Dallon's Blog: Surfing Bali

Beach view of Uluwatu

Surfers view of Uluwatu

Padang Padang Pipeline

I used to call this blog Dallon's surf report. I used to write about surfing a lot. There was a time in my life when I considered myself a surfer. I am horribly devastated to acknowledge that this is no longer the case. The last two years of my life living away from the big blue have had their toll on me. If kryptonite is Superman's weakness, then a landlocked life is a surfers'. Now, it is no big shocker for me to admit that I'm a skinny little beanpole. My skin is wrapped directly around my bones. For Halloween I take my shirt off and I'm dressed up as a skeleton. To play hide and seek I just turn sideways. But there have been a few instances in my life when myogenisis occurs and elongated myocytes have miraculously formed between my bones and skin allowing me to do things like paddle a surfboard. Doing back to back to back to back winters, with only a few trips to the big drip now and then has sucked that ability away from me. When I lived in Hawaii, I would surf up to three times a day, and almost at least once everyday. I got good, and those elongated tissues commonly know as muscles were thriving in my arms and chest. Though it made playing hide and seek more challenging for me, I was able to paddle my board around, a lot, and not get all that tired. When I surfed Australia at the end of southern hemisphere winter last year, I spent a month swimming laps at the pool to reincarnate those muscles, and I did the same before my So Cal trips over the last few years. So why on earth, while planning the surf trip of my life, I didn't find it necessary to engage in some sort of surfing warmup, is lost on my feeble mind. But here I am in Bali, Indonesia...a place with a world a renowned surfing reputation, and I've got skin wrapped, chicken bone arms trying to paddle through some of the largest, meanest, waves I've ever seen. Surfing in Bali - FAIL. Ugh.

My first accomodation

Rice paddie next to hostel.

It wasn't all a complete disaster though. I am not one of those talk super slow because I'm so chill kind of surfers. And I don't do yoga (though that would probably help this issue), but I am one of those people who sit on a surf board floating in the ocean and no matter what is happening everywhere else in the world, everything is good. So the mere act of putting myself through the most epic self induced beat down of my life, turned out to be totally worth it in the end. Because, though exhausted, sun burnt, ribs bruised, chest chaffed, sinuses full of sea water, and ego shattered...I was floating on surfboard in the ocean, and everything was good!

Both my rides.

Finally a "road" safe enough to take a photo of

first go was on my second day in Bali. I had rented a scooter with a board carrier, acquired a board, and set off in the direction of the sound of the waves. The really big waves. Another error I made with this trip, is not doing my homework. So I wasn't really sure which breaks were good and which ones are suicidal. So I just navigated the streets of Bali (by streets I mean in-comprehensive system of tiny spaces between the huts and rice paddies - SO crazy!) until I came to a beach with surfers at it. This first find was a beach break. Good for not getting sliced on reef, bad for paddling out. There seemed to be waves coming in from two directions, but there was a girl out there so it must be ok. Wrong...I couldn't get out. First time in my entire life I have ever tried to paddle through surf and couldn't do it. Try again. This time in the vortex of opposite waves. I made it, but it wasn't pretty. Before even sitting down on my board, I felt like somebody had punched me in the ribs several times, rubbed my chest with sand paper, and thrown me in a salty wash machine set on heavy load. But upon getting a closer view of my fellow surfer, my confidence was boosted. She looked about 14 years old. Sweet, must be on ok spot if there is a little girl out here. Ego rejuvenated. Then this young lady took off on a wave, aired off it, and paddled back. Ok, my turn. Paddle paddle paddle...stand up...look down...let loose profanities my Mom will never hear...bail! bail! bail! My surfboard tugged my leash so hard my ankle was bruised for three days. Another first. Almost all the way back to the beach before I found the surface, I resigned myself for the paddle back through the wet gauntlet. Needless to say, that was the first, and only time my feet touched the board at Echo Beach.

Paddled through that.

Nice and mellow! So I thought...

To alleviate issues of rash and sunburn, I found a tiny surf shop and bought a rash guard. I ate some lunch. I got lost a few times on the maze of Bali streets, and made it to my second beach. This one looked more promising. Besides the big outside waves, there were beginners here. Must be safer. Dedicated to my cause, and still thinking myself a surfer, I paddled out. I got past the inner breaks no problem, and with slightly less effort than that morning, made it to the bigger breaks on the outside. Confidence was building as I floated there waiting for my next wave. These waves though, had absolutely no pattern to them, other than being non-stop constant. I was either too left, too right, too inside, or too outside and spent the better part of an hour just paddling around trying not to get flattened. Then I realized something. I was a good 80 meters further out than anyone else. So I started paddling in. Bony chicken arms were not pleased. I could not gain any distance at all. For the first time in my life, I could not get back to the beach. It was a day of firsts... Ugh. Only by paddling parallel to the beach for a good 10 minutes was I able to get into a position where my chicken wire arms could paddle through the rip current to get back to the beach.

Getting petrol, from a vodka bottle and funnel

Only safe time to take a photo!

I tried one more time that day, and a few more times the next day. All with similar results. Yeah, I got some rides. But the exhaustion and pain usually meant that catching a wave was a one way ride back to the beach. I was beaten, and broken. Stupid chicken arms... I decided to rest my aching body and broken soul for a day, and then ventured to a different part of the island. The part of the island which, had I actually put some forethought into this trip, I would have been at the whole time. The western coast of the Bukit Peninsula. Home to such breaks as Impossibles, Padang Padang, and...Uluwatu. This is the place of surfing magazine cover stories. And the only place I knew I needed to come to on this whole trip. To get there I had to drive 1.5 hours on my moped. THAT, was one of the scariest things I have ever done in my entire life. Scarier than huge waves over shallow reef, scarier than jumping out of an airplane... Armed only with a memorized google map and the sun to my left, and after running out of gas and more than a few wrong turns, I finally made it. My day of rest paid off, and the reef at these areas made paddling out much more straightforward. So luckily, my biggest obstacle here was sheer terror of getting absolutely demolished by one of these waves. Which of course happened on several occasions, but guess what, I was floating on a surfboard in the ocean, and at Uluwatu no less, so everything was good!

It wasn't too big, hence I'm alive

There is a surfer in the photo I promise!

Uluwatu Temple on top the cliff

I can't say it was the best surfing of my life, not even close really. This is when I made my conclusion about being a surfer. To be a surfer, surfing has to be your thing. You have to live for it everyday. You can't plan a trip to Bali without having surfed for six months and expect it to be epic. I know this now. Nonetheless, bucket list: Surf Bali. Check!

I...am a skier, who really likes to surf, whenever I can. And I am ok with that.