It was Bali in the 80s. Chuck (from Santa Cruz), Peter (from Newquay) and I had decided on a late surf at Bingin.
In those days you had to go to Balungan and walk up. We trekked along the beach past Dreamland: there were no warungs there then and it was a place that no-one bothered to surf. It was a beautiful walk.
At Bingin there were a few guys out and we hit the water at about 3-00pm. It was a happy crew with of about 6 and we shared a 2-4' glassy swell. The take-off zone was minute and we took turns. As we tired and the tide dropped there were more and more
occasions when we blow the take-off and would end up rolling on the reef laughing hysterically (it was only about 18 inches deep).
The sun was getting very low, but the water was a perfect temperature and there was only the three of us out, talking and enjoying the magic sunset. We watched the sun dip beneath the rim of the earth and suddenly, as it does in the tropics, it was dark.
By the time I had waited for a wave to take in, it had become black and difficult to see as I stumbled in across the tidal pools of the reef. Waiting for us on the shore was a Balinese hawker with one of those round eskis they used to have, and, yes there is a God, some cold Bintangs.
It was realy dark now but as we stumbled through the shoreside I began to see a few, then hundreds of glowing points of light fliting to and frow amounst the rocks. We were momentarily bewildered, but quickly realised that they were fireflies. Intermittently, they lit our long walk back to Belangan, where we found our bikes and rode back through the velvety night.