It was late afternoon and we had to land somewhere along this shore, since beyond the beach was another long stretch of rocky cliffs. We were ushered into shore by six- and seven-meter swells, indicating that the shore break would be nothing to sneeze at. As we approached, the waves along the shore were popping straight up like rooster tails when they hit the beach. This meant it was a steep beach with a short, abrupt surf zone. Time to check out how the old kayak, and we, would do in some seriously trashy water. Within 40 meters of shore, the break was big, steep, fast and powerful. I scanned up and down the barren coastline, but the story was the same everywhere. I was ready to go for it. As we entered the surf zone, I knew we were in trouble. The first couple of five- and six-metre rollers steepened and broke just after passing under us. The next big roller approached and opened its gaping mouth at us. I shouted, "We're going down!" "Not yet!" Dave replied. We balanced precariously on its tip as it broke. Looking down the face of the wave, I gauged the distance to be roughly that of a two-story building. It didn't take us and, in the brief reprieve, we glimpsed a stretch of flat water leading to the shore. We paddled hard for land, trying to work through the strong suck-back off the beach before the next wave hit. Unfortunately, it was to no avail. A six-metre roller came quickly behind us and grabbed us. For a split second, it held the kayak completely vertical before body slamming us face-first into the surf. Our 600- pound kayak (with us and our gear) was tossed like a toothpick. Underwater, I was violently jettisoned out of the kayak by the force of the blow. I popped up to be hit by yet another wave that shot me in toward shore.