I met Barton Lynch in early 1984. We were both staying at Mark Foo's Home for Incurables, across from Waimea Bay. Barton, as I recall, was chaperoning a pre-teen Nicky Wood, who was already charging and shredding and acting mysterious, but went face-first into the reef at some point and flew home with his head wrapped in 50 yards of gauze. Anyway, Barton had just made the Top 16 but was still do...

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