We fly to the opposite side of the globe. We drive to the end of the road. We boat across the depths of the channel. We carry everything we have. Everything we need. And we need a lot.
We assemble, in rain, in heat and in crashing waves. We wait.
We wait for the right wind, the right swell and the right tide. And it arrives.
They do their jobs, we do ours, and the people are rewarded.
We break everything down and throw it on our backs. We tape our wounds and wipe the corrosion off our gear. We reminisce over lukewarm beer because we are in the middle of the vast Pacific.
We can deliver a high definition broadcast to the world from our island outcrop, but we can’t keep a beer cold long enough to appreciate what we’ve done.