Now is not the time for politics, not even for Surfpolitiks.

After four weeks of heavy campaigning, the votes have been cast and the result hangs in the balance. Now is the time for waiting. So how about a story then? The promise I make to you is that it is free of all politics. Hey, it even includes the odd bit of surfing!

Back in June I took a break from the Swellnet campaign trail and holidayed in Tahiti for two weeks. The plan was to spend a few days on Moorea and then head down to Teahupoo to cross one more wave off the bucket list. As it happened the best session went down, not at Teahupoo, but at a righthander on Moorea that Kelly Slater made famous before last years Billabong Pro. It was a session that ended in the most bizarre circumstances.

In the days leading up to my departure a significant swell registered on the wave models. The swell was forecast to make landfall the second day of my trip when we would be on Moorea. Anticipation was running high.

We stayed on the west side of the island, near Ha'apiti, and I surfed there on my first afternoon. It was around six feet and the swell was coming on strong. The swell hit hard that night and the next morning the reef pass at Ha'apiti was unrecognisable. It was huge. At a pinch I would've called it 15 feet, though it was so far offshore it was hard to tell. There was no-one around.

The wind was predicted to blow hard from the south yet conditions were eerily still, the smooth surface of the lagoon betrayed not a single breathe. It was also raining steadily with low clouds lingering. I headed to the other side of the island in search of the righthander.

I drove to a point near where I thought it was. Looking out across the lagoon and over the whitewash on the reef it was hard to tell what was happening. I could see waves breaking but how big was it? How fast was it breaking? How shallow was it? There was no other way to find out...

I parked my rented Fiat Panda on the dirt behind a beach. Large sand crabs scattered in all directions when I pulled up. I waxed up, then locked up the Panda, hiding the key behind a rock near a palm tree.

The wave isn't a typical reef pass, but rather just a bend in the reef line. A minor change in direction where the reef turns at 45 degrees for a few hundred metres before straightening up again.

Just to get to the reef pass was a kilometre paddle across the lagoon, then a further kilometre or so to paddle through the pass, down the coast and out to the reef bend. As soon as I got outside the reef and into open ocean the size of the swell was apparent. The jutting angle of the reef provided some protection yet I was paddling over large, well-spaced ocean swells.

An hour of paddling later and I was sitting near the takeoff spot where the reef changed direction and the wave began. Beyond the tip I could see huge ocean swells heading north up the strait between Moorea and Tahiti. Every couple of minutes a set of them bent in, refracting around the reef bend and began unloading as they broke at right angles to the reef yet only metres from it.

It was perfect, it was heavy and I was the only person out. It sounds like a dream scenario but the isolation was unsettling. Company would've been good.

Tentatively, I opened my account on a mid-sizer and cruised down the line checking the set up. The biggest waves were around six feet and the closest comparison would be Palikir Pass, although longer.

I'd caught about six or seven waves, and was settling into the session, when one barrel got away from me and I ended up stuck inside. It was the first wave of a set and all of them broke well out from where I was. I paddled hard to get away from the reef duckdiving deep and with intent. However, three waves in and I was scraping my knuckles on the bottom and had coral heads popping up around me. I was on the reef.

I stood up, barefoot on coral, and surveyed the scene. The reef appeared flat with no grooves or channels to hop into and get taken back out. Four feet of whitewash was pushing up and over the reef. Even as I stood there I was getting knocked back by the whitewash further onto the reef and cutting my feet every step. In time I was high and dry.

Sets of waves, five to six feet, were spinning perfectly down the reef with no-one on them. Short of tearing my feet to shreds on the reef my only chance at getting back to out was to go over the reef and into the lagoon, paddle the kilometre or so back up to the reef pass, and then paddle the kilometre or so back down on the ocean side again. A three kilometre round trip which would still have to be followed by a long paddle back to shore once the session was over.

With no-one to talk me into it I reluctantly knocked the session on the head and picked my way off the reef and paddled back across the lagoon. I walked the last part across the shallows and up the beach to where the Panda was parked. As I approached large sand crabs scattered in all directions.

I went to fetch the car key from behind the rock, and, as I lifted it, a crab ran from behind and darted down a nearby hole. My car key was nowhere to be seen. What? The things that run through your head in such times! What the fuck?! Did I put it here? Is there another similar rock nearby? Did someone steal it? My stuff was still in the car, no-one had stolen anything.

And so I came to the conclusion that, as ludicrous as it sounds, a crab pinched my car key. He'd likely seen the lovely silver trinket and thought it would make a nice adornment to his loungeroom. Just my luck to hide the key near the hole of an indoor-decorating crustacean.

There was nothing I could do, the Panda sat there forlornly, not going anywhere and not letting me inside. So, resigned to the situation I set off, with bloody feet and sore arms, for the hire car company. A young family, on their way to church, picked me up and I rode in the back with the kids. I can't speak French and they couldn't speak English so we smiled in silence.

The lady at the hire car company spoke only a bit more English, though trying to explain that a crab stole my car key was beyond her level of comprehension. I tried slow talk and earnest expressions first.

"A...crab...stole...my...car...key"

Receiving blank stares I tried accented English with the odd hand gesture.

"Le crab took moi automobile key"

Blank looks turned to confusion so I upped the ante with an Inspector Closeau accent teamed with a full-body crab impersonation, all waving arms and claw-like hands.

"Le nip nip took zee car key and ran down zee hole!"

"Je ne comprends pas," was all she said and all it took for me to lose it.

"Fuck. Look, I hired a car here yesterday. I hid the key when I went surfing and a crab stole it. I need another one."

With the aide of an amused local she came to comprehend what I was saying and broke into a smile. Cool. The message was delivered. She began to arrange the paperwork while I stood there weathering the jokes she shared with her new local friend. Oui, oui, silly foreigner am I.

When the paperwork was ready she asked me to sign for the new key. The cost was only 40 000 Polynesian Francs...or 500 Australian Dollars.

And it was my turn not to comprehend...

500 dollars for one little piece of metal!? It wasn't even electronic. I gave her blank looks. Then I acted confused. I even tried anger, but it got me nowhere. 500 dollars is, apparently, the price of getting a key cut in Tahiti.

I took the key, walked back to the beach and looked around at all the crab holes. I didn't know in which hole my key now resided and I had to fight the temptation to stomp on them all, burying the occupants alive in a fit of revenge. Instead I admitted noble defeat. The crab could have his decoration. I stuck the new key in the Panda and drove home.