Exploring Waves and Wilderness in South Sumatra

WORDS: Jason Oxenbridge PHOTOGRAPHY Jason Oxenbridge

A raw surf odyssey where barrels beat beach bars every time

Warning: This story does not contain fluffy anecdotes about yoga, finding your soul by participating in associated spiritual activities, floating breakfasts with edible flowers in swimming pools, or slurping fluorescent cocktails in hammocks by the sea.

After three aeroplanes and a six-hour pedal-to-the-metal thrill ride through the mountainous wilderness of South Sumatra’s Barisan Mountains, our van slowed on the outskirts of a small village and tucked down a bumpy alleyway. A few minutes later, we pulled up at a property secured by a large iron gate.

Our driver, pinging on Coca-Cola and with a cigarette firm between his fingers, beeped the horn to announce our arrival. After a couple of minutes, he hit it again for good measure and then blasted it a few more times. “What time is it?” I asked. It was 2am local time in Krui.

We had arrived post-Ramadan — observed by Muslims worldwide as a month of fasting and communal prayer. Not sure how a blaring horn illuminated that religious reflection, but hey, at least they’d know the bules had arrived.

Turns out our accommodation was the first surf camp to be built on the west coast after travelling American surfer Zane Thomas stumbled upon this slice of serenity back in 1995. He talked his wife into coming up from Jakarta with the possibility of buying land. His dream was to have a camp on the ocean with a big garden.

The camp opened in 1998, just after the fall of the Suharto dictatorship. Only three surfers stayed that year. Zane and his young family lived here for eight years with no electricity. Buckets of water were carried from the well to the guest rooms for toilets, and early surfers were provided kerosene lanterns at night.

Fast forward a couple of decades and, as much as things have changed, they’ve also remained the same. There was no welcoming party this time, so it was decided we’d send one of the groms over the fence and hope there wasn’t a snarling Doberman on the other side hankering for a chomp on the gangly leg of a 17-year-old.

Hearing a thud on the other side and then a deadbolt unlocking the great iron gate as it slid open was music to our ears — and our gateway to paradise.

The joint was eerily empty. No lights, no staff, and with no idea where we were, we checked a few of the timber huts for an unlocked door. Bingo! Two were unlocked.

There were two single beds in a small room with a fan whopping through the Sumatran heat and a door leading to a bathroom out the back, where a mosh pit of mozzies sensed fresh flesh. We removed our board bags from the roof of the van and crashed out.

I was still going around blind corners at a rate of knots as the motion of the past 22 hours caught up with me. Then a sinking feeling — before long, I was cocooned in the dilapidated old mattress like a giant tortilla as the mozzies moved in.

I dreamed that someone found us and we were welcomed with a classic Indo brekky and a big warm Indonesian smile.

The grommets were up with the sun and frothing like the wild jungle cats of Krui. Their hackles rose as they saw a perfect peak over a reef break 100 metres down the beach.

From the camp kitchen, we could see waves to the left and right, stretched out across a reef as the ocean lapped at the base of the stairs leading down to the beach. There was no one out, just a fisherman on the reef casting nets.

We soon met Eddie. He didn’t speak much English but he had a big toothless grin, and he gestured to the kitchen — makan pagi. Famished after our late-night trek, the groms devoured banana pancakes while Trozza and I opted for the cheese omelette with “toast” (aka warm bread).

The black coffee was from the village down the road. It was thick like mud and tasted like swamp, but it was savoured with a sense of gratitude as I gazed out over the mug of steam into a short, sharp barrel spitting in the distance.

After brekky, the boards were unpacked and checked for damage. They were flipped, inspected and caressed. Fins and wax flew everywhere in a manic attempt to get amongst it as leg ropes were untangled and fastened.

We expected to see other surfers but it was just us — and our grins widened like the bay surrounding Banana Island. We paddled out via a channel where fishing boats were anchored and the odd plastic bag bobbed menacingly like a fake jellyfish.

The wave was a 3-4 ft peak with a sharp, short right barrel and a left that jagged across the reef and horse-shoed deep into the channel. It was an epic start to the trip with plenty of waves and banter.

After a couple of hours, we emerged and counted our blessings. It was a serene sandy stroll back to camp, and Eddie informed us that our host and surf camp owner, Zane, was in Lampung Bandung receiving urgent eye surgery and wouldn’t be joining us for the duration of our stay.

Scenes from Lord of the Flies fluttered in my imagination as we ordered a classic nasi goreng for lunch topped with spicy sambal. That should keep the belly bugs at bay. We made sure the Bintangs were dingin sekalii.

It was decided we’d hire a couple of scooters and explore the area for other waves that could be hiding behind a headland or at the end of a road somewhere. There were several surf spots within a 20-minute scooter ride, and we set off after lunch.

Cruising through the backroads of Krui with boards in the racks, we zipped past small shacks and food stalls, a world away from the madness of the M1, as we revved every bit of freedom out of the mopeds.

Our curiosity was rewarded when we were greeted by a six-foot glassy beach break with just a handful of surfers out. Sand-bottom a-frames arced across the dark sand and we all got shacked. The groms lit up and charged a few bombs, and we returned to camp for lunch before hitting the reef breaks out the front for an afternoon session. I could get used to this — just need to manage the aching bones, back spasms and “boing boing” on the back wheels.

Each day, a new sense of adventure awaited. We expected more surfers to arrive, but they stayed away — it was early season. Just two dads and two sons on the ultimate father-and-son surfing sojourn, bonding over Bintangs as waves peeled away, lit by stunning sunsets.

We explained to the groms how bamboozlingly blessed we were to be gifted a surf camp to ourselves and that it’s as rare as rocking horse shit these days. Not sure they totally understood, but they nodded with glazed eyes and sunburnt faces.

Passing on our knowledge of surf travel — how to barter for a litre of fuel in a plastic water bottle, or how best to slime lime into reef cuts (thanks Jet, I’m looking forward to returning the favour one day) — the groms were now equipped with survival essentials for many future surf trips.

Anticipating the discovery of a perfect wave in the middle of nowhere is what drives surfers to pack up and detonate the mediocrity of daily life to travel.

Here in West Lampung, there are a dozen quality waves within a 100km stretch of coast. The village of Krui is in the centre, making it a perfect set-up for strike missions up or down the coast — or to surf any one of the cracking waves on offer by foot or quick scooter ride.

The pick of the line-ups is Ujung Bocur, a freight-train lefthander which offers 300-metre-long waves on its day. Unfortunately, it was onshore when we finally got there, so we headed north instead and discovered a right funnelling over a reef, fanned by a slight offshore and just a handful of surfers out. Sets were overhead, and the wave crashed close to an exposed reef on the inside.

One of the surfers making it look all too dreamy was Californian Tosh Tudor, son of surfing legend Josh, and he was putting on a style masterclass with late fades and epic tubes. The vibe in the water was chilled, and everyone was sharing the stoke of this special set-up.

Draining a few frosties on the cliff, looking back down on the break, was yet another memorable moment on a trip that had captivated our curiosity and paid it back in waves.

We wished for time to stand still — our spirit of adventure had been awakened.

Fast facts

South Sumatra is home to the last surviving Sumatran tiger, rhino and elephant, the largest flower on earth, the greatest volcano in Indonesia, the highest lake in Southeast Asia, and some of the most significant ethnic minorities on the planet – and waves aplenty!