From our friends at Nordic Surfers Magazine.

Caleb writes ‘it was awesome to see all the riders back in Margs for the Box comp. Here is a clip of all the riders cruising around the comp zone while I was there. This is a short film exposing the power of a simple smile.’

Smile on…

We can also get so caught up in our own selfish and self-righteous pursuit of uber coolness that we forget why we started surfing in the first place. Like what board we’re riding, where we surf, and how we look doing it. It’s like keeping up with the Joneses gone to Malibu.

I remember going surfing with my friends at Lloyds State Park in Dania, Florida when I was just a grom. I had a total beater that was made by some kooky guy in the backyard of American suburbia. It was given to me if I promised to take it away and never bring it back, which of course I did. Anyway, we all had crappy boards with some missing fins, and had to beg for rides to the beach from our parents, friends, or neighbours. It didn’t matter what the surf was like, if there were waves, we were on it. No fins, no leash, no proper boardies, old wax – nothing mattered. We just had to get our fix. Most of the time, it meant staying out until someone’s parents were screaming at us to get back to the car. Sunburt, crispy, exhausted and probably grounded for a week, we were happier than ever.

Once we were old enough to drive, it was fully on, and 4am missions up the coast to Florida’s surf mecca at Sebastian Inlet were monthly if not weekly events. Driving for four hours to surf for about the same amount of time seemed insane to my parents, but we didn’t care. As long as our cars held out and we had gas money, we knew we’d get wet somewhere.

Something changed between those times and now. Maybe it’s age, experience, or the cold water, but I don’t seem to surf as much, and it isn’t always as satisfying. There are so many ways to surf these days, maybe as much as during the late-60s shortboard revolution, the options can seem overwhelming. Maybe it is the times we live in, or the way life is so much more complicated these days with faxes, emails, instant messaging and phones that know more about our habits than we do.

I guess unplugging is the only way to get that focus back. Forget about the ‘real’ world. Maybe our connected lives are actually making us less connected to what is really going on out there, and we are losing a little of our innocence with it. Surfing is such a simple act and can bring such a sense of freedom from daily chores it is shame to over-complicate it with fashions and rhetoric. Being away from all that for a while, around a group of people that don’t surf, and making a plywood alaia with my dad while waiting for my baggage to show up, was an odd way to find my stoke again. But whether or not the board works the way I hope, or if the waves aren’t perfect, I know I’m getting in somewhere.

So, what is really important? Don’t look at me, you’re the one paddling out, facing the challenge on your own, like always…

Please also check out my general DROOG79 blog and my art for sale site D79 Sells Out. Enjoy yourselves, and each other.

Crystal Caverns - Inspired by tales of Michael Peterson et al. taking acid before going surfing

Fiji - oil painting detail

The Mistress - A drawing for Dan Crockett's new zine 'The KooK'

I only had a few days in Oz before flying to Hawaii, so without delay I was on the first bus to Torquay which dropped me right outside ‘Bells Beach’ backpackers. I arrived with only an hour of light left so it was a case of dumping my bag and grabbing a board. I ran down to the beach in my wetsuit stoked at the thought of my first Oz surf experience… and what an experience it was!!

I knew I would not have time to run along to Bells as the light was slipping away so I opted for the closer break of Jan Juc. I spent a couple of minutes watching the waves peel in then dropped down to the beach and paddled straight out… wow I had finally made it! I caught a couple of great waves, holding off on my wave lust… waiting for the third of each set which was bigger and packed more power. I couldn’t help wondering why no one else was in the water… maybe they were scoring an epic session up the road at Bells!? So there I was sitting on my board circling my legs, blissfully enjoying having the waves all to myself when I got this kind of eerie feeling… I’d never really experienced this whilst surfing… you know the feeling that something’s wrong! I looked around and couldn’t really think of a reason. There was just me out there and some guy on the rocks fishing. So in came the set and I took off on the third wave then paddled back to my position. The feeling quickly returned and with that I looked down to see this huge shadow move beneath my board… I thought WHAT WAS THAT… it can’t be anything I’m just imagining it I told myself. Then seconds later it appeared again and again, my eyes were like saucers… hell, get me out of here… SHARK!!! I wasn’t waiting around for the third wave of the set this time… I wanted the first no matter how small as long as it carried me straight to shore. So I lay flat on my board, toes curled tightly onto the back, arms glued to the rails, paddling with my fingertips… I let out a silent EEEEEEEEEEEERRRKK and rode the board on my stomach until its nose hit the sand. I quickly stood on the beach asking myself if this was for real whilst looking for a fin to appear… but it didn’t. I couldn’t believe this had happened to me… maybe it hadn’t… even so why did I wait to see that shadow 3 times before I reacted, I guess I thought maybe it’s a dolphin or something, I’m just glad I didn’t hang around for confirmation!! I made my way along to Bells Beach the next day but that feeling still lingered. I spoke to a couple of local surfers who told me shark attacks were very rare but not unknown. They said the chances are it would have been a curious reef shark. I was heading to Hawaii next and I have to admit I was feeling a little more apprehensive than normal but more about that next time.

I guess as surfers we know there are sharks out there I just didn’t think they would be interested in me. The chance of being killed by a shark is so small apparently that it’s not worth worrying about. Nevertheless since that day I have become fascinated with sharks and soon learned the basics when it comes to avoiding any unwanted attention whilst surfing:

Check one – Don’t go in the water at dusk or dawn… feeding time!
Check two – Don’t surf alone!!
Check three – Don’t surf where people are fishing… throwing bait!!!

Strangely I have since convinced myself that, when it’s my time to go I’m going to be eaten by a shark, which obviously amuses my friends. So I’ve chosen John Williams- Jaws theme as my funeral song and I’m going to have “I told you so” engraved on my headstone. On a more serious note I have since dived with sharks whilst in Oz and I agree that we have little to fear. Sharks should be understood, respected and protected, they are critically important to our oceans and the balance of nature.

The surf here in Tynemouth has been pretty flat over the last couple of weeks so I decided to visit the Outer Hebrides (which was truly amazing, again I’ll tell all in my next blog… or I’ll have no room left for photography).

I wanted to photograph a still life close up under tungsten lighting at night, which requires a long exposure (with a cable release), so I used a modified Holga 120N for this shot. It’s easy enough to make basic modifications to a Holga, such as adding a cable release for long exposures or fitting a 52mm filter thread then attaching a close up lens.

So, I needed my Holga (complete with cable release and a 52mm +3 close up lens), tripod, light meter, a roll of Ilford XP2 super 400 black and white film and my living room light. If you feel like giving this a go, simply place your object on a suitable surface, position your tripod and camera at the correct focal distance (in this case 12’’ from the camera) and take a meter reading. If you haven’t used a light meter before, hold it at the subject position and point the meter towards the lens to take your reading. This will read the intensity of the light falling on your subject (which in this case was from a standard light bulb). I used a meter rather than simply pointing and shooting this time because my photo would have been totally underexposed with the available light. Holga’s given Aperture of around f11 and shutter speed of 1/100 sec would not have been adequate this time, I wanted to use the bulb exposure which allows you to hold the shutter open as long as you like.

I set Holga’s focal distance to the portrait image (which would normally focus at roughly 3’) and changed the shutter speed to the B (Bulb) setting. Selecting an aperture of f11 on the light meter, I took a reading. The result= 5 seconds at f11. A shutter speed of less than around 1/60 sec would blur my image if the camera was handheld (due to camera shake), that’s why I used a tripod and cable release. I pointed Holga in the direction of my Shark asking him to smile, opened the shutter with my cable, releasing after 5 seconds. The B&W film (Ilford XP2) I used can be developed at the majority of labs, as it is processed in C41 chemicals the same as colour negatives.

If you are new to photography I recommend that you understand how Aperture and shutter speed determine your exposure. Aperture or f-stops (e.g. f8, f11 etc) are mainly used to control depth of field (what is in focus), whilst the shutter speed is used to freeze or blur movement (e.g. 1/125 sec or 2 seconds etc). Aperture measures how wide the lens opens when you press the button and shutter speed determines how long the shutter stays open. This may not sound logical but a small f-stop number lets in a large amount of light (E.g. f2.8, f5.6 etc) whilst a large f-stop lets in a small amount of light (e.g. f16 or f22). Shutter speeds are easier to understand, as slow shutter speeds allow a large amount of light and faster shutter speeds allow a small amount of light. Basically, the combination of these two settings effects the amount of light that reaches the camera sensor which= Exposure. If your photo is too dark it is underexposed as you haven’t let enough light in, when there is too much light it is overexposed.

I appreciate that this may be a little heavy and no fun for some. If so… live for the moment and say bye bye to the tripod etc, grab Holga, turn on her flash and hey presto you have light. Better still jump in the water with a Frogeye point and shoot camera… I just wouldn’t recommend using your flash around sharks!
Frogeye, Fuji Sensia 400 slide film cross processed.

“We won the Observer Ethical Award last year and that was a milestone for us, in terms of what six people in a little workshop can do. To be recognized for the RSPCA Good Business Awards take it all that much further, we’re absolutely stoked to have been chosen as one of the finalists’, said Tom Kay – Finisterre Founder.

One of the judges3, designer Wayne Hemingway, says: “We are genuinely impressed by the calibre of entries this year, not only from the smaller, ethically minded companies but also from the growing number of high street retailers who are listening to customers and making huge steps forward for animal welfare.

“When retailers on this scale address these issues, you really do have to be hopeful that we have reached a tipping point and the world is starting to listen.”

Fashion finalists for the 2009 Good Business Awards (in alphabetical order) are:

Large Company

• George @ ASDA: They have implemented a complete ban on the use of fur in all clothing and product ranges. They also have a clear labeling policy for fake fur garments. The firm continues to test and sample products that come through their suppliers to check that no mixed fur products are used and have set up a suppliers workgroup.
• M&S: For an ongoing commitment to animal welfare. Their statement is that animals should not be bred and slaughtered specifically for the purpose of producing non-food products. As well as a ban on selling fur, their aim is to source 100% non-mulesed wool by 2012. They are also looking into setting their own minimum standards for feather and down.
• New Look: This prominent high street brand has implemented a no fur policy which requires new suppliers to sign their Animal Welfare policy and adhere to it. The company is also keen to further develop its leather-sourcing monitoring so it will be able to provide clearer labeling information. They are also trialling sustainable fabrics including fabric made from bamboo, recycled plastic bottles and an organic cotton range.
• Tesco: The company are working in partnership with Defra via their Sustainable Clothing Action Plan. They do not use any real fur and all faux fur is clearly labeled on garment care labels. One interesting scheme is their E-leather footware range that uses recycled leather.

Small Company

• Finisterre: For the company’s no mulesing policy and their sourcing of merino fabrics. They are also looking to source feathers from a free range sourcing programme in Poland. Finisterre believes in communicating with its customers so they can make informed buying decisions.
• Izzy Lane: For an ongoing commitment to animal welfare. Isobel’s flock of sheep were rescued as lambs from slaughter and live on the farm in North Yorkshire. Their wool is used to create a stylish fashion collection, helping to support a network of rural handknitters.
• Neon Collective: A high end ethical fashion store that offers a range of vegan designed shoes, handbags and accessories which are completely free of all animal-derived products. The company also has ethical policies on pollution, recycling and packaging helping to create a mantra of ‘responsible luxury’.

David Bowles, Head of External Affairs for the RSPCA says: “We have had a record quality and quantity of entries to this year’s fashion category – a clear indication that companies are responding to the shift away from disposable fashion and towards responsible consumerism.

“Shoppers want to feel assured about the animal welfare credentials of the items they buy and therefore it is great to see some of the biggest fashion brands on the high street on this year’s shortlist. These companies, who are striving to implement exceptional welfare standards, deserve our recognition as they set the standard for others to work towards.”

The RSPCA Good Business Awards gala ceremony will be held at One Marylebone, London on Wednesday 7 October 2009. Tickets for the awards ceremony are available by contacting the RSPCA Good Business Awards team on 0300 123 0488 or awards@rspca.org.uk or online: www.rspcagoodbusinessawards.com
www.finisterreuk.com

Desde el principio trate de reflejar todo lo que veia en la playa y que tanto me impresionaba: La luz de ultima hora de la tarde, las olas enormes de los temporales de Invierno,  el Longboard, Line ups…dar una visión general del mar, del surf, y de todo lo que le rodea.Captar la fuerza y la belleza del océano, y la relación del hombre con el mar a traves del surf. Actualmente sigo en proceso de aprendizaje, fijandome en el trabajo de los mejores fotógrafos de surf y de otras disciplinas y descubriendo poco a poco nuevos lugares y nuevos puntos de vista de los sitios de siempre.

Jaider was born 24 years ago in a suburb of Aviles, located in the Central Coast of the Spanish North Shore. He started taking photographs at the same time he started surfing – age 21 he bought his first digital camera. Ever since, he has tried to capture every tiny detail he finds on the beach, as well as the bigger moments that impress him: sunsets, big waves from the winter swells, longboards, line-ups… He aims to capture the beauty and the power of the ocean and its interaction with men, expressed through surfing. Keeping his mind always open, Jaider is discovering new places and becoming aware of new perspectives on the old views he revisits.

www.jaiderlozano.com

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GAVIOTAS. Mientras un swell enorme azota la costa cantabrica, una pequeña ola perfecta rompe en un lugar protegido de la costa. Enero 2008.//SEAGULLS. While a big swell hits the coast, a small perfect wave breaks in a protected spot. Asturias, Spain. .January 2008.

Drift: When was your earliest surfing experience and what did it mean for you?
Bing Copeland: I was a body surfer and skim boarder from 1945 until 1948 when I was loaned a heavy redwood and balsa board by Dale Velzy. It was really difficult to keep from pearling but after many attempts I successfully rode my first wave to the beach. The thrill is something no-one forgets and I knew at that moment that surfing was the sport for me.

Drift: When did you make your first trip to Hawaii?
BC: In September of 1955 five buddies and I flew to Hawaii and spent the first two weeks surfing Waikiki before moving to Makaha where we rented a Quonset hut on the point. I have many fond memories of hanging out with my friends and learning to ride Makaha.

Drift:Did you jump into big-wave surfing straight away?
BC: No, we were lucky to get to ride small Makaha first and were able to work our way up as the winter swells increased in size. We had the privilege of surfing alongside George Downing, Buzzy Trent, Peter Cole and many others. It was Downing that taught me to observe the direction of the swell in order to recognise a close-out from a makeable wave.

Drift: What were you riding at the time?
BC: We were all riding Velzy Malibu-style balsa boards. We each only had one board and we rode them in all conditions. Mine was 9’6” x 22” with the wide point a foot or so forward of centre.

Drift: Was joining the US Coast Guard designed to keep you in the water as much as possible?
BC: Actually, joining the Coast Guard was to keep us from getting drafted into the army. As it turned out, since we had already completed our basic training in the States as reservists, it was easy to be stationed in Honolulu which allowed Rick Stoner and I to surf Ala Moana every day after work and to spend 30 days every winter surfing the North Shore.

Drift: Were there any moments riding Makaha and Waimea when you thought you may have become too confident?
BC: Yes! At Sunset Beach I had been so confident that I thought I could handle any wave that came my way. One day on a small inside section I got drilled and held on the bottom longer than I wanted. I remember, after swimming in and retrieving my board, as I was paddling back out thinking to myself that I’d better show a little more respect for the ocean and make wiser choices about which waves I took.

Drift: You were part of the group who put Waimea on the map, how does that feel to be involved in such an important time in the history of surfing?
BC: It’s really been built up to be a bigger deal than it actually was. It wasn’t a giant day and the water was pretty smooth. It was mostly getting over the taboo that Waimea was known for after Dickie Cross was killed there.

Drift: Who do you keep in contact with from those days?
BC: The six that flew over in 55 were Rick Stoner, Mike Bright, Sonny Valdeman, Steve Vorhees, George Kapoo and me. George and Rick have since died, but I see Sonny and Mike regularly.

Drift: When did you first meet Dale Velzy, and how much did you learn from him?
BC: I first met the Hawk in 1949, when I began hanging around the Manhattan Beach pier. A year or so later he opened his first shop and I would hang around as much as possible. I never really realised that I was learning about building boards but I guess I did. Mostly it was just really cool to hang around and do little jobs for him.

Drift: Can you tell us why you pursued Dick Brewer to the extent that you did to bring him into your design team? What was it about Dick which appealed to you that much?
BC: It was Duke Boyd, who was helping me
with my advertising, who suggested we approach Brewer with the idea of working together on a few models. Dick had a lot of talented surfers that were riding his boards in the Islands, so it was a really good fit to include him on our design team.

Drift: How did Mike Eaton become involved in Bing Surfboards?
BC: I’ve known Mike since we were in our teens, but he didn’t come to work for me until the mid to late 1960s. He was always a good craftsman and a great guy to work with – it was only natural for him to carry on the Bing name when I moved to Idaho. I would always stop and visit Mike every time I passed through California. We remained friends and always discussed the direction of Bing Surfboards when we met.

Drift: Is there one board design that Bing will be associated with more closely than any other? Dan Bendiksen’s pintails? The Eaton Bonzer?
BC: Well, certainly we will be remembered for listening to the Campbell Brothers, building and giving the Bonzer surfboard a place in the evolution of surfboard history. Also since we made more David Nuuhiwa Noseriders than any other model we will be remembered for those as well. Dan Benkiksen was the main shaper for the noseriders and he was instrumental, along with Mike Eaton and myself, for co-designing most of our future models.

Drift: When Mike handed the reigns to Matt Calvani, did you feel that Bing Surfboards was entering a new era of modernity?
BC: Absolutely. Mike was pretty wrapped up in building paddleboards and wasn’t really pushing the Bing thing. When we switched the production to Matt Calvani in Hermosa Beach, it was like a breath of fresh air. Matt, besides being an excellent shaper, has a deep interest in preserving the classic longboard tradition and modernising the shapes where necessary.

Drift: You must have witnessed life change radically around Hermosa Beach. Was it hard to relocate to Idaho?
BC: By the time I decided to move to Idaho we were ready to get our kids out of California and away from the drug scene. When I moved to Idaho it was the first time I ever had a lawn. And the small town atmosphere of Ketchum, Idaho was fun and refreshing.

Drift: Sitting on the end of the Manhattan Beach pier with Greg Noll, did you ever imagine you would have made such a long life from the surfboard industry?
BC: Absolutely not! My life in the surfboard industry just sort of fell into place by itself. It would be nice to say it was some sort of a grand scheme, but it just evolved. I never imagined that there’d be a book about my life and times, that’s for sure.

Drift: You’re over 70 now; looking back, would you change anything?
BC: Not really. I’ve had a good life and have been fortunate to have surrounded myself with good friends and great craftsmen. I’ve also been fortunate to find a second occupation, which has allowed me to retire modestly.

www.classicbingsurfboards.com
Photos: Courtesy of Bing Copeland

You know what its like: riding the perfect tube; the crystal waters scooping up to your trailing hand; the roar of a ton of water crashing behind you, spitting you out, through the foam to ride clean, arms aloft, embracing the sunshine as it embraces you. You know what that feels like, that elation, that sense of oneness? No? Me neither. Never. Not once. Not even close. The truth is, such a sublime experience is not granted to the many, it is the preserve of the few. Such an inspirational moment gathers its potency from its rarity. Which is all well and good but that’s no comfort to your average stick jockey, up to his ears in silty grey sludge as he fights his way through porridge-like swell having wiped out, yet again, after a twenty second scramble to stay upright. It’s no comfort to my North Sea addled heart to know that somewhere, out in the azure wilds of the Indian Ocean a select bunch of dudes and dudettes are living the dream, scoring tube after glorious tube in seas as warm as my bath water. No comfort at all. But before this descends into a bitter diatribe, let us consider what Taj Burrows and the rest of the ASP circus are missing out on. And they are missing out.

It’s a wet Thursday in the middle of November. I’m sitting in my car staring out at a great grey slab of sea slowly turning beige in the bleak sunless dawn. The windscreen wipers are squeaking as they wash away the driving rain. I’m still dressed, the wetsuit limp and lifeless in the boot, and outside, my friend Ben is unlashing the boards from the roof – his penance for snapping the fin on my favourite board. It’s too early, too grey and I’m bloody freezing.

I’ve watched three other regulars pull up, poke their heads out and pull off again without a second thought. I watched one local go in – a leathery faced whale of a man with a board the size of a bus – and ten minutes later come back with half his bus under his arm, the other half blowing like a kite, tugging at the leash still attached to his ankle. The omens do not bode well. Even Ben looks dubious, his normally bright expression almost blown away by the harsh easterly. He bangs on the window and shouts, “Come on then!” I take a deep breath, turn off the ignition and, as the heater slowly whines to a halt, yank open the door to make a start of it.

We are near naked faster than a pair of Chippendales working double time at a female prison. We work together. We zip each other up, sealing ourselves in the 6.4 neoprene. While Ben gloves up I lock the car and stuff the keys in the exhaust pipe. Ben passes me my board and we stare at each other, wordless, our mouths hidden beneath our hoods, blowing hot air into the rubber to help delay the inevitable ear ache. A nod and we’re off.

The wind blind-sides us as we emerge from the protection of the sea wall. We run to the water, dismissing the boiling mess of peaks and foam ahead. We know this break. We know where we’re going. We know how hard this is going to be. It’s not until we’re waist deep and our feet are being tugged away with the returning tide that we slip onto our boards and begin the paddle. Each pull hurts. Ducking the waves freezes our faces. Emerging into the offshore gale adds insult to injury. Still we paddle, trying to ignore the slow progress, waiting for the rip to catch us, pull us out beyond the impact zone. Just one more duck, I say to myself, one more dive, one more pull, one more slap in the face. My hands are numb, my lungs are burning and when we finally struggle over the last peak, sit up and face the shore, the enormity of this little swim overwhelms us. We slump over to catch our breath. The swell is poor, no more than junky waves which close out early or fair to rise. There’s a cross wind whipping against the prevailing gale, knocking the waves as they build. The sets are difficult to judge, there’s no clean line to follow but this might be the only swell I’ll catch all week so it has to be enough.

I take a couple of warm up waves, ducking off before the drop, getting a feel for them. Ben tries one, gets mashed up on a late drop. I sit on the line-up until he makes his way back. His eyes say it all. We sit in silence. Craning our necks to see wave after crappy wave dissolve into greasy foam. It feels like hours, like days. Then, just as we’re on the verge of giving up, I look at the horizon and see what might, just might, be a set rolling in; a brace of clean lines in the middle of all the confusion. I point them out to Ben. They’re nothing, waist high at best, the sort of wave the circus boys wouldn’t get out of bed for but the best we can expect, possibly the best we’ll get all week. Beggars can’t be choosers. Ben’s still suffering from his wipe out so I get ready for the first of the waves.

They sweep in quicker than I anticipate, catching me almost off guard, I panic. I can’t waste what might be the only real wave of the session. Arms dead with the cold, I paddle like my life depends upon it. It might as well be Jaws rising up behind me, not some squalid little ripple off the east coast of Yorkshire. My heart is pounding. I feel the lift and dig deep, paddle with a vigour which betrays my desperation. Too desperate? Too needy? I haven’t time to worry, I’ve one chance. Three final pulls and it’s up. The wave’s peaking, threatening to close out. I cut back quickly, try to capitalise on the dying energy, terrified that there’s nothing left, that I’ll float right over into the chop and waste my chance. But suddenly the face rises, a new sand bar has pulled it up and I turn off the lip to see the water grow until it’s at my shoulder as I slice along its length. I forget the ache in my arm, I forget the rain, I forget the wind, I forget the freezing cold and for ten beautiful seconds I’m in my own world.

Ben catches his but it closes out before the bar. He rides the white water back to shore and I follow. It’s getting late. We trudge back to the car, lash the boards to the roof and set off home, still in our suits. We might be mad but we’re not idiots. Back home the house is waking. My wife comes down to find Ben and I sitting in silence, drinking coffee, wetsuits in the sink, our clothes crumpled and sticky over our reddening skin. “Was it good?” she asks.

And this is what they’re missing, Taj and his fellow pros, this purity, this simplicity. The feeling of having made something of nothing, finding perfection in the worst of situations. They miss out on the elation of finding one wave worth riding because for them there will always be another wave on its way, another perfect tube, another massive break whereas for us this might be it. This might be the best of the season and it’s still worth it. Worth the pain, worth the struggle, worth every dawn patrol disappointment because, right at this moment, I’m king of the world. “Yeah,” I tell my wife, “It was the best.”

So here I am, heavy collar turned up against a brisk morning offshore as a thin winter sun ushers the weary dawn through a stubborn sea mist. The swell is all wrong, too big, too south. There’s nobody here but me, with only a 6’1”, so confident was I that the web charts would translate to some perfect reeling 3-5ft lefts. But it feels too small for the raw unchecked swell charging in from the deep open ocean, missing the point and heading to the rugged reefs and slabs up north. It’s cold, really cold. The water brown and cloaked with heavy foam. Standing alone on the point, huddled over a cup of tea for warmth, I feel small and lost on a vast and unfamiliar coast. Far from home and ill prepared, more than I bargained for and in a moment of doubt.

It’s early; I could bail, head home to the familiar comforts of Cape Town with my tail between my legs and score a late afternoon session. Swallow my ego and admit defeat, make a weak vow to return one day and make the long drive home, plenty of time to spin a story to explain why I ran when the going got tough; dodgy tides, too foggy, it would have been irresponsible to surf alone…. Or I could get on with it, face up to my decision to head west, ditch the romance and face up to the reality. If it was easy it wouldn’t be empty.

I’d been told of a dirt track that winds north yielding countless slabs and reefs when the swell is from the South. With a westerly swell predicted I hadn’t paid much attention, not even packing a road map for this stretch of coast. Cursing myself I pull up to the gate of the only dirt road around, a gravel toll road headed north skirting a railway. The toll is 25 Rand but the gate is unguarded and the toll station seemingly empty; two crumbling concrete huts in the desert flanked by a large steel rails; it’s like a Mad Max movie. I get out of the car and walk to the second hut, its windows clogged with condensation. Inside is the guard, fast asleep and wrapped in a heavy blue jacked and woollen hat. Above his head, daubed graffiti reads: “Love is all but trust is no.1”. Nothing like early morning heartbreak to ease my trepidation.

I pay the toll and push on through the barrier. The road hugs the beach, criss-crossing the railway as the dunes dictate the passage. The coastline is rugged and the ocean looks heavy, strewn with kelp and churning rips marked by the ever-present dark brown foam. After 10km’s I’ve passed several spots, all empty, all far out beyond the kelp beds, and there’s no sign of a surfer anywhere. Every now and then I spot a fisherman, a lonely rod visable above a low dune; a sign of life at least, but not the assurance of company I now crave in the empty waves. Rounding a corner, I spot a red camper idling on the side of the road. I approach slowly and pass, craning and praying for any sign of a surfboard. Inside are two men in their late 30’s. In the back I make out the silohuette of fins. They don’t see me pass, their gaze is set on a perfect a-frame heaving off a small outcrop of rocks by the road. I swing round and pull in next to them. They smile—relief.

Both are from Cape Town, one works in IT and the other in banking. They’ve been coming here since the early 80’s and assure me that this is the best spot for the conditions before grabbing their boards and paddling out. On a 6’10” and 7’2”, respectively, I feel a little foolish as I follow behind on a 6’1”.

From the beach the wave looks manageable, not more than 5 feet or so with a solid take off and a good wall that tapers into a channel. From the water, however, the wave is more challenging. The swell horseshoes onto the reef, compressing into a thick lip and a heavy wall. I paddle hard into my first wave, making the drop as the wall curves towards me. The section throws and I tuck for a barrel but my line is too high. I pearl and go over, cold water flushing my suit as I pitch and roll, the violence of the wipeout catching me off guard and stretching my leash to breaking point somewhere over head. I eventually surface in the channel, far from the peak and alone.

Gathering my board, I look back to the beach to spot my markers and re-orientate my spinning senses, and then I see it. The white sands and baked brown dirt road, the railway glinting in the sun, the mountains visible through the haze on the horizon, midday sun rising over the vast plains before them and deep blue-sky overhead. No people, no houses, no blot on the landscape other than our two cars parked in the bush. Not a single soul in sight, solitude and perfect waves.