On arrival, Ross seemed oblivious to the fact it was mid-December, the waves were massive and we had no Jet Ski as a back up. A five-minute check of the thirty-foot waves crashing in front of the uninviting rocky headland and he was jogging back to the van to rig up, regardless of the consequences. I guess there was no room for anxiety or self-doubt? Was he insane, or was it that Rattler from the previous night?
I could tell from Neal’s body language that he wanted a piece as well, but he was naturally hesitant of the situation that was being thrown at him. Not to mention he also had the pressure that Ross was heading in alone and could do with a wing man. Unlike Ross, who is a full time pro sailor, Neal is a doctor at Chichester Hospital. Don’t get me wrong – he knows his stuff on the water, but heading out to the Cribbar is a big ask, even for the likes of Ross. Any mistake out in those waves was likely to be either lethal – or result in a huge swim around the coastline back to safety. After pondering the pros and cons of heading out, Neal eventually decided to go and that was it, it was game on. It probably didn’t help that once the decision was made I suggested that we agree some sort of signal for me to call the coastguard, in case either of them ended up in serious trouble. A wave of both hands was agreed and I left the boys to rig and head out beyond the point of no return.