By Brenden Newton.

Mickey Smith called me a few months after The Road project, “big swell hitting chopes – let’s av’it”.

Paddling out in the morning – I waited 8 hours for this wave.
The distant hum of JetSki acceleration and fuel smells conjure belly butterflies even as I lay typing this.

Skis circled me all day, even claiming that I was being dangerous by aborting my board to escape under Laird Hamilton & Matahi Drollet‘s 20 footers.
(I was sitting slightly inside trying to paddle 10footers)

I even paid a ski driver 150USD if he promised to tow me into a 20foot set. He agreed and I grabbed the rope but I suspect the competitive lineup led him to tow me into a silly 8 footer.

So there I was $2K down, job not done, and sun setting on the biggest day of the year. Skis returned to their villa wharves, 3 riders bobbing mournfully on the takeoff zone: Dean Fergus, myself and Luke Birch.

Serendipitously, the horizon filled with WAVES…
A 3 set waves filled our peripheries and it was time. We all scooped one, and then night was with us.

My whole forefoot ended up squished through the 10 cent piece hole in my Churchill on impact.

Felt so fucking good.

@mickeysmithetc got the shot.

Job done.

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