LUCKY THIRTEEN
So over a decade down the line, we are back down in Kernow chasing a northwester to stake our claim on a 4m swell. We are up at first light on the road, with empty stomachs and hungry for some action. In windsurfing terms the dawnie is not quite the same as for surfers, who usually head out on misty, glassy days with the air still and not a breath of wind. Nope, none of that – trees swirling around outside, driving rain and brisk temperatures meant for heaters on full blast in the van as we headed past Marazion and the beguiling beauty of St Michael’s mount across the causeway in Mounts Bay. Today Mazza is off our radar, our cross hairs are firmly fixed on Praa Sands in hope that the forecast thumping south swell has made its way to our target. As we make our way down the A394 and look down for our first glimpse of the waves, we are horrified to spot two sails out on the water scoring the first pickings ahead of this Motley Crew raid. To make matters worse, by the time we find a parking spot, it looks like the wind has backed off, the next rain squall is on its way and the two early birds are already packing up having filled their boots. Looking down at the waves, there was still ample swell bombarding the beach as long as the wind would oblige, but to me it looked like we had somehow missed it. Our ship had sailed at first light and we were left to mull over the consequences over how we had been outdone by a couple of college students who had scored it early before their morning lecture. Ever optimistic Timo declared he was rigging up as a flicker of wind feathered the tops off a logo high set charging its way into the bay. Blacky duly remarked, ‘George you are on drugs!, what can you do with that?’. Twenty minutes later when Timo charged into his first lip, hanging on precariously as an avalanche of white water cascaded behind him, Blacky was running up the beach to rig up, bitterly regretting his earlier remark. We had missed the early spoils, but as the skies gradually opened up and the northwester slowly kicked in to accompany the chunky swell, it looked like we had lucked in again to score a fresh batch of cargo delivered from a faraway Atlantic storm. Each time the sun burst through the clouds, it was as if the curtains were opening on this stunning arena, lighting up the headlands which were the back drop to the line-up. According to the locals, the bright sand at Praa was formed from seashells pulverised over millions of years by the pounding waves. As a result the water is a beautiful green and the barrelling surf at the far end of the beach almost translucent as they fold over on the inside sand bar. Memories were flooding back to me from our last session back in 2003 and now I fully remember why this sheltered secluded haven has been on my hit list ever since.
“ There are no half measures at this place, if you are going to hit it, then hit it or else you are going to be in a world of pain ” Ian Black