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A Snapshot Of Summer

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Welcombe Surfers

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High Tide Saturday

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Sunset Rock

June has been a pretty beautiful month and the slightly dusty camera saw the light of day again at last. Particularly love the top shot of the two surfers post closeout session about to call it a day. More soon I promise.

Crane Style

For some unexplained reason my mate James takes a dislike to silhouettes but I’m quite a fan, here the Emo Kid is about to ‘Woop somebody’s ass’ in a kung foo stylee. In fact he was just trying to keep his feet dry (Something, I’m sure he won’t mind me saying, he failed at with his usual comical grace)

The SK8R I never was

The Emo kid in our garage ‘Pop Shoving It’ or some such youth speak.

I just used to whizz down the hill past the piggery all day long when I were a lad. Now look at um’. The kids of today ay!
In fact I never, EVER wish I was 13 again but today I could have possibly, maybe, everso slightly be tempted.

Happy sk8ing.

Stu

My Perfect Wave

 

THAT wave down at ‘you know where’.

First & foremost let me say I’ve never ridden my favorite wave. Also let me say it’s not ‘Choo Pooh’, ‘Pee Arse He’ or ‘Horseing around a gore’ it’s nothing so glamorous. It’s just a tiny, perfect slice of Cornish surfectionary. In fact I also have to admit I’ve only ever seen it break twice in all my years of surfing. Truth to tell, as that seems the order of the day, I humbly admit that I’d never even dare to call myself a surfer. I just love to surf & surf lots I try to do & fail at that quite a bit too. But a surfer? Sadly ‘No’. However I can lay sure & certain claim to some of the knowledge of the sensation of what it is to be a surfer. Quite simply in my humble experience there’s nothing & I mean NOTHING on the face of this little blue marble that effects me in the same way as THAT basic yet fundamental experience of riding along the face of a wave. It is quite simply unmatchable. It’s also why I suspect that the Tiki gods KNOW if I’ve got my board with me when I pay that place a visit & adjust the swell accordingly. Most would call it bad timing or just plain stupidity on my part, but for me it’s like a little game I have to play each time I head West, away from my home breaks. I also have a sneaking suspicion that those cheeky Tiki gods know I probably haven’t earned a wave there yet. They’ve just taunted me with with glimpses of my own little nirvana. I live in hope.