How do you cry

didn't hear about the great right-hand reef-break of Nusa Dua until I was already on the plane heading home from my first trip to Bali in April 1975. The previous week I'd struggled in on-shore slop at Kuta Beach, while unknown to me Nusa Dua, on the other side of the island, was 8 foot, glassy and uncrowded. Feeling like an idiot on the plane home, I realised I'd missed out heavily!
clipboardMy next trip to Bali was at Christmas 1977, and I was determined to check out this fabled long, powerful right-hander. However, Kuta was offshore for my first week, so I warmed up in the Legian beachbreaks before venturing out to score excellent Kuta Reef. Once I even got to surf Kuta Reef totally alone at 6 foot plus. Although hollow reef waves still scared me with their power and thickness, I felt I was ready to now tackle Uluwatu. But the next morning the wind had swung around to onshore, which meant it would be offshore on the other side of the island at Nusa Dua

So I hopped on my rented 100cc motorbike and headed eagerly towards Nusa Dua. This was before the luxury tourist development, and the old road was terribly corrugated, making it a one-hour torture-trip, rarely out of second gear. The board carry-strap cut into my shoulder as I hit every mud-filled pothole. Huge construction trucks roared past spraying mud and stones into my face, but I persevered with thoughts of perfect, uncrowded rights in my mind. I had been told in hushed tones that Nusa Dua was the Sunset Beach of Bali, often very big and always thick and powerful. Today I felt ready for the challenge> The Nusa Dua village back in 1977 was just a small collection of mostly bamboo thatch houses lining a dirt track. I got lost a couple of times before finding someone who spoke a little English. For the Nusa Dua locals it was still a unique sight to see a visiting surfer. At least a hundred schoolkids raced out to line the little dirt track, waving and smiling as I rode by. I tried to wave back, while dodging potholes and keeping my board from floating out into the oncoming traffic. "Hello Mister" was the extent of their English. Their big smiles made me wish I could stop and chat, but I spoke no Indonesian then, so all I could do was just smile and ride past. For many years after, that street was known to all surfers as "Hello Street".

Finally arriving at the beach, I was confronted by a wide lagoon with waves breaking far out to sea on a coral reef. The reef was easily the furthest out of any I had ever seen, well over 500 metres from the beach to the breaking waves. The only person on the beach was a Balinese guy named Made who I later got to know quite well and regard as a good friend. But this first time at Nusa Dua, he just waved me over to his empty little warung on the sand, smiling a greeting to the first surfer he had seen in ages. It was the start of the surf season on the Nusa Dua side of the island. "Hello. Is this Nusa Dua?" I asked, probably sounding like a real kook. "Yes, this Nusa Dua. Wave not very big today." I was pleased he spoke English. "Where do you surf?" I hoped he'd direct me to some easy break in the reef, close to shore. Instead he just pointed to the furthest whitewater on the very outside reef almost a kilometre away. My heart missed a beat, pondering a surf so far out. "Is anybody else out there?" "No. Surf small today. Maybe good tomorrow> The waves didn't look so small to me - maybe a solid 4 to 6 feet, but it was hard to judge from so far away. Friends had told me to walk to the far end of the beach near the temple on the cliff. It was meant to be an easy paddle out from behind the peak. I stashed my gear in Made's warung and waved goodbye as I plodded off along the hot deserted beach, unsure of what lay waiting for me out on that reef.
My feet sank past my ankles into the coarse-grained coral sand, making each step quite an effort. It was like trying to walk through quicksand. The 300 metre walk to the cliff took well over 20 sweltering minutes. The closer I got to the waves, the bigger they looked, and the drier my mouth got as I saw the power of each wave exploding onto the reef. Did I have the nerve to surf an outside reef break totally alone? At least I hadn't seen the swarms of deadly seasnakes I'd been warned about.

After procrastinating at the water's edge, I decided to paddle the 300 metres across the lagoon, just to take a closer look at the waves. Then I could decide if it was safe or not to continue the extra 200 metres to the peak. No need to be a hero and get killed on some god-forsaken reef trying to surf alone. I could always turn back. Or so I thought...
By the time I had paddled to where the foam backed off into the lagoon, my arms already ached. I sat on my board to catch my breath, looking for a way out through the whitewater. I finally found the small gap I'd been told about, backing off into the channel.
I decided to take one last look to contemplate the danger I was getting into before making the final decision to go or not. After the stinking hot slog along the beach and the long paddle across the lagoon, I was already half exhausted, and I hadn't even got out the back yet, let alone caught a wave.

The wave faces seemed well over 8 feet, and it looked like every wave closed out after just one or two sect ions. The coral underfoot was shallow and sharp. I felt very lonely so far from the safety of land. What was I doing here anyway? Did I really need to be taking this risk? I knew the ocean here was some of the deepest in the world, part of the Lombok continen tal divide, with strong currents and undertows. The beach was totally deserted, with just a few Balinese fishermen sailing by in outriggers, far out beyond the break. I started to think about sharks, sea snakes, coral cuts, and riptides. Looking back to the distant beach, I was struck by the ominous sight of the recently active Mount Agung volcano. Now I started worrying about volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, tidal waves ... I had almost come around to convincing myself this was far too dangerous for such an inexperienced surfer, when suddenly I realised I had been sucked out through the channel and was now looking into the breaking waves from side on. My head spun around in panic to look straight back out to sea again. Luckily I saw a lull and realised I now had no option now but to paddle immediately out past the break before a set arrived to clean me up.

Paddling quickly for almost a minute, I finally reached safety out the back. The water underneath me was a dark midnight blue colour, seemingly too deep for a wave to break. Yet eerie whirlpools bubbled up from the depths as each wave passed by. I half-heartedly paddled for a couple of thick 6 footers, but they refused to even break. I tentatively paddled in a little closer, trying to get into position to catch one of those 6 footers (My Big Mistake). I thought I was safe, well out past the break, so you can imagine my horror when I looked up to see a humungous closeout set charging towards me from way out to sea. My heart pounded as I made the split second decision that I might just be able to paddle over it. I didn't really have any other choice. I couldn't bear to even look at the first approaching wave. So I put my head down and paddled full-bore for the horizon. I cursed myself for ever getting into such a dangerous situation, beyond my abilities and way out of my depth. I was in panic mode, my head spinning with thoughts of disaster. When I finally summoned the nerve to peer up, I was sickened to see 3 ridiculously huge waves already jacking up, threatening to break another 50 metres further out. I was definitely caught inside in the worst possible way! Seven hundred metres out to sea. Sharp coral reef underneath. The biggest set I'd ever had to face about to unload onto my head. The world's deepest water ready to suck me out into a seasnake infested ocean. Would my legrope break? Could I swim that far anyway, against the current? Could those fishermen in their flimsy Balinese outriggers save me if I was swept out to sea?

It was then I realised I didn't even know how to cry "Help" in Indonesian! I struggled to calm my thoughts as I prepared to bail. I slid off the board, remembering the experienced advice I'd been given by Surfing World's Bruce Channon just prior to my first trip to Bali - aim the nose of the board straight for the beach, creating the smallest possible target for the wave to catch. The last thing I saw was the biggest, thickest, most terrifying tube I'd ever seen, breaking top-to-bottom just 5 metres in front of me. As I dived down into the darkness, I said a silent prayer and waited for the wrench on my legrope to dislocate my leg. I tried to prepare my mind for the inevitable disaster of being sucked back onto the razor-sharp coral reef. Or maybe being held under until my lungs burst. Or worst of all, snapping my legrope under the pressure of that giant wall of surging whitewater, leaving me well and truly out to sea. Honestly, I was terrified.

Miraculously, the first wave passed over smoothly and easily. I popped back up to the surface, gratefully sucking in air in preparation for the next horror wave. The advice had been invaluable - the first wave passed straight over the tail of the board and didn't catch or drag it at all. I repeated the procedure for the next wave, pushing the board towards shore, diving deep and crossing my fingers. I popped back up behind the wall of foam, scrambled onto my board and managed to just scrape over the next wave. Words can't express the relief I felt to see a flat ocean behind that last wave. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry... Slowly a ridiculous smile of relief beamed across my face as I realised I had survived a major surfing milestone, handling the largest closeout set I had ever faced till then. I said a loud "Thank you" to Bruce who's advice had worked, and another to the anonymous guy who invented the legrope. Whoever you are mate, the surfers of the world owe you heaps! I only caught a few small inside waves that day, still spooked by that terrifying closeout experience. When I finally trudged back to shore hours later, Made was waiting at the warung. He asked "How was the surf?" I suppose I should have confessed to being totally freaked, but I chickened out, trying to save face I guess. "Oh, OK I guess. Hopefully it'll be better tomorrow." I couldn't look him in the eye though, and I knew deep down he'd seen the same transparent bravado a hundred times before.


I slithered off to the furthest corner table, secretly glad no-one had witnessed my panic out the back. Sipping my coffee, I gradually came to the realisation that every surfer goes through this same kind of gut-wrenching experience, facing their fears and confronting the mental barriers. With the right equipment, advice and attitude, anyone can progress, little by little, into tackling bigger waves. Over the next month I managed to surf Nusa Dua just a few more times... but never too big and never alone - I'd learnt that lesson! And I immediately started to learn the Indonesian language - the first word on my list was "Help!"
PS. The Indonesian word for help is "Tolong!"