A surf expedition to the Mentawai Islands would be a dream destination for anyone that loves riding waves. Many months before, there had been whispers by members of the Cal Poly Surf Team about a trip to the islands led by two of surf journalism’s leading professionals. Those whispers grew to meetings then to plans. The trip came with a hefty price tag but there was just no way that I could justify not going; it sounded like everything a surfer and a journalism student could want.
We would ride aboard the boat D’bora for two weeks with Matt and Sam George, long-time writing and editing forces behind Surfer Magazine. They would give us insight into the world of surf journalism while surfing and earning three college credits. To round it out, the trip included humanitarian aid with and for the charming, ever-smiling Indonesian people.
But I’d been on a lot of surf trips that turned out to be different than I expected. The long nights partying in Bali, the flat spells in New Zealand and the lines of people waiting for waves in Australia were aspects of surf travel that I never saw coming. Could this trip be as good as it sounded?
Damp Departure
In the port city of Padang, D’bora is hard to make out the boat in the rain and the dark. It is a renovated Panisi, an Indonesian fishing boat, with a wooden hull and gunnels that run down from each end forming what looks like an 80-foot smile.
Five of my teammates from Poly Surf Team board the boat along with a surfer and surfboard shaper from Washington D.C., a photographer from British Columbia and an all-Indonesian boat crew none of whom speak English.
Our surf guides are two American ex-patriots and rounding out our group are two female Muslim interpreters.
The next morning, it is still dark when I reach the top level of the stern and no one is there. As I feel the cool, humid air slowly move across my skin. I hear music (or maybe words) come out from over the city. It takes me a second before I realize it’s a Muslim prayer. It almost seems the prayer, not the river, is carrying us out into the ocean. The boat slowly moves past the streets and houses that are quiet save a few dogs and a woman washing her face in the muddy water.
The Last Mile
The sun has barely fought its way through the thick mangroves as I searched for saltwater crocodiles in the shady corners of the canal. The journey with our group on two small dinghies seemed to take ages, but soon we were docked in Siberu, school supplies and soccer balls slung over our shoulders searching out the schoolhouse. It wasn’t a long search; screaming children, kids hanging out windows and teachers in militaristic uniforms led us to our destination.
The classrooms bustled with excited kids as we distributed packages of pencils, erasers, notebooks and other assorted school supplies. The kids yelled, cried and smiled. One of our crew asked in choppy Indonesian if they wanted to play some soccer.
No matter the culture, one thing students will always have in common is their love for recess. The children came flying out of that schoolhouse like bees from a disturbed hive. For the next half hour I received beatings in both soccer and volleyball. My shirt soaked with sweat from the intensity of the muggy, tropical air, I sat to take a break next to one of my colleagues, who asked, “How awesome would you think this was if you were in school? A bunch of foreigners show up unannounced give you things you will actually use, give you an unexpected recess and play with you?”
The question was answered by the smiles on the kid’s faces and the chaotic schoolyard.
Cranking Class
For most of my college career I’ve fought the urge to skip classes and go surfing. During our floating class, things were different. Class could occur at any time during the day, revolving around what the waves were doing. We would have meetings after the dawn patrol, after dinner or while having a beer.
During class on the boat, it was hard to evenly split my gaze between one of the George brothers and barrels. While Matt’s classes were exploratory and abstract, Sam’s teachings were more regimented and direct.
The surf students were also unique since students cared and took pride and responsibility in their actions whether it be in life or in the classroom. Every assignment that we did on the boat, we read in front of the class. It forced us not only to be critical of other’s work but of our own as well. No one slacked, no one blew off assignments and no one skipped class to go surfing. We didn’t have to.
Peace On Panisi
The waves were coming in two perfect sets at Rag’s Rights, a fairly famous break. As we watched them from our anchor point, people started to gravitate towards the lineup, despite its inconsistent and shallow manner. Our Islamic interpreters had somehow been talked into towing on surfboards behind the skiff and a crew had joined them in that mission. Soon, I was the last remaining English speaker not enjoying the ocean.
Instead of joining in, I grabbed a Bintang beer, an issue of Surfer Magazine and a Beng Beng, a popular local candy bar. I opened my beer and took in the view from the top floor of our Panisi.
In that moment, I felt no desire to surf. Instead, I felt an odd contentment with being in that place at that moment. Two Islamic women were taking turns towing on surfboards behind the skiff with our crew’s only female student. It was something that they wouldn’t have dreamed of a couple of weeks prior. Four of the guys made up the cheering section while rest of the students were out in the lineup picking off a few good waves. One of the crew was floating just off the shoulder fishing with a hand line and as we would discover later, was making a killing.
I felt like I was in the center of a merry-go-round. There were so many good experiences happening all around me and I was privileged to be able to see them all. I watched people making memories, taking friends and making the most of an incredible trip while giving back to the Indonesian people.
As the sun set that night, the sky turned into a swirling watercolor. Shades of orange, red and purple reflected onto the ocean from the evening sky like a massive mirror. A dinner of fish caught a few hours earlier was served and I couldn’t help but smile; this trip had been different.
Will Taylor is a journalism junior and a Mustang Daily guest writer. For information on this year’s journey, go to lastmileoperations.com.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Cal Poly Causes will be a new bi-weekly series written by students who want to share their experiences about service learning at a local, national and global level. Please send submissions to mustangdailywire@gmail.com.