Location: Southern Mentawai Islands, Indonesia
We are dropping more like dominoes than flies. For five straight mornings, our crew has woken up to someone new passed out on the couch after a night of diarrhea and the dry heaves.
But the waves lately have been textbook, our learning experience here on the D’Bora more than fulfilling, and no one has been sick for more than a day. In stride with the Balinese cycle of good and evil, each day’s victim has taken his brush with the dark side gracefully…maybe even with a hint of pride.
2:05 a.m. The crew’s Virgin Islands representative wakes up outside, last night’s dinner crusted around his lips, the grit of exterior nonskid digging into his bare back. It’s David Enloe’s turn.
7:02 a.m. He watches Nick and Sevren head out towards the surf in the dinghy, but only for a moment. The salon door, opposite the couch he is draped across, is transparent and provides his only connection to the outside world.
8:30 a.m. Nick passes the door from right to left.
8:30:45 a.m. Nick passes the door from left to right.
8:35 a.m. Sevren walks through the door. David looks like shit but is eager to get an update, and Sev, as always, is ready to tell a story. A smile bites the edges of his mouth as he describes his first two waves—Drainers, both of them. Sev got covered on both. His gaze drifts off as the story moves on, sounds like he spent most of his time getting lip-launched and dragged along the coral…not to mention the crowd. But the smile bites back when David asks about Nick. It all makes sense now, but he can’t wait to hear Sev say it. Not a surprise at all, Nick sat deeper than Aamion Goodwin, then paddled leisurely into a bomb and snapped his 6’5”. He was back out a minute later on his 6’0”. Right on.
8:43 a.m. Brady, Team photographer, provides proof of Nick’s horrendous beating. It looked a bit like Teahupoo in the photos. Right then, there is a hoot from the upper deck, and David does his best to see the set. Falling short of the window, he resigns to the couch.
9:05 a.m. Tyson and Will enter the salon and more tales of carnage and frustration ensue. David is secretly happy that he hasn’t missed the perfect day.
12:30 p.m. Lunch is served—fresh fish speared moments before by our surf guide, previously
dubbed “The Silent Assassin.” Now he’s really jealous, the kid on the couch, but it’s not time for a
meal just yet.
5:40 p.m. David leaves the couch and crawls down the stairs towards the bunks. Class is in session
“D’Bora Style”—Sam George, center circle, passionately detailing the ins-n-outs
of the surf journalism industry. He is just finishing, though, and David’s eyes tell it all. That
was a class he really hated to miss.