My Days in Mentawai: Surfing and Humbling Wipeouts

I’ve been here for three nights, and the lifestyle is intoxicating.

Ready to get in the boat early am for our first surf session of the day. True happiness.

Every morning, I wake up around 4 am naturally and start writing about my experiences here. Mornings are when I have the most energy and focus. I must admit, I have a mild case ADHD, and it’s hard for me to concentrate after a certain time.

At 5:30 am, I hear our surf guide Tito’s alarm go off in his room upstairs, reminding me that we’re off to surf in thirty minutes.

There are four of us staying at Toska Resort at the moment: a lovely couple from Belgium, our surf guide Tito, and me. I love the privacy and intimacy of this place. The Indonesian family taking care of the property lives just behind in a beautiful home, and a few little kids come out to play in the water every sunset. Everyone is happy, peaceful, and living a natural life. I’m in awe.

Elfi and Steve, visiting from Belgium for the next three weeks.

Local caretakers home. Sweetest Indoensian family.

Little kids playing in the water at sunset time.

We gather in the main dining area that looks out at the ocean, green grass and palm trees all around, for morning coffee and to assess the conditions and plan our morning. It’s an open area with a beautiful woven palm tree roof. There’s a large table that can seat 10 people in the center with a kitchen to the side.

Toska Resort dinning area.

Tito is an amazing surfer and has been coming here for the season four years in a row. He knows every wave and decides where we’re going according to what nature is doing that day. We come up with a plan.

Everyday things change in the surf world. There are many factors involved, and if we didn’t have someone like Tito to guide us, we’d be flying blind so to speak. The factors to consider before choosing a break include swell size, the tide’s behavior, the current, and the wind’s direction—whether it’s onshore, offshore, or a side wind.

On our way to the wave at 6:00 am.

I’m a new surfer, less then five years, and I’m finally at the stage where I can start seeing and understanding these details. I know the best kind of wind is offshore because it holds the wave up when it blows from the beach towards the ocean, giving the surfer more time to play on the wall.

Making the drop at an impossible angle. Just a year ago I would have definitely boinked this wave.

I'm kind of proud of myself.

I know the current is a dangerous factor. In a few minutes, you can be swept in too deep and get stuck on the inside, or worse, it can send you far out, and no matter how much you paddle against it, you’re lost and in true danger of being swept out to sea never to be seen again.

I’ve learned the best time to surf is when the tide is low to mid and on its way up because the wave gets more water volume. However, past a certain point, the tide gets too high, and the wave won’t break on the reef as much or at all.

I’ve also learned about the swell. A growing swell can be scary. One minute, the waves are 8-10 feet, and I’m having the time of my life. The next, a monster 20-foot wave with three times the water volume is about to break 30 yards deeper from where I’m sitting. I paddle for my life, trying to get over the giant, but even if I do, there are 2-3 bigger waves ahead. A mountain of water breaks right in front of me or on top of me, and all I can do is dive deep, as deep as my leash will allow. I feel the massive power pass over me, hitting the board, and I go with it. My ankle is attached to the board by a flexible rubber leash, and the drag is strong. Then, I’m in the washing machine, being tossed in every direction. The secret is to remain calm and relaxed, letting nature do its thing. As it subsides, I reach for my ankle, find my leash, and pull myself to the surface slowly.

Our surf guide Tito coming out of a bomb of a wave. I am paddling back out after catching my own. Life is good.

By then, many seconds have passed without air, and panic wants to creep in. But no—I must stay relaxed. When my face breaks the surface and I take that first breath, life comes back into me. I absorb as much oxygen as possible, taking big controlled mouth breaths, preparing for the next monster wave, a wall of white water, coming. There’s nowhere to go and no help. I must surrender to what’s coming. Panic will kill me in these situations; I must remain calm, keep my heart rate low to minimize oxygen consumption. I take the biggest breath and ricochet myself off my board by pushing myself up and letting go. I let gravity send me deep down.  I grab my leash at the last minute and enter the washing machine again. The force feels like a train hitting me, pulling my limbs in all directions. I tell myself to relax.  Sometimes, the force is so strong my leash gets ripped out of my hands, so as soon as my muscles can negotiate through the power I find it again. I then start pulling myself upwards, looking for the surface. This second wave breach is more desperate. I really need a breath, and it hurts. Panic creeps in, and the thought of ending the surf session crosses my mind. No matter my thoughts, there’s always a third wave, and I need to be ready. I take as many big breaths as I can before the next one hits. It’s less intense this time—the set is passing, I think gratefully. The worst has happened.

By the fourth or fifth wave, I’m making my way to the channel, duckdiving (trying to at least) under the smaller white water as it passes, recovering my breath, my strength, and will to continue. I’ve just had the wipeout of the trip and have been humbled to my core. I chuckle at myself and what just happened, and I’m ready for more, paddling out to the lineup once more to try for another wave. Surfing is addicting; I can’t get enough.

It’s 5:25 am. In five minutes, Tito’s alarm will go off, and we’re all meeting for coffee. I’m going to start stretching now. It’s time to surf, and I’m so excited.