Everywhere I go I meet people who have seen a photo, read an article, or remind me of a trip I once took for Surfing Magazine. Inevitably after we discuss the past, the person will ask me, “So, where’s your next trip?” For most of my life, that was an easy answer. There was always an adventure out in front, a new break to explore, a new frontier to capture. As the years go by those untainted spots where no surfer or photographer has traveled are becoming fewer and fewer. Very little of our world is truly off the grid, but that was not always the case.
In the summer of 1979, I was 23, just starting my career as an international surf photographer, and there was a lot of world left to explore. I had just completed my first successful international assignment for Surfing Magazine by bringing home a cover story from an Australia trip with Bruce Raymond and Derham Tutton. Although exotic by 70’s travel standards, Australia wasn’t much of a cultural leap from the USA. The two countries sharing the same English foundation made Australia a cute extension of a California surfing road trip. My next destination was and would shape my career and feelings about exploration and discovery. Bali.
Indonesia was on the outer fringe of the map of the known surfing world at the time and although I was based on the North Shore of Oahu, I knew few people who knew where Bali was and even fewer that had been there. Rumors on the North Shore were that Gerry Lopez had found dreamlike waves there and was spending time in the jungles of Java with tigers. The only break I had heard anything about was a wave called Uluwatu. What caught my attention about Ulu were stories of long perfect lefts and a hairy blind paddle out through the mouth of a cave.
In 79, traveling from Hawaii to Hong Kong and on to Bali would be like traveling back in time today. This first trip was pre anything and everything. Pre-computer, pre-internet, pre-satellite surf forecasting, pre-digital photography, pre-cell phones, pre-satellite phones, pre-Sony Walkman, pre-ATM, pre-sponsored surf travel, pre-professional surfing at any real level, and probably most crucial, pre-credit card. It was a time when even on the North Shore, very few surfers had phones in their homes. In fact, I took all of my business and personal calls at a pay phone on the side of Kamehameha Highway near Shark’s Cove. It was at that phone that Larry Moore told me that Surfing Magazine was sending me to Bali with 20 rolls of 35mm film, $200 to cover four weeks of expenses, and a name. The ticket, film, and cash arrived two weeks later after traveling from California to Hawaii by boat. My assignment was Peter McCabe. He was an Australia/Indo expert that Larry had set up a rendezvous with for me. I had heard that Peter was one of Gerry’s trusted traveling companions, but I had no idea what he looked like or where I would find him.
I later discovered that in those days I often got nothing more than a name and description before setting out on a trip, but flying into Bali I would have felt more confident if I would have known at least what McCabe looked like.
After 38 hours of travel, I stepped off the plane and immediately realized that I was neither in Kansas nor Hawaii anymore, it was truly a foreign place. The flight from Hong Kong arrived in Bali in the middle of the night and there were only two other western tourists on my plane, both of which looked like missionaries. The air was thick with the tropics; heavy moist warm air that smelled of flowers and smoke. In front of the terminal was a small fleet of huge sixty-something Chevy Impalas that served as taxis. On each sat a tiny dark skinned Balinese man, smoking a cigarette that smelled of cloves. Realizing that my destiny was no longer in my hands and not having any real connection to God, I said something that resembled a prayer anyway and hired a taxi. The only words that the taxi driver and I shared were hotel and small money. That was enough.
The driver took me to Kuta, a small village close to the airport with a hotel. When we pulled up in front of the hotel, the entire town, including the hotel, was closed, asleep, and dark — very dark. Before I could construct a plan, my taxi driver disappeared into the black night leaving me to ponder again my lack of religion and the personal meaning of total vulnerability. To my astonishment and great relief, the driver returned thirty minutes later with a key in hand. I took the key, exchanged some money, and departed to my room to wait for sunlight. If you have ever landed in the middle of the night in a truly foreign and unknown place that does not speak your language, you know that the sunrise is a very good thing. To this day I still marvel how that night worked out.
It was a week before Peter McCabe showed up in Bali. In the meantime, I managed to meet a couple of surfers, all from Australia, and surfed Kuta reef and the beach breaks in Legian. Four days into the trip I bumped into 2 Aussie surf moviemakers. After some initial courtesies they asked if they could have a serious talk with me. I met them at their villa where it was explained to me that they had spent considerable time in Bali and felt they had earned control over who was allowed to shoot there. Many years older than me and obviously more knowledgeable about the area, they went on to say that they were there to shoot for their next film and that Peter was going to be shooting exclusively with them. Bottom line, I was not to try and shoot with him anytime in the foreseeable future. Given that was my only contact from Surfing Magazine, I left the meeting in a quandary over what to do and feeling that the momentum in my career was about to come to a grinding halt. McCabe solved my quandary.
Most great surfers have an aura about them that exudes confidence and control. The way they handle themselves on land reflects their cool under pressure abilities that make them great surfers. Lesser surfers inherently and subliminally understand that they are out maneuvered. Great surfers not only get the best waves in the water, they tend to get the prettiest girls, drive the coolest cars, and know exotic places in ways ordinary people never do. I came to find out Peter McCabe exemplified if not defined all of these attributes.
Because I had no idea what Peter looked like, I had no idea how or when I was going to find him. But one day, sitting at a juice bar in Kuta, a guy entered who was different than everyone else and ordered a double mangosteen juice. He looked at me and smiled. A glint of light flashed gold off his front tooth and I meekly asked, “Peter?” Not only did he say yes (to my great relief and concern), he greeted me in a way that made me feel like I was being extended a true privilege, something akin to royalty greeting their subjects.
After explaining who I was, I began to explain the meeting with the filmmakers. Peter laughed and said, “Let’s see if they can find us.” I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant for my story, career, or chances or living through the trip, but I was pretty sure that my summer of 79 adventure in Bali with Peter McCabe had begun.
I came to find out over the weeks that Peter had Bali totally wired. Somehow he knew exactly what the surf was going to do and consistently put us at the right break at the right time, always factoring in the wind direction and tides correctly (remember, with no computer aids). How he did it or where in gained the knowledge was a mystery to me. Even a greater mystery was that he was seldom, if ever, wrong, so much so that every other surfer on the island was always trying to figure out where Peter was surfing, or where he was going. Peter was always gracious, but like the best of any generation of surfers, he never let on to what his plans were or where his magic came from. The cat and mouse game seemed to amuse Peter to no end, not out of cruelty, but sport.
Peter was serious about surfing and again, unlike most other surfers of his or any other generation, he never abused his body with drugs or alcohol. He ate well and drank endless mangosteen juices. He went to bed early and got up early. When it came time for us to surf Uluwatu, he asked me to bring my running shoes. Having only flip-flops I had to make a special trip to Denpasar that evening to buy shoes. On my budget, this was a serious expense. At the time, the road only went to the Temple at Uluwatu. From there it was a 45-minute walk to the break. In Peter’s program this was an opportunity to exercise. Sending the boards and cameras ahead by sherpa, we would run the trail to Uluwatu, which in the heat and rough terrain, was no easy feat for most humans. For Peter it was a walk in the park, but it took me days before I could run both in and out without stopping to catch my breath. As an understatement, it was less than enjoyable, but after weeks of surfing and swimming all-day and running the trail, I don’t think I have ever been in better shape. Peter knew that his physical and mental fitness gave him an edge, a lesson I learned well.
Hanging with Peter was a young surf photographer’s dream come true. Growing up, I dreamt of traveling around with a guy like Peter in an exotic land deeply immersed in surfing. Peter and I spent hours talking over all things surfing and he regaled me with countless amazing stories of exploring Indonesia with Lopez. We surfed and worked hard every waking moment of every day never wasting a moment of opportunity. I extended my trip for two more weeks with no more cash. Peter and I became friends.
After six months lived out in six weeks, I returned from Bali with enough good photos to boost my career as an international traveling surf photographer to the next level. I not only survived; but grew, learned, trained, and created a mentality that would serve me well for years to come.
In hindsight I realize that in that juice bar, Peter had made a choice to go with me, an aspiring but unproven photographer, over a known return in the Aussie filmmakers. Why he did this I will never exactly know, but I will always appreciate his choice and the time he spent with me. Peter, followed by countless others that chose to extend themselves to me, contributed to creating a body of photographs that document a lifetime of surfing and more importantly a rare community of surfers that share in the passion for life though surfing.