Another dispatch from South Shore Press reporter Robert Chartuk. He’s in Indonesia on a surfing expedition.
Walking up from the water taxi, they gave me a quick rundown of the Hollow Tree’s Resort, pointed out my room, the kitchen, motioned to a rack of surfboards and said l could use anyone l want. There was an observation deck, and l took my position next to a photographer and a drone operator capturing the action. The waves, traveling thousands of miles from a part of the world where it’s nearly winter, came in sets at anywhere from 5-10 minute intervals. There were about 15 surfers out, lining up in a row with the more courageous riders the furthest out.
A wave reared up, and the crowd was on the move. One from the pack paddled hard and jumped to his feet as the swell raised him nearly 15 feet in the air. He came straight down and turned hard off the bottom. Anyone watching held their breath. He set his line as the wave pitched into a giant tube, which completely engulfed him. The beach hooted as a blast of spray ejected him from the cylinder. It was large enough to fit a small vehicle. As he rode off the wave, he clasped his hands and looked to the sky as if praying. I’m quite sure he was thanking God for his safe exit. The surfer was Tomas from France-said it was the best wave of his life.
Other surfers were not so fortunate. Broken boards floated in with regularity, and there were plenty of Band-Aids and Neosporin administered on the beach; a local medic was kept busy stitching. Word spread that a surfer was found dead on a nearby island. Some guys surfed with helmets on, and a few wore padded wet suits designed to stave off reef rash. Where the waves exploded at the end of the coral head, they called it the “Surgeon’s Table.”
Surfers from all over the world came on the news of the giant swell. Pros showed up, along with chargers known for challenging the biggest waves on the planet. They brought their own film crews; some said it was the best surf they’ve ever had there. Before the trip, l read an article about an Australian who ventured to an outside Mentawais reef and became famous for the giant wave he rode and almost drowned after it blew up around him. He was a hero back home, and a picture of him on the wave was all over the local news. The waves l witnessed were bigger than that.
The huge surf was many feet out of my league. I imagine l could get to my feet and ride, but one false move and I’d be killed on the reef. The pros uploaded footage in reports that went around the world. Their sponsors were quite happy. I waited for things to simmer down.
By the third day, the ocean took a breather, and a guide took me in a dinghy further up the island to a break called “The Point.” The sky was half sunny and half cloudy; tropical thunderheads towered in the distance, and every once in a while, a lightning bolt lit up the sky. It took a while for the sound to reach us, so we knew we were safe.
The first wave l went for was about a foot overhead and steep. I made the drop, front side right, and ate it when the bottom fell out. I got drilled but didn’t hit the reef, and it gave me some confidence since it wasn’t that bad of a beating. The second wave l attempted passed me by before l could get going on it. The third one made the whole trip worthwhile. I dropped in and raced across a big curl, gave it a few pumps, and got out in front of it. I tried to go off the top and got pitched. I didn’t hit the reef, but my foot hit it while treading water, trying to reel my board back in; I suffered a few scrapes from doing that. I got a few more just like that one and felt quite exhilarated, especially as one of the clouds opened up and we were treated to a warm tropical shower. The time between the lightning and the thunder became shorter, and after basking a few minutes longer in the Indian Ocean paradise, we raced back to shore. End of dispatch.