We motor to Maybes, a 45-minute ride. There’s a charge in the air, the anticipation tangible. A phalanx of lines in the water, like corduroy to the horizon are cracking, or detonating rather as we rock up. A 10-foot set rolls through – a triple overhead backless beast – and someone says “holy shit – that’s a sea monster.” The wave’s breaking top-to-bottom and aspirating its own spray before the spit. The power so intense that it’s inhaling itself before it erupts in a pulverizing explosion that ratchets down the reef in a vortex of fury. A sight to behold, Mother Nature in all her brutal glory. Zach Howard and Ian Gentil are in the water before we drop anchor, paddling up the reef and posting up deep. Hmmm, says Martin, that’s a hundred yards deeper than Slater was sitting last time. Food for thought. The rest of the crew is scrambling, rigging sails, slathering sunscreen and the swell’s absolutely pumping. Zach and Ian are getting 10-second tube rides, disappearing and fusillading out in a blizzard of mist, grinning ear-to-ear – and paddling straight back out for more.