Download - Riding Giants
< KITEWORLD #4652
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
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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
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< 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
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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!
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