We’re two days deep, somewhere in the Caribbean, and all Dylan Graves wants today, on his birthday, is to share a few cylinders at a little bay he’s had his eye on for some time: A corner-pocket cove, 100-yards wide, hemmed in vertical cliffs of dense greenery that gives way to a pristine, white-sand beach. The water is very, very blue. From atop the cliffs, you can see every lava rock scattered across the sandy bottom. It would make for a very romantic anchoring, were it not for the mutant wedge bouncing off the cliff-wall, careening across the bay and into a small channel.
We watch as the first wave of a set closes out the entire cove. Water drains off the cliffs and surges into an affably angled roll-in,…