WATCH NOW: GOGGLES
We gathered at Après Surf down in Burleigh, QLD for the first screening of Goggles, our new short film by Darcy Ward featuring Toby Mossop and Louie Hynd with cameos from Liam O’Brien, Matthew McGillivray and Voltaire Sora. Click through to see some photos from the evening and read an excerpt from Louie’s travel journal for a behind the scenes perspective while shooting the project.
LOUIE JOURNAL EXCERPT
Three years had passed since I last travelled to Indo due to the covid shenanigans of border closures and medical entry requirements. It may as well have been a lifetime for a surfer with an insatiable desire for tropical tubes. During this time, I meditated on the prospect of never returning to the land of lefts ever again. I attempted to make peace with this thought by persuading myself into believing I had escaped enough Winters, experienced waves of a lifetime and enough nights of debauchery in the Bali Vortex. I could satisfy these hedonistic pursuits elsewhere, I reassured myself.
Thankfully, a world of normality had somewhat been restored and the gates of the Indonesian playground were opened once again.
The transit journey was a gruelling marathon. We left in the morning flying Gold Coast-Sydney-Singapore followed by a six-hour overnight airport layover. We attempted to sleep upright in chairs with little success. Boarded the next flight headed for Jakarta at 5am dazed and deprived with another connection and eight-hour drive still ahead of us.
A delay on departure meant we’d be cutting it fine for our connecting flight. On arrival to Jakarta, we cleared customs, grabbed our gear, jumped on the airport terminal train and attempted the mad dash for the check-in. Wondering eyes stared through us as we sprinted through the terminal, dragging our oversized board bags behind us. By the time we reached the counter, the flight had already boarded. With no other available flights that day, we were feeling deflated to say the least. If we didn’t get there that night, we’d miss the peak of the swell the next day.
Tobes suggested we get the ferry. Group moral lifted as we realised, we could still get there in time, despite the marathon becoming an ultra.
We headed outside, navigating the heckling and bartering with a hoard of eager drivers. Three tourists with a pile of luggage… they were seeing Rupiah signs. The initial offers for the hour and a half drive unsurprisingly outrageous. One taxi driver eventually stepped in and accepted our rebuttal offer that undercut everyone else’s inflated asking price. With tie downs buried deep in the abyss of our board bags, we decided to pile everything in. Darcy was crammed in the front seat, knees pressed against the glove box with his head on an angle under the nose of a board bag. Toby and I wedged ourselves behind the driver sharing a single seat.
An hour and a half of discomfort later, we arrived at the ferry dock. Luckily, we were right on time for a smooth transition and boarded the ferry straight away. Once aboard we tucked into a classic Indomart lunch of Oreos, Pringles and chocolate, washed down with cans of Pocari sweat.
I settle in for a nap in the recline chair and before I know it the ferry is pulling into the harbour as the sun sets over the horizon. Our driver spots us as we exited the ferry and introduces himself. At this point, we were relieved knowing all we had to do was sit back for hours and we’d be there for the waves in the morning. I offered to take one for the team and sit in the front seat. Blind corner overtakes and near misses are just another normal day on the Sumatran roads. Passing through the streets of the city, an aromatic cocktail of satay, clove cigarettes and burning rubbish trigger nostalgic memories of past Indo surf missions. Our eyelids close as we attempted to sleep amid the traffic slalom.
It was past midnight, halfway through our ascent of the notorious winding jungle pass when our driver abruptly pulls over. He asks if we have any water and demands we hand it over. We hesitantly pass him two bottles to which he pours straight into the radiator. The car’s temperature dial was redlining, still a few hours shy of our destination. We continued to pull over another few times and repeat the process. This began to seem more standard procedure than surprise for the driver. The suspicious hoard of water bottles in the boot that he proceeded to fill up at public bathrooms was the dead giveaway.
We arrived at our accommodation dishevelled in a state of delirium, 38 hours after we boarded our first flight. Our host Dean wakes up to greet us and let us know we’ll be leaving to hunt waves at 4:30am. Pretty much a no sleep bender into a 2m swell, but at least we were getting a shot!
We necked our Bali mud mix coffees, grabbed some banana bread and hit the road north. We were headed to check some of the region’s premier reef breaks.
We arrived in darkness before the dawn. At first glance it appeared as if the ocean was flat; possibly a late swell, we thought. Then the first set hit. Hoots and ‘holy f*cks’ filled the air as four bombs detonated along the right-hand reef, spitting their guts into the nasty dry end-section gurgle. We immediately geared up our boards. I had fresh knifey 6’2 twin, hand shaped by Luke Daniels that I was eager to test. Toby waxed up a golden oldy Alex Crews pin tail.
Cautiously we scuffled our way over the reef toward the keyhole and into the line-up. It was clear the ones you wanted were the big sets, but the ocean was slow. We dropped anchor on where we assumed was the spot and proceeded to wait. Over an hour went by without pulling the trigger. We pondered if the bombs we witnessed through hazy darkness were mirages. Perhaps a sleep deprived hallucination we’d convinced ourselves was real.
A bunch of fun looking mid-sized waves were going under us. After a long stint sitting, I decided to abandon the wait for the freak set. I snagged a few fun ones before Tobes let go of the priority hot seat and headed in to swap boards.
I pulled the trigger on another fun mid-sized wave and as I kicked into the channel, I saw the set we’d been waiting for. Three perfect, empty, crystal blue cylinders spit. Screaming and cursing, I salute the waves while Toby takes them on the head.
Once out the back again, we prayed for the ocean to gift one more set before the wind came up…
It didn’t.
The wind kicks.
Rattled, but happy to simply be surfing, we head in and console ourselves with the first of many Nasi Gorengs. We indulge Indo style, squatting on the ground, heavy on the sambal and eating with our hands. Then it was back to the home base where we were greeted with a consolation prize of novelty tubes on a picturesque peak.
As you do on a surf mission, the swell forecasts are constantly being refreshed. We saw what looked to be a promising blob on the radar. It was pretty far out, but as you do when you’re caught up in the dream of surfing perfect waves, we made the call to extend our stay. Rolling the dice on the swell the coming week, we broke the news to the girlfriends and bosses back home.
The following week was a wild goose chase. Countless hours were spent driving up and down the coast hunting for waves. When you’ve got your sights heavily set on 6ft pits, you can tend to start seeing the ocean through the lens of ‘Indo goggles’. The indo goggles tend to alter your perspective toward the pessimistic edge. The shrouded vision clears once you hit the water and you come back to reality, realising how fun the waves in front you are. We lucked into a cracker day at the beach break. An uncrowded lineup with glassy 4ft peaks barrelling left and right. It was the quintessential surfing dream. Splitting the peak with your mate. Low risk, high fun. Tubes in the morning then ramps once the wind hit.
Another highlight was an empty session at a lefthand reef. Everyone was around the corner surfing a friendly looking right point while we hit the cross-shore lefts. The wave wraps back onto itself creating a mega ramp section on the end bowl. Toby snapped his board attempting a huge punt early on which left me the choice of any wave I wanted. It was a unique opportunity to have unlimited hits at a skatepark like ramp. Down days were spend surfing a 2-3ft beach break, playing pool and retreating to the air-condition room during the peak of the brutal jungle humidity.
As the date of the swell grew closer, we’d ride the emotional rollercoaster. One day it was reading huge, the next it would drop. One forecast says it on, the other says not. We rode this out until we eventually were forced to make peace with the fact a high-pressure system that refused to budge off the coast of Western Australia kept the low from delivering the swell we wished for.
I hoped to finish the recount of this trip telling the story about flawless pumping surf. Getting stand up barrels with nobody around. It didn’t happen, but we were far from mad. We had a hell time. We escaped winter, surfed our brains out with the sun on our backs, laughed our heads off and became reasonably good at pool.
We left the jungle for Uluwatu, eagerly bound for the long roping walls on the Bukit and boujee cafe breakfasts - eggs benny with all the trimmings. Two mains and dessert.
Bintang mister?
Certainly.
Terima Kasi.
Louie