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Wave Riders bags Audience Award at Dublin Film Festival

Further to Alf Alderson's review of Inis Films' Wave Riders, I hear that the film won the Audience Award at the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival. In doing so, the documentary on Irish surfing beat heavy competition including The Orphanage, Lars and the Real Girl and even the Oscar-winning There Will Be Blood.

That's a serious achievement. Wave Riders next shows at the Belfast Film Festival on 13 April.

Nice lines on the beach

I can't surf for a few weeks owing to my injured leg but having heard the local radio and been appraised of this story by Andy Cox, I can't resist going down to the beach to check out the nice lines that I'm told are there. As a matter of urgency. After all, it's offshore and, as both myself and Sharpy have, on different occasions, said: "Charlie Does Surf."

This might, though, be the first occasion when I find said lines and tell the police. Unless I emigrate to Columbia first...

Irons on Fire (and stop-press news about my quad tear)

Here's more from Cassandra Murnieks on the Quiksilver Pro. Meanwhile, I know you'll all want to know about my quad tear. What's that? You don't care? Well, I'll tell you anyway. The medical advice from top local physio Ben Donaldson is depressing: no surfing for three weeks. Ben advises against boxing, too. Certainly no footie though even I wouldn't try and play with the leg as it is. Basically, no explosive sports if I want to be in shape to enjoy a few Bajan waves in the second half of March. Though Ben says that skating Mad Dog Hill is OK (no pushing involved, just downhill all the way)... Anyway, back to the real thing - here's Cassie on the action on the Gold Coast (with thanks to the ASP World Tour for the images of the Hawaiian ripping).

Three-time world champion Andy Irons sent out a message to his fellow competitors that he means business after scoring the highest single wave score in his second round heat at the Quiksilver Pro on the Gold Coast yesterday.

After being relegated to the second round, Irons showed no mercy against Tahitian wild card Tamaroa McComb amassing a total score of 16.37 (9.00 and 6.67) compared to McComb’s 5.90. “I haven’t got a 9.00 in about six months so it felt unreal,” Irons said. “I haven’t made heats in a while and I guess I just haven’t been into it. In the off season I really had to think about that and now I’m really psyched. I want to be here and I want to do well. I like to win heats and it feels good, it’s my new buzz.”

When skating hills goes wrong

I enjoyed a brief and mellow skate of Mad Dog Hill today. The headwind was too strong even to get anywhere near the mad dog, let alone complete the near-mile of perfect downhill. This was good news, for it made for a session guaranteed to be injury-free. I can also confirm, for all the sports physios out there, that skating a hill is no problem with a quad tear (never let it be said that I don't do my bit for medical science).

However, albeit that the mad dog didn't bite back today, five dislocations to my right shoulder from skating 20 years ago tell me that it's only a matter of time. Here are some videos illustrating the truth of the old adage (Confucious, I believe): And remember, no matter where you skate, there you hurt.

Wave Riders

To my regret I couldn't make it to the Dublin premiere of Wave Riders last Friday. But Alf Alderson was there and caught the film. Here's his review.

Dublin – they say it’s a fair city and I wouldn’t be one to disagree after an excellent weekend in the metropolis’s eclectic Trinity Capital Hotel, which I highly recommend. But, you may be asking yourself, what has this got to do with the fine sport of surfing? Well, I was there to see the world premiere of Wave Riders, a new documentary airing last Friday evening at the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival. So now it all falls into place…

Indeed, the fact that such a remark would nowadays raise few eyebrows is a natural follow on from the subject of Wave Riders, which, in a nutshell, looks at the development of surfing in Ireland from its somewhat arcane Hawaiian roots to becoming the new epicentre for big wave surfing. Those of you who know your surf history may know much of what Wave Riders has to tell the viewer, starting with the story of Hawaiian/Irish George Freeth, an outstanding waterman of the early 20th century who introduced surfing to the American public and thence to the rest of the world.

Reflections on surfing. And some glimpses of perfection

My quadriceps tear left me with no option for exercise but to walk the dog along the beach today. I looked out on the car park end at Sennen Cove as five or six surfers, Sam Bleakley included, made the most of what looked like one of those swells that flatters to deceive. The waves weren't small, but they seemed to lack power.

No matter. Simply watching surfing and walking along with an injury that means I can't get in the water for two or three weeks made me realise just how devastated I'd be if being able to paddle out and catch a few waves became an impossibility. What a thought. Makes me think that even when my leg is better it's time, once and for all, to hang up my football boots.

Meanwhile, such mildly maudlin musings were cast aside when I got home and found these stoke-filled, 100% perfect pictures in my (now revived) Inbox. They come from Andy Cox, who in turn received them from Franck Lamon. Many years ago Franck showed Andy the hidden jewels of the Basque coast when they should both have been studying at Pau University. If these were the kind of waves on offer, bailing from Pau was surely the only call to make. Yes, Andy?

Eduardo

About a year ago I posted this piece, in which I wondered how dangerous surfing was compared with a number of other sports. I conducted a little survey, based entirely on my own highs and lows (mostly lows) in the sporting arena, and found that football (soccer) was by far the most dangerous sport of all.

On Saturday night I watched both the France v England rugby game, and Match of the Day. As usual when I watch rugby, I marvel at how hard it is. I shudder to think of the many ways in which serious damage can occur, and thank the Lord for making for 5'10". Because of this, I gave up playing rugby when I was 18. By then, everyone else, save for the scrum half, was bigger than me. I was getting hurt too often, and it was time to pursue the game I've played and loved the most - football.

Twenty one years later I relished Saturday night's Six Nations game in the Stade de France. By its end I had nothing but tremendous admiration for those who take to the rugby field. But I also pondered conversations I used to have with one of my oldest friends, Rich. He played rugby, I played football. We were both reasonable amateur players in our respective sports, and we loved nothing better than to debate which of the two was the toughest game. Rich would say it was obvious, and laugh at me for even suggesting that football was on a par with rugby. But I'd maintain that because of the speed with which football is played, and the way that legs and feet, not bodies and shoulders, are travelling at such velocity towards one's opponents, football was always more likely to result in serious injury.

I was mulling over this contention as I settled down to watch Match of the Day. I was also wondering if my latest football injury, a grade 2 quadriceps strain acquired last Tuesday while playing 5-a-side football, would hold up if I went for a surf on Sunday. And then I saw what happened to Eduardo, the gifted Arsenal striker. Do not watch the clip below if, like me, you are queasy (though mercifully it's not in real time).

For what's it worth, I don't think that the Birmingham City player, Martin Taylor, went into the tackle with any malice. Eduardo was too quick for him, and Taylor was guilty of clumsiness as much as anything else. But the incident is a horror story. Eduardo has apparently suffered a double compound fracture of his lower left leg, and he will surely be out of the game for as much as a year, if not longer.

I duly went for a surf on Sunday. Praa Sands was gorgeous and clean. I had an indifferent first wave, and then, on my second, my strained thigh muscle popped again.

As a consequence of playing football last Tuesday, I now have yet another injury. In the short term, there'll be no surfing for me, certainly no more football on Tuesday nights and definitely lots of rest, ice and compression.

None of this, of course, even vaguely compares to the trauma that Eduardo is going through. All I can say, to Rich and to any other doubters, is that football is a very, very tough game. I hope that Eduardo one day takes to the field again, and despite my belief that Taylor did not act with intent, I hope that anyone playing football, at any level, will take heed and never, ever go in for a tackle with studs raised again. The potential consequences are just too horrific.

From the mind of a skateboarder

Ed at Global Boarders alerts me to this wondrous footage from Dave the Chimp, a film-maker, graffiti artist and, yes, skater.

Banksy and The Abbey

Last night I journeyed all of five miles to stay at The Abbey Hotel in Penzance. What a fantastic place this is. It's a 17th century house just off Chapel Street, owned by former model Jean Shrimpton and her photographer husband Michael Cox. Their taste is exquisite and a literary chap could spend hours idling through the many excellent books in the lounge. One of my heroes, W G Sebald, is there, but perhaps even more pleasing to behold was a copy of John Severson's 1963 classic, Modern Surfing Around the World. My discovery of this book was down to Tim Kevan, who kindly lent me his copy. I've missed it ever since I gave it back and despite my best efforts haven't seen another copy anywhere. It was a real treat to find the book again.

The serendipity continued in The Abbey Restaurant. Karen, Harry and I were treated to the best meal we've had in years courtesy of new chef Michael Riemenschneider; my only regret is that Elliot was sleeping over at a friend's, and so missed out. Given that this is a surf blog, I'd better curb my digressive tendencies and refrain from launching into a full-blown restaurant review. Suffice to say that The Abbey Restaurant is a must.

After the meal I got talking to the Sommelier, Luke Richardson. I've rarely met anyone with so extensive a vocabulary, and have certainly never met anyone with such an incredible knowledge of wine. He's a poker player, too. As we were chatting we were joined by Sous Chef Adam Cain. Curiously enough, he was brought up in my village. His mum and sister live up the road, and Adam has recently moved back from London. It turns out that he surfs The Spot That dare Not Speak Its Name (our local break) regularly and loves it better than any other break in the UK.

Said spot is not working today, but you know your life is going in the right direction when, just when you least expect it, you see surfing and surfers at every turn.

But why is Banksy in the headline? Well, I love his work and am writing a piece about him. Can anyone confirm that he is indeed a former skater from Bristol? If true, this might explain a lot.

Picture of Jean Shrimpton courtesy of www.vandaprints.com; John Severson's painting is from www.calart.com; Bansky's 'Watercan Girl' is at www.banksy.co.uk

A Touch of Glamour as the WCT Kicks Off

It's that time of the year already. Yes, the latest Association of Surfing Professionals World Championship Tour is underway. The action is taking place at Snapper Rocks on Australia's Gold Coast (is that little channel still there to make the paddle out easy? I remember it from 20 years ago). Here's Cassandra Murnieks with the lowdown from Down Under - and some pictures courtesy of the ASP lending an extra dash of glamour to the proceedings.

WORLD Champions Mick Fanning and Stephanie Gilmore are firm favourites to win their respective events starting at Snapper Rocks today.

With both surfers having the famed Gold Coast break as their home break, they will be looking for a win to kick-start their 2008 World Title campaigns. While Fanning has enjoyed the time off, he is looking forward to defending his Quiksilver Pro title: "I thought that I would be feeling the pressure, but I’m actually feeling really relaxed, happy to be here and looking forward to competing."

I Hate Computers

There I am, slaving away, when the laptop freezes. I sigh. These things happen, and it's sure to be OK in a minute.

A minute later, and all remains frozen. I curse. Time waits for no man, least of all me, and a couple of minutes duly elapse. The merciless inevitability of the loss of two minutes from my life is only amplified by the ongoing stasis of my laptop.

Five minutes have gone by. Still nothing. I feel the beginnings of rage. I reboot the laptop, for this is sure to work. It doesn't. In fact, it makes things worse, for when I eventually open Outlook Express I find that all my emails have disappeared. Gone. Vanished. There is nothing left. Niente. Zilch. Nihil. Rien. Nothing. Nada.

I phone a friend. Two hours later partial recovery has been accomplished. My friend points out that all the emails are presently suspended in the ether, lurking on Google. "You can retrieve them, even if various of your folders have been lost."

Yes I can, but all my Outlook folders were so neatly organised. Everything was in its place. I receive about 100 emails a day, and not all of them are Spam. That's a lot to cope with, but I'm efficient. I catalogue everything and know where things are. Only in this way can I Do My Various Jobs And Make A Living.

I return to my laptop.  Things could be worse - my friend's help may not have yielded a single recovered folder, but as it is, sundry emails glisten and gleam, tantalising me with the enigma of their intentions (Isn't that (c) a French writer who lived in a cork-lined room? Ed). "Thank the Lord," I say, "at least the laptop is working and I can do something, like try and get away with pretentious Proustian allusions in a blog about surfing. After all, he's out of copyright now, and no one will notice." And just then, the screen freezes again.  And sure enough, I now write this, having lost all the emails my friend had recovered.

I feel a sense of despair. Nearly three hours have been wasted on my stupid computer. Yet again I will have to struggle with incomprehensible techniques of IT recovery before being able to resume work. Worse still, my laptop's malevolence has prevented me getting to Mad Dog Hill for a post-work skate. What kind of laptop does a thing like that?

I am going to say 'Goodbye' to the laptop and ignore it for the rest of the evening. That'll teach it. If it doesn't co-operate tomorrow, I will turn into the nice man pictured here. And why not, after all? Look at the fun he's having! Look how happy all the onlookers are! Who needs stupid computers anyway!?! (Er, you do. Ed.)

SAS bag another award

I'm delighted to say that Surfers Against Sewage (SAS) have bagged another award. Richard Hardy, SAS's Campaigns Director, tells me that SAS campaigns have won the inaugural Best Environmental Campaign as part of the Coast Awards 2007 presented by Coast magazine.

SAS campaigns beat off tough competition from the Marine Conservation Society and their Beachwatch campaign and The National Trust’s Neptune Coastline campaign. All the campaigns were short-listed by Coast readers and then a panel of judges made the final decision. Judges included Coast presenter Nicholas Crane, Jonathan Shaw, Minister for Marine, Landscape and Rural Affairs, and FishWorks restaurateur Mitchell Tonks. Praising SAS's campaigns, Tonks said: “I love how they get youngsters Involved.”

The Coast award completed a hat-trick of high-profile, prestigious awards presented to SAS for 2007 campaigning, with the British Environmental Media Award and the Surfers Path Global Green Wave Award making up the trio. As Richard Hardy put it:  "It’s fantastic for our hard work to be recognised and rewarded, especially when considering the small size of the SAS Team. We definitely punch above our weight and these awards stoke our enthusiasm if we ever feel that Goliath is getting us on the ropes."    

SAS Campaign Officer, Andy Cummins says: "We are delighted to have won this prestigious award, especially considering the campaigns that were short-listed by the readers. It is a testament to the strength of our campaigns that this major award is the 3rd for our 2007 actions. Buoyed by these successes we’re all fired up for another year of full on, no holding back clean water campaigning.  We'd like to thank Coast magazine, their judges and especially Coast readers for all their support."   

For further information or more details on action with SAS please contact Richard Hardy or Andy Cummins on Tel: 01872 555950 and see SAS.

Big Wave Surfing?

This link comes to me from the good folk at Paddle Round The Pier. I'm not sure that the promise of 'big wave surfing' and learning how to 'hang ten like a true pro' in just two days is all that realistic, but their optimism is admirable.

Talking of paddling round the pier, preparations for this annual South Coast jamboree are now underway, with the event scheduled for 5 and 6 July. There's also a blog - check out the link here. I've yet to make it to Brighton but it looks as ever like a cracking weekend and I'll see what I can do this year.

Meanwhile, talking of top quality events, the O'Neill Highland Open has been definitively confirmed for Thurso and a number of other world class Scottish breaks between 23 and 30 April. I'll be there, fresh from some nice mellow point breaks in Barbados. Perfect for that debut Thurso East paddle out. Or not...

Live, Surf, Travel - Not A Bad Life

There's some good stuff over on the peripatetic Simon Jayham's blog, including the news that Cardiff and Newquay will once again be connected by air thanks to Skybus, an interesting snippet about flow rider machines and the gnarly North Shore poster reproduced here.

Simon is also responsible for the second picture. It can be found on the Magic Seaweed site and was taken during the Welsh big wave rider's recent visit to Oahu. Must have been hell for him but surely not as dangerous as his impending trip to Madeira - with The Gill.

Mad Dog Hill

Some glorious late afternoon skateboarding today thanks to Stef Harkon. The St Ives surfer, skater and lifeguard has recently been scouring the roads of Penwith for perfect skating hills. His search yielded what Stef christened Mad Dog Hill. Harry and I got there just before dark and, with Stef, skated it twice. It's the perfect place for the Original boards, though the search for comparable or even better hills is now on.

A clue to its whereabouts: another name that Stef toyed with was 'Airports'. And a word of warning: if you find it, and skate it, you will rapidly learn why it's called Mad Dog Hill.

Post skate, Harry and I had one of Our Debates. We began by discussing Stef.

Harry: "Dad, how is that Stef can go so fast down that hill? Is he mad?"

Me: "Yes, he's insane. But he was one of the first pro skaters in Britain, so he's got years of experience under his belt. He knows what he's doing."

Harry: "I suppose so."

Silence.

Me: "Skateboarding is mad, when you think about it."

Harry: "Why?"

Me: "Well,  you're travelling at speed over concrete on just a wooden deck attached to which are four wheels. It's daft, really."

Silence.

Harry: "Dad, I'm a better skater than you."

Me: "I'm not sure about that."

Harry: "Of course I am! I can do loads of tricks that you can't do or used to be able to do and are now too old to do."

Me: "On the Original boards, I'd say we're about the same."

Harry: "No way."

Silence.

Harry: "Dad, did you know that someone from England called Captain Cook saw the first people surfing?"

Me: "I was aware of something along those lines, yes. It's in my book, actually."

(Delighted but soon-to-be-shattered paternal glow ensures.)

Me: "Have you, erm, been reading my book?"

Harry: "No."

Silence.

Harry: "I might read it when I'm older. And I'll write a book, too. It'll be called 'How I'm Better Than My Dad At Everything'. Chapter 1 will be surfing, Chapter 2 boxing, Chapter 3 will be skateboarding, then Chapter 4 will be poker and so on. And by then, I'll be better at writing than you, too."

Harry smiles. I am not sure if he is joking.

Picture from a skate session of a couple of weeks back courtesy of Russ Pierre.

Portakabin is not a Secret Spot. It's a Registered Trade Mark

During my time as a night lawyer for various newspapers the issue of trade marks would occasionally exercise me. Frankly I found this sort of thing rather dull but it was always a delight to receive a letter from Portakabin (TM), pointing out the precise circumstances when one could use the word Portakabin (TM). Indeed, ever since the first Portakabin (TM) letter I encountered, I have looked out for Portakabins (TM) by the beach, so that I could rename whatever break I happened to be at as 'Portakabins - TM' or 'kabins - TM' or even just 'PK' (hang on, that's dangerously close to home...). Call me a crazy fool but how cool it would be to tell my mates of the awesome rights at Portakabins (TM) or the walling lefts of 'kabins - TM'! Yes!

Anyway, I was intrigued to see that Dick Ellershaw, of Portakabin Ltd, recently wrote to Carve. I think what he really wanted to say was 'Great issue, guys, those Tom Lowe shots are unbelievable' but professionalism prevailed and instead he said this:

In an article in the January edition of CARVE Surfing Magazine entitled 'Long Haul', the following was stated: 'Howling northwesterlies blasted the beach all weekend and personally I reckon the judges deserve knighthoods for sticking it out in an open Portacabin...'

I am writing to point out that 'Portakabin' is a registered Trade Mark which may only be used to describe buildings manufactured by this company. In order to protect our rights to the exclusive use of this Mark, we must take active steps to discourage its use as a generic term, and would ask that the attention of your staff be drawn to this letter and they be asked to use the designation 'Portakabin' only in reference to the buildings of Portakabin Ltd.

It is clearly not practicable for you to check whether all reports you receive mentioning 'Portakabin' are in fact referring to products of ours. In view of this, may I ask that, in any future cases of this kind, you use the term 'portable building' or 'relocatable building', then there can be no possibility of error.

I do assure you that this is of considerable importance to us and would, therefore, be most grateful for your co-operation in this matter.

Mr Ellershaw's concern is all too easy to comprehend. We must strive to eliminate error when it comes to portable buildings. After all, how can we live in a world in which one relocatable building is just like another? One in which relocatable buildings lose their individuality, their style, their uniqueness? I should hope that Carve editor Chris Power shares this view, and that even now he is conducting internal seminars for staff, appraising them of the nuances of trademark law. But wait, what's this? It's his reply to Mr Ellershaw:

Gosh, Dick, please accept our humblest apologies. You're absolutely right, next time one of our reporters is down at the beach doing a contest report and sees something that looks like a Portakabin (TM), it really is critically important that he or she checks out whether it actually is a Portakabin (TM) or merely some inferior 'relocatable building'. Gotta get the facts right. And hey, I love that phrase 'relocatable building'. Really snappy. I'll make a note with my Biro (TM) on a bunch of Post-It (TM) notes and stick them on every Apple Mac (TM) in the office, so all the other guys get the message. Erm, you don't get out much do you, Dick?

Could it be that Mr Ellershaw's eloquent plea on behalf of Portakabin (TM) - in my view, by far the best kind of relocatable building - has fallen on deaf ears? Surely not. Meanwhile I'm off to check Portakabins (TM) - I fear the swell has dropped but you never know.

Offshore Perfection at Sennen and Gwenver

I had an inspirational chat with Bundoran surfer Richie Fitzgerald this morning, this for my piece on the 1st December 2007 Mullaghmore Head landmark big-wave session. Suitably inspired, I can't say that I ripped but I did have a cracking surf this morning. This picture, courtesy of www.sennen-cove.com, shows the well-groomed offshore perfection that Harry and I were blessed to find.

Barack Obama - The Surfers' Choice?

Who says surfers aren't political? Check out what Coconut Girl Wireless has to say about the shenanigans in the States.

Of Team Hillary and Barack 'Get Involved' Obama, who would you choose? Which one knows a slash from a cutback? Or a gouge from a slab? Who would you trust to say 'no' to Monica, 'yes' to point break perfection, 'maybe' to buying a longboard when your shortboard days are over and yet still be able to be The World's Policeman?

Thanks to Coconut Girl - spotted at my local break just a couple of months ago (that's how good life is in the far west) - here's an image of Barack Obama in the surf.

Good man. He gets Coconut Girl's vote, and he gets mine.

Reasons to be Stoked

I'm back from London and stoked. Here's why.

First, there were two new Original Skateboards waiting for me. Preliminary, illicit road-testing (in the car park next door) reveals that these are even better than the Path 37. I'm off to skate them properly any minute, and will report later.

Secondly, the latest issue of Carve was on my desk. In it there are some astonishing shots of St Ives surfer Tom Lowe. He's charging in every picture but especially in those of Riley's (pictured) and Lauren's Left. The lip at Lauren's is as thick as Teahupoo but arguably this wave is even heavier, given its near-total inaccessibility. As the caption - after alluding to Matt Smith's near-death experience there - puts it: "If the s*** goes down, you're in big trouble." Truly impressive stuff and, as you'll never find me tiring of saying, these waves are on our doorstep.

Thirdly, last night was my last shift for six months as a night lawyer for The Times. The kind folk at the world's oldest newspaper have allowed me a sabbatical so that I can concentrate on writing here in the far west. The consequence of this is that I will also now be able to surf and/or skate every single day, swell Gods and injuries permitting (I admit to leaving this tangential benefit out when asking to absent myself from the night lawyer rota for a few months).

Fourthly, I can report that my editor at Simon & Schuster says there is mileage not so much in Skate Nation but something similar. With a bit more UK and Irish surfing. And an international dimension. Watch this space.

On top of all that, the surf looks good for tomorrow.

If all that's not enough, here's the Ian Dury classic. Aloha.

Tow-surfing Huge Aileens

Good to hear from Mike 'Tup' Newman, who's just back from Ireland. While there he caught Dan 'Mole' Joel and Ben Skinner tow-surfing massive Aileens.

The full story will be in the next issue of Pit Pilot. Meanwhile, here are a couple of taster shots from Mike.

Cornish Second Homes - Paradise Lost?

This story by Simon de Bruxelles in today's Times makes for scary reading.

'Surf City' inhabitant Mavis Ward can't believe her luck. She's the only full-time resident in a complex of 30 apartments overlooking (as she puts it) "seven beaches and the sea - the whole of Newquay is laid out before me." The other 29 apartments were apparently bought by Londoners as a second home or to rent out as a holiday let.

Mavis initially wondered where everyone was but now relishes her splendid isolation. "I'm lady of the manor," she says.

Good for her, but is this sort of thing good for Cornwall? A lot of us have long felt that things were problematic, but 29 apartments out of 30 going as second homes and holiday lets? That strikes me as beyond problematic. It sounds like Paradise Lost.

Skate Nation

I have a meeting later today with my editor at Simon & Schuster. I'm going to try and convince him that there is an urgent need for the skateboarding equivalent of Surf Nation. If he agrees, the resulting book will be called Skate Nation: In Search of the Anarcho Fiends and Mutant Bowl-Riders of Britain and Ireland. I'll start work on straightaway and only mention Original Skateboards every second page.

Meanwhile, here's some very cool footage. Is that a one wheel manual that I see towards the end? I'll be tasking the boys with trying to replicate that. Not to mention the effortless, very sweet ollie-based tricks throughout.

But not the one or two rather heavy slams...

Localism in Lincolnshire

Check out this slice of beachside graffiti and scroll down this post from Matt at Extreme Horizon for his thoughts.

Is it really true that localism is alive and well in Lincolnshire?

London Calling

But it's the last time for a long time. I've decided to take the plunge and see if it's possible to make a living from the far west without monthly visits to London to ply my trade as a night lawyer.

For those who don't know what night lawyers are (and don't worry, you're in the majority), we're people who turn up at 4.00pm at the national papers and then work until about 9.00pm. Our work consists of reading the paper for libel, contempt of court and other potential legal risks. It can be high stress on the night but it's always interesting and once the shift is done, the stress is over (unless you're responsible for a blunder. This is Not Good.).

I've been a night lawyer for many years now and I'm not at all sure that I'll be able to stop being one. Indeed, if I were a betting man (and I am), I might put money on my returning to the fray at some stage. But after this week's trip to town, I will think of the upsides to being in West Penwith as much as I will miss Fleet Street. Those upsides include seeing loads of my family, not driving up and down the motorway for hours on end and having a more chilled existence. Oh, and never missing any swell again (colds permitting).

(Note to 'Colds Are For Wimps' - I stayed dry yesterday. OK, I'm a wimp. Sorry.)

Buzzy Kerbox

Some nice footage of Buzzy Kerbox making big waves look friendly. And doing a headstand.

This blog has a cold

It all started to go wrong last Thursday.

I turned up at Sennen Cove with Harry and his mate Mark and had an enjoyable surf. Well, for the first 15 minutes anyway. Thereafter, as the tide pushed in, just about every other surfer headed to the shore while I opted to stay in the water. I knew that my chances of scoring any further good waves were low to minimal, but decent sessions have been thin on the ground lately so I remained in the sea, paddling in vain for slack high tide waves that flattered to deceive.

Afterwards, though, the cold that I had - a gift from Harry, who'd had it earlier in the week (who says kids don't give their parents anything?) - turned almost at once into a shaky, shivery thing that did not augur well. Training at the boxing club on Thursday evening didn't help and by Friday I knew I was in for my second winter cold in five weeks. This is ridiculous, and I blame the government. The upshot was that today, despite the weather being absolutely exquisite, I stayed on land, mindful of my friend Bolitho Pete's precedent: he came down with pneumonia after surfing in the winter with a cold. I didn't even check the surf but my wife Karen, from her vantage point at work somewhere on a cliff overlooking my local (secret) break and her tours, sans illness (why do women never get colds?), of the locality today, tells me that I missed out, big time.

All of which makes me look forward all the more to the two weeks I've booked at Zed's Place in Barbados. I'm heading over in the second half of March. Zed's set up is excellent, so too the surf in Barbados. My previous visit was a miraculous press trip freebie, and I didn't expect to be to afford to return with Karen and the boys in tow, unless one of my books became a bestseller (so you weren't ever going to go, then? Ed). However, Sam Bleakley alerted me to XL. Astonishingly, you can fly to Barbados as a family of four and not go bankrupt. And sometimes you just have to surf in boardshorts.

Keeping Stum

The etiquette behind secret spots occasionally puzzles me. Take where I live, for example.

On its day, my local break can produce awesome, barreling lefts and long, peeling rights. Often enough, even on its day, eight out of ten waves are close-outs, but every now and then there are moments of pure, unadulterated perfection at a beachbreak as heavy as Hossegor.

My local break pops up in a couple of the three principal British surfing guidebooks but is omitted by the other. Sharpy, back in the days of Slide, ran some killer shots roundabout this time last year but opted not to name it. On this blog, I've followed suit, even though the following facts are true:

1. Everyone in West Penwith, and beyond, seems to know all about this particular secret spot (as I say, it's in a couple of the guidebooks).

2. Most of the surfing population wouldn't be capable of surfing it when it's going off, and, given that it is obviously pretty mean, would be insane to paddle out and try it. They don't bother; at this time of year, the place is empty.

3. There are a grand total of four local surfers in my village.

4. Of them, Harry, my son, hates it because it's too heavy. Speaking for myself, I love it because the surrounding area is so beautiful and the water so clear, but I only paddle out on the small days (I have, on one such 3-4ft day, had some of the best rights of my life).

5. The other two surfers have lived here longer than us, but I don't think I do them a disservice to say that they, too, probably wouldn't paddle out in anything bigger than 4-5ft.

Despite a local surfing quartet which wouldn't put itself in the 'gnarly hardcore local' category, I still think it's right not to name my break. It seems to be that rare thing - a known surf spot going in reverse and becoming secret again.

Am I right?

Trestles Saved - but what of the Severn Bore?

I learn from the excellent news service at Surfersvillage that Trestles, one of California's best breaks, has been saved. The California Coastal Commission last night ruled that plans for the 241 Toll Road extension - which would have dramatically altered the cobblestone line-ups at Trestles, as well as wreaking all manner of ecological havoc -  were not in compliance with the California Coastal Act. An appeal against the decision is expected, but victory - for now, at least - must be sweet for the Garden State's thousands of surfers.

What, though, of one our own much-loved breaks, the Severn Bore? As Mark T recently commented here, plans are gathering momentum to build the Severn Barrage (see this BBC report), a construction that ticks a lot of green boxes in the sense that it could provide up to 5% of the country's electricity, but comes at a price. As well as its potentially negative impact on wildlife on the River Severn, the barrage would bring an end to a cherished ritual - surfing the Severn Bore. There's more on this at The Long Wave and there's also a petition to save the Severn here.

I've surfed the Severn and it remains one of the best surfing experiences of my life. It's surreal and muddy, exquisite and bubbling with bizarre obstacles, but always full of stoke. It'd be a shame to see it go. I'd be interestd to see comments here on whether the green aspects of the barrage overcome its downsides - the end not just of an occasional tidal ritual but, for the Bore surfers who live on and near the river, a way of life.

The footage is from the Surf Twisted team, loving the Bore.

A (Very) Short Walk to Check the Tide

In fact, no walk at all thanks to the clever folk at A Short Walk. They've designed a mobile phone program which can instantly calculate and display the state of the tide at just about any location in the world. You can then go on to predict tide times for any minute, hour, day, month or even year. It only costs £5 for the one-off download and, says Dan of A Short Walk: "That's it, no hidden charges, no subscription, no internet access. Plus, because everything mobiletide needs to work is stored onto your phone you don't even need mobile reception for it to work."

Dan tells me that he and his Zelah-based colleagues "are all surfers, ex land-locked sad and fat corporation workers who saw the light and now try to make it work in the motherland."

I can relate to that - though apparently most of the people behind Mobile Tide are off snowboarding right now. So I guess we shouldn't feel too sorry for them - and, with a product like this, it looks like they're making life in the far west work alright.

By the way, check out also Surf Hog's very cool site. Surf Hog is based in Hayle and in the line-up a lot. He also has an eye for surfing coverage in the nationals and spotted the Peruvian surfing cat story recently.

"Are you sure you want to exit?"

Gambling is a mug's game, but poker is different.

You've just lost a series of online poker games because you've obsessively played marginal hands like K-10, Q-9, 8-7 (well, it was suited) and the worst of them all, Q-J (why does this hand never, ever win?). You make as if to hit the laptop screen, repeating the satisfying motion of doing so for perhaps seven or eight punches, and then come to your senses.

You have been on tilt. This is not good. Log off, and out, quickly. You resolve to do so. But as you're exiting the most evil game on earth, a sign flashes up. It says:

"Are you sure you want to exit?"

You go to hit the screen, but something stops you. You say to yourself: "Poker is different from gambling. Maybe I should play again. But first I'll check the charts and see what real life might serve up tomorrow."

And then you see this. And you say unto yourself (and the kindly, altruistic souls who man online poker games around the world, 24/7, with no thought but for your own enrichment):

"Yes, I am sure I want to exit."

Interview with The Occ

The first night of a press trip is often followed by a hangover. The reason is that when hacks are flown somewhere, whether it's Maidenhead or Mundaka, they tend to get excited and, in the interests of their own unique and exuberant form of research, decide that hitting the local bar is a far better option than sitting quietly in a hotel room, reading all the info provided by kindly and efficient PRs.

In my case, this pattern of behaviour has resulted in some decidedly touch and go interviews, the kind which, jittery and bleary, one dreads but which somehow always turn out OK. Once, though, I found that my interviewee - whom I'd met on the inevitable first night of press carousing - was actually in a worse state than me. That man was Mark Occhilupo, he who is better known to everyone in surfing as Occy.

We were in Mundaka, and Occy had had a very big night. As had pretty much everyone, in fact, for the swell was non-existent and there wasn't a lot else to do. I finally met Occy at the end of the day after the night before, and the poor bloke was knackered. He turned out to be the most reluctant, not to say monosyllabic, interviewee of my life, which didn't really matter for, in common with a great many surfers, what he does in the water is what counts. However, I was pleased to pick up a note recently from Cassandra Murnieks, who fared a lot better than me in talking to The Occ. Here's her Q&A with one of the legends of contemporary surfing (check out this link for more detail on Occy: A Surfer's Year by the man himself and Paul Sargeant).

Sun Ra on Alien Surfers

The satellite link to Sun Ra works!  The man himself, at large in the cosmos, contacts me from his inter-galactic resting place to say: "I can tell you that there are surfers on other planets. But that is all."

I ask him if that means that's all he can tell me, or if the only thing on other planets is, in fact, surfers and surfing. Sun Ra says: "The only thing on other planets is surfers and surfing. And this film, which the surfers watch, when they are deep inside scarlet barrels."

What can it all mean?

Grandmothers of Invention

Frank Zappa was apparently a sound engineer for The Tornadoes - here's their classic Bustin' Surfboards.

Highly enjoyable, as should be the appearance of some former Zappa musicians - Roy Estrada and Don Preston among them - at The Acorn in Penzance on Wednesday 5 March. They'll be performing numbers from the Mothers of Invention back catalogue.

Do Aliens Surf?

Is there life on another planet? Are there waves on other planets? Do aliens surf? The only man who might know is Sun Ra.

Dropping in - German Navy Style

Andy Cox, he of some capability in a surfboat, sends me this footage. If transposed to the line-up, even a fairly chilled, calm and mellow individual like myself would regard its like as a worrying breach of etiquette. (Note to George Foran - Andy will be back, soon, with more surfboat coverage.)

Cheap shots at UK surfers - you gotta love 'em

I'm indebted to Dave Muir from the Sennen Surfing Centre who alerts me to the following feast of bunkum from James Martin, a motoring journalist with The Mail on Sunday. Like someone else whose surname he shares, his comments are mystifying, not so much because of his views on British surfing (he's wrong, and we know he is, but at least he won't be joining us in the line-up), but on account of what seems to be a highly pronounced streak of self-destructiveness. For just as it seems unlikely that the average UK surfer will want to read the ruminations on surfing of a man who condemns UK surfing as a joke, what will James Martin's neighbours in Cornwall think of him? I hope, for his sake, that they're not surfers.

No doubt Martin is being heavily ironic anyway (perhaps, indeed, he rips), but another thing grates. Where is this mythical Penzance break to which he refers? One where wives and girlfriends prevent him from getting to the beach but on which he nevertheless manages to park his Merc? I haven't seen the original article - the text below has been emailed to me -  but I can't think of anywhere in Penzance that has surf and gives this kind of access. Surely James Martin didn't make this up to enable a few cheap shots at UK surfers? Read on, and despair.

Having just had some time off, I went down to my place in Cornwall in the latest M Class Mercedes, with the dog in the back and a vague idea I'd drive along the beach to test its offroad abilities. When I pulled on to the sand, I couldn't believe my eyes. Bobbing aorund in the wintry sea were dozens of surfers in the kind of arctic-grade wetuits used chiefly for oil-rig maintenance. They didn't look happy. Even less happy were the wives and girlfriends, sheltering from the Atlantic gale in shivering groups and blocking my path for a clear run down the beach.

Why do English people think they can surf? The sport was invented in Hawaii and developed in California. It's supposed to be done by tanned, fit teenagers called Maximillion von Dutch who pound into the spume in their leather necklaces and then wait for a 20 storey high mega-wave to break so they can ride the tube in to their waiting supermodel girlfriends. The sun should be out and the sand should be so white it hurts your eyes. In Penzance it's dark, the waves are sluggish, the rain comes in sideways and IT managers called Steve still spend their days off with a door strapped to their feet, pale as a fish and dressed as a condom.

But enough insults. I actually felt sorry for the guys in the sea. Surfing law dictates they all had to go home in old VW camper vans from before the age of car heating. I was looking out at them from an ultra-modern holiday wagon whose only concession to their world was a diesel engine to save the puffins from choking (the CDI technology is supposed to be 11 per cent more fuel-efficient than a hybrid).

Article continues about the Merc. James Martin chuckles all the way to the North Shore where he asks: "Could you please introduce me to Maximillion von Dutch? I would like to watch him pound into the spume. But only, my good man, if he is wearing his leather necklace."

Picture of Maximillion von Dutch surfing Danger Bay, Penzance on a small day courtesy of www.bbc.co.uk.

Shralp - not easy to say...

Try saying 'Shralp' after a few pints. Try saying it sober. Try saying it in the bath. Try saying it when stressed. Try saying it when chilled. And try saying it next time you're in the line-up. Chances are that you might just get it right there, if anywhere, because unless you're very unusual, you won't be surfing any of these featured waves (including Tassie's Shipstern's Bluff) and you might just be in the right frame of mind. Until then, shralp.

Tasmania

Nearly 20 years ago, I trekked through South West Tasmania. The trip took four weeks and entailed an air drop of food at a remote airstrip whose name I no longer recall. I made the trip with three other walkers. We'd hooked up on an easier trek - through the Cradle Mountain Late St Clair National Park - and decided to take on some serious bushwalking in the South West National Park. Serious it was, too. This is an area of total wilderness - still, to this day, barely visited. By the end of four weeks in the middle of nowhere - with just ourselves, our smells, our lack of food, our young male angst and endless noisy nothingness for company - I'm not sure that we were such great friends. But two of us made it to the south west peninsula of Tasmania, and on the coast, on the way back to meet our comrades, we witnessed some astonishing surf. It was late autumn, there was snow on the mountain tops, and needless to say, neither of us were hiking with boards. But, in a sheltered bay, we did go for a swim. We were blue within seconds as the Southern Ocean bit home.

Ever since, I've had fond memories of Australia's too often overlooked state. So it's great to see these images of  Tassie surfing and to learn from the press release below of what a good shot Tassie surfers have at the Oakley Surfing Life Big Wave Awards.

This is a Barrel

Here's another entry to the Oakley Surfing Life Big Wave Awards. The rider is Tasmanian local Mike Brennan.

Judgment Day as Entries Completed for Oakley Surfing Life Big Wave Awards

What's in a date? Here we are on 1st February. Have the January blues diminished? Is it any less windy and blown out? Have we got over the double whammy of ludicrous Christmas spending in December followed by the delight of January's tax return? No. Tis not really the season to be jolly.

But for Australia’s finest big wave riders, today has its fair share of inbuilt excitement: it's the end of the seven-month waiting period for their shot at Australia’s richest and most prestigious big wave prize.

The Oakley Surfing Life Big Wave Awards play a unique part in Australasian hardcore surfing culture. The awards opened the door to fame for the little known heroes of the sport – surfers from West Australia to New Zealand’s South Island, who live to ride surf so massive it’d make most professional riders wish they were safe at home in bed.

Riders enter the awards by supplying photo and video evidence of their feats; on offer for Biggest Wave Ridden is a first prize of $20,000 plus a brand new Sea-Doo personal watercraft – not a bad piece of equipment for today's big wave charger.

The final day was marked by a last-minute spectacular entry – this one from 21-year-old Tasmanian surfer Brook Phillips. Brook was filmed by local photographer Stuart Gibson on a six-metre-plus monster at Shipstern's Bluff.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d be in time,” said Brook. “I’m just stoked I got to beat the deadline and have a chance at winning.”

A judging panel of top photographers, Surfing Life editors and veteran big wave riders will now choose the winners from the dozens of entries. Winners will be announced at an all-star awards ceremony in Sydney in two weeks’ time, on February 13.

Creative Differences

Loyal readers, there will not be a piece on Messrs Scott, Mennie, Davies and Fitzgerald and their Mullaghmore exploits in The Sunday Times this weekend. I know I said there would be, but a mismatch of style and expectation has led to my piece seeking a new home.

Creative differences do, of course, occur in all walks of life from time to time. When they do, I usually find that despair, allied with anger, sublimated into boxing and then talked through with one's long-suffering beloved is a temporary cure, if nothing else. In short, we must suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous editors with equanimity and resilience, aware that their only power is to render us unpaid and unappreciated, frustrated and forlorn, clinging to the refuse of alliteration and assonance as if in our fidelity to language we might escape their strictures and emerge, integrity intact, to paddle out at Sennen tomorrow, for if the charts do not deceive me there is half a chance of a wave (though maybe not quite like this one, courtesy of Zed Layson).

And that's all that matters, really. On this blog, anyway - which, miraculously, finds itself rated 9th out of over 4,500 sports blogs worldwide. Check out this page on Blogged.Com.

Here's to the joy of creativity. Aloha.