This is Sca Fell, near neighbour to Scafell Pike, looking rather like a crater on the moon. This photo taken on my BlackBerry – worth noting as I think the quality is pretty high. 

Scafell Pike is not a big mountain by European standards, but the ascent itself is 917m from base to summit. On the day we climbed, freezing point was 200m up and the summit was at -8 degrees with -15 degrees wind chill. The water sloshing about in a bottle on my back pack soon froze and hellish blasts of weather were roaring down the valley, taking us from great to near-zero visibility, and back again, in seconds. We were in a state of constant awe from the moment we pulled off the M6 and saw the mountain range in the distance. It’s known as the Lake District but I think the peaks up there are far more impressive than the puddles; I was expecting we would find some rugged low hills to explore, not the vaulting sides of the likes of The Screes and Great Gable.

Kate sorting her layers out. We were quite hot near the start, I won’t mention the half hour wrong turn that heated us up.

The west face of Great Gable as shot with a 200mm lens that I lugged all the way up Scafell Pike. Would loved to have climbed this one if we had more time.

Scafell Pike, Sca Fell, Lingmell, Great End and a few other peaks make up the Scafell Massif; oh aye, proper mountain terminology up here lad. If you check this link, you’ll find a story to a helicopter rescue of a stricken climber on the day we went up, the 7th rescue this year.   Last winter I went up Snowdon, and a couple of years before I walked up Ben Nevis (though this was June, but then I was wearing skate trainers and jeans) and I’d say Scafell Pike is by far the wildest. There is certainly no visitor centre like the one at Snowdon, and no signs or marked paths such as you find on Ben Nevis. Because the Pike is set back in the Massif, it’s hard enough finding the bleddy place in the first place.

A Royal Navy Sea King from HMS Ganet. This is the chopper that rescued the hiker in the link above.

About half way up, still hadn’t seen Scafell Pike. That’s Sca Fell in the background.

We met hikers coming down as we were going up who had turned back before reaching the summit because of snow, ice and zero visibility. We pressed on thinking we would just turn back of things got heavy. We reached the lower part of the Massif and decided to go up Lingmell since it looked clear and doable. Not long after, a couple wearing crampons passed us and we asked them out of interest where Scafell Pike was. They pointed to a spot up in the mist, saying it was just 200-300m, and that directly ahead of us was the worst part, so based on that we thought we might as well give Scafell Pike a go after all.

Hang on, what happened to a gentle stroll in the hills? Needless to say we did NOT attempt this section.

That bit directly ahead of us was tricky. Reb lurched about all over the place, oblivious that her paws seemed to be grip like sandpaper to a sappling whilst I scrabbled about behind her, often using the lead for stability. We reached the false summit which was feet deep in snow. To our east we could see the weather from hell rolling down the valley, at this point I was thinking we should be heading down to the Massif where we would be able to sit it out or at least bum shuffle down the slope we came up on without exposing ourself to that much risk. But just ahead of us a pure white slope emerged out of the whiteness. This was the final climb to the summit of the highest mountain in England and on this day I was surprised we’d made it even this far, with no crampons, on effectively what was a long dog walk. I was ready to turn away happy enough when I saw Kate just start walking forward and up it. Just like that, like some perfect Cribbar set wave that suddenly stopped being so threatening, it was there for the taking. Reb obviously caught on right away that that was where we were going and I stepped forward and began kicking my boots into the slope, toe poking up it.

Looking back towards the North I think, as we climbed towards the summit.

And now a shot with the BlackBerry, different angle, once more the eye was drawn to Great Gable!

The summit was insanely windy. Clouds and weather were blasting in, broken patches were revealing incredible glimpse of the mountains all around us. Everything was in flux. It was brutally cold but so energizing. A few hardy types with crampons and all the gear were hanging around up there, one bloke was swigging something from a hip flask. It was a brilliant feeling; I’m very naive to this mountain lark but to me it felt like being on the surface of the moon. Earlier we really thought we might not make it but there we were. It was that moment that galvanised us to start planning future adventures, more of which I expect to be blogging soon…

Made it! The summit of Scafell Pike. You can get an idea of the wind speed by looking at how Reb’s ear has been blown flat. Also note how unimpressed she is.

With the right gear, these guys had the pick of routes up and down. A phone pic from the summit.

Minus 15, frozen snow packed in between the boulders. We snagged these shots between incoming banks of hill fog. 

Does this really look like England? I wonder if the Lake District will start an independence movement one day.

Last summit one with the phone. Thinking back now I should have set up the GoPro for timelapse footage of the clouds, might have been tricky keeping it stable mind.

Reb’s Climb

The graceful, nay, ethereal Northern Inuit x Czech Wolfdog really did her ancestry proud that day and showed her true mettle and connection with the wild, apart from the fact she didn’t. Reb you see, pulled like a runaway train ALL THE WAY UP SCAFELL PIKE and then pulled like a runaway train powered by rocket fuel ALL THE WAY DOWN SCAFELL PIKE. Finally, five and a half hours later when we reached the base, she found a stick and invented a game of solitaire catch just to burn a few more calories.

Reb shrugged off the freezing temps.

We saw just one other dog on the mountain, a long-haired collie owned by a mountain rescue-fell runner who had made it to the summit. The collie was wearing a jacket and didn’t seem to want to hang around. After the fell runner and his dog left the summit Kate and I exchanged surprised remarks about how anyone would want to actually run on the mountain on a day like this, for surely the chance of injury alone would be too great? I mean I don’t mind taking the odd risk, but you’d never find me on a fell run.

Something you want to share with us??

A momentary cesation in the hilltop tug-o-war. 

The whole day long Reb tugged and pulled against the lead. If nothing else she displayed a level of stamina and tenacity I never knew could exist in a dog (pity it can’t some how be channelled, I could save quite a bit on meter readings). Reb’s never seen snow before but when it started falling and we were walking over great swathes of the stuff, she didn’t give a shit. She showed no appreciation that we were taking her back to her roots on a glorious frozen, wild mountain. She didn’t seem to notice the minus 15 wind chill, the fact that we were climbing for three hours, the massive expansive wilderness stretching out all around us, it was all completely within her stride for all Reb was bothered about was the f***ing sheep. She smelled them on the wind and spied them miles away hunkering in hollows. In the photos where she looks serene, she is in fact gazing at distant sheep, plotting her assault. I made sure I kept a very tight grip on her lead that day for the fell runner at the summit had told us he knew the farmer, and that the farmer would shoot loose dogs he saw chasing his sheep.

Can’t recall which one this is, but still, England? Really?

The unwitting fell runner

My introduction to fell running was sudden and unannounced. We were descending a particularly tricky stretch of steep grassy stuff about 500m up. There was of course no path, the ground was uneven as hell, on one side was a horrible snow covered drop off to death and on the other was a rocky stream. You couldn’t see that far ahead because of the convex nature of the slope. I was kicking my boot into the slope to take another step down when Reb made a sudden lurch. Just lately the bugger has become even stronger and I even find myself struggling to hold her. With my concentration and weight focussed else where, it was too easy for her to take me by surprise and she whipped the lead from my hands before shooting down the hill after a lone random fleeing sheep.

The last place I expected to find a sprinting track

I was white hot with rage. I flew down the hill after the bugger. Never mind the farmer shooting her, if I’d had a gun on me at that point I’d have shot the bloody dog myself. With  Canon DSLR hanging from my neck, pack bouncing about and 4lbs of boot on my feet I proceeded to set my personal best (albeit gravity assisted) 200m sprint, completely anaerobically and I know that for a fact as I was shouting in wild fury for Reb to let up as I gave chase. It’s probably luck that I didn’t turn an ankle (or good boots, or years of edging myself across the sand to the water against the pull of a powered up kite)  but I finally caught a glimpse of that familiar grey and white menace and she stopped and turned to look at me. I was so surprised when she began to creep up the hill back to me that all anger melted away and I was soon patting and rubbing her while she flattened her ears down and nuzzled me back as if to say ‘I’m really so sorry, but it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?’.

Wuh, you Bugger-Lugs!

Hai! I’m just mussing up your flocks and stealing your mint cakes!

An interesting thing happened to me the other day. We’ve got a new drysuit at Ocean Rodeo, it’s called the Soul. Unlike a regular drysuit which is baggy and makes you look like a Ghostbuster, the Soul is designed to look and feel like you’re wearing tailored snowboarding jacket and trousers. It’s made from breathable Gelanots and you just wear some thermals underneath. It takes about 30 seconds to get into it, or to take it off, and even has convenient fly zippers for when nature calls!

Dropping into a windy one at Fistral

Anyway, I got sent the only existing prototype from the guys in Canada so that I could obtain some GoPro footage and photos for promotional purposes. This was a very exciting task for me to be charged with, being as I love kitesurfing and GoPros so much. With the forecast showing only one day potentially yielding the holy trinity of surf, sun and wind, I had plenty of time to get all my gear ready.

Arriving at Watergate Bay car park, I was met with a huge blue expanse flecked with white caps and a delicious swell just ripe for the shredding. My friends Josh and Carl Coombes were gearing up for a session and I was thanking my luck that such a day was unfolding; I would be able to score some perfect footage!

On the sand I pumped up my 6m Razor, grabbed the surfboard and went to mount the GoPro into the lines for some aerial shots. I say went to, because the GoPro wasn’t in my drysuit pocket. Maybe it’s in the kite bag? Nope. OK, the 9m kite bag? Not there either. Ah, well what if I retrace my steps back to the car? Did that five times, so did Josh, and Carl, no camera. Panicking a little now, I drove home and scoured the house. Still no sign of the camera.

In resignation, I floated a post out onto Facebook asking people to keep an eye out for a lost GoPro camera at Watergate Bay. Within minutes, my phone was ringing. Watergate Bay Hotel were on the end of the line explaining that local kiter Andrew Keast had picked the camera up in the car park, took it home assuming it was his, then upon realising he now had a spare, took it to Newquay Police Station and called The Hotel to let them know. Fortunately, The Hotel staff were logged into Facecbook at that moment!

A couple of hours had passed since I was supposed to be on the water and Watergate Bay was now too full with the spring tide. Fistral it would have to be, and a rampy, bumpy seascape surging over the rocks at each end of the beach left little margin for error. One good thing was that the sun was now lower in the sky, giving some spectacular lighting.

I recorded about 20 minutes of footage, with some perfectly usable clips and grabbed a few photos too. The lesson today was one of more haste less speed; things related to the sea really have a way of teaching you to slow down as you approach the waves, for they have a way of smacking you back into place when you rush in. And thanks again to Andrew Keast for handing in my GoPro.

Laid back with the Soul suit

Oh look, there's one for both of us.

You know how when it gets to late October or even mid November and the sun’s out and enough people milling about to give the day a bit of a vibe but not so many that it feels crowded and busy? You turn to your friend and say, ‘If only this was what it was like in the middle of winter, it would be the best place in the world’.

This photo was taken on the 11th February at Fistral Beach this year. Look at the deep blue sea, the dunes lit up in the sun and the perfect, nigh-on empty surf just waiting for you. I won’t lie and say it was a warm wind blowing that day, but out of the wind and in the sun it was t-shirt weather all day long if you had a manual job to do.

I’ve just heard from my very good friend Rob Small over in Lanzarote that the island has suffered a pretty much surfless winter, and only now emerged from three weeks of overcast drudgery. I’ve also heard from another friend on the Gold Coast of Australia and she looks like she’s having the trip of a lifetime with new friends on those tropical beaches under the blazing Aussie sun. She did post a Facebook updated though lamenting how the surf there was weak and blown out while at home in Cornwall it was firing (it pumped for two weeks straight).

I would love to click my fingers and arrive on the other side of the world, but the newly acquired dog, bank balance and sense of responsibility (in that order) mean I’ll be ‘toughing it out’ here for a little while yet.

This one yesterday was pretty special; after so much rain in December, January is bright and blue and the sea is becoming clear again. The last two days have seen excellent offshore surf on the North Coast; Fistral was doing it’s ‘thing’. I’d like to also mention the influence of the new addition to my household – Reb(ecca), my Northern Inuit / Malamute cross. Reb has only been here a few days but is settling in like the plucky little champ she is, and yesterday dozed off nicely in her crate so I could go surfing. When I got back she was awake and playing quietly – a real bonus for these type of dogs for they are very pack orientated and can get a bit ‘wild’! Still, she may have been howling in between times, I really should check with the neighbours lol.

Righteo then, video first, and then some photos of Reb(ecca) if you will allow me the indulgence!

Here are the dog pics, she’s 8 weeks old in the photos. Oh, the crate training’s going very well, that’s if the aim is to train your dog to howl the house down. Just kidding, I’m pleasantly surprised in these early days how it’s all going.

Padding towards me

Check the size of the paws...

Be interesting to try and replicate this photo in a year's time.

Breeze is forecast for the later part of the week, so I reckon we’ll be back to some normal kitesurfing blogginzez soon enough

The Pass of Llanberis doing a good impersonation of Mordor

On the 30th of December, Hayley, Ziggy (Hayley’s useful no-nonsense dog) and I drove through the night up various motorways to arrive in Snowdonia National Park; we were to climb Snowdon on New Year’s Eve. The weather forecast was wild – rain, hill fog, fierce winds, and freezing conditions at the summit  We were kitted up for it though (Ziggy with his double-density coat would have no problem) and as anyone living north of Morocco will tell you, nothing can make beer taste good like coming in from long, hard adventure in the cold.

Ziggy and I scrambled up this bank to find some snow

My ‘technical’ snowboarding jacket was soon ringning wet (and my t-shirt underneath it) and Hayley’s snowboarding pants suffered a similar fate. Fortunately our feet were toasty warm as we discovered the only items we had up to the task were our boots. The dog meanwhile was loving life, scampering about and ‘herding up’ other hikers we saw on the way. As we neared the summit we harnessed his extra energy by instructing him to pull us up steep sections by his lead. I was surprised and impressed to see this work, so we passed the lead to a straggling hiker and Ziggy soon dragged her along to rejoin her mates further up.

Later that evening as we thawed out by a crackling fire and revived ourselves with some local pints, word of these hilltop heroics got round the pub and Ziggy was fussed over by strangers and repeatedly told how handy he was.

The contrast of sitting in the traditional low ceiling inn after battling it out on the hill for five hours in sub zero temperatures was something to savour, and so of course was the nourishing food and beer. With our muscle glycogen stores depleted, our energy drained and our boots drying out by the fire, I doubt even the best meal in Jamie Oliver’s 15 restaurant could match the way our pub grub tasted right then.

It might only have been five hours, but daily life doesn’t always gives us the chance for extended periods of good exercise. It’s nice to be able to look back after a mini-expedition and know that you are fitter now than on the morning you set off. It’s a little milestone, something to look back on and a marker point to set you up for what lies ahead.

Llyn Llydaw; for a brief moment the mist cleared and we got this shot. Then the mist returned and our view to the lake was no more.

I’ve not really formed any resolutions for 2012, I reckon clibming Snowdon set us off to a pretty good start and into a welcome beer deficit (the first two pints are null as they are strictly for hyrdation purposes, the next one as a muscle relaxant and so on), so maybe that could be it – for every hour of exercise, I shall reward myself with one pint of ale.

Gold

I’m (half) joking when I say that all of this is about off-setting beer though, because choosing to do something like this rather than the usual end of year blow-out is making a statement to yourself that your fitness and vitality will improve, your stomach will be flatter and firmer, your muscles stronger and more useful, your sinews tougher, your gait will be more purposefuland you will not decline in strength and surrender to a bloating waistline as the years roll on.

That’s my new year’s resolution: keep moving, keep sharp, exhaust the body and mind regularly through adventures in nature, recalibrate with good company in the pub afterwards and feel like you’ve earned it, much less not having to worry about it. (Told you I was half joking).

Dear readers of my blogger, if you really are reading this and the page hits aren’t just spybots and mis-directed traffic, I hope you had a belter Chrimbo and are all set for something exciting / fulfilling on New Year’s Eve.

This is a quick bloggins to serve as a reminder for me as to what we’ve been up to the last few days over Christmas, which is basically a few energetic sessions and an interesting brush with fate thanks to Smiler.

On Friday 23rd, Smiler, myself and a mystery person who I shall not disclose yet (lest my enemies sieze upon an opporunity when my back is turned! Joking – I’ll reveal all when whatever we’re up to is complete, but if it never gets completed, I’ll just go back and edit out this paragraph so no one ever knows) headed down to the ‘Naughtie But Ice’ cafe to watch over our little spot while we waited for the wind to change. Well we saw it change, from moderate onshore to banshee-wailing offshore via a squall of horizontal rain. So Friday was a write off.

Saturday the 24th, as a last gasp contingency, we kited The Cribbar. No worries about keeping that a secret, because I can report it’s the single most difficult and dangerous place I’ve ever kitesurfed by a country mile. Extremely choppy, unbelievably heavy (and terrifyingly loud!), and with huge currents of water surging around, quite literally you could say ‘here be dragons’. Smiler got into a pickle when he was pushed in by some lines of whitewater (bungalow sized, including the roof) and found himself boxed into a corner where you’d never ever want to be. Amazingly, the kite was still in the air and he body-dragged out to safety, later saying that he felt like he ‘was being guided by an unkown force’. I hope Pamela, Smiler’s wife isn’t reading this because as far as I can tell, that sort of calm is the result of an instinctive reaction from the ‘lizard brain’ which takes over when the frontal lobe (the bit that makes us human and which you could say is the most developed and sophisticated thing in the universe) has absorbed all the information and has come to the conclusion that ‘we are totally f*****.

Christmas Day and Boxing Day were carbon copies of eachother in terms of water time – some sporty close out waves in Newquay Bay. SW winds, proximity and time deemed the Bay to be a sure bet for water time. Here’s a little video below from Christmas Day; Boxing Day was actually a touch better but the files were corrupted on the memory card…bah!

This is recorded in the 120 frames per second GoPro mode, allowing me to slow it down to quarter speed without loosing the smooth playback. If you like the song, it’s Cells by Teenage Fanclub.

Today, Smiler and I paddled out to a frankly evil looking Cribbar but after I spotted one of my fins had come adrift before we had caught a wave, we had to paddle back in; it’s really not a place to sit out and wait on your own. Back ashore we swapped the guns for shortboards and headed out to a pumping North Fistral. Not many people out, rips all over the place, a sand dredging close out to dodge on the way out – it was such a good lung burner after a couple of days of stuffing our livers into a state of Fois Gras.

I took off on my first wave and snapped the leash, resulting in a testing little swim in. For some reason, and despite the fair size, the poundings from the waves didn’t seem like anything was even happening. I think the two toughening up sessions in the Bay closeouts where we were bounced off the bottom and struggled to the surface in 8ft deep of foam were paying dividends. You can’t beat solid water in a wipeout!

Here’s a little vid of Fistral today; what you are seeing is me dropping into a fleeting barrel, escaping from a guilotine lip and then diving headfirst over the board as the wave in front of me has detonated and left nowhere to go. The leash snaps almost instantly, and we watch the board’s point of view as it gets thrown all over the place on the way to the shore. I collected it after a three minute blast back in through the impact zone.

Righto, the forecast is looking good so I hope for at least one more update before the New Year, where upon we have a mountain to climb, in the real sense!

Good question isn’t it? And I bet some of you are even thinking ‘what happens when you surf in a drysuit?’.

Well today I had my first experience of both. Ocean Rodeo make this suit, it’s called the Surf Dry, and it’s designed specifically for surfing, kiting and standup paddle in waves. Traditional drysuits are OK for flat water kiting or standup, but because they trap so much air they stop you from being about to duck dive or swim underwater, and their flapiness creates drag when you are swimming. The Surf Dry gets round this with a specially designed micro-thin wetsuit that slips over the top, squeezing all the air out so you can get underwater, and keeps it all snug to your skin so it performs more like a regular wetsuit when you’re moving through the water.

Freedom of movement in the Surf Dry

Anyway I had my reservations as to whether the Surf Dry would be a good suit for the sort of adventures we get up to around here, so on this most ragged and rough of days, I donned one and went for a dip. I went to Towan with its typically questionable wave quality but the swell was humping in and closing out on a shallow sandbar, resulting in a perfect stunt wave for  plenty of tumbles and several drillings down to the sea floor.

Surviving wipeouts
After the first one, any thoughts of water ingress, the suit damaging (I actually landed on my fins at one point, got tangled in my leash at another) or coming undone were dispelled. I’d go as far as to say today the Surf Dry felt more secure than my regular wetsuit, because when I’m getting drilled in my regular wetsuit it lets water in, or ‘flushes’ and that’s rather unpleasant in the depths of winter. At the end of the sesh, I peeled off the two outer layers and the only trace of moisture on my thermals was against the wrist and neck seals where the seals prevented the suit from breathing – it was a touch of sweat. The rest of the thermals and of course me, were bone dry. If you take a really bad tumble or go really deep, any residual air in the suit compresses and forces against any water trying to creep into the seals, but really, once you see those seals for yourself, you’ll understand why they keep you so dry.

Surviving damage

The drysuit core itself (the middle, baggy layer) is practically industrial or military looking in its construction. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to suppose that it would be more durable than a super stretch winter wetty. Any cut or abrasion that goes through this suit will do the same at least to a regular wetsuit. The Surfdry won’t fill up with water any more than a wetsuit would either thanks to its outer layer keeping things tight. I think really though the day something goes through this suit is the day you’re going to get some good stitches in your own skin.

Warmth

I got hot today. If you were around in Cornwall today you’ll know it was cold, the weather was absolutely shit house. Getting into the water, being in the water, getting out of it and walking home or driving home in your bone dry thermals, the wetsuit experience is just not comparable to a drysuit. Add to the fact that you WILL be climbing into a wet wetsuit this winter, and that can’t happen with the Surf Dry since it’s always dry on the inside. Put it like this: you’re going into a freezing environment. To keep you warm, do you choose to trap against your body a) a layer of cold water that you need to heat up or b) some nice warm air from your house / van? It’s like central heating vs crappy night storage my friend.

Would you like to go surfing in your toasty jim-jams?

Mobility

It’s like surfing in your pyjamas. Loose, free, noticebly less restriction around the shoulders, everything flexes as though you are in soft clothing.Very comfortable.

Getting it on and off

I can claw into my westuit in about 35 seconds. Currently I’m running about ten minutes getting into the Surf Dry, though I’m told this will come down to about three minutes after a few goes. There’s a video of a guy on the Ocean Rodeo site making it look very easy indeed; it’s more a case of getting familiar with the process rather than it being difficult to don. Taking it off is a piece of cake though.

Any downers?

I don’t think an extra few minutes putting a suit on a problem, it’s no worse than pumping up a kite. Considering I’ve covered what were my reservations in this post, all that I would expect to hear from people who have not tried a Surf Dry is that…well, I dunno, that it maybe looks a bit bulky compared to a regular wetsuit? And fair enough, that may be a concern if your body is so incredibly chiselled that the general public demand it be on show all the time, but I think the rest of us (especially those kiters who choose to wear shorts over their wetsuits!) might welcome a little more anatomical ambiguity.

Here then is my video. Typical back-of-a-cigarette-packet storyboarding, awful editing skills, Windows Movie Maker, it’s all here! But I think it gets the important information across. I did choose a really good song though, Soundtrack Of Our Lives. Swedish band, sniff ‘em out.

And here is the official Ocean Rodeo Surf Dry vid, featuring the Erik Hanson, the man behind the whole thing. Watch this one first if you want decent production values, good surfing and stunning scenery!

You may have noticed that many of the posts on this blog contain images and videos captured by my trusty GoPro HD camera. It’s a wonderful bit of kit and has never let me down, GoPro are often pushing out software (they call it firmware) updates and all sorts of mounts and LCD screens to ensure your camera is future proof.

This month, GoPro released the HD2. It’s basically the same unit, it uses all the same mounts and housings as before, but it shoots 11 megapixal images instead of the old 5, you can set the lens to 170degree wide angle or 120degree not so wide angle, it takes photos every 0.5 seconds in time-lapse mode and now shoots HD video at 1920×1080 pixels. It is basically bloody brilliant.

Here’s a quick vid I shot today in poor light. On the control bar at the bottom of the video, make sure you click the 360p button and set it to 1080p, then you’ll see the full HD power of this little camera. Ignore the surfing, I’m about a bus length in front of where I ought to be Plenty more shots and videos from this cracking camera coming this winter, can’t wait.

Link for mobile devices: http://youtu.be/Yz4-4WF4238?hd=1

Taking off on a steep, dark one at Fistral

Fistral this morning leapt from about 4-5ft to 8-10ft on the ‘proper scale’, which means it went from a bit of a challenge to Biblical in the space of 90 minutes. Every wave resulted in an absolute thrashing and when I finally got caught in the impact zone after a late take-off I had to swim under a couple and let the leash to the dirty work. This is something I don’t like doing unless it’s a last resort as leashes snap and pull free. Still, we made it back in and after a bit of a breather I was back in at Towan with Scottish Craig by 4.45pm.

Amongst the moodiness at Fistral

There was all sorts of backwash and bump on the waves at Towan, but the atmosphere was much more light-hearted than the eerie, dangerous feel at Fistral this morning, and we were taking on the steep close-out drops and getting the odd turn in. Mega-Seal was patrolling the water today, looking quite aggro, we think he was annoyed by a surfer (unwisely) paddling back in through the harbour mouth and getting stuck in the rip for five minutes. Perhaps Mega-Seal thought we were trying to steal his fish?

Towan was sunny and playful by comparison, but still packing some punch

But back to the original point at the start of this post of ‘having to make up for a lost day’. Project Green Grass is over and in the bag, but now I’m aiming for 21 surfs in 21 days, partly inspired by my good friend Rou Chater over at www.rouchater.co.uk (check out his Project 28) who himself was partly inspired by my Project Green Grass. The rest of the inspiration comes from the swell pumping every day and the winds being good, and with no car or much else to distract me, why not make hay whilst the sun shines?

Surfing into the evening at Towan

Aim: To surf everyday until Sunday, no matter what the conditions.

The point: To live with ‘surf trip’ focus for a week and see if it is possible to capture that ‘surfed out’ feeling by getting up early and making the most of each day.

Hence the name Project Green Grass. Is the grass greener overseas, or is it a case of the green grass of home?

Day 1: Off to a nice start, sunny, could feel the rays through the south facing windows at home. Smiler turned up, we had a cup of tea, then he parked round the corner before we set off on a very short trip from the familiar starting point of my front door.

The micro-trip begins!

A near on empty beach was waiting for us. The sun was up, the sea was crystal clear and it really was a magic morning. Still need the layers of neoprene to fend of the cold of course.

A whole pristine beach to ourselves!

Like I said, the water was very clear and once you’re wetsuit had warmed up, swimming around underwater was no chore.

Cystal clear now it hasn't rained for a few days

Nice waves coming through, glad the GoPro captured this one. Clean surf, no crowds, not big but certainly enough to get a nice turn in.

GoPro camera doing a good job in the mid winter light

And this one, note how the wetsuit hood pinches your face and makes you look wisened.

Loving the hood look. Nice lines!

We headed in feeling pretty please. I went to work and Smiler went off for another surf at Watergate Bay, which he later told me was even better. Smiler’s got to work for the rest of the week now, he didn’t realise this when this photo was taken.

Two old codgers basically!

Verdict: If this was day #1 of a surf trip to a faraway land, I’d have been very pleased with the outcome. Sun, clean surf, no crowds, a beautiful morning all round, what a perfect intro to get you into a new spot. Glad I got the most of it, tomorrow is showing wind and rain, but maybe it’ll be strong enough for the kite?