tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12219936881165642102024-03-12T20:19:28.746-07:00Around the Coast in 80 WavesA surf trip around the coast of Britain80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-76484355518109320272016-04-19T05:08:00.002-07:002016-04-19T05:09:37.639-07:00Here it is at last!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The book of my journey <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">a</span>round Britain is published by Sandstone Press on 21st April 2016.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6xrsCnvlABw/VxYdkbqZXaI/AAAAAAAAAso/ITAKLx7x9loi0rB8fmtUArNqGzv5Z6AdwCLcB/s1600/80%2Bwaves%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6xrsCnvlABw/VxYdkbqZXaI/AAAAAAAAAso/ITAKLx7x9loi0rB8fmtUArNqGzv5Z6AdwCLcB/s320/80%2Bwaves%2Bcover.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You can order it from your local bookshop, or buy a copy <a href="http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/like/272202393257?limghlpsr=true&hlpv=2&ops=true&viphx=1&hlpht=true&lpid=122&chn=ps&googleloc=1006886&poi=&campaignid=270621186&device=c&adgroupid=16885268106&rlsatarget=pla-146650298706&adtype=pla&crdt=0&ff3=1&ff11=ICEP3.0.0-L&ff12=67&ff13=80&ff14=122" target="_blank">here</a>. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Many thanks to everyone who helped and supported me, both during the trip itself and throughout the long road to publication.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> You can</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> contact me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/@80waves" target="_blank">@80waves</a> or via my new website <a href="http://www.eightywaves.co.uk/">www.eightywaves.co.uk</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-62804585977147776622014-12-05T04:03:00.001-08:002014-12-05T04:03:13.922-08:00FINISHED!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have finally finished writing the book about my surf trip around Britain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">More news to follow</span></div>
80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-46061984935207059262014-02-03T07:50:00.000-08:002014-02-03T14:23:54.890-08:00Swimming in the Arctic in Winter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Swimming in the Arctic in January is not a good idea. You just know it's going to be cold and painful.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, it was.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N55-iudQ1Wo/UvAWAxu5MdI/AAAAAAAAAr4/62QwQydGU1k/s1600/Tromso+swim+1+Jan+2014+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N55-iudQ1Wo/UvAWAxu5MdI/AAAAAAAAAr4/62QwQydGU1k/s1600/Tromso+swim+1+Jan+2014+15.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We spent last week in Oldervik, a small fishing village about 30 miles north-east of Tromso, way inside the arctic circle. No shop, no cafe, no provisions of any kind except cod, which you can buy at the harbour, fresh off the fishing boats.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But there's plenty of snow and plenty of solitude and plenty of scenery. And plenty of cold, cold fjord.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karen's sister Morag organised a group of us, specifically to see the Northern Lights, which are particularly active this year and next. We took Cordelia, terrified she would succumb to frostbite or wolves. But she loved it, and somehow we avoided both frostbite and wolves.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stayed at <a href="http://littleredhouse.co.uk/river-house/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Riverhouse</a>, run by the lovely Sarah and her absent partner Jim. It's about two hundred metres from the beach, where the river carves a deep channel out into the fjord. The fjord is very long and fairly narrow, so there's no chance of waves reaching that far. So usually I would have been content to admire the view and not contemplate anything so stupid as getting wet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year is different, though. This year, I've been seduced by the pleasures of cold-water swimming, and have found myself drawn to the Brockwell Lido - outdoors, unheated - two or three times a week. I thought that was pretty cold. But one of my Lido buddies Robin encouraged me to try swimming in Norway. So I did! Every day! And twice one day, for some reason!<br />
<br />
Stills are on the way, but in the meantime, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sh6HN4c8w4&feature=youtu.be" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here's a video</a> that Alison took, and Morag added to and edited.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sh6HN4c8w4&feature=youtu.be" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sh6HN4c8w4&feature=youtu.be </a><br />
<br />
Brrr!</div>
</div>
80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-12133458704650749842012-04-03T02:48:00.002-07:002012-04-03T02:54:23.327-07:00Eighty Waves in the IndependentI had an article in Saturday's Independent about my trip through the Hebrides. It was rather brief and perfunctory, I'm afraid, compared with the rich detail of the similar section in my forthcoming book!<br /><br />Also, it seems to have been filed under the Americas! Surely the Independent travel sub-editors know where the Hebrides are, don't they? Maybe not.<br /><br />Here's a link to the article, so you can see it in its full technicolour glory. And below, the article itself: <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/travel/americas/around-the-hebrides-on-the-crest-of-a-wave-7603109.html">http://www.independent.co.uk/travel/americas/around-the-hebrides-on-the-crest-of-a-wave-7603109.html</a><br /><br /> <div id="container"> <div id="logo"> <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/travel/americas/around-the-hebrides-on-the-crest-of-a-wave-7603109.html" title="Around the Hebrides on the crest of a wave"><img src="http://www.independent.co.uk/skins/ind/gfx/logo.png" alt="ind" height="58" width="463" /></a> </div> <div class="storyContent"> <h1>Around the Hebrides on the crest of a wave</h1> </div> <div class="storyContent"> <p class="subtitle"> </p><p>Jonathan Bennett braves a surfer's chilly paradise</p> </div> <div class="storyContent"> <p class="byline"> Jonathan Bennett </p> </div> <div class="dateline"> Friday, 30 March 2012 </div> <div class="storyContent"> <h5><p>One of the first rules of surfing (after "Don't learn, because it will take over your life") is "Never surf alone". So if you're planning on surfing in the Hebrides, it's a good idea to take a friend. Not that I was alone, exactly. As I paddled out into the clear, green water, I noticed an old man bobbing around, no more than 20 yards away, staring at me with undisguised curiosity.</p></h5> </div> <div class="storyContent"> <div class="body" style="text-align:justify;"> <p>I did a double take. My bald, bewhiskered observer was in fact a grey seal. But apart from the seal and a pair of gannets, I had the mile-long bay to myself. Ivory sand. Emerald water. Lush dunes. For surfers, the Hebrides is a chilly paradise.</p><p>Three hours from Oban, Tiree was just a stepping stone on my trip to the Western Isles. Any small island stuck out in the Atlantic with beaches facing all points of the compass is sure to have somewhere to surf, and after lumbering across flat, featureless moorland on single-lane roads, I stumbled across Balevullin, where local surf instructor Suds and his mate Adam were contemplating the waves.</p><p>Two weeks, 200 miles and eight Hebridean islands later, I would look back and realise that in surfing terms, this was a crowd.</p><p>After the small, green pancake of Tiree, the Outer Hebrides rise up out of the Atlantic like rocky crags strewn across the ocean. As I approached, glorious sunshine slanted through dark clouds, sending a rainbow over Kisimul castle, the small water-locked fort that guards the island of Barra and its main settlement, Castlebay.</p><p>A rocky, green peak looms above the bay, giving the village an oddly impermanent feel against the immensity of it environment.</p><p>I headed to Vatersay, a small island south of Barra, linked since 1991 by a short causeway. Here two lovely beaches sit back to back, separated by an isthmus covered in grassy dunes.</p><p>The leeward beach, Vatersay Bay, was as flat as a millpond; the windward, whipped up into brisk whitecaps. More fine, ivory sand. More clear, emerald water. It's easy to become blasé about the rugged beauty of the Hebrides.</p><p>Barra itself is small enough to go round in an hour or two, which made it easy to check out all possible surfing options. Along the way, I bought freshly caught scallops from the packing factory before they could be whisked off to market in Spain, and admired Barra airport, where the beach doubles as a runway and departures are dictated by the tide.</p><p>Finally I opted to surf in front of the bright, modern Isle of Barra hotel. Not at the reef that beckoned from the middle of the bay, even though Juliet, the charming hotel receptionist, generously offered to keep an eye on me in case I got into difficulties. Instead I headed to the adjoining beach, where powerful, shoulder-high waves were rolling in, sheltered from the worst of the wind by a rocky promontory.</p><p>Afterwards, I sat in the hotel's comfortable lounge to watch the sun sink into the horizon, feeling like a salty sea dog.</p><p>From Barra it's a short hop over to South Uist, but the contrast couldn't be more striking: bleak and rocky, it feels a lot more rugged. The road runs north through heather-covered moorland etched with trenches where peat is still dug for fuel – a stack of peat bricks stands outside many of the houses throughout the Hebrides, often next to a modern oil tank.</p><p>The waves had disappeared, so I pushed on, over Benbecula and up to loch-riddled North Uist, stopping only to buy a freshly boiled lobster for little more than the price of fish and chips. At Hosta, the swell was big and clean, offering an exhilarating surf in head-high waves on another pristine, deserted beach, bordered by rocks. My exhilaration was only slightly punctured when a local surfer, who arrived as I was leaving, announced that he couldn't see anything worth surfing and promptly left. Maybe they measure things differently in North Uist.</p><p>Then a 60mph wind began to blow in, closing down the ferries. It wasn't quite brisk enough to cancel the buses, though, so hardy school kids cheerfully struggled in to school. For the less hardy tourist, walking on the beach was hard enough, let alone surfing. Even Lochmaddy's otters were keeping their heads down.</p><p>Eventually the wind calmed enough for the ferry that traces a precarious zigzag through the treacherous reefs to Harris. Shaggy highland cows watched demurely as I picked a path through their meadow, past one of the many Neolithic standing stones on the islands, to the long, exposed beach at Scarista. Here I endured an unsatisfactory post-storm surf.</p><p>Then I travelled up through the eerie moonscape of the Golden Road along the east coast of Harris, where crofters scraped out a miserable existence after being turfed off the land to the west during the Clearances.</p><p>I visited the restored village of "black houses" at Gerenin on Lewis. These thick-walled dwellings, roofed with turf held down by ropes and rocks, wereonce thick with peat smoke and the stench of livestock – which often lived under the same roof. Those winter nights must have seemed interminable. One house has become a museum, complete with peat fire; the rest are now holiday homes.</p><p>After covering the length of the Western Isles, the wide beach, low dunes and clean waves of Eoropie at the northern tip of the chain provided a stunning backdrop for a final sunset surf. Then there was just time to hit Stornoway, where every pub has a live band and a shelf-full of whiskies – and to work out when I could return.</p><p><strong>Jonathan Bennett is writing a book on surfing his way round Britain. His blog of the trip is at <a href="http://www.eightywaves.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">www.eightywaves.blogspot.com</a></strong></p><p><strong>Travel essentials</strong></p><p>Getting there</p><p>* Caledonian MacBrayne (0800 066 5000; calmac.co.uk) operates routes to and between the Hebrides. Various "Hopscotch" tickets, valid for one month, link popular destinations. Hopscotch 8 connects Oban to Ullapool (or vice versa) one way, via Barra, South Uist, North Uist, Harris and Lewis, with an optional stopover at Tiree. (£32.50 per passenger; £138 per car).</p><p>Staying there</p><p>* Isle of Barra Hotel, Barra (01871 810383; isleofbarrahotel.co.uk). Doubles from £48 including breakfast</p><p>* Tigh Dearg Hotel, Lochmaddy, North Uist (01876 500700; tighdearghotel.co.uk). Doubles from £110 for one night including breakfast</p><p>* Fair Haven, Stornoway (01851 840343; hebrideansurf.co.uk). Doubles from £20 (shared use of small kitchen).</p><p>* The Gatliff Hebridean Hostels Trust (gatliff.org.uk) runs hostels in converted black houses at various locations, from £12 per night for adults, £7 per night for children.</p><p>Surfing there</p><p>* Hebridean Surf Holidays, Lewis (01851 840337 or 01851 840343; hebrideansurf.co.uk) £30 per session.</p><p>* Suds Surf School, Tiree (07793 063849; surfschoolscotland.co.uk) £50 per session.</p> </div> </div> </div>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-60409289014999261532012-03-30T15:57:00.003-07:002012-03-30T15:58:21.406-07:00COMING SOON: THOSE 80 WAVES IN FULLNormal service will be resumed shortly...80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-22334843067080225282011-09-30T03:34:00.000-07:002011-09-30T04:21:01.032-07:0080 Waves - Wave 4BALEPHUIL, TIREE<br /><br />This was the second beach I surfed, and the first I actually stood on for any length of time (so technically the first beach I surfed):<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9SqgUn_5lkE/ToWhXsVXSuI/AAAAAAAAArM/EjlBCFck3Gk/s1600/P1000235.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9SqgUn_5lkE/ToWhXsVXSuI/AAAAAAAAArM/EjlBCFck3Gk/s320/P1000235.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658105935270726370" border="0" /></a>Conditions were small, with just a gentle, waist high wave peeling left and right, and breaking into clear, clean water. A seal was bobbing around for a while, curious to know what was going on. It wasn't epic surf, but fun, and a beautiful place to be surfing alone.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MfNr-qSReyI/ToWhX2VEDKI/AAAAAAAAArU/rPtHUeamJm4/s1600/P1000236.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MfNr-qSReyI/ToWhX2VEDKI/AAAAAAAAArU/rPtHUeamJm4/s320/P1000236.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658105937953819810" border="0" /></a>Earlier, I had seen another seal as I had breakfast, on the other side of the island. This was the view from my bed, when I woke:<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hVfOY5-3l-M/ToWi7PXhllI/AAAAAAAAArc/_Jt4ZlKnzaU/s1600/P1000207.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hVfOY5-3l-M/ToWi7PXhllI/AAAAAAAAArc/_Jt4ZlKnzaU/s320/P1000207.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658107645482079826" border="0" /></a>Finally, waiting for the ferry, I explored this beach, with a lovely clinker rowing boat called Isabella pulled up to the high tide mark, on the sheltered side of the island:<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wtOF6ptJWF0/ToWi7RDTH1I/AAAAAAAAArk/7Llvmm3-cBg/s1600/P1000246.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wtOF6ptJWF0/ToWi7RDTH1I/AAAAAAAAArk/7Llvmm3-cBg/s320/P1000246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658107645934116690" border="0" /></a>I messed around having lunch and doing van chores until eventually the ferry arrived, and took me off to Barra, damp and salty and excited to be moving on.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1GOjOpGk-M/ToWi8Ah_lXI/AAAAAAAAArs/LPvhullPzu0/s1600/P1000257.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1GOjOpGk-M/ToWi8Ah_lXI/AAAAAAAAArs/LPvhullPzu0/s320/P1000257.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658107658679326066" border="0" /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-84324671617454129892011-08-06T05:46:00.001-07:002011-08-07T03:59:54.332-07:0080 Waves - Wave 3BALEVULLIN, TIREE<br /><br />This is where it all started, straight off the 5 a.m. ferry from Oban, the very first wave of the trip.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i5w4HC3sHu8/Tj04Yp3ivtI/AAAAAAAAAq8/ZF-4T9S16bY/s1600/P1000201.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i5w4HC3sHu8/Tj04Yp3ivtI/AAAAAAAAAq8/ZF-4T9S16bY/s320/P1000201.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637724304744562386" border="0" /></a>Tiree is a small, flat island about three hours from the mainland, separated from Coll, its neighbour and mirror image, by a narrow, swirling sound less than a mile across. Covered in lush grass, with just a couple of hills and only a handful of trees, it feels both desolate and domestic at the same time.<br /><br />The beach at Balevullin looks north west, out towards the wild expanse of the Atlantic, catching any waves going. It's a beautiful place, with fine, bone-white sand edged by<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>thick grass, and water as clear and crisp as a mountain spring.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eITwTVl1b50/Tj04YBNcXnI/AAAAAAAAAqs/I1QvFTPUS1o/s1600/P1000195.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eITwTVl1b50/Tj04YBNcXnI/AAAAAAAAAqs/I1QvFTPUS1o/s320/P1000195.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637724293830565490" border="0" /></a>There wasn't much swell about, and the waves were no more than waist high, but very clean and fairly fast, with a light off-shore wind keeping everything smooth and well-groomed. As it was the start of the trip, I was disgracefully unfit, despite all those early-morning sessions at the pool, and I had trouble getting to my feet fast enough. A LOT of trouble! Local surf instructor Suds and his friend Adam were out - and doing a lot better than I was.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXwVsJLssgE/Tj05GpdEW8I/AAAAAAAAArE/FYAZ-mcHoZc/s1600/P1000205.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXwVsJLssgE/Tj05GpdEW8I/AAAAAAAAArE/FYAZ-mcHoZc/s320/P1000205.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637725094907501506" border="0" /></a>The tide was dropping, and with it went most of the swell, unfortunately. As the tide comes in, there are rocks at the southern end of the beach to contend with, and a small rock lurking in the middle of the line-up to avoid. Other than that, it's perfect.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXwVsJLssgE/Tj05GpdEW8I/AAAAAAAAArE/FYAZ-mcHoZc/s1600/P1000205.JPG"><br /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-69781708647954227972011-07-22T04:59:00.000-07:002011-07-22T09:32:43.502-07:0080 Waves - Wave 2WESTPORT<br /><br />At the northern end of the same beach as Machrihanish, with a handy carpark and no golf hazard, but without the handy curve that offers a bit of protection from a westerly wind at the southern end.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k6Su5cuoh9c/TilpJ6m7wEI/AAAAAAAAAqU/swEsH2wF4Mc/s1600/CIMG0482.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k6Su5cuoh9c/TilpJ6m7wEI/AAAAAAAAAqU/swEsH2wF4Mc/s320/CIMG0482.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632148428075810882" border="0" /></a>A surf school had just got out when I arrived, and a bored local sitting on the fence (literally and metaphorically) told me it was "pisch". As far as I could tell, this wasn't a compliment.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8LcyaaopiXM/TilpJo9_JDI/AAAAAAAAAqM/_bCrkpDTFfo/s1600/CIMG0481.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8LcyaaopiXM/TilpJo9_JDI/AAAAAAAAAqM/_bCrkpDTFfo/s320/CIMG0481.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632148423340663858" border="0" /></a>Sure enough, a strong on-shore wind was blowing, making the waves messy and weak, but scudding the clouds away to leave a bright, beautiful day.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jJsC25WUkmI/TilpKMcpRpI/AAAAAAAAAqc/a4EPg8Eh1aI/s1600/CIMG0483.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jJsC25WUkmI/TilpKMcpRpI/AAAAAAAAAqc/a4EPg8Eh1aI/s320/CIMG0483.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632148432864495250" border="0" /></a>A rocky patch lurks just below the surface at the northern tip of the beach, like Scylla, while Charybdis currents swirl around it, trying to suck a hapless surfer into its maw.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2eSS-HdQLUE/Tiltfy8fxFI/AAAAAAAAAqk/XxuupUpNerc/s1600/CIMG0485.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2eSS-HdQLUE/Tiltfy8fxFI/AAAAAAAAAqk/XxuupUpNerc/s320/CIMG0485.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632153202022401106" border="0" /></a>So not a classic session. But there are worse places to be on a sunny Saturday afternoon.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jJsC25WUkmI/TilpKMcpRpI/AAAAAAAAAqc/a4EPg8Eh1aI/s1600/CIMG0483.JPG"><br /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-43159400917842788352011-06-26T13:43:00.000-07:002011-06-26T14:37:47.686-07:0080 Waves - Wave 1<span style="font-weight: bold;">MACHRIHANISH</span><br /><br />I didn't start my odyssey here, I started on Tiree, but Machrihanish is the most southerly beach I surfed on the Scottish mainland. It sits on the Mull of Kintyre, catching any swell that manages to squeak through the narrow gap between Ireland and the island of Islay.<br /><br />From the carpark, you have to walk through the village and down across the golf course, right in front of one of the tees.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-55KhfY9N_HU/Tgei9UMpAXI/AAAAAAAAAp8/lpdPfV_fVVU/s1600/CIMG0574.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-55KhfY9N_HU/Tgei9UMpAXI/AAAAAAAAAp8/lpdPfV_fVVU/s320/CIMG0574.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622641834072801650" border="0" /></a>With several miles of beach stretching ahead of the tee, it must be the biggest bunker in the world. Sure enough, while I warmed up, a golfer was desperately trying to hack his ball back onto dry land. Serves him right for playing golf.<br /><br />The breaks at Machrihanish and Westport are apparently popular with students at Glasgow University, still a good two to three hour drive away. But on a grey, wet Monday morning, there was just a dozing seal in the water. It didn't realise I was there until I was almost upon it, then it gave a startled snort and slipped beneath the surface, popping up a couple of times to see who had disturbed its nap.<br /><br />The curve at the southern end of the bay meant that the south-easterly wind was slightly off-shore, cleaning up the swell to create nice, long, shoulder-high left hand waves, with the occasional shorter right when the strong current got the better of me. It's mostly a sandy bottom, with intermittent patches of largish boulders. Unfortunately my official photographer wasn't prepared to stray too far from the comfort of the van, so although I caught some decent waves, they weren't recorded for posterity.<br /><br />But I bet the seal was impressed.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nluq6XkZ9X0/Tgei9kS0d9I/AAAAAAAAAqE/r6zTzYDC3zo/s1600/CIMG0575.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nluq6XkZ9X0/Tgei9kS0d9I/AAAAAAAAAqE/r6zTzYDC3zo/s320/CIMG0575.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622641838393685970" border="0" /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-49463665649491059892011-06-05T11:16:00.001-07:002011-06-05T11:25:21.766-07:00Agent Ahoy!I'm delighted to announce that literary agent <a href="http://www.andrewlownie.co.uk/">Andrew Lownie</a> has agreed to represent me. Since completing my tour of Britain, I have been hard at work on the book version of Around the Coast in 80 Waves, and I'm looking forward to working with Andrew to find a publisher for it.<br /><br />For my film/ TV work, I am still with Matt Connell at <a href="http://www.berlinassociates.com/index.php">Berlin Associates</a>.<br /><br />In the next few weeks, I hope to be blogging about surfing in Brighton and Portugal, and will then be blogging a beach-by-beach surf guide to Britain.<br /><br />So please stay tuned!80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-8215609086820967422010-11-29T03:01:00.000-08:002010-11-30T02:22:33.867-08:00I despise Donald Trump<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TPOPTw4ea2I/AAAAAAAAApo/ZOyZACxtlSM/s1600/P1010416.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TPOPTw4ea2I/AAAAAAAAApo/ZOyZACxtlSM/s320/P1010416.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544933135925275490" border="0" /></a>A couple of weeks ago, BBC2 screened Donald Trump's Golf War, an excellent documentary about Donald Trump's multi-million pound campaign to buy up an area of sand dunes just north of Aberdeen to build a golf course.<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span>Despite honourable attempts by locals to prevent this pointless and aggressive development, and with the strong suggestion that bribery and corruption have played a part in the process, the development is now going ahead. But not content with turning an area of untouched dunes into a golf complex, complete with hotel and extensive housing development, Trump is now trying to force the compulsory purchase of the homes of four remaining families who live on land he covets.<br /><br />And he has already started bulldozing the dunes.<br /><br />It is a depressing documentary, invoking the spirit of Local Hero but a far from happy ending. If it's on again, it's well worth watching, though very depressing. Corporate arrogance defeats environmental and social concerns. Yet again.<br /><br />The campaign group Tripping Up Trump have spent the last few years campaigning against the development, and are continuing to support the families under threat of compulsory purchase. Their website is at <a href="http://www.trippinguptrump.com/">http://www.trippinguptrump.com/</a>. I strongly urge you to visit the website (or the building site!) and lend your support.<br /><br />I visited the dunes a year ago. The sea was too flat to surf, but the dunes and the beach were lovely. Not for much longer, though.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TPOPTSKxkpI/AAAAAAAAApY/GoIAwPiFB1A/s1600/P1010412.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TPOPTSKxkpI/AAAAAAAAApY/GoIAwPiFB1A/s320/P1010412.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544933127680529042" border="0" /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-34396015655557260672010-11-26T06:43:00.000-08:002010-11-29T03:00:56.838-08:00Guardian Travel Writing CompetitionI was rather more disappointed than I probably should have been to discover that I was one of the runners up in The Guardian's recent travel writing competition. I sent in three pieces, one of which was about surfing at Cape Wrath, one about Orkney (carefully avoiding any mention of surfing) and one about idling around a beach in Goa (ditto). It was the Goa one that made the runners-up list - though inevitably it was the one I wrote last, in least time, and almost didn't bother submitting. Some kind of lesson there, perhaps.<br /><br />A heavily-edited version of my piece is on the Guardian website <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2010/nov/20/readers-writing-competition-mozambique-beach">HERE</a>.<br /><br />It's the piece at the bottom, with the heading (not mine): Goa before it's packed away.<br /><br />My original version, twice as long, follows below. Maybe I'll post the other two pieces I wrote at some point.<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">THE DISAPPEARING RESORT</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Go to most resorts out of season, and you find empty restaurants, silent hotels and an air of bored anticipation. Go to certain villages in Goa, and all you find are palm trees. By law, everything else has to be dismantled and packed away before the monsoon. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Luckily we arrived two weeks before the season ended. There were plenty of beach cafés, but they were disappearing at the rate of at least one a day. Each morning we were confronted by a fresh gap in the row of shacks, as the beachfront began to resemble a child’s smile.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Pulling down a resort every year is an effective way of preventing runaway development, though this doesn’t stop the nearby resort of <span class="SpellE">Palolem</span> from throwing up a thriving town every autumn, with dozens of shops and discos, yoga centres and massage huts attracting the gap year crowd. <span class="SpellE">Patnam</span> is quieter, more restrained, with no more than a dozen beachside cafés, each serving a similar mix of East and supposedly West: <span class="SpellE">chai</span> and something resembling cappuccino; curry and something similar to pizza.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Behind each café, a few steps from the beach, sit a handful of simple but clean wooden huts to rent among the palms, with plumbed-in bathrooms and bamboo walls. They’re basic but clean, and for around 600 rupees a night for a double, a bargain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At low tide you can wander round the rocks at the end of the beach to see how the other half live. A <span class="SpellE">Bollywood</span> comedy was shooting at the Intercontinental, so the beach there was full of actors, film crew and European <span class="SpellE">crusties</span> drafted in for background colour. When filming stopped, teenage security guards were left in charge, armed with sticks and disarming smiles, eager to chat to while away the boredom.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the days passed, the number of tourists dwindled. The waiters weren’t too bothered – every afternoon they played raucous cricket on the beach; every evening, they kept one eye on the Indian Premier League. If there weren’t enough customers, they would close for the evening. At my favourite café, they once did this after they had taken our order and let us sit expectantly for 20 minutes. After that, we always checked that the chef would be sticking around long enough to cook our dinner. But it was well worth the gamble – his succulent, spicy fish, cooked in a banana leaf, was by far the best on the beach, and his shack exerted a magnetic pull whenever we tried to go elsewhere. When we did, we were invariably disappointed, and always swore never to abandon him again – hoping he wouldn’t abandon us either.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At sunset, we walked along the beach, keeping pace with a lone dolphin that swam lazily across the bay, until the sun had turned from gold to blood, and dipped behind the sharply silhouetted palms like a clichéd photo of the paradise it was. If they hadn’t packed up the resort around us, we might have stayed forever</p>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-37250302484362328522010-11-09T00:14:00.001-08:002010-11-09T00:47:56.544-08:00Brighton BeachForgive me, Reader, it's been four weeks since my last immersion.<br /><br />But yesterday I had by Brighton baptism, all the more welcome for being entirely unexpected. The morning was vile, with strong winds and heavy rains. By early afternoon, though, the wind had dropped and the sun had even made a brief appearance. I jogged down to the beach to go for a run, and was amazed to find reasonable surf - and only one surfer in.<br /><br />So I jogged back, changed into my wetsuit, and grabbed a board. To my dismay, I discovered that my board of choice for Brighton, a 6'10'', turned out to have a small ding in the tail. Exactly why you always need at least two boards to hand. So instead I grabbed my 6'5'' - not ideal, as the weak waves need a board with more volume. But better than a wooden spoon (which would just sink under the weight).<br /><br />I jogged back again, avoiding shoppers, prams and school-kids, and dived in.<br /><br />It's only been four weeks (and an operation on my hand) since my last session, but it felt like months, and paddling was a real struggle - not helped by a very strong longshore rip. And it was a beautiful evening - still and clear, with the sun picking out the piers and silhouetting the flocks of birds that swirled around them like swarms of bees.<br /><br />The waves weren't great - they were big, peaking just overhead, but losing all their height and energy almost immediately, so the rides were short and soft. But a ride's a ride! And a few of them were walling up quite nicely, so the basics were there.<br /><br />For a while there were four of us out, my shortboard, a longboard, a stand-up paddleboard and a kayak. Basically a specimen from every form of surf life (in descending order of evolutionary status and cool).<br /><br />My views on SUPs and Kayaks are robust and unrepeatable here. In summary, what's the point?! Fortunately, with a wide beach and unpredictable peaks, there was no reason to get too close.<br /><br />After about an hour, the sun disappeared, the wind picked up and a few more surfers arrived. After coming off a wave quite close to shore, I decided to call it a day - and found myself swept halfway to Hove by the strong current. Just a few metres from the beach, it was like trying to cross a swift flowing river, drifting at about a metre a second.<br /><br />I picked my painful way over the cold pebbles and dripped my way back through town, tired but exhilarated.<br /><br />And this morning, my muscles are glowing with the happy ache of post-surf bliss.80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-3892505658366425652010-10-25T02:15:00.000-07:002010-10-25T03:07:57.214-07:00Fiiiiiniiiiiished!So that's it! Done! Since my last post I've surfed my way around Wales, and completed the loop of Britain.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVSbRTWIyI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/fpH_LLqW2lg/s1600/P1010962.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVSbRTWIyI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/fpH_LLqW2lg/s320/P1010962.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531918345749013282" border="0" /></a>How do I feel? Happy to have completed it - but sorry it's over. If I could go round again, I would.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwjG3ehI/AAAAAAAAApI/ub6Sg3juXH4/s1600/P1010812.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwjG3ehI/AAAAAAAAApI/ub6Sg3juXH4/s320/P1010812.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531922009840646674" border="0" /></a>The final three weeks were a hectic race to cover as much ground as possible, from Gower reefs to Pembroke beaches and even, finally, a new secret spot. Some great days, some terrible days, some days that promised much and delivered little, others that looked hopeless but turned out fine<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwyU3w_I/AAAAAAAAApQ/hBKde2r1RhM/s1600/P1010813.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwyU3w_I/AAAAAAAAApQ/hBKde2r1RhM/s320/P1010813.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531922013925917682" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwZR3cPI/AAAAAAAAApA/PInTn1rlYcs/s1600/P1010775.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwZR3cPI/AAAAAAAAApA/PInTn1rlYcs/s320/P1010775.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531922007202427122" border="0" /></a>Helped by two handy depressions loitering around Iceland, conditions were better than I feared they might be, and after Pembrokeshire, my new favourite part of Wales, there was enough swell pushing up towards the Irish sea for a few sneaky surfs in Mid-Wales and North Wales.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVv2TAfiI/AAAAAAAAAow/jQP54aFYMZ0/s1600/P1010650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVv2TAfiI/AAAAAAAAAow/jQP54aFYMZ0/s320/P1010650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531921997811973666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwJJla4I/AAAAAAAAAo4/U2TpRkaVWTM/s1600/P1010722.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVVwJJla4I/AAAAAAAAAo4/U2TpRkaVWTM/s320/P1010722.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531922002872724354" border="0" /></a>Finally, and much to my surprise, I had a lovely surf in Anglesey, the theoretical finishing line. From here to Macrihanish and the Hebrides, where I started a year ago, Ireland gets in the way, so surf is inconsistent and unreliable. But just to complete the loop, I went back to Cosby Beach to visit Anthony Gormley's standing figures.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVSceaAXnI/AAAAAAAAAog/SSN372TaJus/s1600/P1010953.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVSceaAXnI/AAAAAAAAAog/SSN372TaJus/s320/P1010953.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531918366446476914" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVSbtQJfUI/AAAAAAAAAoY/SZS3BkVmvVU/s1600/P1010961.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVSbtQJfUI/AAAAAAAAAoY/SZS3BkVmvVU/s320/P1010961.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531918353251794242" border="0" /></a>They're still there, still gazing out to sea, still wondering when their next surf will be. But then, who isn't?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVScuhN5CI/AAAAAAAAAoo/BvCNrArJ9Ws/s1600/P1010913.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TMVScuhN5CI/AAAAAAAAAoo/BvCNrArJ9Ws/s320/P1010913.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531918370771690530" border="0" /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-39976302976340792642010-09-23T13:25:00.000-07:002010-09-23T14:22:57.519-07:00The Pious PelicanWhen I was living in Cardiff and surfing in South Wales, I was always intrigued by a pub called The Pelican in her Piety at Ogmore. It turns out to be charming, and a good place to wait for the howling onshore wind to drop. Yesterday (only yesterday!) there was barely a breath of wind, and the surf was great, a nice, easy, head-high wave peeling gently into the rivermouth near here, and not too many surfers in the water.<br /><br />Llantwit Major was a different story. The No Dropping In rule doesn't seem to apply there. Which is a shame, as it's a nice, long right hand reef. And not too difficult to paddle into, for intermediate surfers of a certain age like me. It's just that every time you get up, there's some Llantwit ahead of you, making the wave crumble and close down before you get there. Perhaps they're just very friendly, and want to lead the way on every wave, just so you don't feel lonely. Llantwits. (I'm assuming Llant is a Welsh five-letter word for an act of copulation, where Anglo-Saxons use a four-letter one).<br /><br />So anyway, I'm back on the road again, again, after a fantastic couple of weeks revisiting the north coast of Scotland. I surfed the two most isolated beaches in Britain, met four most excellent eccentrics, bumped into Snoz again, and had another shot at Thurso East.<br /><br />Sandwood Bay is the northernmost beach on the West Coast of Scotland - a long, exposed bay just below Cape Wrath. It's a four mile walk over the moors from the nearest access point, the village of Oldshoremore. It took about an hour and a half to get there, carrying board, wetsuit, water and lunch. And well over two hours to get back. But it's through fantastic scenery, like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9MJwftrI/AAAAAAAAAnw/3IS52yzPLYo/s1600/P1010336.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9MJwftrI/AAAAAAAAAnw/3IS52yzPLYo/s320/P1010336.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520213784748078770" border="0" /></a>And when you get there, you're greeted by this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9Li5lHuI/AAAAAAAAAno/ysIIceNBRpE/s1600/P1010339.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9Li5lHuI/AAAAAAAAAno/ysIIceNBRpE/s320/P1010339.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520213774317199074" border="0" /></a>I set off early and didn't see another soul until I was warming up, ready to hit the water, which made it feel all the more isolated - a sensation that was soon punctured by the steady trickle of walkers out on a Sunday hike. The waves started out big and wind-swept, but unfortunately soon died down to just wind-swept, with a horrendous longshore rip that tears at your legs and sweeps you up the beach. But it's still worth the trek.<br /><br />On the way back to Durness, you pass through more fabulous scenery, like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9MW7a69I/AAAAAAAAAn4/SiAPt4segi8/s1600/P1010381.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9MW7a69I/AAAAAAAAAn4/SiAPt4segi8/s320/P1010381.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520213788283562962" border="0" /></a>And when you get there, you're faced with a dilemma: do you head for the campsite, along with all the motorhomes...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9NOnpiOI/AAAAAAAAAoA/29fQ9Ob19zw/s1600/P1010389.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9NOnpiOI/AAAAAAAAAoA/29fQ9Ob19zw/s320/P1010389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520213803233020130" border="0" /></a>Or do you camp somewhere more secluded, like this?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9Nep2r8I/AAAAAAAAAoI/kiGO-IPdS80/s1600/P1010391.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TJu9Nep2r8I/AAAAAAAAAoI/kiGO-IPdS80/s320/P1010391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520213807537237954" border="0" /></a>Hmm, tricky one.80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-69039642050397841362010-08-30T10:33:00.000-07:002010-08-30T11:36:56.819-07:00Back on the RoadAlthough technically I'm supposed to be in Wales, I've been on a brief detour to Orkney, followed by ten days on the North coast of the Scottish mainland, picking up a few waves I missed first time round.<br /><br />Orkney is great - beautiful beaches, impressive cliffs, neolithic ruins and viking villages. Plus delicious seafood if you can catch a fisherman as he unloads his boat. Conditions for surfing were summer-small, but I managed a couple of sessions at the legendary, seal-infested point break at Scara Brae, and another on the island of Sanday.<br /><br />Although it was only chest high, the first day at Scara Brae was fairly good. Conditions dropped off overnight, and I didn't have quite as much success on the second day,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvt-7tPrSI/AAAAAAAAAl4/yH3khaYW_WU/s1600/Photo+414.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvt-7tPrSI/AAAAAAAAAl4/yH3khaYW_WU/s320/Photo+414.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511260234453069090" border="0" /></a>possibly because I was trying to surf the wrong type of board.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvt_eOIdSI/AAAAAAAAAmA/8vin73-jXko/s1600/Photo+420.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvt_eOIdSI/AAAAAAAAAmA/8vin73-jXko/s320/Photo+420.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511260243717813538" border="0" /></a>This is Orkney's star attraction.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvzR27B0uI/AAAAAAAAAm4/K_Z_iRVXsK8/s1600/P1010011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvzR27B0uI/AAAAAAAAAm4/K_Z_iRVXsK8/s320/P1010011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511266057144357602" border="0" /></a>She's standing in front of Orkney's second star attraction. And a load of old stones.<br /><br />Here she is again with the Old Man of Hoy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THv2UrJXOaI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/qyRghzHt1wE/s1600/Photo+564.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THv2UrJXOaI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/qyRghzHt1wE/s320/Photo+564.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511269404057745826" border="0" /></a>And even more stones.<br /><br />No stones here. It's Sanday.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvuAvR4PdI/AAAAAAAAAmY/AMfvgtb-Sgk/s1600/Photo+514.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvuAvR4PdI/AAAAAAAAAmY/AMfvgtb-Sgk/s320/Photo+514.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511260265476799954" border="0" /></a>On Hoy we managed to catch local fishermen Kenny and Gary as they landed a crate of crabs.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvzQkUiFbI/AAAAAAAAAmg/ikWssnyXNA0/s1600/Photo+546.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvzQkUiFbI/AAAAAAAAAmg/ikWssnyXNA0/s320/Photo+546.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511266034971186610" border="0" /></a>A few hours later, voilà!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THv6KaqEEHI/AAAAAAAAAng/mCcTfH6W3Oc/s1600/P1010157.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THv6KaqEEHI/AAAAAAAAAng/mCcTfH6W3Oc/s320/P1010157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511273625879318642" border="0" /></a>Apparently it's very important to dress appropriately for visiting neolithic stone circles and viking villages.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THv2VZyTTaI/AAAAAAAAAnY/t3FxDZ7WEPw/s1600/P1010028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THv2VZyTTaI/AAAAAAAAAnY/t3FxDZ7WEPw/s320/P1010028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511269416577486242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvt_upr93I/AAAAAAAAAmI/KNkMCS-03jo/s1600/Photo+429.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvt_upr93I/AAAAAAAAAmI/KNkMCS-03jo/s320/Photo+429.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511260248128354162" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvzRNCfRlI/AAAAAAAAAmo/alqeT6HE3u0/s1600/Photo+472.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvzRNCfRlI/AAAAAAAAAmo/alqeT6HE3u0/s320/Photo+472.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511266045901358674" border="0" /></a>The locals even have a name for people like us:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvz8iRRffI/AAAAAAAAAnI/JsTvyR-_Sxc/s1600/Photo+476.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/THvz8iRRffI/AAAAAAAAAnI/JsTvyR-_Sxc/s320/Photo+476.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511266790334889458" border="0" /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-56087541834139547742010-06-29T09:47:00.001-07:002010-06-29T10:11:56.775-07:00End of the Campaigning Season<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TCopNuqw9dI/AAAAAAAAAlo/JH1g84fWREU/s1600/P1000753.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TCopNuqw9dI/AAAAAAAAAlo/JH1g84fWREU/s320/P1000753.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488244411746809298" border="0" /></a><br />Summer's here, and with it crowds and flat seas, so I'm temporarily off the road and out of the water.<br /><br />Since I started in Tiree in September, I've surfed a grand total of 60 waves in Scotland and England, mostly in geographical order. (That's 60 different beaches/breaks, not 60 actual waves - I think I caught 60 waves just in Sennen.)<br /><br />Wales is next, probably in September. And I'm hoping to catch a handful of well-known breaks I missed first time round because of time, ignorance or lack of waves (Sandwood Bay, Lynmouth, Croyde, Sthhhhh - the least secret secret spot in Yorkshire - among others)<br /><br />Before that, I'm heading to Orkney in August, and hoping to find the odd wave there.<br /><br />I'm planning to write up the trip, so if anyone knows any agents or publishers with a passing interest in surfing, I would be very grateful.<br /><br />In the meantime, thanks for reading, thanks for your comments and thanks for all your support.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TConeBu6XtI/AAAAAAAAAlg/-mi3d9N3s7Q/s1600/P1000737.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TConeBu6XtI/AAAAAAAAAlg/-mi3d9N3s7Q/s320/P1000737.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488242492719128274" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Eighty Waves80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-47070903328401884652010-06-12T10:07:00.000-07:002010-06-12T10:20:43.590-07:00Chapel PorthOne of the nicest beaches in North Cornwall is Chapel Porth, in the so-called Badlands near St Agnes. I caught it one wind-blown morning a few weeks ago, when it was heaving and heavy, with fat waves and too much froth. So I returned last week to try it in better conditions. This time there was a light off-shore blowing the tops off the fun, waist-high waves that were pouring into the narrow cove. Suddenly enthused and energised, I had a fabulous session, catching loads of waves in quick succession.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TBO_aVuPzlI/AAAAAAAAAlI/woAx0SSSef0/s1600/cornwalll+192.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TBO_aVuPzlI/AAAAAAAAAlI/woAx0SSSef0/s320/cornwalll+192.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481935630668648018" border="0" /></a>Afterwards, I was talking to another surfer in a van, John from West Sussex. He had been up on the hillside taking photos, and happened to catch these photos of me. Actually surfing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TBO_aoXVVnI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/Kwd26EPxVMM/s1600/cornwalll+229.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TBO_aoXVVnI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/Kwd26EPxVMM/s320/cornwalll+229.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481935635672815218" border="0" /></a>Though I was rather dismayed to find photographic confirmation that I spend far too long on all-fours before I get to my feet.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TBO_bHKVa7I/AAAAAAAAAlY/x5WSoW4w8bQ/s1600/cornwalll+231.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TBO_bHKVa7I/AAAAAAAAAlY/x5WSoW4w8bQ/s320/cornwalll+231.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481935643939793842" border="0" /></a>Anyway, thanks for the photos, John!80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-37465105962880268382010-06-04T06:20:00.001-07:002010-06-04T07:14:54.677-07:00Heading NorthFinally made it round the toe of Britain. Lots of it is lovely. Land's End itself is a reeking sock, with expensive parking, a bizarre display of 'artfully-placed' faux standing stones mixed in with a miniature village, and a '4D' Doctor Who experience. That's 2D on a screen, 1D in the time you waste, and 1D of the bit of your soul that you'll leave there forever. In the past, we used woad and aggression to deter invaders from the south. Nowadays, we rely on an 'Experience'. The Land's End Experience should not be experienced, and whoever is responsible should be dangled over the edge of the cliff until they see the error of their ways. In 4D.<br /><br />But everything else was lovely.<br /><br />Especially Cape Cornwall, which curiously looks like Scotland:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkE0sG7nZI/AAAAAAAAAkg/cD-wNhJOY5c/s1600/blog+cape+cornwall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkE0sG7nZI/AAAAAAAAAkg/cD-wNhJOY5c/s320/blog+cape+cornwall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478915724912860562" border="0" /></a>And Saint Michael's Mount, which looks like France:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkE0cb-TmI/AAAAAAAAAkY/i_LcRh5W_Ag/s1600/blog+saint+michael.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkE0cb-TmI/AAAAAAAAAkY/i_LcRh5W_Ag/s320/blog+saint+michael.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478915720706149986" border="0" /></a>And most of all Gwithian, next to Sennen Cove, which looks like - and probably is - Paradise:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkD0MvhAoI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/-MUe2j2Novo/s1600/blog+sennen.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkD0MvhAoI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/-MUe2j2Novo/s320/blog+sennen.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478914616981521026" border="0" /></a>I looked up a photographer friend, Tup, whom I met in Thurso waaaay back in October. We went surfing one day and shark-hunting two days later. Shark-hunting is a bit like wave-hunting, except a bit less anxious (these were Basking Sharks, which eat plankton, not Great White Sharks, which eat surfers). Tup claimed he had seen several the day before, from the safety of a small plane, a claim that gained more validity the following day, when two of his photographs appeared in The Sun. So Tup is basically a Shark Paparazzo. Or Sharkarrazzo.<br /><br />I also nipped over to Falmouth for a charming drink with fellow writer <a href="http://jamesandthebluecat.blogspot.com/">James Henry</a> and a night on Falmouth quayside. A night on Falmouth quayside is less exciting than one might imagine. Apart from the seagulls, which used the roof of my van as a landing strip. Or as a target.<br /><br />Since then, I've been working my way up the coast, with some fabulous waves and some not so fabulous waves, in fabulous weather and some not so fabulous weather.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkFx6UxLEI/AAAAAAAAAko/dY5zYD6OaX4/s1600/blog+duckpool+beach.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkFx6UxLEI/AAAAAAAAAko/dY5zYD6OaX4/s320/blog+duckpool+beach.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478916776701013058" border="0" /></a>Karen, who is not a Sharkarrazzo, managed this fantastic shot of me on a wave at Duckpool.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkFyVCKGBI/AAAAAAAAAkw/PF3m1PEiGKg/s1600/blog+duck+pool.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkFyVCKGBI/AAAAAAAAAkw/PF3m1PEiGKg/s320/blog+duck+pool.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478916783870711826" border="0" /></a>Her career as a Surferazzo is still in its infancy. But after my camera battery died, she did see me on a wave that she described as "really impressive" (entirely without prompt or payment), and which was indeed the highlight of the past ten days - a long, peeling, overhead left that I at last managed to surf with balance and poise, if not actual grace.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkHNSgK-AI/AAAAAAAAAk4/usewkO-1Sgk/s1600/blog+duckpool+tree.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkHNSgK-AI/AAAAAAAAAk4/usewkO-1Sgk/s320/blog+duckpool+tree.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478918346559387650" border="0" /></a>Then a couple of days en famille with los Barkers and los Gibsons in Puttsborough, where the waves were again fabulous, the company was fabulous and the weather was mostly fabulous. And my surfing was far from fabulous.<br /><br />Now I'm back in Saint Agnes, after fun sessions at Perranporth and Chapel Porth in small, clean, easy waves (unlike the filthy monsters at Putts), waiting for Skippy to finish repairing my board. Then off up to Newquay, where I scored a great afternoon of head-high waves a week ago, which slightly redeems Newquay from 'Somewhere to avoid like the plague' to 'Somewhere to avoid like a sore throat'.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkHNhvDM6I/AAAAAAAAAlA/x6TN21Yl_r0/s1600/blog+Newquay.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkHNhvDM6I/AAAAAAAAAlA/x6TN21Yl_r0/s320/blog+Newquay.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478918350648325026" border="0" /></a>Nice waves, but you wouldn't want to hang out there if you're over 19. And I am indeed over 19, despite repeated attempts to demonstrate otherwise, both in and out of the water.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/TAkHNhvDM6I/AAAAAAAAAlA/x6TN21Yl_r0/s1600/blog+Newquay.JPG"><br /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-6440104389419293382010-05-24T10:30:00.000-07:002010-05-24T11:41:34.543-07:00The End of the WorldAfter the delays and distractions of the last couple of months, I'm back on the road. I picked up the trail in Wembury, just east of Plymouth. Last time I was there, it was a mist-shrouded, gothic vale of dark, satanic menace. This time it was sun-filled and beautiful. Plus I met a badger ambling down the footpath by the church. I've never met a badger before. Consequently I acted with rather less equanimity than the badger, which ambled on, oblivous.<br /><br />Then a sprint through Plymouth in the rain, south to Gunwalloe, where I managed a slack surf in barely-surfable conditions. It was great to get in the water and the shock of being back in a wetsuit was mitigated by the pleasure of not having to wear hood, gloves and boots now. Though I regretted the boots.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9Or_jrxI/AAAAAAAAAi4/2QkttacL13Q/s1600/blog+church+cove.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9Or_jrxI/AAAAAAAAAi4/2QkttacL13Q/s320/blog+church+cove.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474896357047381778" border="0" /></a>And the water is amazing! So clear! It's like southern Portugal, maybe clearer. You can see every stone, every wisp of floating weed, and yesterday, every jelly fish (royal blue, easy to spot and rare enough not to be a major worry). And of course, the scenery is stunning.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9PZv-UZI/AAAAAAAAAjA/NO3BFW0lvgo/s1600/blog+sunset+godrevy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9PZv-UZI/AAAAAAAAAjA/NO3BFW0lvgo/s320/blog+sunset+godrevy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474896369330049426" border="0" /></a>Here I am at The Lizard, taking the obligatory, sad-bloke-visiting-a-major-landmark-on-his-own shot. It's further south than Land's End (of which more next time), so feels more like the End of the Land than Land's End. But that's marketing for you. Lizard doesn't sound as appealing as Land's End, so everyone goes there instead.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_rFT7Dt34I/AAAAAAAAAkA/OeGeOKSrAbM/s1600/P1000509.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_rFT7Dt34I/AAAAAAAAAkA/OeGeOKSrAbM/s320/P1000509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474905243083726722" border="0" /></a>The forecast on the south coast wasn't looking promising, so I skipped up north, to Godrevy. Coincidentally, it's the location of the lighthouse that appears (or fails to appear) in Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse. It almost fails to appear in this photo, too.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_rIKJc6B2I/AAAAAAAAAkI/wW82cvJiVcY/s1600/blog+to+the+lighthouse.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_rIKJc6B2I/AAAAAAAAAkI/wW82cvJiVcY/s320/blog+to+the+lighthouse.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474908373683668834" border="0" /></a>Godrevy was great! One average surf in small waves, one appalling surf in big waves (wrong board, snapped leash, lost nerve), then one absolutely fabulous session in powerful, head-high waves, as dark as Davy Jones' Locker, with decent walls and no one surfing my end of the beach, which is always a bonus.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_rDNX2BWDI/AAAAAAAAAj4/vWPZ5p9JZUk/s1600/P1000538.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_rDNX2BWDI/AAAAAAAAAj4/vWPZ5p9JZUk/s320/P1000538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474902931528570930" border="0" /></a>The north end of Godrevy is covered in rocks, which are in the way at high tide. But at low tide they look like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9QOrQuaI/AAAAAAAAAjQ/MHGtJwyQ7Rg/s1600/blog+mussels+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9QOrQuaI/AAAAAAAAAjQ/MHGtJwyQ7Rg/s320/blog+mussels+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474896383537363362" border="0" /></a>Yes, mussels, and plenty of them. So what's a feral surfer to do, except this?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9Qsjk7nI/AAAAAAAAAjY/klUEv-OsPVM/s1600/blog+mussels+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9Qsjk7nI/AAAAAAAAAjY/klUEv-OsPVM/s320/blog+mussels+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474896391558196850" border="0" /></a>Followed by this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9PmyACLI/AAAAAAAAAjI/Km3JOBUqFcs/s1600/blog+mussels+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q9PmyACLI/AAAAAAAAAjI/Km3JOBUqFcs/s320/blog+mussels+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474896372828211378" border="0" /></a>Delicious!<br /><br />The forecast had picked up on the South Coast, so I decided to take a look at Porthleven. Like Thurso, it's a well-known, well-respected reef. I was only going to take a look...<br /><br />But when I got there, it was foggy and there only seemed a couple of people out there. If I was going to surf it, it was now or never. Tomorrow it might be flat. Or worse, packed with pros. If you click on the photo, you'll see it's about head high, with someone just taking the drop.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q_967V5wI/AAAAAAAAAjg/Yt7rm8ct_5s/s1600/blog+porthleven+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q_967V5wI/AAAAAAAAAjg/Yt7rm8ct_5s/s320/blog+porthleven+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474899367533340418" border="0" /></a>I paddled out, full of trepidation, and prepared to do battle. There were a handful of locals out there, who, if not actually welcoming, didn't seem to mind the arrival of a middle-aged incompetent in their midst. The reef was working well, with clean lines coming in and being picked off by the locals with apparent ease. I waited my turn, and when the line-up was clear because everyone had just caught something, paddled smoothly into a small line pulsing my way.<br /><br />Except by the time it hit me, it was a vicious, vertical wall of power intent on chewing me up and hurling me to the reef bed. Which is where I duly went. Rats.<br /><br />I waited my turn again. Paddled. And saw the gaping void open up in front of me again. Yikes! I'm not going down there! The next two hours were a testament to cowardice, incompetence and humilliation. Hours: two. Waves attempted: a handful. Number of times my feet met my board: two. Waves caught: zero. I paddled in, weak with exhaustion and self-loathing.<br /><br />The next morning, I was determined to do better. The swell had dropped, but this was worse, as there were fewer waves for more surfers. Rats again. This time, I spent most of my time going over the falls. Surprisingly, this seemed like progress. At least I was going for it, even if my timing was out. Finally, though, I actually caught a wave! Shoulder high, smooth and powerful. And such a relief! I don't think I could have paddled in without catching one, and might still be there now, flailing like a drowning butterfly. And after that, a second! It would have been nice to have caught a third, but let's not be greedy.<br /><br />The main break is to the right of the harbour wall. To the left is a smaller, closer break where the local youth test their prowess.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q_-MLE6BI/AAAAAAAAAjo/aEbU36QlHf4/s1600/blog+porthleven+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q_-MLE6BI/AAAAAAAAAjo/aEbU36QlHf4/s320/blog+porthleven+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474899372162738194" border="0" /></a>And the rest of the youth watch them.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q_-oXw-3I/AAAAAAAAAjw/wf4nIiDhPCk/s1600/blog+porthleven+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_q_-oXw-3I/AAAAAAAAAjw/wf4nIiDhPCk/s320/blog+porthleven+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474899379732151154" border="0" /></a>80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-12900729924616926252010-05-20T13:24:00.000-07:002010-05-20T14:26:37.515-07:00Surfing Goa IIFirst of all, apologies to Joaquin, Kukurusta and an anonymous poster going by the name of My Conscience (a.k.a. Mark), who have all left comments in the last month, but which I failed to spot. Thanks for reading and commenting. Sorry not to have been around.<br /><br />I'm back on the road, in Cornwall. But first, to conclude <a href="http://eightywaves.blogspot.com/2010/04/surfing-in-goa.html">my last post</a>:<br /><br />Surfing. Goa: April. 19 days, 17 surf days, 21 sessions.... it's never going to be a surf destination, or even a proper surfing holiday, but if you're going there, and you have a board you can take, then take it. You won't regret it! I had a fab time, surfing almost every morning before breakfast. It's a great way to start the day.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbS2-hjSI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/dKk3541f590/s1600/blog+india+surf+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbS2-hjSI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/dKk3541f590/s320/blog+india+surf+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451670436416802" border="0" /></a>Most mornings started off still and glassy, with waves between thigh high and head high. Some days were weaker than others, and they were never particularly powerful, although a few days were fabulous - long, peeling waves which held up well for decent long rides on nicely shaped faces. I'm afraid the photos don't do the waves justice. Karen very kindly came along one morning to take photos. Not only were the waves distinctly average, it also turns out I don't surf well under pressure. After all, I don't surf particularly well when there's no pressure...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbTcEMgPI/AAAAAAAAAiY/wXIMiYGlGiU/s1600/blog+surf+india+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbTcEMgPI/AAAAAAAAAiY/wXIMiYGlGiU/s320/blog+surf+india+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451680392315122" border="0" /></a>The beaches I saw around South Goa were only really surfable from low to mid-tide. After that, it starts to close out or shore dump too much. And around mid-morning, the on-shore wind picks up, making it rough surfing - though I had a couple of fun sessions in the last few days in spite of the wind. So basically you need to be up early, and to catch the tide when it's good and low. Either that, or take your chances with the wind.<br /><br />For the first week I was alone, but then I met Lee, an English musician who divides his time between Hong Kong and Goa. We had three or four excellent sessions together - he was on a 9' Bic, and taught me the value of patience. Often, he would be way out to sea, where I thought there was no chance of a wave. Then eventually something would appear on the horizon, he would announce "Here we go, old chap" and elegantly stroke into a decent wave.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbSYVsdDI/AAAAAAAAAiI/uKuB8Wq8ByE/s1600/blog+india+surf.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbSYVsdDI/AAAAAAAAAiI/uKuB8Wq8ByE/s320/blog+india+surf.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451662212101170" border="0" /></a>Then I met Trevor and Deborah, from Bournemouth, who also spend 5 months a year in Goa. We surfed together for the last three days, Trevor on an 8' barge, Deborah mostly on a body board, but flirting with a 7´6´´ Bic. Trevor, if you're reading this: paddle harder! Deborah, if you're reading this: Don't listen to Trevor!<br /><br />Top comedy moment was when a fish, alarmed by Trevor on his barge, leaped out of the face of the unbroken wave, heading directly to shore. It dived back into the water, then skipped out again, still heading to the shore in a straight line. Then did it again. And a fourth time. Just like a cartoon fish.<br /><br />Surfing the same wave day in, day out has definite advantages - you really get to know how it works. And how your board works. And surfing in glassy conditions every day is fantastic - it really flatters your surfing, so you gain lots of confidence, which in turn helps your surfing. I really think surfing is 50% technique, 50% confidence. Maybe more. Though sometimes too much confidence isn't a good thing. Like when you're trying a floater when the wave is trying to dump on the shore. I'm not entirely clear where the water went, or which bit of the board tried to perforate me, but I suspect it was the tip. Not so much Kelly Slater, more Vlad the Impaler.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_Wjry1qdYI/AAAAAAAAAio/oBujGVWzgCM/s1600/P1000379.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_Wjry1qdYI/AAAAAAAAAio/oBujGVWzgCM/s320/P1000379.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473460894915261826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WjsXZvHvI/AAAAAAAAAiw/XiXylP0fCpo/s1600/P1000435.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WjsXZvHvI/AAAAAAAAAiw/XiXylP0fCpo/s320/P1000435.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473460904730238706" border="0" /></a>Apart from that (and landing on my head in knee deep water the day before) the only downside with taking a board is transporting it, especially on the overnight train. In the end, I had no choice. We had to share a bunk. It was either that or leave it behind.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbToCIGwI/AAAAAAAAAig/aghbXc3OW1c/s1600/blog+surf+india+4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S_WbToCIGwI/AAAAAAAAAig/aghbXc3OW1c/s320/blog+surf+india+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451683604863746" border="0" /></a>And I wasn't going to leave it behind after all the fun we'd had.80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-9221161018316660362010-04-16T03:06:00.000-07:002010-05-20T14:10:47.161-07:00Surfing in Goa(For more info, see <a href="http://eightywaves.blogspot.com/2010/05/surfing-goa-ii.html">the next post, here</a>)<br /><br />My trip around Britain has been temporarily interrupted by a three-week trip to Goa to hang out with Karen, who has been travelling around India while I've been bumming around Britain. Check out her blog <a href="http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog/repeatthedose/1/tpod.html">HERE</a>. She also took all the photos in this post. Swapping the chilly waves of Devon for the bathwater-warm waves of Southern India has been really tough.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-hVwiYZI/AAAAAAAAAhI/7QaIt2umBJ8/s1600/CIMG2316.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-hVwiYZI/AAAAAAAAAhI/7QaIt2umBJ8/s320/CIMG2316.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460683290684055954" border="0" /></a>I knew from a visit in 2006 that there are very few surfboards in India, and even fewer you can get your hands on, as most of them are owned by individuals who don't want some snotty stranger dinging their pride and joy. There are no surf shops, no surf hire and no surf repair workshops. If anyone is looking for a business opportunity, this could be it. (Not me. As the comments on the post below show, having taken advice from a civil service lawyer, I'm off to become a chartered accountant.) The only boards are big foam things for the lifeguards at the more touristy beaches.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-gpi8lHI/AAAAAAAAAg4/ijT9xXNc8YI/s1600/CIMG2254.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-gpi8lHI/AAAAAAAAAg4/ijT9xXNc8YI/s320/CIMG2254.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460683278815892594" border="0" /></a>The big question is, is it worth bringing a board to India? Along with no boards, there seemed to be no waves (a possible explanation for the absence of boards). A couple of websites hinted there was some swell, particularly in the monsoon season, May to September. I was going in April.<br /><br />I certainly wouldn't want to bring one of my normal boards. Consigning a board to the hold of a plane is a complete lottery. Mostly they emerge unscathed. When they don't, it's pretty gruesome. And that's before submitting them to the rigours of Indian trains, buses and tuk tuks. Also I had booked a flight with BA, who will only carry boards under 195cms. Or 6'3''. My shortest board is a 6'5'', and I wouldn't want to lose 2" off the end. Either end.<br /><br />But I once rented a 6' NSP Fish, which was quite a laugh. Plus, being a shell (an injection moulded plastic board, I think), it would better withstand the rigours of the journey. In South Devon I found something similar - a secondhand 6'2" epoxy Southpoint for 160 quid. Basically one step up from a BIC or NSP. They let me rent it for a few days first, and I took it for a test ride in Salcombe. It rode OK, but it isn't really what I was looking for. I was literally on my way to return it, when I found a chat forum on the internet raving about surfing in Goa. What the hell. I might as well take it. It's fairly light, counted as part of my baggage allowance and I could always sell it or donate it to some beach-side orphanage if necessary. Better to have a board and find there is no surf, than to have no board and find there is.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAsJ5r2pI/AAAAAAAAAhg/5lXKAtt49I8/s1600/CIMG2219.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAsJ5r2pI/AAAAAAAAAhg/5lXKAtt49I8/s320/CIMG2219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460685675503016594" border="0" /></a>I'm staying in a dozy huddle of beach huts stretched around a small bay, about 2 miles south of ( a fairly well-known, fairly busy destination for backpackers in Goa. The bay there is shell shaped, and while the waves are clean and pretty, they are weak and virtually unsurfable at the moment. Here looked similarly unsurfable, with a steeply shelving beach. There are waves, but they rise up abruptly then crash down violently only a metre or two from the edge of the sand. Impossible to surf.<br /><br />Here is one of the many beach dogs, desperately waiting for the swell to pick up.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAtJGXZpI/AAAAAAAAAhw/7WUF3pVfeaM/s1600/CIMG2237.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAtJGXZpI/AAAAAAAAAhw/7WUF3pVfeaM/s320/CIMG2237.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460685692467635858" border="0" /></a>Here's one who has given up waiting.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAtQIdrCI/AAAAAAAAAh4/lvnLM6m9_f0/s1600/CIMG2287.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAtQIdrCI/AAAAAAAAAh4/lvnLM6m9_f0/s320/CIMG2287.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460685694355483682" border="0" /></a>The cows have definitely given up waiting.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-iQuH5gI/AAAAAAAAAhY/AfaQ5zHJM30/s1600/CIMG2325.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-iQuH5gI/AAAAAAAAAhY/AfaQ5zHJM30/s320/CIMG2325.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460683306511623682" border="0" /></a>But at the far end of the next beach, around a short outcrop of rock, there seemed to be something happening. On my first evening, Karen and I went to investigate. Sure enough, it was a surfable wave, breaking on a shallow sandbank at the mouth of a river. The next morning I got up early, grabbed my board, paddled round the rocky outcrop, made the long walk along the beach and dived in. After a winter wearing a thick wetsuit, hood, gloves and boots, paddling in trunks feels really strange. Not just light and free, it feels as if you're going to float away. There was a nice, shapely wave there, rising up to about chest level, peeling nicely.<br /><br />On the way, you pass the big, fuck-off hotel, an utter abomination which is currently enlivened by a big Bollywood film crew who have built a film set by the beach, and are currently filming. Fortunately, they don't seem to mind me surfing, as there is a better break right in front of the film set schoolhouse. In the mornings, there isn't a breath of wind, so the water is smooth and glassy. Chest-high peaks rise up and peel for twenty metres of so, easy to catch, easy to surf, but closing out rather too quickly, and breaking in shallow water. It's not the most dramatic surfing, but better than nothing, so I've been getting up early and getting into the water for an hour or two every morning before breakfast. By about 11, an on-shore wind picks up, making the already weak waves virtually uncatchable.<br /><br />But one evening, at low tide, I went for a classic sunset session and managed to catch a few.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAt9lNyoI/AAAAAAAAAiA/GE2DmlBeoCo/s1600/CIMG2317.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAt9lNyoI/AAAAAAAAAiA/GE2DmlBeoCo/s320/CIMG2317.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460685706555673218" border="0" /></a>Karen was on the beach, and before she got bored of watching me, managed to snap this fabulous action shot. Finally, proof that I can actually stand on a surf board.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-gzQ7oKI/AAAAAAAAAhA/rKkpjcVm7tU/s1600/CIMG2289.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-gzQ7oKI/AAAAAAAAAhA/rKkpjcVm7tU/s320/CIMG2289.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460683281424687266" border="0" /></a>Soon after this, I noticed something about fifty metres further out. I couldn't be sure, but eventually I saw it again. A fin arcing lazily out of the water then disappearing under again. I wasn't quite surfing with dolphins, but they were definitely out there. Later we watched it idle slowly along the bay, parallel to the beach:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-h38OKWI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/30WtOmyMwGY/s1600/CIMG2322.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8g-h38OKWI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/30WtOmyMwGY/s320/CIMG2322.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460683299859868002" border="0" /></a>It's not all surfing and lazing on the beach - I've been hard at work on the outline for a screenplay. To prove it, here is a picture of me at my desk!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAsigbwQI/AAAAAAAAAho/IKZaSUWKgDA/s1600/CIMG2220.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S8hAsigbwQI/AAAAAAAAAho/IKZaSUWKgDA/s320/CIMG2220.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460685682107990274" border="0" /></a>Now where was that application to become a chartered accountant?80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-74702759000330934242010-04-13T03:58:00.000-07:002010-04-13T04:27:47.675-07:00Saving the best til lastI was beginning to feel that Bantham wasn't all it had been cracked up to be. Sure, the group of lads who were getting out on Sunday as I was getting in had all been raving about it. But still. I wasn't convinced. Wanting to try something else, and to get out of the wind, I was going to have a look at a fairly unlikely spot, on the off chance. As an alternative, the guy in the surf shop recommended a beach I had grown quite familiar with. Nah, I thought. I've spent too many hours staring at a flat horizon there. I was going to stick to Plan A. Until I drove past the sign post to the familiar spot. Only a couple of miles out of my way, might as well have a look.<br /><br />As these things sometimes work, a couple of local lads were just getting out. A good sign. They told me I might still catch a few decent waves down there, so I decided to give it a go. And had a really fun session. Small waves, but reasonably powerful, and enough of a ride to make it worth the effort.<br /><br />I decided to camp there and surf it again the following morning. Except the following morning, it was flat. Curses. I had to head back to civilisation later that day, and was eager for a final South Devon surf. So rather reluctantly, I headed back to Bantham.<br /><br />I needn't have been quite so reluctant. There were three cars already there. Knowing time was of the essence, and the tide was on its way in, I didn't bother walking the quarter of a mile down to the beach to check it out. Big mistake! Instead I asked a guy who was about to head down there with his board if he had had a look. He had. Fairly mellow was his analysis.<br /><br />Fairly mellow? Are you kidding?! They were the best waves of the week! Absolutely fabulous! Somehow the wind had moved round and was off-shore, cleaning up the faces of beautiful big, clean waves rolling into the bay with metronome regularity. And only a handful of surfers out there.<br /><br />I caught the rip out, fluffed a couple of waves and got caught inside among the whitewash. Not part of the plan. But having surfed there on Sunday, I realised I knew what I ought to be doing, and told myself to do it. I paddled back to the beach, caught the rip out again, and had another go. Having surfed nine sessions over the past six days, I was at the end of my energy. But somehow I managed to catch a wave. And stay on it. I couldn't believe it! Just overhead, a steaming freight-train of a wave that powered on for a hundred metres. I came off, not fully realising what had just happened but glad to have surfed a decent wave at last.<br /><br />As I paddled back out, on the rip again, I saw one of the locals catch a monster. Easily double overhead, clean and rolling, it was one of those cinematic waves that etch themselves on the retina. And in a way, helped me realise what I had just surfed. I got out to the back and waited.<br /><br />Soon enough, another wave came rolling into the bay. Not double overhead, but certainly overhead. I turned and paddled, and somehow, against all expectation, caught it. Got to my feet and made the drop. These were all right-handed waves, so I was on my backhand - though I'm beginning to feel I'm better at catching back-hand waves for some reason. I stayed in a low crouch, holding the left rail until I felt I was stable enough to stand. This wave was bigger, hollower and more powerful than the last, with a vertical wall of water beside my left shoulder, and above my head, the start of a curl showering water onto my shoulders. Not a cover-up, but the closest I've come. It was fabulous. Not as big and powerful as the session at Thurso, not as much to play with as the left at Sandsend. But for the combination of power and control, perhaps the best, most exhilarating wave I've surfed so far. And easily the longest, powering on seemingly for ever (or about a hundred metres again, which when you're surfing amounts to the same thing). I surfed it to the end. And got out, trembling, exhausted and ecstatic.80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-37830045610539230612010-03-22T05:37:00.000-07:002010-03-22T06:36:04.733-07:00Devon Cream TeaseAfter the fossilised frustrations of the Jurassic Coast, Devon is fantastic - lovely beaches, picturesque camping spots and plenty of waves - eventually.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dpzNHxxzI/AAAAAAAAAfw/OvJP_QaS6OM/s1600-h/blog+south+west.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dpzNHxxzI/AAAAAAAAAfw/OvJP_QaS6OM/s320/blog+south+west.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451442202371802930" border="0" /></a>I arrived ten days ago, just in time to catch the tail-end of a burst of swell, and between Paignton and Bantham, managed a handful of sessions of average waves in bright sunshine, or under beautiful sunsets.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dpzXrsA8I/AAAAAAAAAf4/5hZSbRF29YQ/s1600-h/blog+bantham.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dpzXrsA8I/AAAAAAAAAf4/5hZSbRF29YQ/s320/blog+bantham.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451442205206774722" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dp0OsyYqI/AAAAAAAAAgI/YA1RnStKBow/s1600-h/blog+thurlstone+sunset.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dp0OsyYqI/AAAAAAAAAgI/YA1RnStKBow/s320/blog+thurlstone+sunset.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451442219975336610" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dpzzhwBFI/AAAAAAAAAgA/E0T4x8fNQSo/s1600-h/blog+thurlstone.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dpzzhwBFI/AAAAAAAAAgA/E0T4x8fNQSo/s320/blog+thurlstone.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451442212681286738" border="0" /></a>Things went flat and sunny, which was a little frustrating until the waves came rolling in again last Wednesday. It's been a bit messed up by on-shore winds, but I've managed to surf at least once a day for the last five days, and often twice. Plenty of drizzle and fog, too, but when you're surfing, who cares?!<br /><br />Bantham is the classic spot round here, so I camped out in front of the No Overnight Sleeping sign for three nights, until I was asked to move on by a rustic employee of the family-run estate that owns it all. I headed to Bigbury-on-Sea across the Avon estuary (not the same Avon that Shakespeare used to surf). It's no more than a mile or so along the beach, but about 10 miles by road - or slightly less if you want to risk the tidal road.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6duYwirozI/AAAAAAAAAgg/e5mdMFDxeQA/s1600-h/P1020843.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6duYwirozI/AAAAAAAAAgg/e5mdMFDxeQA/s320/P1020843.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451447245581558578" border="0" /></a>There were fabulous waves here on Thursday - just overhead, with good, clean faces, but fairly easy to catch. They were mostly right-hand waves, so I was on my backhand, and though they offered an exciting, dramatic drop followed by an exhilarating few seconds hugging a gleaming wall of water, they didn't open up quite enough, and the rides ended quite quickly. And wetly.<br /><br />Then on to Wembury, a foggy, Gothic bay overlooked by a looming church and dark satanic mill (now coffeeshop), with a fabulous left-hand wave.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dvsExqFKI/AAAAAAAAAgw/TdCXoIwXHQU/s1600-h/P1020835.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6dvsExqFKI/AAAAAAAAAgw/TdCXoIwXHQU/s320/P1020835.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451448676942222498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6duYtDe_dI/AAAAAAAAAgY/TyNEeg1Rqt0/s1600-h/P1020833.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6duYtDe_dI/AAAAAAAAAgY/TyNEeg1Rqt0/s320/P1020833.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451447244645400018" border="0" /></a>It's not far from Plymouth, so there were quite a lot of locals on it on Friday morning. But the mood in the water was friendly and it wasn't too difficult to get the occasional wave. And they were fantastic - well overhead, but again easy to catch, and with a long, long, exhilarating ride towards the beach followed by an easy paddle back out again. Epic!<br /><br />If it's Saturday, it must be Salcombe, sheltered from the howling South-Westerlies, surfing clean, waist-high waves by the ruins of Salcombe Castle.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6duZutn3BI/AAAAAAAAAgo/46VKjcrXXBA/s1600-h/P1020868.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s3uOt_Bp1Jk/S6duZutn3BI/AAAAAAAAAgo/46VKjcrXXBA/s320/P1020868.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451447262270446610" border="0" /></a>Then back to Bantham for a crowded Sunday surf in soggy waves. Not the best session. Or sessions - I got in at 7.15 on Sunday morning, but the tide was too high, and what had looked promising soon petered out. So I had a huge breakfast and went in again once the tide had dropped. It was a bit better, but still not great, and very busy - long-boarders, short-boarders and even a knee-board. Whatever rocks your boat.<br /><br />Today it's howling out there, so unless the wind drops later, I might be able to give my aching arms a day off. On the other hand, there's another beach I've got my eye on, so if there's half a chance of getting in later, I will.80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221993688116564210.post-9711479031501757112010-03-16T07:18:00.000-07:002010-03-16T07:48:14.243-07:00Don't Try This At Home, KidsMy friend and guru <a href="http://www.kukurustan.blogspot.com/">Kukurusta </a>has pasted a link to a TV programme I contributed to in January 2006 about surfing in Barcelona.<br /><br /><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" id="EVP1122299IE" width="640" height="398"><param name="movie" value="http://www.tv3.cat/ria/players/3ac/evp/Main.swf"><param name="scale" value="noscale"><param name="align" value="tl"><param name="swliveconnect" value="true"><param name="menu" value="true"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><param name="FlashVars" value="themepath=themes/evp_advanced.swf&autostart=false&minimal=false&videoid=1122299&instancename=playerEVP_0_1122299&refreshlock=true&basepath=http://www.tv3.cat/ria/players/3ac/evp/&backgroundColor=#ffffff&basepath=http://www.tv3.cat/ria/players/3ac/evp/&xtm=true"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.tv3.cat/ria/players/3ac/evp/Main.swf" id="EVP1122299" scale="noscale" name="EVP1122299" salign="tl" swliveconnect="true" menu="true" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" wmode="transparent" flashvars="themepath=themes/evp_advanced.swf&autostart=false&minimal=false&videoid=1122299&instancename=playerEVP_0_1122299&refreshlock=true&basepath=http://www.tv3.cat/ria/players/3ac/evp/&backgroundColor=#ffffff&basepath=http://www.tv3.cat/ria/players/3ac/evp/&xtm=true" width="640" height="398"></embed></object><br /><br />(I don't know how to get the whole thing in, so if you want to see the full width of the video, try here: <a href="http://blog.ravalnet.org/ravalsurf/2009/10/17/ravalsurf-a-thalassa/">http://blog.ravalnet.org/ravalsurf/2009/10/17/ravalsurf-a-thalassa/</a>)<br /><br />The director failed to catch me riding a wave (surprise, surprise). Instead my contribution is limited to embarrassing shots of me warming up, cycling to the beach and talking about My Life As A Surfer (in Spanish). What makes it particularly hilarious, though, is that while she was shooting, I got someone else's surfboard in the face, leading to a nasty cut, horror-film quantities of blood, 13 stitches and the fetching scar above my right eye.<br /><br />After struggling to the beach, I faced an odyssey of fainting lifeguards, excellent ambulances, thieving taxis and three different Kafkaesque hospitals before I found someone whose needlework I admired enough to trust them with my dashing good looks. Now if anyone asks, I tell them I got the scar in a fencing duel over a German count's mistress.<br /><br />Rather than cut me from the programme, though, the director did the interview anyway. So instead of the healthy glow of a Mediterranean surfer, I look like a car crash victim. And certainly not the best advertisement for surfing. Or maybe that was the point, a subliminal message to keep would-be surfers of the water.80waveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17120184660974045751noreply@blogger.com1