Forced To Watch From The Shore


Boxing Day 2008 and I’m forced to watch from the shoreline as everyone else gets to surf. Sure it’s cold, sure I’m standing there coughing like a Pit Pony & sure it makes a change to be photographing surfers rather than wave riding ….but I was SO envious. God damn the Rhinovirus & all it’s hangers on. Anyway I told Joe (Above) he looked kind of ‘Heroic’.

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.