A new driver met me at Bandar Lampung. He told me his name, Amen. I dared not think it, let alone mutter whether or not it was a good omen, Amen. Still the drive went without a hitch, about 5hrs to the now familiar grounds of Ombak Indah.

I arrived about 4pm, and spotted Roger, reading quietly in the breeze in the shade. He told me the other boys (cousins and friends from home) had gone to town for something mellow, following a heavy first surf 8’-10’ that morning on the point. He himself was still settling. The greeting was warm.

Then Pida said “Hi” with a big smile. She was in charge that day as Nev was hospitalised with an infected leg, and his wife Ani was there visiting him. Pida explained “Sorry, no room. You can stay in Security (hut)? We will clean”. I was surprised, but agreed. Apparently Kev in ‘making his own way there’ but arriving with the boys had come in under the radar and got the last bed. It saved someone from my snoring but. And the hut itself proved to be a blessing; quiet, breezy and secure. And staying there allowed me to sneak off for a few dawn patrols. So I just settled in that arvo, greeted the other boys as they returned from town, listened to their stories of the trip so far –Jaksa, Cipta, snapped leggies Day1. We shared dinner, Bintangs and Jamesons, a great night to start. I saw kitchen staff Ida, Hiss, Ratna and Thelma. They all looked splendid. It seemed none had aged over the previous year. Feeling already that this might be my last trip I had a long second take. Each registered the look and smiled warmly back, but only Ida appeared to sense anything. She knew me best. It was the fifth time for us.

As always in the warmth of Indo I slept lightly, taking several slashes in the dark. No issues with not knowing where I was in the morning. So at dawn I suited up and made my way out to the point. It was still largish and lumpy and I thought of my family and said a quick prayer as I picked my way across the reef. I got out hair dry and first in for the day. I paddled down the line a bit, took one late, got pitched and thumped, but came up unscathed. I sat wider then and waited. My cousin Jomp then appeared, way inside of me, sitting almost where he would have jumped off the reef. I saw him pick off one but not get through, and then paddle back to the same spot. I caught one Down the Line, through the Corner and cut off as it closed across Happy Ending. I paddled back to the Corner where I propped for a morning’s shoulder hopping. It was a good first surf; sizey and strong. Got a handful of long ones and came in.

Kopi Susu was luscious, rich both in flavour and memories - and the omelette for breakfast was good too. And I smoked as I sat watching from the platform as most other crew enjoyed the mid morning prime time. Then Jomp came in, not the usual way but walking directly in over the reef. He was with another guy who waved concerned and called us over. I went down to the water’s edge and saw Jomp’s face beneath the helmet. Only one eye peered out. The rest was blood. I removed his helmet and laid him down. It was mid morning Day 1 then. I felt very weak at the knees.

After that there was an extraordinary sequence of events, all to help Jomp. Through them human selflessness shone: Fire fighters from Vic assembled a milk crate sized First Aid kit and coordinated the initial injury identification and management; As the news spread out into the water, paramedics/water police from Sydney came in and stepped up the level of the management; The doctor from Biha arrived, assessed, injected, stitched and confirmed broken bones and a scratched eye; Travel Insurance, evacuation helicopter and airlines were contacted and travel arranged; Hospital in Jakarta was put on standby; Jomp’s cousin Peter surrendered all his gear and his holiday to accompany Jomp (eventually all the way back to Australia)1. They boarded the chopper at the Biha soccer oval mid arvo.

Surfed the glass off until dusk. The waves were fine (sat wide, took fat ones and didn’t cut back) but the mind wasn’t really there. Half cleared it though then, and finished the job later with a whisky soaked debrief. Staggered back to the security hut and just managed to struggle inside the mosquito net before flaking. Forgot PJs, anti-malarials, alarm, and water.

Day 3 had some jack and the point was too lumpy, so we took the opportunity to do some touring. Roger, Moley, Kev, Mark, Noel and I grabbed a bemo (150K - half day) and checked out Way Jambu and Minibars I and II. Saw spitting barrels, crunching shoreys and a couple of marlin at landmine beach. After that we went into town and enjoyed some small ones on the left. I grabbed a drink at Rinals2.  That evening was great. It was the firemen’s3 last day and spirits were high.

---- The following two weeks were classic groundhog day stuff - 6’ and straight. ----

Despite giving it up ages ago at home, I continued the Kiwis lead from last year and always paddled out pre-dawn confident the metabolism was in synch. Straight out to just inside the corner to watch the sunrise from the water and enjoy a few off the main peak. Made a rule of getting at least 3 good ones before heading in for breakfast and generally did. Then a coffee and smoke on the platform watching the day’s busiest shift. Then sneak off for another 2hrs out before lunch as the numbers dwindled in the sun. The last session, usually straight after the meal was the hardest but invariably solo. The wind wasn’t a factor, but the sun was heavy. Usually my cheeks would ache from squinting, and with good waves and plenty to choose it was hard to concede to tiredness or even heat stroke. Certainly every cloud had silver lining.  I knew when I’d paddle in finally, that would be it - Bintangs on the platform until dinner, great chats after and lastly, a whisky nightcap.

One dawn patrol I didn’t get my 3 waves. It was a little bigger than usual with some morning sickness so I took the cautious route, walked round and made my way off the reef inside the point. The tide was very low and it was tricky finding a gap to get off the edge of the reef. I made it fine but scratched my board and knuckles though not bad. After that it was just the long, slow, always slightly anxious paddle back along the reef keeping an eye out to maybe pick off a big inside one. Its hard to know where you are along the reef and whether the waves that are slipping under you are too fast to surf or not, but this morning rather it was the smell:- oily, fishy, like a catch had been cleaned nearby that was eerie. But there was no-one else around. Anyway I got one, bumpy but long and got worked a bit paddling out. The water was thick with jellies. It was like paddling through a tapioca drink, and not clear as usual, even a little spooky. Then I saw a fin, not too big and not too pointed, but close enough. Undoubtedly a reef shark it was probably scared of me, though I’d been told even a small one’s bite is nastier than a Doberman’s. Then a bigger set came, the first one breaking well ahead of me. I did my sums and belly-boarded in.

The jellies do sting. Usually its just the briefest irritation but sometimes there can be a reaction. There was when Kumi got welts. She arrived the day after the boys left. Japanese and travelling alone, she’d done Mexico and Nias with just her boogie, a cute white shortjohn and a few summer dresses. She was friendly, polite and very easy on the eye - a pleasure to be around. But the stingers marked her, not obviously, but always a string of guys would notice and every ointment known to man would appear.

It wasn’t the only reaction she got either, like our surf in town. When we arrived, a group of local guys had gathered around. This was pretty usual. As there was no-one in the line up and we weren’t driving back out to the point without getting wet, I paddled straight out. I mentioned to Kumi as I passed her that she might get changed in the car, and when she smiled and nodded I assumed she appreciated of the local modesty custom, and had noticed the half dozen dribbling youths standing around. Anyhow, I hit the water. It took a while for the first set to come through, and as I rode it shoreward I passed Kumi paddling out. She was neither on her boogie nor in her wetsuit. Rather, perched high on a borrowed board, wearing green bikinis - the colour favoured by the local legendary goddess queen of the sea, and cut worthy of worship. I rode past her and noticed a small crowd gathering on the beach. I stopped, thought but shut my mouth. We settled in to circle work for an hour or so. She’d get one, stand up and so would a hundred eyebrows. I get the next, drop in behind her and hear muttering. Eventually she got one in and I watched from the water as a hoard of men descended to the waters edge. I was considering my options again when, almost to the sound of trumpets, Rossco (he’d lent the 7’6” and remained with the gear) charged along the beach, towel in hand. A rugby fan, he forced his way into the ruck that had formed around Kumi and wrapped her up. Even from the peak I saw the Indo heads drop. I got a nice one in: a reo, a clean little tube, a smooth cutback, and a floater almost onto the coral beach. No-one noticed.

We had very few squalls and even less rain this May. There were two downpours. The first was the heaviest. It was torrential. The rain could be heard well before it arrived. First the wind changed then the sky went black and the air became steamy and charged. And the noise of rain - it grew to a roar. Then it poured. Everyone gathered at the dining table. Rossco sat across from me. No one spoke for the din. We felt the lightning approach as the booms of closing thunder began to shake us. Then one bolt struck and shook us to pieces. It was thick and brilliant electric blue, directly ahead of our gaze, and it exploded with awesome force about 200 meters away. We jumped, and stayed perched on our plastic chairs. It was a fearful moment. We were so belittled by the force of nature.
The second rain was tropical moderate, memorable only because it coincided with the bees. I was back in the old losmen by then, in the corner room with its 20’ ceiling above the 10’x 10’ floor. The bees were high inside on the airy coconut wood wall, a writhing mass several inches deep and the size of a doormat. They were looking to build a hive. Chuck Norris and I had smoked them out of their old nest a day or two earlier and dined on fried bee hive walls thick with pupae. Now they had targeted me. But they got smoked out again, big time.  I closed all windows and put a fan near the door, lit dry coconut husks and placed them into an upturned in a clam shell onn the floor.  My room soon became a chimney with smoke billowing out the eaves. And so went the bees blindly leaping out into the cascading rain. I don’t think many made it. They didn’t come back.

In the past the trip home has meant a 3am departure from the losmen and a fairly draining 24hr straight run back to Tulla. This year I left at midday and travelled with Olivie and Freda. It was good, hopefully not our last time together but possibly. With the exception of one near head on, we had a largely relaxing afternoon drive. The mountains were quiet and cool. The car engine ran smoothly and the National park was rich in smells and animal noises. We stopped and nice place for coffee en route and not long after at the Villa Mas hotel near Bandar Lampung airport. The rooms were 90K, and the food was good local cuisine.  Being well ahead of deadline provided a good opportunity to reflect.

I’d been a bit in two minds when I found that a group of seven including some cousins were going to Sumatra this May. Only the year before I’d rediscovered the joy of travelling alone. I was concerned about being responsible for so many people. Still it meant becoming reacquainted with guys I’d surfed with 40yrs earlier, family too. And they were old enough and competent enough to look after themselves anyway. Still Jomp’s injury during my first surf was disturbing. Had I arrived before the boys or perhaps been more self assured in front of the group I would surely have advised caution. In previous years it had always been the main theme.  And I was first in the line-up that morning and Jomp second, but it was too out of place for me to suggest he sit wider. It would have been fine had he not face planted the reef. And Peter, my 1st cousin went back to Oz with Jomp. That act impressed me deeply, but really it was the two of them that I had hoped to get to know best so their departure was a loss.

So in many ways this trip was the best to date. Good surf every day, big enough to carve but not too fearsome getting hit by sets. Renewed many old friendships plus made some new ones.