Waves of Nausea

**He was dying.**

At least, that’s what it felt like watching Finn curled up on the sand, pale and shaking. We’d been chasing waves all over, but now, it looked like they’d caught him instead.

It started that morning, like any other day in paradise. The sun was already hanging heavy in the sky as we loaded up the scooter, boards strapped on the sides, and pointed ourselves east. We weren’t heading for the usual spots—the crowded breaks and tourists clogging up the lineups. No, we were after something else, a wave we’d heard whispers of: **The Phantom**. A place no one talks about, mostly because no one knows how to find it.

Finn was buzzing with excitement, and so was I. Weeks of surfing iconic waves had been fun, sure, but this—this was what we came for. The unknown, the adventure, the kind of story you tell over beers years down the line.

The road was rough, winding through rice paddies and small villages that seemed frozen in time. It was also hot. In our haste to leave I had forgotten to decanter some extra water out of my Grayl portable water filter and now that was pretty much empty. Finn and I had been traveling together long enough that we didn’t need to fill the silence. Every now and then, he’d shout something about how today was going to be epic, and I’d nod, feeling the same rush.

After about an hour of navigating potholes and dodging stray dogs, we found ourselves at a tiny warung on the edge of a village. The place was barely more than a shack, with a single fridge humming in the corner and a friendly Balinese woman waving us in.

We were in need of some water. Finn helped himself to a cup and filled it from the jug on the bench. I wasn't so sure so I poured the water from the jug into my GeoPress and began the press. "You sure you don't want to wait?" I asked. He just downed the glass and filled another. We got directions from the woman—something about heading toward the coastline and following a path through the jungle. It wasn’t much to go on, but that was part of the appeal. No signs, no guides, no crowds.

The walk was brutal. The air was thick, almost sticky, and each step through the jungle felt like dragging my body through molasses. But when we broke through the trees, all the discomfort fell away. There it was: The Phantom. Long, glassy lines, peeling perfectly along the reef with no one out there but us.

Finn’s eyes lit up, and without another word, he sprinted toward the water, board in hand. I wasn’t far behind. The first paddle out was magical. Everything we’d been chasing had led to this. Wave after wave, just me and Finn trading turns, laughing like kids who’d discovered a secret playground.

Hours passed in a blur of sun, surf, and saltwater, until I noticed something was off. Finn, who was normally the energizer bunny of our duo, started paddling slower. At first, I figured he was just worn out from the endless barrels. But then he missed a wave—one he would normally tear apart—and I knew something was wrong.

“You alright?” I called out, paddling over to him. He waved me off, but his face had lost all its color.

“Think I’m just knackered,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, even though the breeze off the water had cooled things down.

I wasn’t buying it. “Let’s head in,” I said, my stomach tightening with worry. I’d seen this before—travelers who underestimated the dangers of drinking local water. Still, Finn was stubborn. Always had been.

We dragged ourselves onto the beach, Finn looking worse by the minute. He sank to the sand, clutching his stomach. “I really don’t feel good, mate,” he groaned.

I knew then it wasn’t just exhaustion. His body was rebelling. The water from the warung—the one he’d guzzled down without a second thought—was likely turning his guts inside out.

The next few hours were a nightmare. Finn could barely keep anything down. Waves of nausea and pain hit him in relentless cycles. I did what I could—offered him what little filtered water I had left, but it wasn’t much help. There was no one around for miles. No cars, no help, just us and the fading light of the sunset.

“I told you to bring a portable water filter,” I muttered under my breath, half-joking, trying to lighten the mood, but the truth of it hit hard. Out here, miles from anywhere, those small choices mattered. Finn was paying for his carefree attitude in the worst way possible.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, the once-beautiful beach felt eerie. The waves kept crashing, mocking me with their perfect sets, while I sat helpless beside my friend. Finn was curled up, shivering now, despite the tropical warmth still lingering in the air.

I couldn’t help but feel a pit of guilt. We’d come all this way, chasing some mythical wave, and it had turned into a nightmare. The Phantom had claimed its first victim—not in the surf, but on the shore.

Finn’s breathing was shallow, and his skin clammy. I had no choice. The waves could wait. Tomorrow, I’d find help. Tonight, I’d just pray it wasn’t too late.

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While the above is a fictional account of everyday life for a couple of adventurous surfers. It still has great value in showing you how easy it is to go from cloud nine to holiday misery in a few short moments. Trusting the water you drink is vital, Grayl Water Purifiers remove all the nasties from local water, you can even fill it from a street puddle, leaving you to fully enjoy the world and experiences around you.