Indronesia

Camera drones are mostly an asinine invention. Bothersome insects that break the silence, disturb the peace, and offer anyone with a credit card license to surveil their neighbors. Toys birthed by H.P. Lovecraft and George Orwell in the basement of Wavecam General Hospital. A purist surfer’s laudanum nightmare.

Yet at their best—and in the hands of a cliché-avoiding pilot—the little copters can peel back the skin of a surf spot. No other perspective affords such at-a-glance understanding of a lineup. Anchorages and paddle-out spots. Rips, reefs, and currents. Campsites and hazards to navigation. It’s all laid out in a single frame.

Unidentified paddler | elevation 128 feet. Photo by John Barton.

Hollow Trees | elevation 383 feet. Photo by Guy Morgan.

Beng Bengs | elevation 344 feet. Photo by John Barton.

The Cave | elevation 223 feet. Photo by Margarita Salyak.

Photo by Fred Pompermayer.

To see your first aerial photo of a spot you’ve surfed for years is, invariably, disorienting. Like your first look at a still image of yourself surfing, it’s recognizable—but horribly exaggerated. Which might be why drone photos of breaks you don’t know personally always seem better than they are. Except, perhaps, in the case of these islands off Sumatra.

Take the name brand spots here in the Mentawais. Hell, take the B-grade spots. Relatively few of us—meaning specifically Journal subscribers and staff—have known them in the Biblical sense, hand to curves, breath to dimpled surface texture. Which makes this aerial survey of the chain both a reader service and an evocative study in greens and blues. Many of the places gathered here are crowded, even on down-days. Others are softer breaks more suited to the low-intermediate or the avowed cruiser. It matters little. Trimmed of the incessant electric buzz, one can take in the vistas peacefully—mind surfing to a pleasant numbness—or as incitement to make one’s way to the East Indies.