Spring surf

The beeping signalled it was time. I cursed at the thought of leaving my warm lair, and reached into the darkness to find the button that would allow another 8 minutes of warm black sleep. Somewhere into my second snooze the Bed Balance of Power swung past the tipping point of awakeness, and the importance of getting up was suddenly an alarm in my head that I couldn’t switch off.

I didn’t bother with a shower, had a quick brekkie and set off to the north Cornwall coast. The weather was awful and several times I questioned my motivation for going. What was I doing out here on my own in the cold and wet? I reminded myself that the surf forecast was 4 stars, 4 STARS! (Magic seaweed), and it would be worth it. Solid bands of rain were keeping both the visibility and speed on the roads down, but eventually I arrived at the beach car park in Polzeath. It had taken 1 hour and 8 minutes.

When I came here at the end of last summer, the small stream that ran down the beach was a hive of activity with toddlers playing the ‘lets make a dam!’ game while their parents looked on over the top of their books and newspapers. On Sunday, the stream was a wild river. It was honking it through like an Amazonian tide on the push (well not quite, but I am getting Amazon-excited!) and I feared for my footing and safety as I gingerly crossed it on my way down to the shoreline.
The surf was as good as they had promised. I struggled a bit at the start as I re-familiarised myself with the weight balance of my short board, after hiring mini mals for the last few small-wave trips. I caught the first few waves too late and did some funny bouncing around and arm waving before succumbing to the inevitable violent dunking. It was so nice to be in the water with virtually no wind, and I marvelled at how the lake-like conditions between waves contrasted with the huge power of the walls of green water that were relentlessly coming towards me. The atmosphere was electric, with people whooping as the bigger sets rolled in and cheering as a few elite showed off their potent skills. For me, waves #4 and #6 were good and I got out after about 90 minutes with a bruised hip, aching arms, but a big old grin.

I drove home in the sunshine and thought about how glad I was that I had made the effort to go.

Photos are not me, but taken at Polzeath about 1 hour after I was in. I did a lot of the first, and not a lot of the second.