Our BKII cast was locked in. Our destination for the opening trip decided. We were ready to rock and froth out. But like a late-night pissed shuffle down a wet set of stairs, we almost tripped on the first step...

Chapter 1 A bloke called “Devil”

Samoa is a hippy’s dream. There are more trees than you can poke a stick at, gushing waterfalls everywhere and lush paddocks to grow mushies. None of the BKII crew are hippies though, so we didn’t get too deep with the country’s voluptuous fauna. But, even a bunch of surf bogans like us could appreciate how beautiful the volcanic island is. The Pacific Nation’s watercolour is a mix of aqua-blue and clear and the air-temp is warm enough to walk around starkers. Our digs for the two-week stint was Maninoa Surf Camp a modest joint lined with skyscrapping coconut trees and sandwiched between two five-star tourist traps. It’s woven-bamboo fales are a far cry from the Ritz, but the best thing about Maninoa is it’s situated in front of the lagoon that leads you to Coconuts Samoa’s famous barreling righthander. Let’s get one thing straight though: Samoa is nothing like Indo. It ain’t cheap, if it’s flat there isn’t a whole lot to do and you can’t jump on a moped and go for a ride (although both countries do share the same love for transsexuals). Unfortunately, we discovered this the hard way when devil winds raped the island during our first week. Ironically, the surf had been “cranking” one day prior to our arrival(“shoulda been here yesterday” calls were crushing to hear). What’s more, we knew the swell was on the decline and our tour guide Tim couldn’t assure us when (or if) the wind was going to get the fuck outta dodge. So not only was