‘Are there? Like what?’

It was galling to realise he didn’t have a comeback.

When they came over the hill at last, Damien caught his breath. Magnificent lines of swell rolled in to the rocky coast. The tide was fairly low, an incoming tide by the looks of it, while out beyond the breakwall the waves were gathering strength.

They had to check into a guesthouse. There was only one twin room vacant. In the room, Max kicked off his shoes, collapsed on a bed, and hung his big paddle-like feet over the end. Damien came out of the bathroom to find him like that, asleep, looking tender and angelic. Taking his chance to slip away, he grabbed all the sugar sachets from the shelf next to the kettle, tore the corners open and tipped the sugar into his mouth. He went out carrying his surfboard, crunching the crystals for energy.

He let his cousin off the hook, went for the surf without him. A determined wind blew from the south and funnelled through the valley. This turned the wind offshore, perfect for hollowing out the waves. Sure enough, as he ran downhill to the breakwall, a barrel formed on the sandbar, forced into being as the swell hit the shallow water. It thickened into a wedge-shaped wave, and then peeled neatly northwards. He could see a small group of surfers jockeying in the lineup. Jumping off the wall with his board, he paddled out through the breakers and took an uncrowded spot.

Swivelling to look back, he was surprised to see Max. There he was on the rock wall, a seal-black figure in his wetsuit. He jumped off with his board. He paddled, copped a wave, got dumped and was plunged under. His big old surfboard was a shocker of a thing to have to duck-dive in this surf. He surfaced and was thrown about as Damien watched. Even from this distance he could see he was having trouble. Another set of waves approached and Max tried to duck-dive the first, but it deftly flipped him over and pounded him in the wash.

Come on. Damien cringed. But Max righted himself, kept paddling, came back for more.

By this time Damien was in position for the next wave in the set. Distracted by watching Max, he found it was almost upon him, and had to paddle fast to catch it. The takeoff was difficult, steep and unforgiving. He tilted a little, kept his footing, and managed to land the drop. Sliding down the perpetual face, he made it through to the barrel section, where the wave curled over and almost enclosed him. And there he was: in a green glass cavern, a cathedral outside time. His world became the booming of the wave and the rushing of air.