“I actually got scared and let go of it underwater,” he says after retrieving the paddle. “I didn’t want it to hit the bottom and break my arm or something. It’s so shallow out there.”
He slips out again and is drifting down the spit when the horizon goes dark. A chorus of shouts and whistles erupt from the parked cars and King starts paddling furiously. He barely manages to punch over the first wave and is halfway up the face of the next when he swings around, gives a few hard strokes and drops in. He bottom turns and pulls in under the lip but the wave shuts down on him. There is a collective groan from the beach but King manages to hang onto his paddle this time. He throws it under his chest when he surfaces and prone-paddles quickly back into the lineup.
His next wave is a wide, churning barrel. It looks like he has it under control and is deep in the pocket when his rail slides out. In an instant his board is sucked up the face and King is cart wheeling inside the tube, his paddle tumbling like a toothpick behind him.
“Three waves, three beatings,” King says, as he stops to drink some water on the long walk back up the point. He is breathing hard now, the sheer physicality of the wave catching up with him. Luckily the 32-year-old is no stranger to getting flogged.
