So we’re zooming home across the water after sessions at Kindys and The Bubble when, despite the bright morning sun, the heavens open with rain. Superguide™ Dom looks around and says with a smile, “Monkey’s Wedding”… Eh? … Turns out “Monkey’s Wedding” is a Saffir expression for a sunshower. We all agree it’s an excellent saying. Smiles all round. In fact, there hasn’t been a time when we’re not smiling, or laughing. Or hooting.

Trip eight was special in lots of ways, and not just because your reporter scored a leave pass from his understanding wife and was allowed to join the fun…

This trip hosted a small number of guests, which allowed long-serving legends Dingo and Terri the opportunity to take a well-earned holiday, leaving the Lodge in the epic hands of Superguide™ Dom: (strapping South African goofyfoot rail-lord), SuperYogaHost™ Klara: (sweetest & smartest of them all) and, for a few days before being called away to Pinnacles, SuperGuide™ Skye (mellow young ripper destined for guiding greatness).

We flew into a solid swell, and set about making the most of it for the few days it was meant to last, but the thing is, it just kept on pulsing! Late every afternoon, we’d paddle out at Max’s Right out front, sure that this was the last time we’d get to ride that glorious freight train, but next morning, the ocean would still be delivering. And so it went until the last two days, and even then we surfed head high glass at our quiet go-to spot.

Anyway, let’s meet our count-‘em-on-one-hand guests: (And cheers to Shieldsy, Josh and Elise for clicking the cameras on a no-photo kinda trip!) x

Imran Dar // Thirty-something goofyfooter out of San Francisco, with a surfing pedigree founded on perseverance at that power-laden and shifting beachbreak known as Ocean Beach. Apart from trips to Hawaii and Bali as a young fella, this was Imran’s first ever full-on surf trip and he left nothing in the tank. A litigator (for the good guys) by profession, this clever cookie dialled in every lineup we surfed (The Left, The Right, Kindys, The Bubble, The Patch, Le-Ba, etc). Not scared to pull in, either.

Michael Lynch // Mike lives two houses down from Imran in San Fran, and finally got to redeem a pre-Covid booking. Mike’s a well-preserved forty-something with the wingspan of a distance swimmer, a great ear for garage rock, an infectious joi-de-vivre, and quite possibly a tapeworm, given his ability to put away a dozen Beng Bengs a day and remain a lean, mean, wave catching machine … Mike, who works for the iconic Levis Jeans company, waited patiently out the back for the biggest sets, and like his epic pal Imran, handled it all with the confidence born of a thousand Ocean Beach outings.

Michael Lynch // Mike lives two houses down from Imran in San Fran, and finally got to redeem a pre-Covid booking. Mike’s a well-preserved forty-something with the wingspan of a distance swimmer, a great ear for garage rock, an infectious joi-de-vivre, and quite possibly a tapeworm, given his ability to put away a dozen Beng Bengs a day and remain a lean, mean, wave catching machine … Mike, who works for the iconic Levis Jeans company, waited patiently out the back for the biggest sets, and like his epic pal Imran, handled it all with the confidence born of a thousand Ocean Beach outings.

Ventura Criado // Checking in for a few days before vaulting off further down the chain, this super fit Goofy footer from Spain made it rain (with spray) at a clutch of sublime sessions, most notably at The Patch and an afternoon delight on The Right out front, where certain board speed records may have tumbled. He suffered a major hiccup around the corner at Max’s Left when the poor fella’s shoulder popped out of joint on a beast of a set wave, but fortunately it popped itself back in and Ventura was happy enough to sip a medicinal Bintang as we kept surfing. Legend.

Gra Murdoch // Where Mike and Imran prowled the lineup like proud Lions, your reporter Gra was more a Hyena, scavenging on the inside for discarded scraps, his whining signalling another underwater lap of the reef when caught inside yet again. By trip’s end this crusty fifty-something was a shell of a man, barely able to speak, let alone paddle, and who hasn’t been so happy or grateful in a long time.

Look, your reporter might be biased, but to be kicking back at Telo Island Lodge, with the righthander out front doing its Kirra-meets-Laniakea-meets-Lagundri thing, under a pastel sunset, in the company of epic humans Dom, Klara, Mike, Imran, (and Billy and Skye on those days you rotated in) well, it’s the best place a surfer could hope to be… And massive props to Dingo and Terri for setting it all up so brilliantly. Here’s a couple more pics of charging goofies to see us out.