South West Portugal is the perfect destination for a surfing spring break.
The Algarve is one of the biggest receptors in the world for swell. Boasting two coasts connected to the Atlantic and Mediteranean oceans along with the best climate in Europe this makes for 12 months of surfing paradise.
The west facing coastline receives year round swell; winter and it’s surrounding months being the most consistent. There are numerous beaches plus points and reefs that fire. The south coast will pick up any larger swell from any Atlantic direction and is also protected from north winds. Spring is an excellent time to visit the Algarve as the swells are still coming and the weather is warming up. The summer months tend to have smaller swells therefore most the surfing is done on the west coast but at this time of the year about once a month North African weather systems push warm water swells towards all the south coast spots from Spain to Sagres. Autumn, as with most of Europe is exceptional.
The Gulf Stream misses Portugal therefore the water temperature relies on weather systems and winds pushing the swells and currents. Water temp ranges between 14 – 20 degrees most of the time therefore using a 3/2 even in summer is recommended although there are periods of boardshorts. Worst case scenario in winter is a 4/3mm but never more.
South West Portugal has long been a favourite with Euro surfers and no one knows the coastline better than the crew at the Surf Experience surf camp. Based in Lagos, Portugal the Surf Experience was established in 1992 and has been setting the standard of surf holidays since before the tarmac roads. They have gathered all their knowledge over the years to create the ultimate surf break with options of surf school, surf safaris, pro level bootcamp weeks, longboard specialist, Surf Massage training & free yoga weeks. Combine this with amazing accommodation options, unrivalled catering, nightlife and music events makes this one of the greats.
Cheap flights and low fight times from most European airports make the Algarve and easy option for quick breaks. There is great local vibe and the Portuguese have to be some of the most friendly hosts in the Euro Zone.
From the moment I stepped off the plane until the moment I got back on my trip to Bali was the best experience of my life so far. The smells, the sights and the atmosphere was all so different. Waves everywhere up and down the coast. Who knew such a little island, could have so many world class waves?
The first day we arrived there was a sight I won’t forget in a while. Double overhead Uluwatu pumping in set after set. I was sitting at the Original warung eating an enormous fruit salad with my dad still shocked I was actually there and it wasn’t just a dream as perfect offshore lines stacked up to the horizon. Uluwatu was definitely my favourite wave because it was not only extraordinary to surf but it was amazing to watch as well. The Uluwatu café had the best food ever! I was satisfied eating there for a week, and the grilled mahi-mahi was the best fish, if not the best meal, I’ve ever had in my life! I would definitely go back there just for the food, especially the chicken satay. It’s amazing!
My first surf was at Padang Padang right. It was ridiculous how crowded it was, you could barely walk on the beach for the people. I managed to get run over twice but luckily only by foamies. It was fun though. After that we went on the search. It’s always nice to surf where it’s quiet. Where swell dropped a bit I really enjoyed surfing Nyang-Nyangs. Crystal clear water, sunny, super hot and nobody there. Surfing with only three other people is brilliant because you get any wave you want and nobody drops in on you and you don’t have to weave in and out of everyone. There’s always a downside to quiet places though and Nyang-Nyangs has a big downside. 500 steps to the beach! Walking down was okay, but walking up after a three hour surf isn’t fun. Especially in the scorching hot sun trying to not get your stuff nicked by the monkeys!
In between surfs we went to see a bit of culture while we were there. We went up to the Uluwatu temple, which overlooks the break. The temple itself was a work of art let alone the amazing fire dance we watched. My favourite part was when the white monkey came and sat down right next to me!
Some of the places I stayed where brilliant but the best had to be Balian Teak Villa. We had a great room and hospitality there and I would definitely recommend it and will go back for sure. Being able to walk 100 meters to the break without a worry in the world is extraordinary. We scored some good waves in Balian and also managed to get a surf in at Medewi that was sick. The scariest moment of the holiday was definitely sitting in the water at Balian and just watching a shark jump out the water about 100m out. About 10 seconds later I went to put my hand in the water to paddle and all I saw was a giant fish swim right past me. It was about two metres long and I wasn’t sure what it was but at that point I was petrified after seeing a shark jump out and I paddled as fast as I could straight up the beach! I told my dad what happened and was telling me to stop lying! I don’t think he has seen Sharknado…
Medewi was great because it was such an easy wave but still had a bit of power and a long wall to it that went on for 300 meters. I had the best wave of my life so far there. It just went on for so long that I couldn’t even feel my legs by the end of it. I was super stoked just with that one wave and didn’t even care about anything else.
The downside to Balian is that the water isn’t always clean and can be brown a lot of the time (dependant on what time of year you go) due to the river mouth running down from the mountains washing everything down with it. When this happens it doesn’t smell too good.
My absolute favourite moment of the whole trip was competing in the Rip Curl Grom Search against all of the groms from Indonesia. It was inspiring to watch them all frothing over two foot closeouts and getting super stoked to get a free t-shirt. Competing against them was a memorable event that will last a life time. The standard was amazing. I was so happy when they said I got through my first heat. I eventually made it to the quarter finals but I was still over the moon because I wasn’t really expecting to get anywhere after watching the quality of surfing that was going on in the competition. The U12s were all ripping watching them do airs like pro’s and turns as big as adults was unbelievable.
My equipment that I took out there went absolutely brilliant. I mainly used my Adams surfboards Captain Caveman but my P13 went just as good. Luckily I didn’t get burnt because of my Snugg rash vest in the water as well as my Surfers Skin sunscreen.
I am definitely going back there no matter what happens because it’s just such a beautiful and wonderful place to be and I can’t imagine a better place to go if you’re looking for consistent quality waves! Now I know there is more to the world than what you can see. Indo 2016 … bring it on!
Taz Knight chases a dream from Mavericks to Mexico.
My name is Tasman Knight, I’m 18, I’m from North Devon, and I’ve just spent six months driving around Mexico on my own.
Trying to fit six months of adventure in to one article is akin to making a movie from a great book. You get the idea, but never the true feel. I’ve been writing every day however. It was the only way to remain sane when camped on my own for extended periods of time. I think my longest stint was just over a week without seeing another soul. This doesn’t sound too long, but when that week is spent 100 miles from the nearest person, in the middle of the Mexican desert … Well, time is perceptive, anyway, for now I will do my best with what I have.
The idea started a while back I suppose. About 10 years ago, when my Mum and Dad decided to pull me and my three sisters out of education for a year. As a family, we bought an RV and drove from San Francisco to southern Costa Rica and back up the other side to the Outer Banks. I’m not going to spend ages telling you how sick it was, because obviously it was. But there’s something that has been bothering me ever since I got back. It’s a memory. The memory of countless barrelling right hand point breaks.
You see, Mexico was where I learned to surf. Well, I’ve been surfing since I was four … but popping up in the whitewater hardly counts. Mexico was where I really got hooked. It was a great place to learn to surf, but it is also a great place to get absolutely barrelled off your face. Absolutely kegged off your nut! What I mean is the waves are really really good, too good for an eight year old boy to fully appreciate. So here I am. It has taken 10 years, but I’m finally good enough to be in Mexico and get absolutely barrelled off my face.
My adventure started, as before, in San Francisco. I was staying with the same family we had stayed with 10 years before, Richard and Catherine Henry. They live in Half Moon Bay. Now, we’ve all heard tale of the monstrous beast that calls Half Moon Bay its home. So had I, at the age of eight when I was last here. The raging sea monster, who raises its foaming cobra head to strike at the wall of jagged rocks blocking its path. I am talking of course, of Mavericks. I’ve always been drawn to big waves. As a grom, I felt that the bigger it got, the more fun I had. That calling is partly responsible for the starting location of my trip. Searching for perfect right hand points was not my only mission, I also wanted to surf as many famous big waves spots as I could. What better place to start?
I was there for over a month. In that time I managed to catch five swells. It’s an amazing place, the long paddle, the golden sunrises in the morning glinting through the huge rocks making them look more menacing and hideous than ever. It really is a perfect wave, throwing huge caves over the boil and thundering out in to the bay. I had some really epic waves there, definitely the biggest waves I had seen and ridden at the time. The two most memorable sessions came within a week of each other, on the 13th and the 20th of December. The first was one of my best big waves sessions ever. There was a lot of wind forecast, so despite the swell being solid, it wasn’t given much interest. Those of us who were staying/living right there however could check it in the early morning. I was huddled up on the cliff, hiding from the wind in my DryRobe at about half five. The wind was strong but in a pretty good direction so the faces were still clean. It was only on for an hour or so, but with so few people out I managed to pick off a few of the biggest waves I had ever paddled at the time.
The day of the 20th was a perfect Mavericks forecast, meaning that all the best big wave surfers in the world flew out to try their hand. That day was like a zoo. Near 100 people all competing over a small take-off zone … carnage. Quite content with the last session I had, I sat on the shoulder and watched all my heroes getting huge waves. I was out there for hours, but stayed pretty toasty in the wetsuits ION had given me just before I set out. I actually got seven waves which is more than most did I’m sure, but they were all off the shoulder. Didn’t stop them being awesome rides however, so I was pretty stoked.
While I was there I bought a 1977 Ford F250 Pickup. I spent my time between swells fixing it up, putting a bed in the back, making a roof rack and generally getting it ready to spend the next five months on the road. It took me longer than expected, but eventually I was waving goodbye to the friends I had made and heading south.
It took me a while to get through California, partly because it was so awesome and partly because I broke down just before crossing the border. It was an unfortunate delay, but thinking about it now it was probably a blessing, as it seems as though my timing has been impeccable ever since. I blew a hole in a piston chamber about five miles from the Mexican border. I was lucky to find the best engine mechanics in San Diego that same day, Kenyan Machine, I’d done a little mechanics before, so I asked the top guy Greg if I could help out with the labour to save money. Greg took sympathy on the English kid with no money and said sure. I ended up doing much more than just helping out.
I took the engine out and stripped it right down by myself. I also put the whole thing back together as well. A good thing about being there and being emotionally involved with the job, is I got to make sure everything was tip top. I worked every day, almost 12 hours a day for three weeks. For the first week and a half I was taking the engine apart, then cleaning and correcting everything. Gave it all a proper scrub down, sand blast, valve job, sanded the warps out the heads, cleaned the carburettor, adjusted the brakes. I did everything I could to make sure the engine was working as well as possible, plus it was given new pistons and re-timed by the guys in the shop. Because I was doing most of this myself I saved a bucket load of money, and gained some priceless knowledge.
For the next week I couldn’t do much as they were busy and I was waiting for them to do their bit (sorting the pistons out). Greg thought I did a pretty good job taking my own engine apart, so while I was waiting they said I could take the engine out a jeep that was sat in the lot. They said they would pay me a full mechanics salary, and the money I made would be taken off the price of my engine … How epic is that? I spent just over three weeks covered in grease and oil, living in the back of a mechanics.
While that was going on, I bumped in to charger and all round legend Gary Linden up in Oceanside. I stayed in his shaping bay for a few nights and got some advice one Baja and surfing Todos Santos. He really helped me out, even helped repair a board I had snapped at Ocean Beach. I met loads of cool guys in San Diego, I hooked up with a photog, Chuck, and had a fun session at Blacks. Scott Sutherland, who I met at the mechanics, ended up taking me to La Jolla every morning at first light to surf all the many waves they have there. All in all it was a pretty sick delay.
My next point of call was another big wave spot: Todos Santos. Like Mavericks, this huge righthander breaks over a boil out side a big rocky point, only Killers (its official name) is out on an island (from where it gets its unofficial name). I arrived just in time for an epic run of swell. I was there for a week. It didn’t get as big as Mavericks while I was there, but I still got a pretty good day, with the faces reaching about 25 feet. It’s an awesome place, the island is miles out to sea so the water is crystal clear, the waves out there are always double the size of the mainland and super fun. I met a really cool big wave rider, Diego Pertusso, out there. We ended up going out to the island together every day on his ski which was majorly convenient. He actually lives down in southern Baja where I eventually met up with him again to stay with him for a week.
From there I spent a little over a month driving down the Baja Peninsula, camping in the middle of the desert, fishing, collecting clams, surfing perfect right hand points. It was such an amazing experience having to fend for yourself and catch your own food. There was one place where the beach was teeming with huge clams and the rocks were perfect for fishing. I would get up, grab a bit of porridge, jump in the sea, surf the perfect right hand point all alone, then spend the rest of the day chilling, fishing, collecting clams and then surfing again in the evening. I was doing that every day for a week. I had a fire going the whole time on the beach, I would always have the clams by the fire for when I got peckish, then just chuck the fish on the grill as soon as I caught them! I didn’t want to leave that spot. I ate some pretty awesome food whenever I stumbled upon a village, the fish tacos in Baja are incredible. There’s nothing quite like a Baja fish taco. I can’t even describe how good they are.
After I met up with Diego again in Southern Baja, I loaded up the truck with some of his old big wave guns, took a ferry from La Paz to Mazatlan, then followed the coast all the way to the state of Oaxaca. I had some amazing experiences on the way down camping in the jungle, drinking coconuts, getting kegged on random beaches with no one out. I must have found 100 beaches with Hossegor like potential, all of them unsurfed but by a few locals and maybe the odd travelling surfer like myself. I actually didn’t see another surfer until I got to Pascuales. I found one river mouth with a sick wedging right hander, when I met a local surfer from the area they had no idea it existed.
The difference between Baja and the mainland is crazy. Baja is one big desert, filled with beautiful table top mountains, cacti and perfect right points. The fish is also as good as it gets. The mainland is so green in comparison. Thick dense jungle climbing the slopes of massive mountain ranges. Huge palm groves along the coast with big rivers every 10 miles. The waves are all heavy beaches and hollow river mouths, the north swell creating sick rights and the south lefts. The culture and vibrancy of the mainland was a blessed relief after the emptiness of Baja. Actually surfing with other people made me realise how much I had missed it.
The truck was still going strong when I arrived in Puerto Escondido. I had seen a big swell coming a week before, and had made a quick dash through Guerro to get there in time. Puerto was the next big wave spot on my list. The incoming swell was definitely a big one, it was lighting up the Pacific and causing quite a stir in the surf media. I arrived the night before the main bulk of the swell hit. That evening I watched the sunset at Playa Zicatela as 30-40 foot waves detonated on the sand.
The next day was scary, the scariest paddle session I had had at the time. The swell came through with 30-40 foot faces, but it was the heaviest 15 feet I’ve ever seen. The waves here break super close to the beach, the sand less than a few meters below the surface. The energy of the huge swell gets focussed in that small area, making for some seriously heavy wipeouts. I got worked while that swell lasted, getting huge waves, hold downs and barrels. It was an amazing experience, I was really helped out by the local crew there. Local photographer Edwin Morales showed me the ropes and made my life much easier.
Puerto is a really cool place to hang out. Loads going on and always great waves to surf. After the big swell the banks were amazing and everyone was just getting kegged every morning. I had this magic 8’0” from Nigel Semmens which has been working like a dream this whole trip, but it really reached its full potential out in the huge dredging barrels of Zicatela. I had snapped it twice by the end of the trip, but it only seemed to get better! All told I snapped five boards eight times… But that’s Puerto I suppose.
I spent a while in Puerto, I had been travelling for over four months by this point and I needed to spend a bit of time in one place to get some energy back. I met up with some friends from England and we decided to head out to find some of those barrelling right hand points I’d heard so much about. Edwin pointed us in the right direction and my adventure started up again. We took a round about route, up through the mountains to see some temples and hot springs and then back down to the coast to chase the goose. We certainly found what we were looking for. Perfect, barrelling right hand points that completed my fantasy. I had a couple of waves which were ridiculous. 13 turn waves and deep sandy barrels, the image of perfection. We got some fun small days, trimming along on knee high waves, getting an average of three or four head dips per wave! The few bigger days we got were not as hollow, but we were not disappointed by the minute long whackable rights, and there were definitely still super hollow sections.
By this time it was full swell season for Mexico, and another monster storm was brewing off the coast of Chile. With my heart in my mouth, I said goodbye to my mates and steered course back to Playa Zicatela. The storm was ridiculous, the swell predictions were saying it was to be as big as it gets, maybe even bigger. I thought I must be getting popular, as all the big wave surfers who had flown to meet me at Mavericks were making the trek to meet up with me again down in Puerto. They may have just been coming for the swell, but I can’t be sure.
When the day arrived it made the last swell I caught look like ripples in a pond. It was ridiculous. 100 meters of beach got washed away and the sets were smashing through the beachfront restaurants and on to the road. The street was the new shoreline. It was like a hurricane had passed through over night. Part of the contingent who had arrived for the swell were Tom Lowe and Tom Butler. It sure was nice to have some fellow Englishmen to share the nerves with. I’m not sure what would have happened if they were not there, but the fact that they were definitely gave me a bit more confidence. The only minor was that neither had their boards with them, Lowey’s had gotten lost on the plane, and Tom had come strait from the XXL awards in LA so didn’t have any to start with. They both managed to borrow boards, but not their boards, and not great boards at that.
We paddled out despite it all, a long paddle from the harbour half a mile up the beach. I was riding a 9’0” which Diego had lent me up in Baja. The sets were huge, so big I wasn’t even scared, just in awe at the immense beauty of the 60 foot walls of water that were bearing down on us, travelling so fast that they were feathering for 3-400 meters before even breaking. It was a somber line-up. Those who had dared to paddle out were all shrouded in their own minds, eyes fixed on the horizon with grim determination on their faces. The sets were most likely to be the biggest waves ever to be seen at Puerto, but every man there would have committed if the wave had come their way. I turned my own eyes to the waves and waited.
It was impossible to know where the waves would come, and you had to be in the perfect spot to actually catch one of these things. As a result the chance of catching one was slim to none, and the chance of the wave which came to you actually being makeable was even slimmer. The end result was there were very few waves ridden that day. Half the line up got caught out by the huge closeout sets with came ploughing through, Tom and Tom included, both taking one of the heaviest beatings imaginable. Mark Healey got the wave of the day, a giant set wave which absolutely destroyed him. And yes, I managed to get one myself.
After waiting out there for over three hours I saw a good sized left coming through which I thought I might be able to catch. I looked around but couldn’t see anyone near me. At that moment, Kurt Rist buzzed passed me on a safety ski, he saw me looking at the wave and gave me a look. It said, ‘I got your back’. It was all I needed, I swung, paddled and took of on the biggest wave of my life.
I was extremely late, as I got to my feet I had to grab my rail to keep the board from being blown out from under my feet by the wind howling up the face. This also helped to keep the nose of my board out the water as the wave went over vertical. There was a slight moment of weightlessness as the majority of the 9’0” disconnected from the wave and I dropped down to the point where the board fitted the curve of the wave. Holding on for dear life I flew down the thing, going faster than I thought possible. Every ounce of my being focussing on making the drop and getting away from the monstrosity which I had managed to catch. Before I had taken off, it looked as though I may have been able to make the wave. Unfortunately I was put off course a little by the steepness of the drop I had to take. As it was, when I finally made it to the bottom and thought about shooting it to the shoulder the lip was already on its way down to land on my head. This didn’t appeal to me greatly so I picked the lesser of the two evils and straightened out.
I was immediately blown to pieces. The force of the explosion was so violent that it knocked me senseless. All I could think about was holding my arms around my head and neck as I was ruthlessly rag dolled back and forth. When I got back to the beach, someone told me I had been under for 20 seconds. I could have been under for 10 year for all the perception I had of time while that was going on. All I know was the flotation vest I was wearing eventually bought me back to the surface (I couldn’t have found it if I had tried) I grabbed a breath and shot my left hand up, searching for Kurt. I could see him racing towards me, bent over the handle bars. Unfortunately, I could also see a 40 foot wall of whitewater which was much closer. The ski was struggling to drive in the thick soup which the previous wave had left behind, and we both knew he wouldn’t make it in time to get me. I got a couple of deep breaths and went under.
This wave was promptly followed by another. After looking at the footage, I realised both held me down for 15 seconds, battering me from every angle. Luckily my leash held and I was washed in a fair way. I was washed up the beach not long after. As I struggled up the sand I was greeted by cheers from the spectators. Safe to say it was one of the better moments of my life.
The next few days were mental. I had a great time hanging out with all they guys, even got to say ‘Hi’ to Andrew Cotton as he flew in for a swell forecast the week after I left. The waves got a bit more manageable and the banks were perfect while my time dwindled. Every one was getting shacked off their heads. It was a great end to the trip. By the time the big swell passed through I only had 10 days left before my 6 months was up. I spent that 10 days getting shacked with mates and relaxing in paradise. It was such an epic trip with so many phenomenal experiences. It will take a while for it all to fully sink in.
Channel 4 Are Looking for British families or couples who have moved to the wild for Series 2, is that you?
Producers of the UK documentary series ‘Escape to the Wild’ are on the lookout for British families and couples who’ve moved abroad and made the wilderness their home. With natural beauty and biodiversity for the taking, the wild provides space to escape the pressures of everyday life, providing a more pared back existence.
“The programmes tell the inspirational stories of people who’ve quit the rat race in the UK and moved overseas for a more sustainable way of life,” says Executive Producer Patrick Furlong, who heads up the team. “These families have traded the daily grind for simple self-sufficiency. They’re living off-the-grid and are finding happiness in some of the most beautiful places on the planet.”
The makers of the Channel 4 series (which airs in the UK, as well as in continental Europe, Australia, and New Zealand) are keen to find stories from around the world. The ‘Escape to the Wild’ team told SurfGirl and Carve, “We’re looking for pioneering Brits who’ve made the move to the wilderness and understand the hard work, exhilaration, and satisfaction involved in making a home in a remote place.”
The first series of ‘Escape to the Wild’ featured adventurous expats now living closer to nature in Tonga, Chile, Belize, and Sweden. Future programmes will similarly explore the challenges, motivations, and joys of relocating overseas to find one’s own piece of paradise.
Ruth Overend, a Content Producer working with the company behind the series, Optomen Television, said, “We’d like to hear from British couples and families who’ve chosen to source their own water, harness their own power, grow vegetables, keep chickens, and fish for their supper. Not a shopping mall or a motorway in sight!”
If you’ve escaped to the wild, the production team would love to hear your story. They can be contacted by e-mail for more information about taking part at [email protected].
If there’s one word in surfing that epitomises our collective idea of perfection it’s: Mentawai. The mythic Indonesian island chain home to flawless reefs, glassy walls and a deep seated spot in surf lore. It’s a chain where the dream of surfing unspoilt, uncrowded, tropical perfection really came to life. Twenty years on since those early Martin Daly trips alerted the world to the motherlode how is the remote Mentawai chain strung west of Sumatra dealing with the modern world? Has the rise of the land camp turned it into a Kuta waiting to happen? Are the locals getting a look at the western dollars yet? We took a crew for a mission to see how the land lies.
Once upon a time the way to do the Ment’s was by charter boat. They were the only option. As overland travel, then as now, is extremely arduous bordering on dangerous. Heavy duty malaria was rife, inter-island transport was by dugout canoe prone to swamping and if you did machete your way through the dense jungle to find your slice of perfection there was nowhere to stay or purchase supplies. Heaven help if you hurt yourself and needed medical attention. Suffice to say if you made it to HTs etc under your own steam last century then you officially get a Surf Explorers Platinum Mad Dog Medal. The boats were the sensible option. Get a bunch of mates together and spend a few weeks searching the chain for barreling joy. This was good for the boat owners, generally western, and good for the government officials from the mainland who sold ‘permits’. Not so good for the islanders who might get to sell a carving or two to passing boat trade.
Last time I visited nine years ago this was the status quo. You trucked about on your vessel and whenever you scored empty surf you crossed your fingers no other boat, especially one of pros, turned up. Of course good captains knew where was best and often you’d have three boats at one spot with twenty pros squabbling for limited sets to get their clips and shots. There’s no more heart sinking feeling than being faced with perfect Macaronis, pre-surf camp, and having it to yourself and seeing the Indies Trader IV, with helicopter on the roof, steam over the horizon. Knowing full well that a corpo team were frothing inside and ready to surf and shoot and steamroll the hell over whatever your little Brit crew were hoping to achieve. Even worse if you were just there on a very expensive holiday. At the time land camps weren’t really a thing.
These days the Ments aren’t the pro cadres personal island chain. It’s not the default for video sections it once was. Mainly because it got done to absolute death and also because us normal folk have twigged that it’s achievable and the waves are mainly doable for the intermediate competent surfer. The pros have moved on to the deeper reaches of the outer islands for their clips and the Ments are now a public playground. Which is where we come in… I’ve never done it land camp style. Always been slightly suspicious of the idea so it was high time to see if a new kind of surf tourism was happening or whether it was still westerners running western operations while the locals looked on nonplussed like with the boats…
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The guys at Fourth surfboards fancied a post-summer mission to cleanse off the foam dust and fired out an email to the team to see if anyone bit. Simple concept: Mentawais, staying at a rad little land camp in the wave rich Playgrounds end of the chain, go surf, shoot and have a blast. Harty and Luke weren’t expecting near as dammit the whole team, only Hazza Timson and Lowey had other plans, to say yes. Which is how the business end of Luke Hart, Ben Jones and Lee Bartlett ended up herding cats. With Tom Butler, Mitch Corbett, Corinne Evans, Emily Williams, Tassy Swallow, Adam Griffiths, Alan Stokes, Angus Scotney, Gearoid McDaid, Oli Adams, filmer Mr B and myself to somehow fit on obliging planes and boats.
Turns out the camp wasn’t even big enough. Luckily the guys at Matungou had been planning some new bungalows anyway so they got carpentering as we all decided which boardies and bikinis to take. Making the trip easier Buts and Bearman headed over early so that made the utterly apocalyptic luggage sitch a tad better.
Due date came and Emirates airlines effortlessly whisked our awkward cargo away with a smile and we were away. Now getting to Bali is easy. Maybe one stopover if you’re unlucky. Getting to the Mentawais is a bigger ask. We did Dubai/Kuala Lumpur. Night there. Then Air Asia to Padang. Air Asia is in essence the SE Asia version of Ryanair. Except they’re much nicer about boards. Again we got faultless service from a check in lady whose morning we ruined. Easy part done getting from the frankly grim city of Padang on Sumatra out to the island chain involves a boat. There’s a big ferry or smaller, faster boats. We had a small, fast vomit-comet. Those four hours were some of the worst of my travelling life. It was about as fun as having your nipples sanded off. Being on the edge of puking while bouncing around in a sweaty cabin for four hours was not an ideal end to what had been a breezy trip until that point. Still. You don’t get to the edges of the Earth easily. We’ll all look back on it as character building one day. It made a 36 hour bus ride in Chile with food poisoning seem like a fun idea.
Thankfully Matungou is an oasis of calm. Traditionally crafted wooden buildings nestled on the edge of a serene palm lined bay. It was a very welcome sight after two days travel. We were soon welcomed by Dr Ollie, a very affable gent from Lyme Regis, and Adri a local islander who have set up the camp in partnership with the main aim of doing it right. So all the staff are local. The food is traditional, the boats are local style, in essence big outrigger canoes built up a bit into whip fast speedboats. We were soon right at home in hammocks drinking coconut juice from freshly hacked coconuts. There’s nothing quite like the decompress of long haul travel into a stunning tropical location. All the stresses evaporate. We arrived at lunchtime and after a quick nasi goreng we were digging through bags to get on it as the evening session was on. Tom B and Bearman had been there a week already and were frothing that a certain left would be cooking… And it was.
From there on the next ten days were a blur of boats, surf checks, sessions, rice, chili, beaches, coconuts, Bintangs, laughs, snoozes, shaman and good times. Groundhog day in the nicest possible way: Up early with a weapon’s grade coffee or three in the half light of dawn. Talking story with the early risers like Oli and Stoker while marvelling at Mitch’s commitment to the dawn yoga session. All while knowing full well the grom bungalow of Angus, Gearoid, Tass and Emily wouldn’t surface until they could smell breakfast. Various crew would stumble through yawning until sunrise, breakfast and more coffee got us ready for the early sesh.
Figuring out where to go is key in the Mentawais and the land camps, at least those near Playgrounds and Siberut island, have a huge advantage over the charter boats. Speedboats mean being able to check heaps of spots fast. If it’s not on or it’s busy and there are other options you can just open up the outboards and blaze on. In a charter boat you’re stuck at walking speed crawling to another spot at snails pace; unless you’re towing a speedboat also. So once you know the swell size and wind you can shortlist the go to spots and get on it. Matungou has two boats so we often split up to not overcrowd anyone spot.
As for the crowds? Much has been made of the Ments being ‘over’ mainly by pros and photographers who’ve grown far to used to it being their personal studio. We had waves to ourselves and we surfed with other crew. At no point was it 140 dudes like at Uluwatu. Which was how many guys were there pretty much a year or so after it broke to the world in the seventies and have been ever since. The busiest any spot got was about twenty guys, which as long as everyone’s playing ball is fine. Of course some people don’t. Older crew and some more competitive cultures see the polite British trait of queuing and waiting one’s turn as a reason to paddle past and be a dick. These folk you can only explain that taking turns is the adult way of doing things. Or flick them the vees behind their backs.
Boat versus camps also means you are stuck in one zone at a camp. On a good boat you can roam from Thunders up to Maccas then HTs then Playgrounds. Camp wise you’re limited to one of those four zones. Pros and cons all round but with a strong wind blowing for weeks of this season being on a boat hasn’t been a barrel of laughs.
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As crews go we couldn’t have asked for better. In no particular order:
Tom Butler: Big wave sensei who prowled the line-up on bigger days with a calm confidence. Anything under twenty foot is just fun to him now so his game in hairy barrels was on point. Nailed a crazy sequence the first afternoon when all I wanted to do was curl up in a hammock.
Adam Griffiths: First time I’ve seen a longboarder in the Ments and boy did Bearman kill it. Total grace, flow and otherworldly reading of waves mixed up with big turns and deep tubes. Plenty of toes on the nose time.
Alan Stokes: It’s been nine years since we hit the islands together and not much as changed. Still the eternal grommet frothing to surf and loving every minute. Cursed with some brutal luck in some of the left barrels that resolutely refused to barrel for him.
Emily Williams: Welsh grom with a big future, christened ‘Sheggings’ after her fair Welsh skin got a bit burnt and she surfed in leggings. Will never hear the end of it. One to watch in the future.
Mitch Corbett: Recovering from a broken back and cruising. Mitch is a proper Zen master now. Certain of his place in the world and how he wants to live as balanced as possibly in all ways. A pleasure to be around.
Corinne Evans: Newquay’s busiest girl surfer. Fingers in many pies promoting women’s surfing. Sunny, radiant, frothing with a smile that could kickstart the sun.
Gearoid McDaid: Ireland’s biggest hope for the big leagues since I’ve been documenting surfing. Actually said, after one too many rice/noodle concoctions, ‘Can’t we just have a big plate of potatoes?’ Funny thing was next day we did… Along with Angus were the comedy double act of the trip.
Tassy Swallow: I’ve known Tass since forever and it’s always a pleasure hanging out with St Ives finest. Had a good dig at some of the heavier spots and owns a mean hack.
Oli Adams: A man reborn. Since his operation back in the spring Oli is a new human. On a constant upward arc in his performance and wondering where it can take him. The difference between this and our snow trip earlier in the year, which was post-op, is huge.
Angus Scotney: Mangoose is a big unit. But an affable, laconic, wise-cracking, smart ass. In a good way. He’s like Jordy in that you wonder how such a big kid can surf so loose and fast.
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We didn’t score all time Mentawais. But as you can see even fair to middling is still hellishly good fun. It’s been an odd season, the theory being El Nino related, as there’s been heaps of typhoons north of Indo so sucking in a constant south wind as opposed to the normal slack winds and glassy conditions. Lucky for us the lion’s share of waves near the camp were offshore in southerlies.
As to the Ments being over? Far from it. This is my third trip out there and it’s still as magical as it was before. In fact I think I liked it more this time. My suspicions about land camps, based on a very small sample admittedly, have been proved wrong. Working in partnership with the locals improving their lot in life and helping out where possible, especially in Dr Ollie’s case dishing out medical care to all and sundry, is how things should be. Matungou is doing it right. Building rooms and boats using traditional techniques, serving local food, hanging with the local crew and them benefitting directly from you being there is how it should be. Everyone wins. Ask anyone that was there it was a wonderful experience. To visit the edge of the world and not be in the bubble of a boat is the future.
This article originally appeared in print in Carve issue 165
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BIG THANKS TO: Luke Hart, Ben Jones and Lee Bartlett at Fourth Surfboards (www.fourthsurfboards.com) for organising and shepherding the whole deal, Dr Ollie, Adri and the crew at Matungou (www.matungou.com) for an awesome stay and perfect experience and lastly Anthony ‘Mr B’ Butler (www.mrbproductions.co.uk) for swimming more than any human should and nailing the moving images for the associated film, that and being a pleasure to share a room with.
