Intrepid South Shore Press reporter Robert Chartuk traveled to Indonesia in search of the perfect wave. Here’s his dispatch from the southern hemisphere.
Western Sumatra, Indonesia—When you travel 12,000 miles and cross the Equator, time becomes irrelevant. You fly from darkness into the light, and then it’s dark again. It’s the middle of the day where you end up and the middle of the night where you left.
I departed New York at 9 p.m., having left for the airport four hours earlier. My final destination was Sipora, part of the Mentawai Island chain in Western Sumatra, just off the coast of Indonesia. It took me 84 hours to get here.
Growing up on Long Island, I started surfing at age 12. Sitting in class, my mind drifted to visions of the perfect wave. I doodled pictures of it in my notebook, imagined myself riding one. Now, at 63, l was on a quest to go find it. I’ve had tastes of great waves over the years, having surfed memorable swells at my home break on Fire Island and up and down the East Coast, even far away places—Hawaii, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico—but they did not live up to the videos coming from the coral reefs of the Indian Ocean that drove me all this way to seek perfection.
Confined to an airplane seat for hours on end, it’s hard to sleep. Doubts revolved through my mind: What if l find the perfect wave and l can’t ride it? Can l hold my breath long enough if one of them drives me into the reef? What if l get hurt? What if there are no waves at all?
The first leg of my journey took me to Doha, home base of Qatar Airlines, which would then take me to Jakarta, the Indonesia capital. Here, l switch to Garuda Air for a flight to Padang. With the only ferry to Tuapejat leaving in the morning, an overnight is required, and l get some much-needed rest at the Santika Hotel. My credit cards did not go through at the front desk, so they took a $100 deposit until the morning when l could go to the money changer. It was a 15-minute walk through the streets of Padang, and l was an easy mark for anyone intent on robbing me. The area was bustling with people going about their business, and l felt safe. For $400–l would need local currency at my destination—the lady gave me 6,486,871 Rupiah. I was a millionaire!
It’s a five-hour ferry ride across a sea straight, and then I’m picked up by speedboat for an hour transit to the Hollow Tree Resort, home of the fabled Lance’s Right, among the best surf breaks in the world.
It’s easy to spot a surfer in a crowd, and on the ferry, l chat it up with Luke, a guide with one of the many surf charters working the islands. He tells me the forecast is for a large swell, perhaps the biggest in years. Approaching the reef, l can see he was right: monstrous waves were imploding across the coral bottom. I wondered how they were going to get me and my luggage to the shore. A small aluminum dinghy approached, and the pilot called out, “Taxi.” They transferred my stuff and motioned for me to jump in.
Waves approaching from the south wrap around Sipora Island and hit the reef at practically a right angle. About a hundred yards from Lance’s break is a channel where boats can anchor unscathed. From here, you have a perfect view of the action. I stepped off the boat onto a calm sandy beach and was greeted with a mint smoothie—much needed. End of Dispatch