chance they got. Click, click, click... Christie’s camera was working double time. The BKII had whet their appetetite, but everyone wanted some juice to quench their solid-wave thirst. We decided we’d come back again tomorrow and give the right-hander another stab.

”Thank Jesus, Allah, Buddah, Vishnu or whoever is in charge of the Samoan seas,” I thought when we pulled up to a horseshoeing and amazingly wedgy four-foot left the following day. The right-hander wasn’t handling the increase in swell, but a ledgy left not far from our friendly right was firing. The boat was stable allowing Christie to nail stills and footage, the waves were cranking and the wind was offshore! The boys were out there. Hippo, Hazza and Craig (the three boys who struggled in the sloppy rights) made up for their prior day’s shortfalls with glorious displays of backside and frontside tube-riding. Craig reaped the rewards of unleashing his forehand repertoire. Meanwhile Hippo and Hazza traded off the bomb sets. The remaining BKII crew sponged up any lump that came their way. We surfed until the sun set behind a picturesque Samoan mountain. We were finally sporting smiles. “That wave was so much fuckin fun,” said Woody when he got back to the boat. “I’d come back to Samoa just to surf that wave.” And who got the wave of the day? It was Hazza’s time to shine. The Cooly lad snavelled an absolute bomb, wove through it and exited just moments before it closed out around him. “This is the best I’ve seen this wave I reckon,” said Tim. “Usually if it gets too much bigger it doesn’t run along the reef. You guys scored.” An idyllic Samoa had turned pretty damn sweet afterall. The boys had worked hard, but on the plane home they knew there was still four months to go in this campaign to discover Australia’s next big freesurfer.