Roark Artifacts - Vol. 18: "West Java"

Jakarta Klapanunggal

West Banten Panaitan Island

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VOL 18 – “WEST JAVA”

TA I L O R E D B Y TRAVEL

Every season the collection is inspired by stories, culture, climate, people, and local textiles from travels to a different point on the map.

The steamy, oft-not-touristed island of Java offered an unusual opportunity for our Spring expedition into the depths of the

PHOTOGRAPHY DREW MARTIN / ALAN VAN GYSEN / DREW SMITH / RYAN HITZEL TRAVELS JAKARTA / KLAPANUNGGAL / WEST BANTEN / PANAITAN ISLAND

frenetic mainland and neighboring Panaitan Island. The

collection is inspired by the vibrant local textile processes, ancient Javanese mystique and dusty tropical palette.

VOL 18

FEATURE

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CH 1 – JOURNEY THROUGH JAKARTA

CH 2 – HELL FOR LEATHER

WHEN IN RAMADAN – THE HOLY MONTH OF FASTING

PROFILE

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ALAN VAN GYSEN – SURF PHOTOGRAPHER

HAFFMAN FABRICS – INDONESIAN HANDMADE BATIK INTERVIEW

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CH 3 – CLIMBING THE QUARTZ-CLANDESTINE

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CH 4 – VILLAGES OF THE BANTEN HIGHLANDS

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CH 5 – “JUST DREAMING”

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CH 6 – THE SUMMITS AND VALLEYS OF A VIOLENT DESERT ISLAND

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SPEED & FLOW – ALTERNATIVE BIG-BOARD THINKING

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IVAH WILMOT – SOUL REBEL

CHAPTER 1

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Journey Through Jakarta The sight of Java by motorbike is a blur, speeding and sputtering down the clogged artery-like highways that squeeze through the jungle.

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

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If you squint just right and let your eyes relax, you catch rich glimpses of the chaos within the blur. It’s just Java. It’s just the equator. It’s just hot. And perhaps we’re all a little loopy with hunger—it’s the holy month of fasting during daylight hours— so most warungs (roadside cafes) are closed til sunset.

Nevertheless, a family of six packed on a motorbike, two of the four children literally sleeping through the bumps and beeps and blaring songs of prayer, crooning Allahu akbar passes Jamie “The Chief” Thomas, Jonno Gaitan and Jack Bailey in a cloud of exhaust, as the three men decide that it’s officially time to get off this particular mode of transportation. In this traffic, finding suitable skate spots around the megalopolis of Jakarta might as well be done by skateboard. And, so the boys skate. And they explore…

CHIEF FINDS SOLACE A W AY F R O M T H E FRENZIED STREETS O F JA K A RTA.

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Well, at least Jamie and Jonno, do. Just yesterday, Jack caught a rock in the eye, while on his bike, nearly ripping of his right cornea. A little slower today with a fresh gauze patch, he has now become One Eyed Jack, translating Bahasa Indonesia for the crew, gleaned from an adolescence raised around these parts. But as Jamie Thomas and Jonno find trippy little banks, rails and courtyards to keep them busy, it’s hard to tell what’s more amazing to watch: a wide-eyed, young Jonno taking in every smell, sound and taste on his very first trip to Asia, or the local children that gather around each time the two skate, dumbfounded by this foreign black magic. Occasionally, Jakarta’s sky-faucet turns and its monsoon showers stop the session, inversely offering a brief respite from the heat. En route an old shipyard that might offer some potential for the boys, The Chief and Jonno grab nasi uduk lunches from a cart, (one of the few actually selling food) and Jonno marvels at his meal wrapped in banana leaf, yet another “first” for him.

Dusk begins to fall after the boys thoroughly explore the ancient, sunbaked port—both by board and by boat—and as the night settles in, hungry, fasting crowds storm the streets.

Wandering into a frenetic food market, although One Eyed Jack is pretty comfy with his choices, Jamie and Jonno gamble with the menus, ultimately learning those two little magic words in Indonesia that should get you fed without too much confusion: nasi goreng (fried rice).

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J O N N O, P U L L E D IN BY A JAVANESE LOCAL MOMENTS BEFORE THE FLASH MONSOON.

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F E AT U R E

THE SUN GOES DOWN AND THE FOOD COMES OUT

D U R I N G T H E H O LY M O N T H O F FA S T I N G

WHEN IN

RAMADAN

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

If the Roark gang has learned anything from nearly 10 years of tripping, it’s to embrace the cultural immersion that comes with an adventure in a foreign land. Don’t try to fight it, don’t search for shortcuts—go with the flow. One such unexpected cultural experience was that our trip to Java spanned the course of Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting during daylight hours. Fasting being one of the 5 Pillars of Islam—in the most populated Islamic country on Earth (Indonesia)—Java takes Ramadan seriously. In other words, finding food, an open warung (café), drinking water, or even a Western joint like KFC in operation…was not happening. Sure, you can get a little hangry, but if you roll like the locals, respect the custom and focus on that nighttime feast, the fasting becomes pretty turnkey. Plus, they say your mind is sharper when you’re hungry, a trait leftover from our hunter-gatherer days.

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A FEW TIPS IF YOUR

TRAVELS FALL ON RAMADAN Attack the Buffet

Respect the Locals

Most hotels have a killer breakfast buffet for their

If you do pack a lunch or eat throughout the day,

guests before dawn. Get your fill.

don’t flaunt it or pig out in front of the locals.

That’s not very “halal.”

Pack Water Even water can be hard to find. Make sure you’ve

Careful with Flights

packed some. Also, some ciggies if you’re a

Flying within a couple days of the start and end

smoker. Those are hard to find too (and kinda

of Ramadan might be difficult. Prepare for that.

quell hunger).

Tighten Up Those Laces

Hit the Road As a lot of places of business are closed during the

Make sure your motorcycle is functioning right

month, the roads, during daylight hours, can be

and your kit is correct. Often, many bengkels

less crowded. (*Not so, at dawn or dusk). Travel

(mechanic shops) are closed during daylight hours.

during the day, but beware of that equatorial sun.

Hit Up the Night Markets Once the sun goes down, the food comes out— and so do the crowds. It’s actually a pretty rad atmosphere, as everyone’s on the same page, feasting and celebrating together. Good vibes on the street.

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F E AT U R E

F E AT U R E

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F E AT U R E

Indonesian Handmade Batik H O F F M A N FA B R I C S L I M I T E D E D I T I O N C O L L A B O R AT I O N

H O F F M A N FA B R I C S BALI, INDONESIA

Founded in 1924, Hoffman Fabrics leads in the batiks* category as “quilting’s original Bali batik maker.” Following our journey to Java, home of the batik process, we partnered with Hoffman Fabrics on the “Java Leaf” woven and elastic waist boardshort collection.

JAVA LEAF BUTTON UP ELASTIC JAVA LEAF BOARDSHORT

Batik – an Indonesian technique of wax-resist dyeing applied to whole cloth made by drawing dots and lines of the resist with a spouted tool called a tjanting, or by printing the resist with a copper stamp called a cap. The applied wax resists dyes and therefore allows the artisan to color selectively by soaking the cloth in one color.

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CHAPTER 2

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Hell for Leather The four riders have found themselves hurtling through jungle darkness, pinning it in 5th.

The pace must be kept, lest we burn daylight, but oh, how daylight has burned. The Chief, One-Eyed Jack, Drew and Mikey whiz by visions of men taking smoke breaks on their haunches who wave hello to us, their smiles smearing into the blur. Dirt floor bengkel (mechanic shop) after bengkel dot the highway between glimpses of hazy rice paddies. It’s hard to tell whether the pace of life creeps

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

in Java, or gallops madly like a runaway horse. And while fun and adventure lay ahead on this fabled island, we came into this trip with a purpose—to reach the Banten mountain villages in need of freshwater and school supplies.

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But suddenly, the four riders have found themselves hurtling

There was no choice but to follow this mad man on his new 750cc

through jungle darkness, pinning it in 5th, brakes suspect,

Honda , weaving around cattle and small families on mopeds, around

headlights dim, trying to follow their guide, whose resting-

invisible potholes, roadwork and stalled lorries. They realize that

speed is 100 clicks, despite the Tetris of the highways and blind

if they lose his scent—they could be lost for good. En route to

turns of the backroad “shortcuts.” All unsure of what the precise

West Banten, occasionally, the guide takes a random turn from the

and perilous rush was actually for—was there some tsunami

madness of the highway and into the mountains, ostensibly to buy

approaching they were unaware of?—everyone’s phone had

a few minutes. Through the ride’s psychotic blur, quick glimpses

neither service, nor battery-life.

of serene families sitting around a village fire would materialize peripherally—before they find themselves cutting back onto the insane highway again.

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THE LOCAL BENGKEL WA S A M A N DATO RY STOP BEFORE THE LENGTHY KILOMETERS AHEAD

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“As travelers we owe it to our hosts—we owe to our fellow humans.”

Riding parallel with One Eyed Jack, but too afraid to turn his head to him, The Chief screams in hyper-focus, “We’re like salmon swimming upstream!”

“We’re like sperm tryna to get to the egg!” cries Jack, back to The Chief, suddenly barreling straight into an unseen pothole with no time to react. Popping 3-feet into the air at about 90 kms, Jack somehow lands in control, white-knuckled and scared-stiff.

Finally, the mad guide pulls into a roadside gas station to check his GPS and the boys plead with him to take it easy. Sitting on their bikes, the four of them looked at each other in a shocked state of panic, they giggle deliriously in that way people do when you are so utterly exhausted by fear.

Certainly, while the gang at Roark has always strived to ride further and further off the grid, you soon realize that the further you stray off that beaten path, the picture of life there is impossible to romanticize, let alone ignore. Often, it ain’t pretty. Off the beaten path there be monsters—malaria, high infant mortality, undrinkable water, tsunamis, shifting tectonic plates…But it’s something we could help with, even if a little. As travelers we owe it to our hosts—we owe to our fellow humans. Of course, a little fun and aimless wandering along the way never hurt nobody, so in the morning the crew decides to take a climbing detour…

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CHAPTER 3

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Climbing the QuartzClandestine Drew and his buddy harness-up, regardless and begin to spider up the precarious rock faces.

THE PINNACLES AND C A V E A R E T E C H N I C A L LY IN AN ILLEGAL MINING O P E R AT I O N R U N BY A S E E D Y A N D P O T E N T I A L LY

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

A R M E D C O M P A N Y.

Even after the night-ride to end all night-rides, it appears that there are certainly no easy roads in West Java. Just to get to the footpath to the climb-spot required a creeping, slog on the bikes through a maze of indecipherably deep mud puddles, courtesy of a monsoon season that hasn’t quite left us.

We park the follow van and motorcycles at a listless warung, and the napping owner quickly awakens to muster up some mie goreng (fried noodles) and coffee. Within 10 minutes, Jonno gets completely mauled by skeeters, the rest of us spraying a cloud of DEET onto our bodies, doing our best not to mention the M-word [malaria]. Before lugging the gear through the rice paddies, Drew’s local climbing liaison explains that we must take caution and only shoot the climbing routes (and nothing else), as the pinnacles and cave are technically in an illegal mining operation run by a seedy and potentially armed company.

We look at each other, skeptically. Good to know?

The terraces are also flooded causing us at times to wade through thigh-deep paddies, but we arrive at the mouth of a mysterious cave, soaked to the bone. Drew and his buddy harness-up, regardless and begin to spider up the precarious rock faces, Drew crawling, inverted at times, on the ceiling. Suddenly, a dropping equatorial sun casts beams of light into the cave revealing thousands of glimmering gems. Above us, below us and in the wall of the cave itself are a constellation of quartz stones glimmering Drew’s route in a rather cosmic way. The rest of us, realizing this discovery, walk beneath Drew, reaching into the wall or into the banks of the cave’s small pond, extracting pink keepsakes that might similarly be sold at an Orange County New Age boutique for god knows how much…but after some unspoken consideration, decide to carefully place them all back.

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It’s early evening September 30, 2009 in Padang Harbor, Indonesia.

A crew of surfers comprised of ex-pro’s, actors, artists, agents and a stuntman slowly bob to the gentle rhythm of the Indian Ocean. It’s the end of a long trip surfing remote reefs, and they’re satisfied but haggard. The boys were supposed to stay in Padang the last night of the trip after being at sea for ten days. Yet, as many of us know – it’s hard to leave the boat. So, they decided to spend the last night on the water.

At 7:16 PM everything changed. As Jon Rose and the rest of the guys unwound over a few Bin Tangs, they noticed something odd. The boat, the water underneath it, and ultimately the ground beneath that, was shaking. By 7:18 it was clear that something was very wrong.

Word came in over the captains radio shortly thereafter, a fierce 7.6 magnitude earthquake had just hit the city of Padang, square on the head. When the sun rose the next morning, they got their first peek at the capital city, from the bow of the boat. Landmarks they knew so well, were just gone. They could hear faint screams, sirens and honking horns – but not many of them. It was oddly quiet.

J O N RO S E

I’ve travelled with Jon a ton over the years - we were roommates twice, he was the best man in my wedding once, he’s been a preeminent Roark confidant and we’ve shared a handful of dynamic, if not sketchy situations abroad. If you know Jon, it’s undeniable that he’s prepared for anything at any time. His whole life had set him up for the next decision he’d make, and the subsequent mission that spawned from it. His father Jack had long implemented rain catchment systems and water filters for remote villages in Africa, and by chance (or fate) Jon had a handful of them in a duffle bag.

“RENEGADE” IS A CHOICE WORD WHEN DESCRIBING

As the boat hunkered down and made contingency plans, Jon turned to his water filters. “People are going to need these, let’s go.” In a disaster, clean water becomes the number one priority. It’s the foundation of

THE

survival and often becomes non-existent when catastrophic events

O R G A N I Z AT I O N.

occur in developing communities like Padang. Jon was the first outside responder in Padang. Before the Red Cross. Before the military. Before the rest of the world even knew what had happened. He was there before the dead bodies were removed from the rubble, he worked amongst the villagers to help victims and with local government to

BY R YA N H I T Z E L

implement the water filtration systems he had.

Jon later told me that the event in Padang shaped the structure of his renegade Non-Profit organization Waves For Water. From response protocol to getting water filters from a warehouse to the field - much was learned in those 12 hours. It literally changed the course of his life. 10 years later, Waves For Water has responded to 33 natural disasters, operates in 44 countries, has 24 ongoing global programs and has impacted 3,750,000 people with clean water.

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I N A D I SASTER , CLEAN WAT E R BECOMES THE NU MBER ONE P RI ORI TY.

“Renegade” is a choice word when describing the organization Jon

Jon’s latest addition to the organization is the “Rascal’s Roundup,”

founded. He learned that although most giant NGO’s are meaningful

it encourages the like-minded to take a day off and create a sport

in providing aid, they are slow and bureaucratic, much like most

focused mission, doing what they love to raise money for clean

fortune 500 companies. Waves For Water avoids the red tape by

water. Go surfing, snowboarding, ride a motorcycle, or all three. It’s

getting there before it goes up. He has direct relationships with local

a mix of Movember and the classic Jog-A-Thon - all funds raised go

military, government, famous athletes, influencers, guides and US

directly to Waves For Water. It’s another articulation of Jon’s dream

special forces. Why jump on a delayed commercial flight when

to eliminate the World Water Crisis in an unorthodox way.

you can hitch a ride on a C-130? Who better to get you safely into Brazilian favelas than a Football star?

Jon’s definitely onto something, you can see it on the faces of the people on the receiving end. Roark’s partnership with Waves For

Jon’s personal and professional ethos has always been “Do what you

Water has been the most effective way to help out communities in

love, help along the way.” To bring that to life, he created the The

need while on our journey’s. Implementing a water filter to a region

Courier Program, for Waves For Water. The idea was to create mules

or a person in need not only changes the priorities of the community,

out of everyone that enjoys adventure and travel. Pack a water filter

but quite possibly your own in the process.

or two in your bag for the next surf mission or adventure to a country in need. When you’re there, get off the grid and find a school, village leader or hospital and go to work. It’s as simple as one demonstration.

Find the rankest water you can - the browner and grosser the better.

Go to wavesforwater.org for more.

Set up the filtration system with a plastic bucket found in an alley, run the dirty water through it and personally take the first sip. It’s an immediate game changer built on need, trust, and selflessness.

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CHAPTER 4

VOL 18

Villages of the Banten Highlands Our motto has been to return the campsite in better condition than we arrived, which comes in different forms based on our journey.

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

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A man wearing a black beanie floats momentarily and the children gasp. In a small classroom in a remote Banten village in the mountains of western Java, Jamie Thomas ollies between a few dozen kids gathered around in hijabs and kufis. Perplexed, you could read the looks on each child’s face: What sorcery is this?

An answer: skateboarding. The alchemistic modern magic of flow, skill and anti-establishment. This, however, was actually the second time in two hours that Jamie Thomas blew people’s minds.

Before the school we visited a hospital in need of fresh water sources, the previous one damaged by a tsunami last year. With help from Waves 4 Water, we delivered a few dozen filtration kits, buckets and showed the staff how to put them to use.

For some reason every nurse wanted photos with Drew. Maybe it was the beard, or his smile, but it was evident they could sense the real man among us whose had mountain peaks christened after him. Shortly after, the hospital staff led us down to their normal freshwater source, a spring littered with debris and dead leaves.

Jamie dipped a cup into the spring, showing the small crowd the murkey glass, then pumped the water with a filter into another cup and tipped it back with a grin…and the staff gasped.

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Those kind of connections with strangers in a community so far from home, it’s hard to explain other than magical.”

But here in the classroom, two hours after the initial demo, Jamie asks for volunteers and a young girl with true grit steps up and holds onto Jamie’s hands while he rolls her to-and-fro, even kicking his foot beneath the deck to simulate an ollie. She grins at the class proudly and we can sense there is something very empowering about this moment. Of what’s possible for a girl out there, inspiring the rest who immediately raise their hands for a turn.

We’d come to bring this school notebooks, pens, and other supplies, plus sports equipment like soccer balls and volleyballs and the commotion emptied out into the courtyard. We kept skating with eager volunteers while separate groups split into soccer and volleyball games with the new gear, the vibe skyrocketing from a normal school day to “holy shit” level. Those kind of connections with strangers in a community so far from home, it’s hard to explain other than magical. You tune into that common cosmic frequency of humanity that no matter the language or cultural relations or divisions, it’s something that transcends any of that bullshit. The kind of connection that just leaves you in awe—speechless.

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A L A N VA N LESSONS FROM THE MOST RELIABLE SURF PHOTOGRAPHER IN THE WORLD

BY S TA B’S E D ITO R, ASHTON GOGGINS

If you were to pool the best globetrotting

In a world where photographers claim

surfers in the world over the last twenty

their work is diminishing in value, Alan

years, I’d say there’s an 83% chance most

Van Gysen has made himself invaluable,

have had a defining experience with a man

through a combination of unrivaled

named Alan Van Gysen, usually involving

reliability, and an ungodly sprawling

him effortlessly navigating some opaque,

survivalist skill set that can pretty much

impossibly bureaucratic third world

get him and his crew out of whatever

process, or performing some wildly

situation they find themselves, a skill

dangerous trip- and/or life-saving act of

set earned chasing waves to places like

valor requiring intense skill and willpower

Mozambique or the Transkei or the

and faith and patience and cross-cultural

Skeleton Coast, Ghana or pretty much

emotional intelligence.

anywhere else in Africa.

Ask Jordy Smith about the time he almost

For my own part, I’ve entrusted him

single-handedly saved him and the Stab in

on four continents and with enormous

the Dark crew.

responsibilities not just photographing but producing projects like The Electric Acid

The man known formally as AVG is a wildly

Surfboard Test, Go Easy On The Zambezi,

capable, thoroughly seasoned, religiously

and others, and here’s a few takeaways

disciplined (and deeply religious) South

from the man:

African surf and adventure photographer, and one of the most trusted, sought-after, and well deservingly compensated cats in the game. Why?

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PROFILE

GYS E N

PHOTOS KIM BOUCHIER ANDREW KING

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1 FAITH IS A HELL OF A DRUG

I struggle to recall ever witnessing faith stronger than that of AVG swimming some of the sharkiest African waves on the planet, with no visible signs of duress or concern or even mild anxiety. As an Evangelical Atheist, I don’t really know what to make of this, but it is one of the most important things I’ve learned from my time with the man. He believes someone’s looking out for him. And he has the photos to prove it.

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PROFILE

2 PACK LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT

3 YOU’RE ONLY AS GOOD AS YOUR MORNING CUP

AVG is a stylish survivalist, his aesthetic

On every trip I’ve ever been on with him,

is the zenith of true utilitarian brilliance,

I have never known a sunrise without him.

and nearly every trip we’ve had him on

He is the first one up, always, kettle on and

he has been the most prepared person

coffee coming. And no one does coffee,

by a country mile. His ultralight packs

in even the most remote locations, like

are a venerable orgy of functional,

AVG. He’s got an uber-small solar powered

multi-use gear, honed to a science over

burr grinder going, and gasket-released

years in the bush, desert, and sub-

reusable filters for his space-aged polymer

Saharan environments. Think packable,

Aeropress, basically the most civilized

lightweight wide-brim hats that’ll keep

and efficient and delicious way to extract

the equatorial rays off your beak, and

the single origin coffee AVG brought to

give you a sense of authority in a bind

whatever third-world country we were

on land. Or a moisture-wicking, sun-

in from whatever far-flung East African

deflecting microfiber fabric shemagh

adventure he was most recently on. On

that doubles as a neck gaiter, lens cloth,

surf trips, Alan Van Gysen is my morning.

or tourniquet.

4 IT’S WHO, NOT WHAT, YOU KNOW? While Alan is more than capable handling himself in the most critical of conditions, he’s also a firm believer in the importance of phoning a friend, consulting local guides, and his effectiveness owes much to the information he gleans from his reliable network of stringers, local heavies, and recurrent hosts in the locations he frequents.

HIS AESTHETIC IS

THE ZENITH OF TRUE UTILITARIAN BRILLIANCE,

In Mozambique for the Electric Acid Surfboard Test, and carrying the precious cargo of one Stephanie Gilmore, AVG brilliantly tapped ex-South African military and ripping South African surf guide Ryan Ribbink of Bink Surf Tours to not only get us where we needed to with Jet Skis in tow, but serve as itinerant bodyguard, confidante, and muscle as we navigated the famously complicated country.

L E S S O NPSR O FR F IOLM E

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CHAPTER 5

VOL 18

Just Dreaming” Light years away from the chaos of mainland Java was the gang’s destination, our hopes and excitement palpable.

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

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Somewhere in the Sunda Strait off the coast of West Java, the legendary caldera of Krakatoa looming in the distance, Muz announces to us all that there were two rules aboard the Just Dreaming: No shoes on the boat, and don't use the onboard bathroom.

Ivah and Parker glance at each other like, So, we shit where… exactly? And as if clairvoyant, Muz gestures behind him. “Comes out easier and leaves you cleaner if you go in the ocean, mate!”

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N AT E ZO L L E R, R U N N I N G F O R H I S L I F E.

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PA R K E R , TA I L HIGH ABOVE A S H A L L O W R E E F.

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Light years away from the chaos of mainland Java was the gang’s

Muz has been coming to this uninhabited island off Ujung Kulon

destination, our hopes and excitement palpable, audible, even,

National Park to surf and dive for the last twelve seasons. A genuine

in the music of our voices; in the dance within our movements

man’s man, Muz loves his hawg back on Bali, speaking of his Harley

about the deck. Rod clicked on Gregory Issacs from the hanging

like it was a wife. He sits with legs spread wide open and has tales

portable speaker and the eight of us (Vez, Rod, Ivah, Nate, Parker,

from half a lifetime lived as an expat in Indo that would make a

JB, AVG and I) tune into that feeling you get—a high, really—

convict blush.

on the first few days of surf charter headed toward perfect waves, literally as far as you can travel away from home. If they could

Sailing through a peach colored evening, Bintang cans crushing in

put that feeling in a pill...

the compactor like clockwork every 30 seconds, Muz reckons that with the complexion of the swell, a left called Napalms should

Oh, and there was one more rule actually: if any of us surfed a

be cracking tomorrow morning when we arrive. Parker, Ivah, and

certain savagely shallow left-hander at the top of the bay, a full

Nate are already unzipping their boardbags to unearth freshies,

suit and helmet were mandatory, (non-negotiable), added Muz.

running their hands down the length of those polyurethane curves.

A Kiwi based in Bali that owns a few restaurants and this charter,

The captain’s call would in fact be quite right...

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“How bad is it?” I ask Nate, craning my head around, surely, a mantra uttered by those before us who’ve surfed this razor-sharp patch of reef.

I’d just rolled over near-dry coral heads trying to shoot the miragey end bowl. Looking down at the deck of my board in the channel, rivulets of blood dissipate in the translucent sea, but I realize it’s just from scrapes on my wrists.

“You’re good, but I don’t think stitches,” says Nate, prodding at my spine. “Let’s get a couple more before the tide gets too low?”

I nod like, got nothing else to do, and we paddle back out, our second of three sessions that day (of four days in a row) at the empty hollow left-hander called Napalms.

I mean, there’ve been a few other left-handers down the bay we’ve sampled, even a nearly unmakeable right that Nate made

While spearfishing off a reef shelf near the national park, he came up for air to see a giant black panther who’d wandered in from the jungle looking for fish in the tide pools...”

look appetizing, but Napalms during this swell continually delivered tubes for all of us. When the tide got too low and reef broke surface, we’d motor around the point to find dive spots and jump cliffs. Vez, Muz, Rod and Captain Ismanto would suit up and bring home dinner (fish), apparently a diminishing resource out here, even off the shores of a protected UNESCO World Heritage island. So much so, that Captain Ismanto, an East Javan local with a couple wives, told us of a story where, while spearfishing off a reef shelf near the national park, he came up for air to see a giant black panther who’d wandered in from the jungle looking for fish in the tide pools right in front of him.

It was something he’d never seen, nor heard of before—proof of a fast-changing climate. Diving behind him, though its an inspiration. In this currently overfished region of waters, he is selective, precise, only going for specific fish he knows are not nearly depleted…and never misses a shot.

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On that note, it’s impossible not to see evidence of mankind’s consumption in the wicked form of plastic debris, gathering in clumps from currents, littering every nook and cranny of this “protected” bay, even drifting into our empty Napalms lineup. [Any more on this?] But at the moment, I watch Nate, Ivah and Parker at work, putting on a variety show. Each have Napalms down in their own way. Nate, a backhand pig-dog maestro contorts his body, weaving through the slabby lefts, showing his expertise learned in summers as a boatman in Tavarua. Ivah, everstylish and effortless, arches his back in the shallow caverns, often nabbing two tubes a wave, hooting in disbelief by the end of it all.

And, of course, Parker, pumping from the deepest peak, weaving through holes into massive slob-grab straight airs from the treacherous endbowl-ramp.

My back surely wasn’t bad enough to sit one out…

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I V A H W I L M O T, JAMAICAN REVIVALIST

3 YEARS OF ADVENTURING WITH ROARK

BY BEAU FLEMISTER

When we met Ivah Wilmot for the very first time a few years back during Roark’s visit to Jamaica, it was quite obvious that this young man was special and some would describe as a “Future Mystic.”

Born into Jamaica’s royal surf family, Ivah is a talented skateboarder, professional surfer, and talented recording artist. He’s the kind of kid that can adapt to any rough road travel that often takes us down, - it’s been epic to see the kind of energy Ivah attracts from complete strangers along the way.

Singing a song, shirtless and barefoot while skating in a public square in Hong Kong. Walking in awe through ancient castles in Scotland. Weaving through tube after tube amongst Javanese islands. No stage is too big, no weather is too inhospitable and no local too salty to feel the positive vibrations. Ivah is a modern inspiration in the global community, in the footsteps of his fellow countryman of old.

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INTERVIEW

WHAT K I N D O F TRAVE LIN G HA D YOU DON E B E FOR E HO O KI N G U P WI TH TH E ROA R K G UYS?

R O C K E R S I NT E R N AT I O N A L B E A T S T R E E T, K I N G S T O N

I’d done a little traveling, but not to the extent that I’ve now done with Roark. Mostly, it was with the junior national surf team for competitions, and then back in the day, my brother was sponsored by Insight 51, and they flew us all out to Bali and we did a campaign there.

Bali was really my first taste of that kind of real traveling.

G ROWI N G UP I N JAM AI CA, YOU CAN BE VE RY SH E LTE RE D AND I SOLATE D F ROM THE WOR LD, LI F E CAN BE VE RY BLACK AND

DO YO U TH I N K YO U R O U T LOOK HA S CHA N G E D SINCE T H E N ?

You know, I did already have a little interaction with

WHI TE , SOCI ALLY. . .I ’D T RAVE L AN D M E E T D I F F E RE N T P EOPLE

people from all of the world coming here to Jamaica since

AN D CULTURE S AN D RACE S AND

my family owns the surf camp here, but to leave, and go

YOU F I N D TH AT P E OP LE AR E

out there, and actually experience it…those experiences are how you really know what’s going on in the world.

J UST P E OP LE .”

INTERVIEW

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50

ANY SI TUATI O N S WH I LE T RAVE L IN G T HAT R E A LLY BL EW YO UR MI N D? Every trip has had some crazy moments, but Scotland kinda complicated my brain [laughs] because it’s such a contrast to Jamaica. Complete opposites. Culturally, the environment, the climate, it’s almost like I had to dress like a different person, which was weird for me. It’s interesting how I find myself adapting to the places, I think that’s the biggest thing. It’s funny because I feel like most Jamaicans are received well wherever they go in the world, we give off an energy that precedes us maybe.

That hike in Java on Panaitan Island—that was crazy, bro. I really didn’t think we were gonna make it, the whole time. We got sidetracked for hours and then even that one part where rocks were falling down on us and we had to move to the side—you only experience that on these trips [laughs]. Because it’s not like there weren’t waves, but we chose to go find something that leaves a story.

I NDE E D . WH Y I S TH AT, T HOU G H, T HAT WHE R EVE R YOU GO IN TH E WO RL D , JAM A ICA N S A R E R E CE IVE D SO WE L L ?

FO R SU CH A S MAL L I S L A N D T HE Y CR E AT E D SU CH A HU G E CULT URAL I MPRI N T, NO? Mmmm, I think that in most First World countries, there’s a lot of rules and strict structure on how to live your life…it can be kind of limiting, maybe. But in Jamaica, since most people have nothing, they have to truly be creative and they make things that don’t exist.

Things, like reggae music, that other people can appreciate. So, in that way, sure, we’re a Third World country, but we’re innovators creatively, ya know? Das dem hustle. In Jamaica, it’s about: what can you make, or what can you do? That’s what is truly valued in Jamaica. Not what ya know, but what ya can do. With your hands.

Or your vocal chords. So, when you go out into the world, I think maybe it’s expected of Jamaicans.

(LEFT) IVAH GAINS NEW PERSPECTIVE I N S C OT L A N D F R O M T H E I S O L AT E D V I E W S F R O M T H E “ I S L E O F S K Y E .”

(B OT TO M) B AT T L I N G T H E E L E M E NTS OF THE NORTH SEA REEFS.

YEAH, I T S E E MS L I K E T HE R E ’S SO M A N Y T HIN G S T HAT JAMAI CAN S TEACH TO T HE WOR L D…WHAT WOU L D YOU SAY T RAVE L H AS TAU G HT YOU ?

Mmm, I think growing up in Jamaica, you can be very sheltered and isolated from the world, life can be very black and white, socially.

So, in that sense, I’d travel and meet different people and cultures and races and you find that people are just people, ya know? So, I learned, more than anything while traveling, I learned a certain acceptance for all people and life and situations. I think that a lot of people here in Jamaica could learn something from that, honestly.

Often, we only accept what we know. So, I think we could give what we don’t know a chance and that could benefit us.

INTERVIEW

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BY BEAU FLEMISTER

CHAPTER 6

VOL 18

The Summits and Valleys of a Violent Desert Island We were all game and in good spirits until about an hour ago when we realized that this jungle was attempting to devour us whole.

No one said it yet but we're all thinking it: this jungle is trying

Earlier, with a dip in swell, half the crew had gone spearfishing in

to kill us. Each step feels precarious on this island. The stones in

the morning, shot some keepers that we put on ice, planning for a

each stream slippery with moss, the trail just barely recognizable,

full moon grill on the beach after a midday hike on the island to a

if existent at all. Vines hanging from every tree are covered with

mountaintop (Raksa) where supposedly the oldest Hindu shrine in

thorns clawing at our bodies, tearing at our t-shirts and hats as

Indonesia still sits.

we pass. Mosquitoes (malarial we’ve just been told) swarm us, desperately attacking our DEET covered flesh. We pause for a water break, halfway up what we believe is Mount Raksa and even louder than our labored breathing is the drone of the jungle, insects buzzing in unison psychotically. Birds chirp and caw incessantly, and occasionally something large rustles in the bushes which we only hope is one of the many wild Javan deer we’ve seen from the boat and not a tiger who took the swim across from nearby Ujung Kulon National Park. Some of us are nearly loopy from the heat. Parker’s barfed twice. Rod’s knee is acting up

We were all game and in good spirits until about an hour ago when we realized that this jungle was attempting to devour us whole. I watch our guide—one of three park rangers who claimed they knew the way to the shrine—look at his map and then our GPS and Muz, it didn’t seem like they were on the same page in regards to which way was which.

“Oh, we're definitely lost,” I repy to Parker, whose face looks bloodless with exhaustion.

again. Between sips, I watch an ant stalk a bug, latch onto its belly

“C’mon, we’ve got this boys!” says Nate jumping to his feet to

and disembowel it, devouring its insides while the insect struggles

rally the troops. But after hours of chasing our tails, it’s evident

in its grasp, still alive. This is nature at its most violent.

that nearly everyone is utter depleted.

“Dude, I think we're lost,” utters Parker, a seemingly difficult task on an island barely five by five miles wide. But by God, it clearly looks so.

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We decide to follow Rod’s GPS having triangulated a few points and altitudinal markers, but we are surely not on any trail, nor see any markers as we scale the side of a mountainside covered in understory, grabbing on roots, rocks and tree trunks for handholds. Finally, we get to a ridge where in fact a visible trail, apparently 1,000 years old, is stretching both ways. We follow the path up a slight incline, and 15 minutes later come to a small concrete platform with an ancient 3-foot high statue of Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god, sitting there serenely. All of us drop to our knees and kiss the earth and stone god and leave some kind of offering—trail mix, a Cliff Bar morsel, a cigarette at the god’s feet. We crack open warm Bintangs that Vez and JB schlepped in their bags and tip one back for Ganesha.

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What is Zen? The serenity at the top of the mountain, or the anguish in between, fully present while grinding along the trail.�

We marvel at how vicious that was. What is Zen? The serenity at the top of the mountain, or the anguish in between, fully present while grinding along the trail. We leave the god and slip-slide our way back to whence we came, the return almost equally as painful. At the end of the trail, following a stream toward the beach where the forest finally ceases, we collapse on the shore where the freshwater meets the sea. A bittersweet end, indeed, as plastics and rubbish brought in from the currents and tides litters the entire shoreline in grotesque, synthetically colorful clusters.

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FIRESIDE FEED & STORY T O PA S S T H E T I M E

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But if the quality of light can’t be defined without utter darkness— no yin without yang— perhaps this is why sacrificial offerings are made. Sure, we just got wiped climbing up a mountain on a down-day during a surf trip, but as we collect driftwood on a particularly pristine shoreline of Panaitan Bay for a bonfire bush-BBQ, maybe that pain and tonight’s full moon would bring pleasure in the form of fresh swell tomorrow. The blaze of our bonfire reaches higher, licking at the night sky while the boat crew throws trevally and parrot fish filet’s on a makeshift wooden grill. Ivah gets up with a skewer in hand and belts out some obscure Jamaican reggae tune—or, maybe one of his own songs—and the rest of us get up and jump around the fire, the glinting eyes of god knows what is peering at us from the black jungle behind us. We keep feasting, hooting at the flames under the full moon’s light and looking out onto the bay, swell lines begin to undulate toward our shore.

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SPEED

I feel like after the Clark Foam shutdown in 2005, there was this burst of creative energy in alternative surfboard design. I was really attracted to it since the boards not only had a functional evolution, but an aesthetic evolution as well. It was after Sprout came out and really got me thinking.

I distinctly remember thumbing through a surfer magazine and seeing an

& FLOW

ad that Robin Kegel had run featuring himself and Alex Knost for Robin’s board brand “Crème”. I was blown away by what a fresh take it was on the big board scene, and something I could totally identify with.

Robin’s approach to surfing and shaping longboards was totally unlike anything at the time. His surfing style was frenetic and shred-oriented with noseriding taking a back seat in both his surfing and shaping.

The visuals of his boards were also super innovative with their crazy

Alternative Big-Board Thinking with Rick Lohr

abstracts, and free-lap glass jobs.

It was this freshness that led me to into diving hard into alternative

Roark’s Director of Merchandising and Development

1 G AT O H E R O I D E AT H D A G G E R

big-board thinking. That’s why you don’t see a noserider model in this group. So now, over 10 years later, the quiver is still focused on speed and flow.

2

FISH SIMMONS

3

EAGLE TYPE GLIDER

9’9” x 23.5” x 3”

10’6” x 23.5” x 3.25”

11’2” x 23” x 3.25”

SHAPER–ROBIN KEGEL

SHAPER–SKIP FRYE

SHAPER–GEORGE WALLE

Robin Kegel Surfboards

Skip Frye Surfboards

George Surfboards

BOARD DESIGN

BOARD DESIGN

BOARD DESIGN

This was the original Alex Knost model. Foiled, flat, no nose concave or tail rocker. Really magic board.

Tri-fin glider with really parallel outline. Goes rail to rail really smooth and wants to turn.

Inspired by an 11’7” Skip Frye Eagle I had that was really fast, but difficult to turn.

B E S T AT A N Y W H E R E

B E S T O N O P E N FA C E R O L L E R S

B E S T AT P O I N T S

Newport, Doheny, Sano and Malibu

Sano, Sunset Cliffs and Doheny

Swami’s, Malibu and Rincon

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(Left) Quiver Selects San Ononfre, CA Photo by Nate Zoller

H K PAT H F I N D E R

5

G AT O H E R O I D E AT H D A G G E R

10’6” x 23.5” x 3.25”

9’7” x 22.75” x 3”

SHAPER–SCOTT ANDERSON

SHAPER–ROBIN KEGEL

Liddle Designs

Robin Kegel Surfboards

BOARD DESIGN

BOARD DESIGN

Stretched out Greg Liddle “Hawaii Kine Model,” full displacement hull foil. Unbridled speed and drive.

This is the current version of the Death Dagger. Narrower, and more foiled, with a little rocker.

B E S T AT P O I N T S

B E S T AT P U N C H Y B E A C H B R E A K S

C Street and Big Malibu

Newport and Huntington

F E AT U R E

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R O A R K V O L U M E 1 8 – " W E S T J AVA " SPRING & SUMMER of 2020

SPRING & SUMMER of 2020

R O A R K A R T I F A C T S

SPINE: PLEASE SIZE

V O L 1 8 : " W E S T J AVA "