CHAPTER 1
HAWAII: The biggest opportunities often appear to be mistakes

The oppressive humidity was the first thing that hit me when I stepped through the doors of the Hawaii International Airport, weary after a nine-hour haul from Sydney. On the plane I'd been barely able to keep my eyes open, but now I was hyped on expectation. World surfing circuit here I come. I had been anxious for months, knowing that Hawaii, with its life-threatening powerful waves, was the ultimate testing ground for an up-and-coming professional surfer.

Beads of sweat gathered in my hairline as I dragged a suitcase and huge board bag off the walkway and set them down.

Keenan dumped his gear beside mine. ‘Well, we're not in Narrabeen anymore. What time's our ride supposed to be here, Christo?’

I pulled a printed page from a pocket of my board shorts and unfolded it. Our flight itinerary and some details I had scribbled under it were all I had. ‘It's five past midnight, so we landed a little early. The sponsor guy back home said a photographer they're using would pick us up. Should be here any minute.’

Several of the passengers glanced quizzically at us as they scurried towards hire cars and taxis. No doubt they were wondering where our parents were. I smiled to myself. Nope, this sixteen year old was going to take the world by storm single-handedly.

Hawaii was a mystery to me, other than what I knew from the televised world surfing competitions I'd watched over the years. The island had been shrouded in darkness as we landed and the bright fluorescent lighting of the airport looked pretty much like any other cement monstrosity, but it wouldn't be long before we were on the beach, in the waves.

In the time it took me to down the last of the water I had in a plastic bottle, all the other passengers had cleared out. Keenan opened his board bag and checked that none of his seven boards had been damaged in transit. Stress head.

I raised a chin in question.

‘All good,’ he confirmed.

Ten minutes later, the lights went out at all the rental car stations. My gut twisted a little. Best laid plans and all …

Keenan rubbed the back of his neck, pacing the empty forecourt.

‘Maybe he's running late,’ I offered. Orange light glowed above a public phone box. ‘I haven't got a number for him, but we could phone the sponsor guy. You got coins?’

Keenan fished in his wallet and shook his head, showing me his palm with a few Australian coins on it. Not helpful.

The click of a deadbolt sliding into place sounded behind me. Keenan's eyes widened and we glanced at one another. The airport forecourt was quiet, lights going out inside the terminal. Even the taxi rank was empty. A lone stretch limousine driver paced the pavement as he finished up a smoke. We made eye contact and he nodded.

‘You two need a ride?’ he called, dropping the cigarette to the ground and twisting the ball of his foot on it.

‘I guess so. How much?’ I eyed the glossy, black vehicle that looked way out of our budget.

‘Where are you headed?’

I looked at Keenan, who shrugged. The sponsor had organised all that stuff, supposedly.

‘Um, North Shore.’ That's all I could remember.

The driver frowned. ‘That's a big area. Can you narrow it down?’

I shot Keenan a pleading look.

‘It's near Rocky Point?’ he suggested. ‘I reckon he said the accommodation was just to the left of the Rocky Point beach track.’

Well, that would have to do for now.

‘It's on my way home,’ the driver said, ‘so I'll do it for a hundred dollars. Are you meeting your family?’

‘No, we're here to surf.’ I stood tall and thrust my chest forward a little, proud.

‘No kidding?’ The driver helped store our luggage, the limousine so long our board bags fitted in the back with us. ‘Wow, you'll get to surf the best waves in the world here, but beware — the waves here are also the most dangerous in the world.’

‘We sure hope we get some good ones.’ I handed over fifty US dollars and so did Keenan. It was all we had in our wallets but it wasn't like we had any other option.

Less than an hour later we had arrived at Rocky Point, and were standing on the footpath in the dark, luggage at our feet.

‘You sure you boys will be all right on your own?’ The limo driver looked doubtful.

‘No worries.’ I flashed him a smile full of confidence I didn't feel.

Palm leaves swayed overhead, dark silhouettes against a purple sky, as the limousine pulled away. The sound of rolling waves thundered nearby.

‘What now?’ Keenan tapped a foot, manically searching the empty street for answers.

He was a year older, so I left the worrying to him and figured out a solution.

I glanced at my watch: 3.30 am. ‘I need to crash, man. Let's hit the beach and see if we can find our accommodation when it's light.’

We tentatively made our way down a narrow track towards the beach, the moonlight so weak I could barely see a metre in front of me. The sand that trickled over and under my thong-clad feet was icy cold and dense bushes crowded the pathway, but the familiarity of the salt-laden air beckoned me forwards.

At the top of the beach, the power of the waves reverberated through the night air, filling me with excitement and apprehension in equal measure. I could just make out white water in the shallows and black nothingness beyond.

We laid our bags on the soft sand at the top of the beach and lay down, a jumper rolled up for a pillow, a hand and foot touching each piece of luggage for security. My new Billabong hoodie provided minimal insulation from the sand and I curled into a ball to minimise the shivering.

Sleep came in fits, plagued by images of monster waves crushing me and waking to find my belongings stolen.

I woke with a start, hands grabbing for my luggage. Still where I left it.

Then I sprang to my feet, spitting sand from my mouth. Flicking my hands systematically through my hair and down my body, I dusted off the sand coating one side of me. A light breeze had picked up and I shivered, cold through to the bone. I prodded Keenan with one foot.

‘Screw this,’ I said. ‘I'm going to knock on doors until we find our accommodation. The sponsor said it was to the left of the Rocky Point track, right?’

Keenan nodded, rubbing sleepy eyes. ‘It's still the middle of the night.’ He shivered. ‘But, okay. Let's do this.’

I grabbed my luggage and dragged the lot back up the track, Keenan hustling to follow.

Standing on the quiet road, I looked at the houses on either side of the track. Was it left when facing the beach, or left when coming up from the beach?

‘This one's got boards outside,’ Keenan stage-whispered, a sudden look of confidence in his eye.

Between the leaves of a lush garden, the faint glow of a lamp beckoned through a bare window. It was the only sign of life in the vicinity, so we crept towards the door.

The moment of truth was upon us as we stood like voyeurs on the dark porch, daring one another to intrude on a stranger in the middle of the night, but I was never one to back down in the face of a challenge. I took a deep breath, steeled myself and knocked forcefully. No going back now. Despite my show of bravery, I felt the urge to step back behind Keenan.

I was never one to back down in the face of a challenge.

We both flinched in the direction of the road, as though we might make a run for it. Then we heard it. Movement inside. Someone shuffled towards us. The door handle turned and I took a step back from the big, muscular French-Polynesian frowning down at me.

Square jaw, wide forehead, low-set brows … I knew this guy. ‘Vetea David? No way.’

Oh hell, he was definitely going to pummel us for banging on his door in the middle of the night.

The big Tahitian's face softened and pearly whites flashed. ‘You two lost?’

‘Sorry for waking you, mate,’ Keenan said. ‘We're here to surf from Australia, but our ride didn't show up at the airport and we're not sure exactly where our accommodation is. It's somewhere around here. We both ride for Gorilla Grip.’ Genius move by Keenan, I thought, to find something in common by mentioning Gorilla Grip, knowing that Vetea was also a team rider.

‘Hey, no worries. I went to bed early and was up. Call me Poto. I'm hitting the waves shortly if you wanna bring your stuff in and come along.’

Shortly? It was still dark. Keenan shrugged at me.

‘Thanks, that'd be cool,’ I said.

We hurried to grab our gear.

Keenan whispered, ‘We're hanging out with bloody Vetea David!’

I just grinned, taking it as a good sign. The surfing gods were finally favouring us today.

Some kind of jungle dance music was playing on the stereo, and it lent a surreal atmosphere to sitting at a melamine kitchen table while one of the big names in surfing rolled a fat smoke. He puffed away, while recapping the previous day's events at the Pipe Masters competition. This comp was...