I tried to keep my nerves down and my breathing slow as I paddled through the channel. A white plastic chess piece floated past me. I snatched it and tucked the pawn into the side of my bikini bottoms. I got this.
Weeks prior, my partner Keahi and I came to the Mentawais. I’d romanticised crossing into my 30s in the barrel, although I never stated my intentions out loud. Instead, I’d spent the past 10 days falling on steep drops in smaller surf, thinking, “How can I get the barrel of my dreams if I can’t even take off on a two-footer?”
