Riding Giants

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RIDING GIANTS

he ones we long for always begin in the Southern

Ocean. From there they travel fast; thundering

over 600 nautical miles a day. The giants are

created only after an intense deep low pressure

system screams across the limitless fetch of the polar

latitudes, generating sustained winds in excess of 100

miles per hour; well beyond a class V tropical cyclone -

the most severe classification that exists. On a weather

chart they look like a bright, thick swirling question mark

of crimson and red. To the untrained eye these colours

are no more exciting than a traffic light, but to those who

seek to ride the biggest waves in the world, there is not

an artist on earth who could paint something more

pleasing to the naked eye.

Every winter surfers flock to the ubiquitous islands of

Indonesia hoping some of that Antarctic fury will spend

its energy on her shores. Their odds are good. The

archipelago is uniquely geographically situated to catch

the Southern Ocean swells like a giant magnet or

interstellar tractor beam. Thousands and thousands of

miles of shoreline, from Timor to Sumatra, face what

many say are the cleanest, longest swells found

anywhere on earth.

Between August and October every season professional

and amateur riders from around the world descend on

Indo’s coasts like honey bees to spring flowers.

Unfortunately Indonesia is also ripe with malaria, dengue

fever, typhoid and no doubt other rather painful and

sometimes life threatening diseases but, judging by the

crowds this year, apparently these are risks wave hunters

are willing to take.

One wave hunter in particular has lofted his career on

getting very good at reading weather maps and

deciphering where those colourful orbs will land. Ben

Wilson could easily call the road as much a home as the

place where his wife and one-and-a-half-year-old daughter

reside on the Sunshine Coast of Australia as he’s off

seeking waves more days of every year than he’s rooted

in his role as father and husband. But such sacrifice is

necessary to pay the bills for a professional kitesurfer;

and there would be no less than another dozen pro riders

Intro > Having sailed the world's ocean for years and now the captain

of a five year world kiteboarding expedition, the Best Odyssey, even

our regular columnist, Gavin McClurg, is unlikely to see many wave

sessions like this one again

t

Caption > Ben dives out front of an Indian Ocean explosion

Words > Gavin McClurg all Photos > Jody MacDonald

ALL AT SEAz

all at sea

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in town for the swell’s arrival; each of them surrendering

stability for not only the rush of the ride, but the hoped-

for photos that sponsors trade for cash. And nothing pays

better than monster waves.

Ben emailed me nearly two weeks before he was

scheduled to board our vessel, Discovery, with a simple

statement. “Gavin, this one looks huge, mate. I’m

watching this.” At that time the storm had generated a

swell exceeding 12 metres and was over 6,000 miles away.

Much too far away to get overly excited, but nevertheless

something to track.

The spot we were anchored at is near the end of a dirt

and poorly maintained minefield disguised as a road at

the mouth of Shu’u bay (not it’s real name), on the south

coast of one of the largest islands in the archipelago. The

bay is so large I didn’t meet a single person in our two

months living there who had even seen the end. But its

size is what creates something the rest of Indonesia has

in very short supply: wind. When the wind arrives, usually

sometime in August, it is reputed to be reliable and

strong and usually blows until the monsoon arrives in late

October. But the wind’s arrival is as hard to pin down as a

petulant child. Scores of kitesurfers arrive every year and

go home without kiting a single day. There may be more

theories on the wind than there are mosquitoes, and

there are A LOT of mosquitoes. The overriding theory is

that the land surrounding the bay acts like a giant oven.

As the days of winter get drier and drier the oven gets

hotter and hotter and eventually all that hot air rises and

bang, you’ve got sea breeze.

Shu’u bay has over a half dozen world-class breaks.

You can ride them all easily in a single day and make it

home before sunset with your designated 'kite boy', who

Caption > Bertrand Fleury tucks in to temptation

Caption > The calm after the storm


< KITEWORLD #4654

earns a relatively high wage in Indonesia of three dollars a day

by patiently following your every move from shore on motorbike.

Images like the ones you see here have made the area famous

within the kitesurfing world; a hollow tube generator that

photographers prize. But it’s a short, powerful, dangerous ride

and left mainly to the pros. Further along the coast even a

beginning wave-rider can get 20 second quality rides and

mistakes rarely cost more than a bruised ego. But that’s on

normal days. And there was nothing normal about what was on

the way.

By five days out, if anything, the forecast had only improved

and there was a lot of talk that if anything it was going to be

too big. The wave period was stamped down at between 18-20

seconds, which in surf terms simply means dreamy. Ben and his

buddy and F-One team rider, Daniel Bevin, and our other

guests boarded with plenty of time to get used to boat living

before the swell hit. While the many people staying on shore

were trying mostly unsuccessfully to escape a nasty stomach

virus, compliments of the poor sanitation at the local

'warungs', or food stalls and dousing themselves in mosquito

repellant; those of us onboard Discovery were dining on five

star cuisines prepared by our Balinese chef and enjoying the

mosquito-free environs.

In the days before the big event all of us complained of only

one thing: a lack of sleep. My own anxiety surfaced not only

from a distinct nervousness about my personal ability to survive

riding such a swell, but also from what would likely become a

very precarious position for the boat. We were anchored behind

one of the main breaks, which for a month had been well-

protected and reasonably calm and afforded good holding. But it

wasn’t hard to imagine our exposed nest turning into a

maelstrom if things got out of control.

The pros experienced similar anxiety, but it stemmed from a

different source. Every trip for a pro is a weighed gamble. The

cost to get there versus the payoff from the results. A dud swell

means no pay off at all. Would the swell really stack up and be

everything they hoped for, and had travelled so far to reach? And

if so, would they get the images their sponsors cut cheques for?

This second worry sounds trite, but it’s anything but. Each of

these guys knows that in the fledgling kitesurfing industry the

only way to make it is to consistently stand out. If they don’t,

they have to find another job. Standing out with the kind of

talent who were in town in conditions like what was coming

meant putting your life very much on the line. And so it goes with

photographers, which you will see.

On the last Friday of September our long days of anticipation

were over. By that afternoon the break off our bow was firing at

double overhead. The barrel machine up the beach was

executing a series of explosions that could be seen from over a

mile away. By Saturday morning we had moved the boat back

off the break another 100 metres and the swell had doubled

again. Getting caught in a break called Periscopes, typically a

long beautiful right hander downwind of us was equivalent to

playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. But all the

breaks had become death-traps and the few surfers with the

skill and requisite command of fear to attempt any of them had

to spend over an hour paddling off the beach against raging

current to even get in the line-up. I saw more broken boards

than I saw successful drops.

That afternoon we took Discovery up the reef to see if we

couldn’t thread the needle and hover in the channel between the

two main breaks. Doing so would allow Jody, our photographer, to

climb the mast and hopefully shoot some wild images. But the

risk was enourmous. If I made even the smallest mistake at the

helm we would be unmercifully slammed on the reef; a 60 foot,

million dollar yacht and all its dreams dashed in seconds. The

swell was creating 'Hawaiian' 20 foot faces and at times was

nearly closing out between the two breaks. An area that was

Caption > Under fire, Ben Wilson races for the trench exit

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Caption > Cameron Dietrich ducking for cover


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Caption > An experience is better shared. Ben spreading the buzz

ALL AT SEAz


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perfectly calm and easily navigable in our dinghy for the previous

month had been transformed into mayhem.

The kitesurfing show on display was staggering. Waves no surfer

could even attempt were fair-game for the few bold riders who could

use the wind to tow them in. Triple overhead giants thundered down

mercilessly one after another. Each one of them driving some of the

most skilled wave kitesurfers in the world, and we had a front row seat

(albeit a scary one) to all of the action. Ben Wilson, Cameron Dietrich,

Bertrand Fleury, Jessie Richman, Marc Ramseier, Philippe Alengrin and a

dozen others all tackled, and more often got tackled, by mountains of

deadly water; again and again and again.

The swell’s first victim was veteran photographer Christian Black. As

the local fishermen were wisely unwilling to risk their boats and lives

navigating out to the break the handful of shore-based photographers

had limited vantage points. Big lenses from shore were useless as the

foam and spray coming off the giants were like dense fog. The viewing

tower in front of Peak was unreachable, its base engulfed in a mad

chorus of crushing waves. While Jody, still recovering from typhoid, a

parasitic present she’d picked up in Bali two weeks previously, battled

the violent pitching at the top of the mast, Christian battled the waves

with nothing more than a pair of fins and a ten pound underwater

camera. He made only one mistake, and it could have cost him his life.

A well-executed dive beneath a heavy set nevertheless ended up too

shallow and he was plucked and thrown violently against the reef. His

back was etched deeply from his neck to his tail bone, even through a

thick wetsuit, and his head was clobbered hard enough to knock him

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temporarily unconscious. Thankfully he was swept clear of the reef and

made it to our boat where he mostly slept recovering for two days.

A noticeable increase in the swell on Saturday night forced us several

miles down into the bay to take up safer anchorage. When we returned

the next morning, on Big Sunday, as it became known, there wasn’t a

surfer in the water. The day passed in a blur. The size and power of the

ocean was as scary as it was awesome. When the winds came up that

afternoon only the most daring dropped in and I registered as much fear

in the smiles on the riders as I did joy. Daniel and I bounced around in

the dinghy manoeuvring Jody in to get a few shots, but were rewarded

with more than photos. We were witnessing history, something that only

happens once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. Many said it was the biggest

swell ever witnessed in these parts.

Later in the day we returned to Discovery, I inflated my kite and dug in

for the biggest and most terrifying rides of my life. For a couple of hours I

too experienced the thrill; the fear; the sheer joy of riding that hazy line

between the rational and insane. That evening, with the pounding surf still

ringing in our collective ears, all the nights of anxiety came to an abrupt

end and were replaced by unadulterated slumber. Memories of riding

giants had been given to us like a neatly wrapped present from lands

impossibly far away. But unlike the waves which ended on these

Indonesian shores, we have the memories, which last forever.

Gavin McClurg is the Captain of Discovery and CEO of Offshore Odysseys.They are operating a world kitesurfing expedition called The BestOdyssey. For more information, visit: www.offshoreodysseys.com.

Caption > Boomshanka!


Riding Giants

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