We were greeted by doom close outs, even at high tide. It looked like a no-win day, just like the other recent days I’d sailed and got slaughtered – but this time on steroids!
Everyone seemed keen Was I missing something? There were no excuses, the boys were rigging and heading out …
I’m glad I sailed, just to say I was out, but it was one of those frustrating days. The wind was just a fraction too offshore, certainly for the size of the swell.
Five degrees more to the west and it would have been off the scale. As the tide dropped out, the waves actually became more makeable – some of the best surf I’ve ever seen in Cornwall – but so many slipped underneath you, dam it was annoying!
Oh what a stupid, crazy sport! Still, we survived. I think all of us came close to getting The Bad News. There was a whole load of water moving about out there and in hindsight it was all a bit sketchy!
The following couple of days always looked the best on the forecast and, sure enough, it went off. The next day at The Bluff the Gods were kind to us and, for about an hour or so, was as good as it gets.
The Bluff, when it’s on, is as good as anywhere. Glassy, reeling lefthanders in the river mouth just like ‘the good old days’, the stuff dreams are made of! Just ‘INSANE’. These days really do make windsurfing the best sport in the world!
