CAN’T STOPNine days on a charter boat, skunked the whole time, and the swell just started to come up on our last day. Captain Johnny was adamant we head back to port, and I was freaking. But not for long. As we rounded the corner of the island at the pinnacles, I saw them. Bules in the distance on a feral boat. Johnny Boy was cool enough to adjust his course for me, and I scrambled to get all my shit together for the open-ocean transfer. Yeah, I forgot my toothbrush, battery charger and a few other things, but I had the essentials: helmet, booties, wettie and four boards. Within the hour we were trading sick pits under treacherous tidal conditions. Luck was too abundant and we all made it back to the boat relatively injury free. The boys are legends to allow me to tap in on their supplies and share their waves with me. True friends, real surfers and the best of times. The shit dreams are made of! Thanks, boyz!!![For more from Timmy Turner and the crew’s endless tube quest, check the October issue of SURFING. On newsstands now.]