futile duck dive the ensuing turbulence ripped the board out of my hand and ripped my arm, shoulder, and back with it. Dumb. Day one. Simultaneously another of our crew, an affable Santa Barbarian named Akash, attempted to paddle into a wave with a surf foil and ended up getting smacked in the face. Not sure if it was board, foil, or what. A bloody nose and lip sent him back to the boat to recover. Akash lamented the remainder of the afternoon how stupid that was.

The final session netted an entirely different setup. Lower tide created a parade with everyone getting waves. The count was still 20-30 people in the water, but there were more than enough waves for everyone. Dane traded his board for a camera at the end of the session and set up deep. Behind him a remarkable sunset, in front of him, barrel after barrel after barrel with every blue, gray, white, and on and on hue imaginable. A great end to a painful day. Six of twelve of our group suffered at least one cut on the reef or a tweak to a limb. 10 days to go.

Day Two, Lance’s Left, More Injuries

Lances Left was on the menu for the day. After a great dinner and a chill, 1-hour long power around the island to the west side, we awoke to a fantastic 5-6 foot left. There were two spots to sit, or myriad depending on your perspective, but up high or down low was the choice. Way more intense at the top and straight out from the slab reef. That matters in this story. At the bottom, much more forgiving and fewer people charging. Session one went exceptionally well with everyone getting their fill. Session two included Simone and Quinn in the water shooting mostly Cameron and Dane. Cameron totaled maybe 7-8 hours in the water chasing every conceivable barrel possible. Inspired, Dane kept getting deeper and deeper in the take off zone, which put him inside straight on the reef eventually. Taking off deep doesn’t always pay dividends. This time it put him deep on the reef with little water to paddle in to get back out. No real error, but a duck dive in relatively shallow water picked him up, flipped him upside down, back first, onto the slab. Just his Salty Brother organic cotton T between him and the rock. Lucky boy. What looked terrible, terrible defined by a lot (should I use all caps?) of blood on the water, looked still terrible washed and cleaned up on the boat. A solid foot square abrasion tattooed his back. Lots of blood, lots of bruise put Dane on the top step of the podium for most injured. Michael slipped into the silver medal spot with Cameron in third, Akash fourth, and Quinn rounding out the top five. 

The remainder of the afternoon was a mix of debating Dane’s treatment and what to do next, foil, head to another spot, or go to the beach and get a beer at the resort. A beer at the resort won, but in hindsight a sunset surf was the call. Not to make that mistake again. 8 days to go. 

The afternoon session did net a bank of amazing imagery, most notably a bunch of underwater abstracts, eliciting exclamations like ‘oh wow, bubbles,’ which entirely undersells the magic of the colors, light, and context. Someday it’ll be sewed onto a T-Shirt and available on SaltyBrother.com. Until then, just think LSD and bubbles.

Day Three, Thunder, a Very Good Tuesday 

Monday night, leading into Tuesday began with a Brazilian party catalyst called, Caipirinha. A mix of mostly Vodka, a fist squeeze of lime, a bunch of sugar, and that’s it. Let the party begin. Luckily, I in particular, declined, which saved me throwing up on yet another night of very bumpy seas as we made our way further south to “Thunder,” our next left point break. The group decided that would be the best destination given the dying swell. Seems like they got it right as the morning greeted us with a super nice 3-4 foot wave with blissful shape, a forgiving take off, and a very carve-able face. As the tide dropped we shifted to some foiling fun, Quinn did some dock starts off the swim step, Marcos towed behind the dinghy, and Dane and Quinn convinced me to give foiling a try. Some very strict instructions followed. Quinn drove and coached me from the water and Dane coached from the swim step of the boat. Between the two of them they got me at least on my feet if not actually foiling. Baby steps for sure. Injury free. Time for lunch. Only downside by lunch time was Cameron’s Caipirinha fueled sun stroke, which took him out of commission from late the previous night and kept him prone well into the evening. As the tide dropped on Thunder, across the bay, maybe 2 miles, sat a little cove with a gentle left hander pretty perfect for foiling. Laramie and Quinn foiled it alone early in the afternoon and then convinced the entire group to move the boat for the sunset session. Just as we settled in, a series of squalls hit, breeze onshore, making a mess of the break. The diehards tried their best to make it work, to Laramie’s frustration, and almost to Quinn’s demise. Quinn ended up on the reef skipping the foil on the rocks. He survived, all while Marcela winged the break and Dane and Simone shot as much footage as they could. Dinner commenced after our exit to the anchorage for the night. No one really knew where we were. Somewhere near Thunder. Quiet. Dark. Bed by 8:45pm… sleep til 7am.

Day Four, Wednesday, More Thunder

“If you want boring, call somebody else.” Quinn summing up, what he is willing to film and what he is not. With that said, the food is amazing. Beautiful medleys of fruit. Bizarrely good coffee. Varieties of fish, grilled veggies, salads, noodles, veggie dishes, desserts, tasty teas, and bad beer. Cameron is back from the dead. We spent the morning back at the foiling cove for Akash and Laramie to get their fill. The rest of us rested. I got a nice yoga session in and swim, attempting to loosen up my pulled ribs, pulled shoulder, pulled back. Excellent remedy. Beautiful swim. Then a little reading. A meditation (nap). A trek back to Thunder. A surf. Quinn and I traded set ups, Quinn riding my board, me riding Dane’s 6’ 1”, “pad pad.” Small surf, low tide, very shallow. I donned the kook outfit of the trip thus far, booties for the reef, wetsuit top for the reef, and an aquaclava for the sun. No hat. Kook. No body, no one, no thing, no where, in no time. All good. Onshore wind ended the session. Lunch, cards, downwinding, and then Bal broke out the video he’d been shooting for the past three days. His side hustle. $50 per. The soundtrack free of charge, but worth money. Eventually the side waves rocked and rolled an end to the video session. Time to get to an anchorage. More wind, now rain, dark. Dinner in the works. The Brazilians have initiated a jam session now each night pre-dinner. Loud is better.

Day Five, Quiet Thunder (days of the week no longer matter)

Almost eleven hours of sleep. We are back at Thunders after anchoring about 2 hours away in a quiet cove to stay out of the northwesterly. Quinn’s up first. To my surprise Dane and Marcela are sleeping in the main cabin at the breakfast table. I assume the bumpy trip from the anchorage caused them to evacuate their third floor bunks. Not the case. Dane suffered some kind of food poisoning or is suffering from over exposure. Not sure which. From 10pm to 3am he was a mess. Looking very much like Cameron did two days ago. When I finally saw him he was six hours into recovery sleeping. Quinn also is sick, but can’t determine the cause with his ailment either. Simple symptom, he’s nauseous. Thunder is firing, clean, looks like 5-7 feet from the boat. I’m sticking close to home playing nurse. It’s okay, my body can use any excuse not to surf. A day of rest the exact thing I need. The locals say the weather pattern is very unusual. The rain and cloud cover, wind direction and volatility all unpredictable, confused. More unknowns. What’ll happen next, who will get sick, who will get hurt, what type of injury, what type of sickness. The crew keep to their rhythm, cleaning, repairing, preparing. The most quiet and invisible 5 star service on the planet. Zero management. Every crew member goes about their business completely autonomously, on task. Beds are made, dishes cleared, gear stowed, kitchen cleaned, trash emptied, food prepared, drinks restocked, nothing is ever out of place, anything needing attention gets it. No chatter. No debates. Done and re-done. Unnoticeable with exception that everything is always in order. Maybe the owner should do management training. As the afternoon progresses the conditions get better and better. The rain subsides, the wind shifts just enough to be offshore, the surf settles in perfectly. Peeling perfection. I watch from the boat, delivering whatever might be needed to patients A and B, Advil, Pocari Sweat (Indo’s Gatorade), Coke, toast, rice, oatmeal, and the occasional pep talk, telling them the surf isn’t that good. In between I read. Low injury report for our boat. Not so for the boat anchored next to us. They ask if we have a doctor on board as one of their guys is “hurt” seriously. We do. He’s in the lineup. Our skiff goes and plucks him from the lineup and delivers him to the injured surfer. Dislocated shoulder. Meds. A yank. A few hours later I do a little yoga session on the top deck. From my vantage point I can see he’s still in the same place on the boat holding his dangling arm. Ugh. Back in our infirmary Dane and Quinn are slowly improving. Slowly. At least their limbs are all intact. Oh, and btw, Dane’s back is healing well. He plied me for a massage. His back is pretty traumatized. Bruised. Tight. The cuts are probably the least of the damage. But, he’ll be fine. Youth. 

Day Six, Macaroni’s, No Injuries, No One Sick

OMG. Wave pool. 4-7 feet, peeling, peeling, peeling, peeling. Left. The reef looms here, but avoidable, which makes the vibe much more chill. The wave count for everyone was insane. Most people got three sessions, oops, long sessions in. This is the first day that no one got wrecked on the reef, and the first day no one spent the day fighting some kind of stomach virus. Only two charter boats are allowed at Macaroni’s at a time. A deal the charter boats cut with the resort to keep the crowds down. This was probably the most fun, most consistent, most for everybody, most frequent wave of the trip. The light show was crazy beautiful all day long, from sunrise to sunset. A constantly morphing palette. Intriguing how one spot, one wave could accommodate such a variety of types and skills of surfers. If you want to practice moves over and over and over, this is the place to do it. Tide didn’t affect the wave much, even a short-lived squall didn’t disrupt the quality. Funny how the day was super fun and kind of boring. Nobody getting badly hurt and nobody throwing up. Good kind of boring. The day ended with a long debate regarding what to do the next day. Stay here, go south again to Thunder, or go north. Goofy footers were definitely lobbying for staying. Barrel fanatics were trying to manufacture some kind of logic that there was going to be double overhead barrels somewhere and we should go get them. And the regular footers were all lobbying for a right, any right. Funny how party lines were drawn quickly and adamantly. Bal handled the debate with such skill I think he could settle the debate between red and blue parties in the states. He listened to everyone, provided context for the decision, elicited opinions from everyone, found the balance and the benefit and then settled into what everyone agreed was the best overall decision. We stayed put. Dinner ensued. Sweet potatoes, grilled veggies, chicken, fish, some crazy delicious holiday biscuit, and a dessert of lemon cake and vanilla ice cream. Vegan principles were tabled for at least one night.

Day Seven, Macaroni’s Part Two

Not sure what day of the week it is. Definitely settling into a rhythm. Relaxing into a rhythm. A few days ago, everything was a challenge. Surfing was scary, not throwing up when we were in transit a constant concern, managing various injuries to self and others, stressing over the unknown, and dealing with a stomach virus that was presenting itself as a daily routine amongst the group. All now fading into comfort. Same conditions persist, but acclimatization has shifted perspective to c'est la vie, whatever happens, happens. A beautiful sentiment that dissolves any real worry. Bal continues to exemplify, personify the approach. Whatever happens will be dealt with and it’ll all be good in the end. So far, so good. That’s been the case. No reason to think otherwise. No better relaxant.

Sidebar

A small sidebar here regarding the remedies and treatments on board. We do have a doctor. He’s Brazilian, as is Bal, so some of the wisdom is lost in translation, but plenty of wisdom still to be had. One such is a tiny bottle of antidote called “Dragon’s Blood.” To be applied to any reef cut. Wash the cut, dry it, apply a few drops of Dragon’s Blood. It is an anti-bacterial, germicide that seals the cut and promotes healing. This follows on Propolis, which we used on Dane’s back to great effect. What on the first day of the injury looked gruesome, now looks mostly healed, which when considering he’s in the water 4-6 hours every day, it’s a bit of a miracle. The other fun and vital remedy is another essential oils and herbs mixture of unknown name that settles any stomach upset. This one I wish I knew as it’s made some of the stomach virus symptoms tolerable. And, finally, Tiger Balm. Enough said. The injuries inflicted on surfboards however have somewhat less effective healing resources. Sun cure works if there’s sun, haha, but today, the clouds are heavy, as is the rain. Michal seems to be the center of attention when it comes to board damage. Yesterday he got tangled up post deep barrel takeoff with Alex. His board caught three fins, top center. Puncture wounds. Today, he skated over the top of Marcos’ board putting three fin slices in the rail. Ouch. Better the board than Marcos’ head, but still. Brand new board no more. All before breakfast. 10am, rain is dumping. Peaceful. With the exception of Brazilian chatter, which is ongoing.  

“As you decide which figs to choose, they all fall to the ground.” Quote of the day. A robust paraphrase of Sylvia Plath’s soliloquy from The Bell Jar, uttered by Quinn to Dane as Dane debated to surf or not to surf. Figs equated to waves in this instance, just in case the reference feels a bit esoteric (full quote at the right here for your pleasure). Anyhow, this sums up session two, pre-lunch, lots of waves, always something to get, but also always changing conditions, crowds, wind, rain, sets, hence the debate, now or later. Now always seemed to be the right choice. Grab a fig and eat it. Be grateful for your fig of choice. Rain dominated this session, which dropped the temp considerably, chilling the first few inches of water. Springsuit. Rain and no wind made for a weirdly clean surface. Fun. There are a few helmet wearers from the resort. Two were worn by novices as confidence builders and one was worn by a reef charger. He didn’t make many waves, but he did tumble over the reef a lot. Booties, helmet, farmer john made it work. The Aussies were out as well. Chatting everyone up and then back paddling the same people they just befriended. Funny ethical maneuver. “You’re now my friend, so you don’t mind if I take your wave, right, eh, nah, mate.”  

Day Eight, Bintango

Bintango is a local beer. Not good. From Macaroni’s we make a rainy, windy, bumpy trek north to a spot in the same bay as Lance’s Left, called Bintango, which is just inside of another “bump” called Bomba’s. Bomba’s was the target for the foilers on board. Unfortunately the swell was just a bit small. So, we were relegated to sitting in the rain, chilling. Time to read. After an hour or so the news broke that Lance’s Left was good. Up anchor and 20 minutes later we are looking at overhead sets. More Aussie, US relations as the Aussies yuk it up, over celebrating their skill set. They’re good, certainly don’t want to imply they aren’t, but maybe not as good as they herald. Kind of cool though as the Americans are always complaining that they aren’t that good. Curious. Okay, damage report. On the Aussie side, one ‘fellow’ had a pretty good reef cut that he was remedying with what is the local treatment, either lemon or lime juice. His mates noted he was literally crying self-administering the lemon juice. It’s said it kills the bacteria from the reef and promotes rapid healing. Good on ya. As for our boat, Dane tried to make the middle section from the outside on a single fin. He was employing a down the line speed approach that worked perfectly on his first wave. The second one, not so much. Turns out, the wave requires some serious pumping and jumping to make the critical sections. Hence a preponderance of thrusters. Anyway, he ended up standing on the reef hopping over four straight set waves. Finally made it out with a small abrasion on his elbow. Good save. Akash had a similar fate, but opted for a turn and run strategy. That backfired as he attempted to belly ride the white water further inside, his fin caught the reef and he endo-od head first onto the reef. End of his day with a dizzying ding, cut, and knot on the back of his head. Simone was third in line. Avoided the reef, but not her board which dinged her on the back of the head. Ice packs adorned her head and Bal’s back (unknown injury) for the remainder of the evening. I was advised to wear booties by our boat captain, Phillip, which was good advice, as I ended up way inside after being greedy on one of the only two waves I caught during the afternoon session. All in all, pretty amazing conditions and some really quality surfing going on. We ended the day with a bit of a firework shootout with another charter boat. We lost as one of our crew had a handheld pipe launcher explode in his hand. We have it on film. Nuts. A huge explosion off the side of the boat. Somehow his only injury was some shrapnel to the forehead. Hands intact. Eyes intact. Miracle. After we all realized he was okay the drama subsided. We all chilled and watched video from the previous day at Macaroni’s. Onward.

Day Nine, Cell Tower

The crew was up at 2:30am to up anchor and begin our trek north. There’s a registration and tax requirement that the crew had to take care of at Tua Pejat Harbor, which is a small bayside city on Sipura Island. After a very bumpy night I elected to sleep late. Poking my head up into the main salon I was met with a back to the future moment of shock. Every chair was taken in the salon. The table out back was also filled. Everyone face down in their phones! Peering up at the shoreline a 1984-like cell tower stood erect hundreds of feet above the city. A most abrupt end to the solitude of the past 8 days. The disconnect from all things digital has been remarkable. It’s not just media or work or whatever, it’s the constancy of detachment from the conduit. Severing the feed frees one’s mind to myriad other possibilities. The possibilities of your own mind. What might be created. I guess if you like your thoughts that’s a good thing. If not, well… Luckily we were underway headed to Playgrounds within an hour and out of reach in another. We exited the bay headed 300 degrees, west, northwest. Nothing but horizon in front of us. A very confused swell, one from the south and one from the west with a small north wind chop added to the mix made for a washing-machine-like ocean. Too bouncy for me, so off to bed. Two hours later we were at anchor at Playgrounds sitting next to an idyllic, very small, island featuring only white sand and palm trees. 12pm. Living up to its name, there were a couple of breaks within immediate skiff rides, The closest, A Frames and Sand Island. Sand Island is a tiny atoll picture perfect for foiling. Dane and Quinn gave the crystal clear water and waves a go foil and camera in hand, while Michal, myself, Alex, and Marlus paddled out to A Frames. A Frames was a little puzzling where to sit to get consistent waves. I seemed to figure it out and scored a bunch of waves before my ribs gave out. Back to the boat. The coolest thing of this session was a light refraction trick that I’ve never experienced. Paddling out after riding the first wave of a set I just made it over the next wave in the set and then was just getting set to duck dive the next one when the coral covered bottom somehow reflected in the face of the wave. It was stunningly beautiful. Post that session everyone was sort of scattered at different spots, a few people took a walk on the island, and a couple others went snorkeling. Quinn and Dane’s foiling session resulted in some absolutely beautiful photography. The clear water, reef, schools of fish, and Dane on foil made a magical mix. Late afternoon Quinn convinced me to give foiling another try. He set everything up. I donned my helmet and impact vest. Unfortunately I did not have a pair of football pads for my quads. Bummer. After a handful of attempts I was just about getting it when I took a header over the front of the foil and got a nasty charlie horse on my right thigh. Now I’m truly hobbled. Literally. Timing worked for the better though as that session ended, a hefty squall formed and was headed our way from the north. The breeze hit harder than anticipated, which sent Marcela, Dane, and Quinn scrambling to launch two wings. Dane grabbed his camera. He and I jumped in the skiff and Quinn and Marcela winged out to A Frames. The northern breeze was perfectly offshore of the tiny island making for epic conditions for wing-foil-surfing. I drove the skiff and Dane shot the two of them trading waves for about an hour. Then the rain hit hard, the sun went down and we raced back to the boat. Perfect ending to what was a mellow, almost injury free day. Adding exceptional to perfect, we were greeted at dinner time with a sushi dinner that boggled the mind. Mostly made from a few fresh catches from the day by the crew. A full spread of all sorts of never before known sushi and sashimi. Definitely the crowd favorite dinner of the trip. Chef’s Table worthy.

Day Ten, Nipussi and Burgerworld

Nipussi is on a slab reef, but looks like a beach break. Deceptively long, and deceptively easy, but not so deceptively crowded. Timing was everything with Nipussi. Meaning, uncrowded or crowded sessions were based on the overwhelming comings and goings of charter boats and boats from local resorts. Just north, within view, was another break called Bankvaults. Both of these breaks are right handers. Bankvaults is a famed barrel locale, but according to the braintrust on board, a little finicky regarding swell and wind direction. Nipussi was the choice as breeze, rain, swell all conspired for super clean, fun 5-7 foot conditions. While good, safe fun was had here, by the early afternoon the consensus was to search for something either “foilable” or more hefty. We made our trek north to Burgerworld, a right point break. Little consequence to me as I sat out the day on pain meds, doing a little yoga and attempting to sleep nursing my various self inflicted “hurts.” Quinn again with the handy, applicable quote, noting, “You’re not going to get injured, but you will get hurt.” And, so it went. I did visit the lineup in the water at Nipussi with fins and swim goggles shadowing Dane and Simone as they photographed the lineup. This new, unique perspective was a super fun experience. Having the mobility from the impact zone allowed me to get up close to the surf and the surfers which revealed a lot more personality and emotion. Especially good I suspect in the toasty warm and clear waters. As for Burgerworld, Laramie put on a pretty good show on foil, while the majority of the group had their go surfing at the top of the point. More rain, more crowds. A solid day in anticipation of the end of our days.

Day Eleven, Back to Nipussi and Then Home

Our final day of surfing. Most everyone was ready for this day. Either paddled out, surfed out, justly tired, hungover, or plain ready for a change, the entirety of the group were relaxed and satisfied. A content pallium was the vibe of the day. Maybe it was the rain. The day was once again all about timing the crowd. Early was good. A little later not good. Then when the rain started and the wind shifted offshore everyone left the line up. Odd. Quinn and I were in the right place at the right time. Five people out. Same fun wave, plenty good, big, and barrel-y, gentle offshore breeze. This was my final session of the trip. I got my fair share riding Dane’s 6” 1” pad pad, and finally felt comfortable. It only took 11 days! To my surprise, Dane and Quinn reported the same. Finally they were feeling playful and in control, even expressive. Super cool last day. Amazing rain. Absolutely beautiful weather, water, wind, rain, waves, palm trees, sand, reef, underwater, etc. All remarkable. The end of my session was met with a swarm of boats arriving and their accompanying hoards descending on our private little session. Perfect timing. Bye bye. And, thank you for the perfect moment. I paddled out above and beyond the line up, took off my leash, pushed my board away and laid back on my back like a starfish and stared at the sky, scanned the shoreline. I took a big 360 degree view and cherished the place, the trip, my luck to be able to have this adventure with my boys. Nothing what I expected and everything that I needed. Floating on my back, deeply grateful.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

Pre-sunset session Dane, Marcela, Quinn, and I took a tour of the Mangroves. Mangrove fields, river, bay? Not sure. Regardless, it was big and beautiful. Directly at the bottom of “Macaroni’s” is a ‘resort’ at the mouth of a small, gentle river. Very shallow. Narrow. Crystal clear, as if filtered water. The bottom mostly sand, with patches of coral. The river meanders to the left to open ocean, to the right a labyrinth of river passages. Pristine, mesmerizing, quickly we seemingly are lost in the interior. We creep along with the motor almost in idle. The boat is tiny so we can make it through shallow spots of 8-10 inches. It feels like a cross between a National Geographic adventure and a Disney ride, which is absurdly American to say. I half expect a mechanical Hippo to rise above the surface. The conversation shifts to contemplations of what types of wildlife live here as there are myriad fish, coral, plants, endless Mangrove, not so many birds, but then snakes and crocodiles. Towards the end of our meandering, we spot a light blue and black striped sea snake in about 5 feet of water weaving its way through some coral. We stop. Hover. Puzzle as to what it is. Our Indo local explained this particular snake gets to maybe 2 meters in length, and that occasionally they will make it out to the break where the charter boats anchor and crawl up the anchor lines or wiggle their way onto the swim steps of the boats. Not sure why. Rumor has it that they have a tiny bite radius such that they have to bite you between the toes or fingers to be a threat, but if they do, you’re dead in five minutes. Ha. We keep on with our tour and come across a couple we assume are from the resort, one on a paddle board, the other swimming. We cruise on past the two of them and head out for our evening session. 

Immersion (waters of Indonesia)

Words by Craig Wilson, images by Quinn and Dane Wilson