By early afternoon both Harvey and Ross had broken masts and, for most of the crew it was game over, as the heavy waves dredged onto the shallows.
Muzza had also been revelling in the thick of the action though, ironically, his only equipment damage came when he slipped up on the rocks on leading back to the car park, poor guy.
With the tide racing out, the waves began slamming down on the sand bar, a situation Blacky refers to as ‘low tide death’ and it was time to trade places with Alan Stokes and a gang of Cornish hot shot surfers who had come down to film some huge barrels and challenge Hercules on their terms at The Bluff.
Despite a few hiccups along the way, Lady Luck had finally shone down on us and I reckon we must have been in one of the best spots to accommodate this Richter-Scale swell.
