Riding the sexy waves, or that time I Cheryl Strayed into some "Wild" waters

One of my sabbatical goals is to learn how to surf. I’ve been vaguely intrigued by the sport for a long time. Growing up on the West Coast I know lots of surfers, particularly those pesky Californians in my life. Whenever I’m near a break I admire, with tinges of jealousy, the skill and adrenaline rush I see as surfers ride waves, turn, and set up and sometimes land a trick. I mean damn, even just sitting on a board looking out at the all the suckers stuck on shore looks enjoyable. On previous tropical vacations I thought seriously about taking a lesson or two but never managed to do it. I sure wasn’t going to learn in Oregon where the water temperature ranges from 40 to 60 degrees. Of course that’s Fahrenheit, I’m an American, I don’t feel Celsius. This line of course is adapted from “The Beach”, Leo DiCaprio’s film that could be categorized by Netfilx as “Classic SE Asia backpacker odyssey based on a novel.”

In search of a place where I could pick up this skill I stumbled upon Surfcamp Lombok, a two week intensive surfing school along Gerupuk Bay on Lombok, the Indonesian island just west of Bali. I’m not sure at the end of the two weeks that I’d say I’m an actual surfer but I know vastly more about the sport than I did when I started, learned a little bit about myself, and probably caught surfer’s itch.

Looking out at one of the breaks on Gerapuk Bay

Before I get to wave riding I first need to talk a little bit about the the place, Gerupuk Bay and village. The village is a one road, ATM-free collection of concrete dwellings lying along the bay on the far south of Lombok. This part of the island is described as being like Bali around the time I was born before the developers, tourists (including surfers), long term expats, and “Over indulge, Self-punish and whine, Literally crash into the arms of a sexy foreigner” I mean “Eat, Pray, Love” pilgrims who transformed Bali. Historically the fish in the Gerupuk Bay have supported life for the village’s residents but the bay is also home to four or five (depending on ocean conditions) different reef breaks (places to catch waves). These breaks have varying levels of difficulty and are one of the Not-So-Lonely Planet’s Top Sites for Lombok. As a result, catering to surfers now vies with the fishery as the community’s economic lifeblood. Until now the transition from fishing village to surfing mecca has been relatively slow. Though the breaks are crowded, there are only a handful of surf shops and crunchy cafes, one of which is actually at the Camp. Accommodations are mostly simple guest houses with a boutique hotel or two mixed along the bay’s cliffs that reminded me of Southern California. However, folks I talked to think big change is on the horizon in Gerupuk and I tend to agree. There are several big resorts under construction in nearby Kuta Lombok (not to be confused with Kuta on Bali where one can find a Hard Rock Cafe) and the government is in the process of paving the whiplash-inducing gravel road that runs into the village. If you want to see more photos of Gerupuk Bay here is an Instagram post here.

Now that you know a little bit about Gerupuk it’s time for me to sing the praises of Surfcamp Lombok. It sits at the south end of the village and is totally tubular, dude. Seriously. It’s one of the original surfing establishments in the area and while the founders are Swedes the staff and all but two of the surf coaches are locals. The coaches and most of the staff are supremely stoked about surfing and their stoke is highly contagious. Lombok is majority Muslim and it’s currently Ramadan which was an intriguing time of year to be a visitor. A number of the coaches were spending up to six hours a day out on the water with us while not eating or drinking anything between sunrise and sunset. That is a level of spiritual dedication I don’t understand as a decidedly non-religious person, but I admire it.

Chilling in the movie room

Obviously I was not the only guest at Camp. In fact there were up to 21 campers, all good people. This was the first time on my trip that I have not found at least one or two of the people around me to be irritating and/or bizarre. Mostly they originally hail from an assortment of European countries (Netherlands, Switzerland, Germany, Sweden) but there were three other American guys which is unusual. Some campers, like myself, are on a walkabout. Others came for a quick getaway. For a few this with their third or fourth visit. The vibe was pretty chill - we watched many movies, had a few sing alongs, and rested in our down time. There was a little drinking and a few loud games of cards but nothing compared to what goes on in other SE Asian beach towns. I heard guests are more rowdy when it’s not Ramadan and/or there are Aussies and Brits at camp.

Coaches demonstrating surf theory, don't remember what exactly.

The average day consists of some combination of the following: an hour of theory or photo review on land, four hours in the water broken into two sessions, an hour of yoga, and three large, nutritious, and flavorful meals prepared by three sassy local women. Yes, banana pancakes are a breakfast option and they were pretty tasty. Coaches stress that all activities are optional but you pay for the whole thing up front so if you decide to stay on land for one of the sessions or eat a meal in town then you set yourself up for a minor confrontation with Sunk and Opportunity Costs. At this point if you are still curious about the camp, its curriculum, accommodations, or the non-profit working to teach English to local girls that shares the space, I suggest you visit their website. Again, here is a link.

Now it’s time to talk about the things I learned over the course of these two weeks. Upon careful contemplation, I’d say that despite the fact that I’m a bit of a hazard out on the break, I learned to surf. I know how to balance myself on the board while waiting for waves, how to paddle, what a good pop up looks like, and how to bottom turn. I know what the lineup is and how not to be a dick there. I know the best way to fall off your board, dodge a wave that is breaking over you, and how to protect yourself in the highly likely event that this happens. I’ve seen how boards are made and watched with appreciation a few days of the Bali Pro(tected) competition that was going on across the water towards the end of camp. I left the camp being able to catch and ride small, or as the coaches describe them, sexy, waves when being told to turn around and given a forceful push.

Still, when camp was over I was not quite able to put all of this together to stay on the board and gracefully maneuver it. Upon careful contemplation and some feedback from the coaches I identified a few reasons why. Like most things in life it comes down to a combination of my genetics, personality, and environmental conditions. I’m a tall and lanky but strong trail runner and cyclist. I have tight hamstrings and use my hands to keep my balance when I barrel down the trail. This combination sets me back when it comes to staying up on a small board getting barreled by waves. It turns out that when riding waves you are supposed to use your hips and legs to keep your balance and use your hands and upper body to direct the board. When I brought my trail running technique to the water the result was more often than not a wipeout.

In situations like this where I lack grace or instinct I attempt to compensate for it with hard work. In this way I’m a lot like fellow Oregonian on a comeback Tonya Harding. At camp I was one of three people who had never really been on a board. I’m also very competitive but like to be the dark horse; a good friend in college described me as “closetly” competitive. So when we got to camp I silently noted who the other beginners were. As would be expected, the first time we went out for paddling practice I looked like Humpty Dumpty trying to stay up on his wall. As a collegiate and high school swimmer, however once I figured out the art balancing while lying down, I was a fairly speedy, consistent paddler. When I fell off my board trying to pop up on a wave I would grab the wave and paddle as fast as I could to find a surf coach ready to give me another push toward one of those sexy waves.

I soon felt the repercussions of this approach on my body. Since surfing is different from most other sports, particularly cycling and running but also swimming, this is typical for beginners. The pain started out in my ribs because of how I had figured out how to balance while lying down. Then my triceps and elbows started giving me grief as I tried to turn my freestyle swimming technique into an efficient paddle. For a while the pain was manageable after the Camp’s restorative yoga sessions. Eventually though my shoulders and neck started to hurt. After about a week of camp and a jump off a 32.5 ft high waterfall (fine, it was 11 meters) on our day off, my neck was so stiff that even with the yoga and regular doses of prescription strength ibuprofen it was painful to look from side to side while having a conversation. I had the camp coordinator call a guy specializing in pressure point massage nicknamed "The Punisher" and did more yoga. Most importantly I stayed on land for 30 hours and tried running some of the gravel roads around the Bay. All of this happened right as the two other beginners were progressing to be bona fide wave catchers and I was a bit jealous.

When I returned to the water I had my best session on the waves. The time off did my body good and I was consistently catching and staying up on the sexy waves. The two coaches giving me pushes were cheering me on. I was stoked to focus on steering the board with a bottom turn the next morning. Unfortunately for me though overnight the swell picked up. The waves turned from intriguing woman on Tinder sexy to Angelina Jolie in “Tomb Raider” sexy, - two or three times as large and powerful as I was used to. OK, maybe they were more like the French chick who plays opposite Leo in “The Beach” sexy. Regardless, I was outmatched. On the plus side I did get some impressive looking photos from this session.

With two days left in the camp and no change to ocean conditions on the horizon I realized I wasn’t going to be able to Tonya Harding my way through these waves. At first I was disappointed and irritated. Luckily there was no one around I could Nancy Kerrigan. Soon though my frustration evolved to relief. Instead of busting my ass in the water to catch as many waves as possible I slowed down. When we went out to one of the breaks I would try to pop up on a few French chick from “The Beach” swells, and enjoy the long ride on my belly in the whitewash after I inevitably lost control of my board. Then I would paddle back to the boat and watch others both succeed and fail at catching waves.

Now that Camp has ended I have started thinking about how to get back in the surf in the next few months so that I don’t regress back to being Humpty Dumpty on a board. I’m definitely not ready to endure the frigid Oregon waves and unless something drastically changes in the next few months I won’t be near any tropical swells during the rest of my sabbatical so we’ll just have to see what happens here. My impressions of the sport formed from the shore are correct, surfing is a ton of fun. It’s also physically and mentally challenging, a bit like trail running.

One other note for those who may want to learn to surf. I would suggest that before going to a two week intensive surf camp it is a good idea to have a lesson or two at a beach break like the ones I had observed on previous tropical vacations. If I had been out a few times to get familiar with what it is like to be on a board I would have at least known what I was getting myself into. To pull in another reference from the Netflix category of “autobiographical Oprah-endorsed post-divorce adventures of self-exploration,” Surf Camp was like the moment from “Wild” when Cheryl Strayed (fellow Portlander) played by Reece Witherspoon picks up her backpack for the first time the morning she sets off on the PCT only to realize she could barely lift it. Or if you prefer a more sexy metaphor (and if you don’t you may want to stop reading now), the way I lost my surfing virginity was like the guy with no scruples being handed a bottle of Viagra and a fat stack of cash on his 18th birthday and getting dropped off for a week at a brothel full of beautiful employees possessing a passion for education. I left Camp stiff and exhausted but also knowledgeable and eager for more. Like that 18 year old, who didn’t pack condoms to go along with his pills and cash, I also

definitely I caught something. Though in my case it’s not sexually transmitted. I don’t think.