GEORGE SHILLITO
The disappointment of waking in the darkness before dawn with the knowledge that a huge pressure system is about to pinpoint all its ferocity on the Cornish shores, is almost un-measurable as I pulled back the curtains to the pitch black scene before me. In the faint glimmer of the nearest street light my worst fears had become reality as the half-illuminated trees lay dormant with only a subtle hint of a breeze managing a feeble rustle. With an overwhelming sense that the forecast was wrong yet again I receded back to bed with a grunt.
An hour later my phone was ringing, it was now a more reasonable time and as my eyes focused from their sleepy haze I saw it was Dave Hackford awakening me from my stupor. However, any sleep-orientated grudges were soon forgotten as he reported that Muzza and JC were heading to Bigbury as eyeball reports described mast-high-plus waves with a boiling sea being whipped into a crazy frenzy by the wind. Maybe I was dreaming when I first woke up as when I left home the wind was wild and blowing the trees around like crazy!
On arrival, I immediately clocked that Muzza was using a tiny a 3.7 Rock, which then had me questioning why he was sailing the inside, smaller waves. It’s not like Muzza to hold-back, especially when there’s a potential photo involved! Once I hit the water it all became clear; it was scary as hell out there! The wind was switching all over the place, bouncing and ricocheting between the cliffs and Burgh Island, meaning one minute it was hardly possible to hold on and the next it was impossible to water start. Combine that with the ominous horizon being blotted out by the huge swell and it was enough to spur any sailor into thinking whether the café may have been a better option!