Secret surf spots, eh? It's always the same. It begins with code-names and subterfuge, then progresses to thinly-veiled threats of violence for anyone who invites more outsiders. The interrogation begins as soon as you hit the water.

"Who do you know?”
“How'd you find this place?"
"Better not bring a whole crew or They might be unhappy.”

New Zealanders that live in the North Island have this misconception that secret waves are as common as dirt in the South Island. We fantasise that our southern shores hide powerful empty waves around every cold and lonely headland. Of course, that's simply a fantasy. However, it's certainly true that the North's larger population of wave warriors scouring the coastline means secret spots are far less common up here.

So, this powerful wave, often known simply as The Wedge, is a rarity for us northerners. Located somewhere between Auckland and Gisborne, it has been the pride and joy of a small group of boogers for several years. Surprisingly, this wave has been surfed (and photographed) for at least 25 years, but the secret has remained largely intact. Sure, the odd tantalising picture has appeared under the nickname “Pongas”, but when conditions are right you can still surf it alone.

The code-name Pongas is a partial clue to its location. However, it hardly blows the secret. Sure, you do indeed pass through a dank Ponga-filled gully on the trek in. However, having this information is isn't exactly an “X” on a map. Want more clues? Okay. This secluded bay isn't hours of back-country driving from the nearest town. Shit, the wave is even listed in a popular surfing guide under its official geographic name! So why has it remained largely unmolested, you may ask? Sheer bloody laziness is part of the reason. You see, when the last gravel road ends you're standing a few hundred metres above the water and a couple of kilometres inland. This definitely isn't a wave you can check from the carpark. You've got to chuck on your boots and do the hard yards on foot.

Long before I was first led to The Wedge, I'd heard plenty about its heavy pits and air ramps. But until this year I hadn't earned enough respect from a certain bunch of Bay of Plenty boogers to be trusted with the secret. When I finally got the call from the Mount Mud Crabs it was early March and an ex-tropical cyclone was pushing a juicy swell towards the east coast.

The wind whistled at my back as I stood atop rolling green hilltops looking out towards a few crumbling islands many miles offshore. Board under my arm, I followed my guides over a wooden farm stile and down through a grassy paddock. The track soon plunged steeply along a barbed wire fenceline, revealing a roughly hewn valley beneath us. Cows eyed us warily from behind a fence, mesmerised by our brightly coloured boards and Mitch Tombleson's infamous tiger stripe wetsuit. Leaving the farmland behind, we descended through the previously-mentioned Ponga patch and crossed a small creek. 30 minutes later we were overlooking a small bay fringed with Pohutukawa trees. It didn't take long to spot the object of our journey. At the southern end of the bay, under rust-coloured cliffs, watery triangles rose swiftly from the depths.

Everyone made lustful groaning noises in the backs of their throats or murmured quietly to themselves. All our eyes were fixed on a small patch of water; waiting... waiting... waiting. Then a solid lump of swell rose in just the right spot. It wobbled a little as it copped a perfectly-timed pulse of sidewash from the rocks. Suddenly a thick, warping lip pitched out viciously into the flats. Whitewater exploded. A wedgy barrel raced along the shoreline, as offshore spray roster-tailed into the air. In its final glorious moments, golden sand began to dredge up the face of the tube before it detonated in a rumbling closeout metres from the beach. The assembled bodyboarders roared and cheered in an explosive release of built up tension. No words were exchanged. We ran the final hundred metres downhill to the beach. The Wedge was on!

Given Mount Maunganui's laughable reputation for quality bodyboarding waves, many Kiwi boogers have probably been wondering where the region's locals learned to charge so hard. They clearly didn't develop their aerial skills riding the inconsistent slow crumblers at New Zealand's version of Surfers Paradise. Well, now their secret is out. Their clandestine training ground has been revealed.

Pongas breaks so close to the sand that it's a shorebreak as much as it is a wedge. The impact zone is always hip-deep, no matter how large the swell is. And it can reportedly hold more than double-overhead. With wave power like this available to them, it's easy to understand the recent competition successes of Mount lads like Luke Elliott and Mitch Tombleson. With these wedgy takeoffs and punchy ramp sections to practice their inverts, flips and rolls on, they're ready for any wave on the national tour. In my three visits to Pongas, I've witnessed the Mount boys constantly pushing their limits in heavy situations here. The friendly competitive rivalry between riders like Mitch and Luke is well known in the competition scene – and it continues to smoulder when they're free-surfing The Wedge. During one session, I saw Mitch blast what his brother Justin called his “best-ever” invert. He punched high above a spectacularly explosive close-out bowl, and tweaked his board stylishly. For a long and perfect moment he hung suspended in the air, surrounded by twinkling water droplets, before freefalling to a heavy landing. No way was Luke going to back down from the challenge implied by Mitch's stellar invert. He countered with a couple of suicidal airdrops I thought would be impossible to stick. I was wrong. Not only did he stick them, he set his line inside inescapable pits churning with green seaweed fragments and coarse golden sand. Time and again he grimly held on for an ugly thrashing in the shallows. Never once did he flinch.

A couple of the other Mount Mud Crabs quietly confided in me that you can call Luke into any wave – no matter what the risk. Apparently he's a sucker for peer pressure. You just have to hoot and cheer hard enough and the lad will disconnect his natural fear response and chuck himself over any heaving ledge. Foolhardy or fearless? Who knows. Shit, who cares! It's great fun to watch.

But, now that the Mount crew's secret booger training ground has been unveiled, what will it mean for their wedgy funpark? Will crowds of standup paddleboarders and Larry Longboarders trek through the hallowed Ponga groves to ruin their serenity? I highly doubt it. Most wave riders are creatures of habit – always surfing their same boring local breaks and far too lazy to trek across muddy farm trails on the small chance of a dredging pit.

Nope. The Wedge will continue to be a little-surfed North Island gem frequented by a small group of rabid boogers in search of another sandy enema. And long may it remain that way. However, I'm still expecting a savage backlash to this story. In the minds of The Enforcers I've said too much already. Given away too many clues. Angered “Them”. I will be a marked man for the rest of my days.