BREAK TIME
The wind has not been forecast so I wait to see if it holds. It’s winter, the weather changes quickly on this exposed coast and the shelter of the headland means that the wind in the break is much less than at sea; a surfer’s delight, this windsurfer’s worry. On balance the wind looks stable, gusts are minimal and lulls look able to be sailed through. I meet with Pete and other members of the club and we run through the safety plan for the session. The crew are ready and able to catch some of the heaving lefts Mullaghmore is famous for, it looks tricky to paddle so they opt for tow boards. Short, narrow and weighted down with lead to help them hold a line, they have footstraps like windsurfers but that’s where the similarity ends. Today a tow board is well suited to the waves because the face is such that it’s all about staying in the curl, there’s no clean water to bottom turn as the shape of the wave draws so much water off the reef. The skill of the surfers and the speed they enter the wave at means they can hold that line, I’ll have to be more cautious, you can’t sail here up and down the face like a normal wave as it is so hollow. It’s not the biggest day here by any means, but only ignorance would consider the risk less. I can’t be as deep as the surfers because the headland kills the wind, I can’t straighten out because the inside tears gear in two like it’s tissue paper. Boards disappear here never to be seen again. It’s not a mystery how, just brute force; the ocean is strong here. Biggest wave or biggest wipeout – Mullaghmore has had nominations in surfing awards for both, the latter a wave here won by the way. It’s going to be a case of being selective and using big gear, my trusty 5.5 Blade and Starboard UltraKode 105 litre. I throw on my flotation vest and double down on checks of my kit. Part of the impetus for such organized safety here is how remote the wave is; mistakes are best avoided. I work my way out to the break, marvelling at the wave and the standard of surfing on show. You see gifted athletes catch the waves and wipeouts of their lives here. Sometimes you don’t want to watch, the consequences look so brutal. I trade waves with the tow teams for an hour or so, I’m on the clock as the short daylight of winter is burning and I’ve calculated I need to be in well before dark in case the ‘not forecast’ wind dies. I make it back just as the last gust pushes me to shore and the sun starts its dip to the sea, shining its fading light onto the spectacular mountain range that surrounds the bay.
