The fish traps were awash as the six-wave set wrapped around the reef/point set-up. They were green waves with a tight barrel, then a clean wall that allowed for all sorts of spray painting. It was anchored in the channel while it happened. Everyone was still rubbing their eyes, sipping coffee, or asleep. The vessel was secure, its anchor clinging to the coral as the current raced seaward trying with all its moon-powered might to drag the 8.5 tonne vessel with it and upset the whole show. Bucket bolted over the side, figuring he had about half an hour before the pros hit it, the Bull turned up, he would have to drive the tinny or all of the above. “I’m just going for one,” he yelled and paddled like a born-free grommet to the line-up. All was quiet after that set. It had that “swell’s here, just wait” type of feel. Then they came barrelling and bowling down the reef till they reached the corner and reared. He paddled his 70s-style Marsupial Stinger into a six footer, was enveloped, saw the light, came out and actually pushed a slow cutback on his mangled ankle then cruised the rest of the wave to the channel. Time to go to work.

It was the best day of the trip. Everything happened. Only the names and places have been changed (see if you can guess who’s who in this all star cast). Noah’s Ark was the next on it and proceeded to flaunt his surfing genes with many solid tube and manoeuvres to boot. Horny was snapping photos, mumbling “the light, the light” when the first rain clouds put a damper on his day. “Fucken light,” he muttered whilst changing films, apertures and pushing all sorts of stops. Messtent and Millpond, the Californian Capturers of the Art were also going for various forms of cameras and set-ups as Frog paddled out and proceeded to whack the shit out of the waves. That left Kelpie and Door, who were in no rush at all as the cook screamed on.

It was around this time that The Bull, The Admiral, Hare and Thommo turned up. The Bull and Admiral had been crisscrossing the Pacific chasing trade shows and waves. They turned up as the set of the morning sent white water rolling towards the back of the Indy, rocking the jet ski at abnormal angles. There was much pointing and hooplah as Door sat in another barrel till it squeezed him out like a newborn surfer. The lad was on fire, his lidding days washed from the soul. The Admiral smiled, “nothing like good timing,” he said and was over the side and surfed for the next four or more hours like a long lost band member on the run.

The Bull asked Bucket why he had anchored the boat so close to the break. “ah…for photos,” came the weak excuse, knowing all the while it was a risk in the raging current. The Bull battered his logic, told him to keep a close eye on the situation, then followed the Admiral to revive that four-hour grommet surf fantasy. Hare paddled out with a lei around his neck. He is a stalwart in these parts, has been for years, and proved it by out-lasting, and in ways, out-surfing all the crew.

It was Thommo’s duck diving effort that took the cake, rather, Double B’s shins. As Double B was motoring through one of the loudest caverns of the day, Thommo scrambled to make it thought the pitching section. As he was duck diving, his board slipped out of his hands, shot backward, and T-boned Double B in the shins. Zane heard the crack of fibreglass on the bone from the galley. The boys wanted blackball Thommo, but he was a mate of the Admiral, accidents do happened and he was suitably apologetic. All was forgotten after a few beers anyway.

Meanwhile back in the water, Kelpie was finding his straps, surfing with his usual panache. His seven-fin surfboard twisting and speeding all over the sections. He and Door paddled up the reef to the speeding hollow tunnels that everyone was watching in an effort to secure longer tube time. It was lully up there built both the maestros managed to ream the inside of a couple of tunnels. Messtent jumped in the water and threw himself in the pit with the boys, attempting to capture some shots before being deposited on top of the reef.

The lefthander was another jewel in the middle of this Pacific paradise. Except for the big day on the rights, it showed a lot more grunt and cavernous treachery than anywhere we’d surfed. Kelpie gave it what-for one afternoon by going upside down in the most critical section. He wore a steamer as a product test/reef protection. Seeing as how the wave ended with a thump on the coral. Double B also caught some hooters. On one solo session he stayed out for hours waiting for the right ones. But the best session was an unexpected late when most of the pack had gone home or back to the boat.

The Captain and Millpond were in the tin boat when Door, Double B and Frog surfed the golden green glass off. A couple of sets were looking so much like Indo – except for the ending on solid reef. Door scored the wave of the session, let go of the rail and stood, causal as a bystander, inside. Classic tube riding by the movie star. Frog was getting tube after tube, till he decided to become part of the reef, “reefchecked,” rivulets of blood dripping down his skin. A great way to end a day. And the other two were plucked from the dark sea just as the reef sharks came sniffing.

This trip went so quick once the swell had hit. The good thing was that everyone got to surf, even the photographers. At the end of the day it’s why we all do it. The rush of riding waves.

The evening were spend fishing, Horny being the maestro of the tin boat patrol. Often the boys would come back with three of four bigeye tuna. Zane managed a different fishmeal every day. And night times were spent chumming blacktips from the side of the boat and seeing who could play them the longest before they bit through the 10mm rope. Beers on the back deck, chatting about surf, and life in general.

It was the first time the Brothers Slats were together on a surf trip. Noahs Ark, the elder, shaped his own boards and loved fishing back home on the East Coast. He was a rep for various companies and magazines and pretty well live the surfing lifestyle. Skippy, the younger, is an exceptionally good longboarder, although he also rode a shortboard and ripped on both. And Kelpie needs no intro, although he was a little slow off the mark. This was due to a 10-foot lip on the head back in Hawaii that had caused severe ankle damage. Bucket could relate to that. He had a very good Aussie impersonation. Both he and Skippy would go into whole conversations about ‘nor’ easters, Noahs, with plenty of ‘yeah mates’. At the end of the trip Skippy shaved his head back to the scalp. The brothers followed suit. Dr Kelpie. The local girls had heard he was around and quite a few had turned up at the airport to gawk. His disguise worked and he slipped through the throngs, leaving Door to hold court.