bumps & bruises

By: Pat Steele

Life is full of ironic twists. Recently I went on a boat trip in Indonesia. I’ve always dreamed of surfing Indonesia. Since my sons are grown and living on their own, I could finally afford it. The irony, is I’m 25 years past my prime, well maybe 35 years depending on what you perceive to be prime. I really considered this a trip of a lifetime, so I prepared accordingly. At the local surf shop I felt like Imelda Marcos in a shoe store. “Let’s see I’ll take one of those 7’6” pintail speed racers and that channel bottom 6’8”...and give me four leashes, two deck patches...some of those fancy new fins, a couple of nose guards...a helmet, a couple of pairs of trunks and where are your rash guards?”

In the tropics, rash guards are a must. In the rash guard rack there was a long sleeve rash guard with a hood complete with sun visor and a back zip pocket. I thought back to a trip I had taken where I stayed out so long, I got sun stroke. This rash guard would be perfect! You could keep sunscreen or even a small bottle of water in the zip pocket. One of the guys on the trip told me if I found anything cool when I was shopping to pick one up for him. So I bought two even though they were pricey.

The flight was uneventful, besides the fact it took two days. Then we had a full day and night traveling on the boat. The next morning we rolled up on our first surf spot. It was flat. We traveled all day and all night. The next morning we pulled up on our second spot. It was flat. It had now been five days of traveling and nothing to show for it. We were all getting impatient and concerned. I started wishing it was too big rather than too small. This always seems to bring a big swell, then when I’m drowning a voice in my head says, “You asked for it.” Sure enough, the next morning when we pulled up to a spot by Nias called “Asu,” the swell hit.

It was solid double overhead and bigger. We scrambled around the back deck, putting in fins, attaching leashes and waxing our boards anticipating our first go out. Andy, our Australian captain, came down from his cabin with a weathered old single fin. His board looked like an ugly duckling amongst our brand new thrusters. Andy put on a helmet that had a big eye on it. The bottom of his board also had a big eye painted on it. Apparently where he surfs in West Oz has a bad shark problem. The eye was a replica of a giant squid, apparently to scare off the sharks. Andy pulled on some paddling webs and paddled over to the point. Nobody said anything, but I definitely was questioning Andy’s credibility.

“Check out Andy!” We all looked up to see Andy, smooth as silk, bottom turn and pull into a stand up barrel, he then carved a huge roundie. We all jumped to our feet, screaming.

So much for first impressions. The ugly duckling just turned into a swan.

This is the part of the story where I tell you how we got the waves of our lives. Unfortunately, there was a learning curve before we got to nirvana. The waves were steeper, bigger and faster than they looked. I personally got lip launched on my first and third waves. Bob, one of our crew, had a memorable wipeout that I witnessed from the channel. He dug his outside rail on the takeoff and cart wheeled down the face with his arms and legs fully extended. When he went over the falls, I could see his foot hanging out of the top of the wave in the tube. We were all leaving skin deposits on the reef. To add insult to injury I ended up with a bloody nose from a substandard duck dive. The big purple welt on the bridge of my nose lasted the whole trip.

Steve took the award for worst thrashing of our first go out. Steve had proudly worn his new rash guard, the one I had got him that had all the bells and whistles. About an hour into our session the set of the day came, Steve paddled for the first one and missed it. He turned around to see the rest of us sprinting for the channel.

One by one we all made it over leaving Steve in no man’s land. With a huge shot of adrenaline clouding his logic he decided that he must hold on to his board at all costs, so at the last second he turned his board to shore and wrapped his arms and legs around it. The wave broke right behind him. His board was immediately detached from his death grip and he was sent somersaulting underwater. He then realized he had a bigger problem, his cool rash guard had been pulled up, pinning one of his arms to the top his head. He did his best Houdini imitation trying to pull himself out of his rash guard. After a heroic struggle, he surfaced with it still attached to one arm. The next wave finished the job and his new rash guard was gone, never to be seen again. That night at the dinner table our wipeouts were relived with relentless ridicule and levity. The big purple welt on my nose was an easy target but I could always divert the attention with the story about he attack of the rash guard. I’m not going to bore you with my tales of beautiful waves, scenery and solitude. You’ve heard it before. Ironically, that first spot we surfed “Asu” was at ground zero of the Indonesian earthquake. The reef we were surfing over rose out of the water 10 feet. It is no longer a surf spot. Picture Swami’s reef ten feet out of the water at high tide. If you travel to Indo and you see a fisherman wearing a long sleeve rash guard with a pocket and a sun visor, you’ll know where he got it.

One rash guard: $78.

All the laughs at Steve’s expense: priceless!