And then a low built out over the Arctic. The swell of all North Sea swells. So we rang C4 and asked if we could delay for a week, all good, so we hung about. Twiddling our thumbs unable to remove our eyes from the charts and we watched whilst the favourable west winds turned northerly and climbed the beaufort scale. We got scared, what if we had delayed for nothing. It arrived as did a day spent driving and searching for shelter, nothing surfable. Home, dejected and hungry, bed.
Would tomorrow deliver? The swell had dropped considerably but the wind was good as we drove south. At first sight we knew we'd scored but not at the size promised. The forecasted twelve foot at twelve seconds would be well and truly off the scale at this treasured place. But whatever the predictions said the turnstile did indeed spin its dreams.
Framegrabs: Gabe Davies, Sandy Kerr, Jesse Davies, Reuben Ash.
