Surf Nation

Not Letting Go Of Surfing

I return to this blog in a rare moment of peace. The truth about my new role, being editor of Cornwall Today. is that it takes a lot of time. So much time, in fact, that there's no time for anything else. Well, not much of anything else. My deal with the publishers of the magazine is that because I'm covering for the previous editor, Kirstie Newton, while she has a baby, I can keep all my other freelance work going, a fair arrangement given that when Kirstie comes back it'd not be great to venture into the freelance fray sans contacts.

However, keeping everything going means working early in the morning, before I go to Truro to work at the magazine, and in the evenings, when I get home. This would be fine, if I didn't want to have a life beyond my laptop and/or PC. But I quite like having a life, and so have been doing exciting things beyond writing and editing like watching the World Cup, trying to get fit again and, miracle of miracles, surfing.

Yes, my comeback is official. I still have a stupid left leg, one that shakes in the mornings and at certain other junctures too embarassing to mention, and sometimes I have a stupid left hand, too. And occasionally my neck feels mighty strange. But overall, six and a half months post anterior cervical discectomy and fusion, I feel pretty good (if overweight - the pounds have piled on).

This feeling was at its (relative) zenith last Saturday, when I got some nice, small waves at Gwenver. It was a beautiful day and a basking shark was swimming around at the edge of the line-up. In the water were Jonty Henshall, though he was nearer to North Rocks, and a couple of other locals whose faces I know but whose names elude me. And that was it. Mellow waist high waves were peeling left and right, and hardly anyone was in the sea. My old surfing acquaitance Dr Sarah was paddling out as I came in. We shared a similar session one evening last summer, when no one else was out, the surf was clean and the baskers were cruising. And here I was, surfing again at one of the best spots in Cornwall, each wave better than the last. My take off has suffered - it's on the slow side, to say the least - and only by the fourth wave or so did I remember that cutting back is a useful thing to do, but it was really happening: I was back, properly enjoying the sweet sensation of riding waves, one that I feared would never come my way again.

So thanks to all who urged me to keep the faith. You were right. I don't think I'll ever surf challenging stuff again - Sennen Cove the following day, at just over head high on the bigger sets, felt on the large side - but I now know I can enjoy clean waves at the 4ft to maybe 5ft range. And that'll do nicely.

There's just one problem. For perhaps the next year, I have what is known in the real world as a 'job'. It's one I'm enjoying but I suspect it's not one that'll allow a lot of room for surfing. Unless, that is, I were to theme my first issue, that for August, to surfing, and go on to introduce regular surfing coverage, something editorially justified, of course, given the importance of surfing to Cornwall. Now there's a thought...

Pictured courtesy of Jason Feast and the UK Pro Surf Tour: Johnny Fryer surfing in a fashion that proved beyond me before neck surgery, but which now should be as easy as eating a cushion. (Addendum: if my understanding is correct, the UK Pro Surf Tour crew are currently in Sri Lanka. I was invited to join them but couldn't go because of that thing I mentioned - the 'job'. Is this, I wonder, why certain people - surfers - tend to eschew the 'job'?)

Ways of Seeing (QPR in Cornwall?)

To Morvah Schoolhouse this afternoon to check out new work by snapper and surfer Russ Pierre and his wife, a good lady of the surf herself, Jill. I enjoyed Russ's images, especially, given the 'once a skater, always a skater' mantra that has ruled my life probably more than its counterpoint ('once a lawyer, always a lawyer'), that of Camborne's venerable bowl. It brought back memories, not of skating Camborne (by the time I'd moved here, some fours years ago now, I was into carving; ramps and bowls were long a thing of the past), but of a similar structure near the University of East Anglia which I used to shred a quarter of a century ago. Back then, the local skaters said I skated it as if I were a surfer, a pleasing compliment but a curious one, for the truth was that although my mates and I had had a few sessions at Croyde and Saunton by then, I was still much more of a windsurfer than a surfer. Needless to say, when the locals vouchsafed this commendation, I slashed a couple of gnarly frontside grinds and said "Dudes, it's gratifying that you perceive my humble stylistic influences but, if I ever came to write this on a blog at some stage in the future, it would be awful if I did not tell you the truth and admit that, although my mates and I have had a few clean waves in North Devon, I remain more of a windsurfer than a surfer."

Yes, that's what I said, but even then, blessed I wasn't by the dubious gift of prophecy, I had no idea that I would one day wander into Morvah Schoolhouse and, as well as admiring Russ's photographs, enjoy Jill's multi-media surf-influenced, resin and stringer replete abstracts, works with which two other artists, my wife Karen and Ges Wilson, were also very taken. If you get a chance, check out Russ and Jill's work, which is on show as part of an exhibition entitled 'Ways of Seeing' until 25 June.

Talking of ways of seeing, John Berger knew how to take a glance at things. Where is he now and what is he looking at? We cannot know but, back in the realm of certainty, I can report that my first week as Acting Editor of Cornwall Today went very well. I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy this job and I've also managed to find time to keep writing the novel, so that's good (for me, if no one else). 

There are, though, some issues in my life. One is having a teenage son. Yes, the cliches are true. Another is having a pre-teenage son. Again, whoever wrote the textbook knew a thing or two. I love them to bits but my word, they can be testing - and the tests come thick and fast at their ages. I may yet fail them (the tests, that is, the tests) but in the meantime, here are two extremely positive things:

1. Having not surfed for 10 days, and being heartened by the comments posted here and relayed to me via e-mail or in person, I feel reasonably fit and strong and ready to paddle out one evening this week, after work, surf permitting.

2. Bodmin Town v QPR, Weds 14 July. QPR in Cornwall! Does it get better than this?!

(Er, yes. Ed.)

Nice image of one of Mike Lay, one of the young talents at Sennen and Gwenver, courtesy of Russ Pierre.

Letting Go of Surfing?

This blog is back on England's green and pleasant land after an excellent Tour du Mont Blanc. My younger son, Elliot, and I thoroughly enjoyed trekking round Western Europe's highest mountain, though I confess that we did not walk every step of the 105 mile circuit. The problem with the TMB in late May/June is that it's pre-season, so there's still a lot of snow on the high passes. We encountered a blizzard on the first day, on the Col de la Seigne at 2,500 or so metres, and on one or two subsequent stages also found the way too perilous owing to waist deep snow on couloirs with run-offs, in the event of a slip, which led to certain death. Even allowing for a reasonably well-developed self-destructive streak in yours truly this doesn't extend to my offspring, so discretion was the better course of valour and, a couple of times, turning back to return to our starting point and hitch a lift round to the next one was the only option. 

We were well looked after by Mark Tennent of Simply Savoie, a very able mountain guide who'd serve anyone well if they were under his care. If a spot of long-distance high altitude walking might be your thing, and you don't want to go as far as Nepal, drop Mark a line.

Meanwhile, my life changes fairly radically tomorrow as I become Acting Editor of Cornwall Today magazine. This position is set to last about a year, as I cover for the current ed, Kirstie Newton, who's off on maternity leave. I'm looking forward to the challenge of editing so decent a title, the offer to do so coming at a perfect time: I'm still not fit enough to surf, and won't be for a while, so being in an office will not, as it might otherwise have done, come with a downside of missing waves.

Talking of surfing - for yes, this is a surf blog, despite the photographic evidence of the TMB to the contrary - I paddled out at Sennen a couple of days ago, almost as soon as I returned to the UK. The surf was clean and offshore, not too big and, at North Rocks, fairly uncrowded. Sadly, though, I did not fare well. I just can't get over the fear that my neck is not ready for surfing. I caught a couple of waves - the kind of waves that ordinarily I'd have loved - but bottled it on the take-off. That sudden sense of speed seemed too dangerous, too threatening, too risky. I came in after an hour and a half without once getting to my feet, with just an aching pair of arms to show for my efforts. Those miraculous waves at La Santa seemed a long way away.

I was waxing lyric-free about this to a friend this weekend. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: "I don't know, surfing now seems so scary. I know the neck op has gone well but I still get a lot of twinges and weird shaking in my left leg and hand. I paddle out, think 'what if it went wrong?', and feel too scared to get a wave."

Friend: "You've had a good innings. You've boxed, surfed, windsurfed, snowboarded, played football, climbed mountains, done triathlon and God knows what else, all into your forties. It was time, at your age, to slow down anyway, but what's the point of a 10-second rush if the consequence could be that you spend your life in a wheelchair?"

Me: "I know. That's what I've been asking myself."

Friend: "Seriously, Alex, you need to let go of surfing. Concentrate on your writing from now on. That's what everything is saying to you. The action man days are over. It's time to write."

Me: "As it happens, the one uspide to the health mayhem has been that I've written a lot of a novel that I first thought of six or seven years ago. I'm really pleased with it."

Friend: "There you go. There's your answer. Finish the novel. Don't surf. Swim instead."

Me: "Hmmm."

So here I am, back from the TMB, wondering whether it's time to let go of surfing. Certainly, at present it's no fun. I'm too scared when I'm in the water and feel that each time I've been out recently - a few times in Lanzarote, twice at Sennen - I've got away with it rather than been ready for it and relaxed in the ocean. I've done enough sport to know that injuries happen when you're tired or not on your game. I am decidedly not on my game, and an injury to a post-cervical discectomy neck is not one to acquire.

Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. I'm not sure about that. But I have a feeling that the twin challenges of editing Cornwall Today and finishing my novel are here to keep me away from surfing. And though it pains me to say it, that's no bad thing.