Nine Friends. Four Sessions. One Waco.

We rolled into Waco with board bags piled high, sunscreen half-smeared, and stoke levels peaking. Nine surfers strong, plus a few advanced ringers in the public sessions, we were about to live out a Texas-sized version of North Shore and Big Wednesday.

“Stay loose, haole,” a friend called out as we stretched on the deck before the first private.

The wave pool fired up like a jet ready for takeoff, serving four private sessions: two beginner, two intermediate. Over twenty waves each - dreams for a bunch of self-proclaimed “Barneys.” Even Turtle would’ve said, “Oh wow… unreal.”

In between, we joined public sessions with pros. Josh Kerr and Sierra Kerr spun airs like it was nothing, Noel Salas surgically struck each lip, and Bethany Hamilton charged with power and flow that made us pause mid-paddle just to watch.

Never one to resist mischief, I convinced a few advanced surfers to try an expert barrel session. “When the wave breaks here, don’t be here. Or you’re gonna get drilled.” And yes - we got drilled. But when we made it out wide-eyed and stoked, we couldn’t help but shout: “Spit. Welcome to Pipeline.”

Meanwhile, Alexei - the Professor - assigned homework: North Shore and Big Wednesday. We chuckled at the idea of a movie assignment on a surf trip, but the nickname stuck. “Nobody listens to the Turtle,” he said.

Kristine went next-level. While the average surfer logged ten sessions, she smashed through fifteen or more - I think she lost count. “Goooood, yeah?” someone cheered as she grabbed water mid-day. She shrugged with a smirk, already paddling back out.

Between bites of brisket at Terry Blacks BBQ, we toasted:
“Jack, your friends are the most important thing you’ve got. Have a drink…to your friends, come hell or high water.”

Later, Ethan and I tried shooting guns for the first time under the watchful eye of our friend Charles. Nervous laughs quickly turned into steady hands, sharp aim, and big grins. I channeled my childhood Nintendo skills - “just like Duck Hunt” - stacking bullseyes on my first try (only a meter away, just like the game).

Through it all, something clicked. Everyone improved - from shaky takeoffs to smooth lines, from “Barneys” to surfers who belonged. Hours stacked up, time disappeared. As Sally once said, “At home being young is just something you are until you grow up. Here, here it’s everything.” Waco, for that week, was our own version of eternal youth.

By the final session, sun setting pink over the pool, we knew:
A day will come that is like no other… and nothing that happens after will ever be the same.