Low evening light illuminates the gold flowered gorse flanking the narrow pathway along the cliff, the saccharine scent belying its hostile intentions. Shuffling side-on, with surf on my mind - I’m mindful to avoid snagging my much loved but regrettably previously snagged jacket. The ambling little lane I live on, in this far west corner of the county, slowly tapers from a road of sorts into this compacted earth path a few minutes into my journey.
After a short while I arrive on a car sized granite outcrop perched high above the bay, providing familiar grip on my bare feet as I hop over to the a finger of rock which I like to sit and check the surf from. I won’t need to sit today though. I’ve already noticed the tide inching its way through the sandbar at the base of the cliff, clearly undeterred by the stiff offshore causing the scattered peaks to throw out plumes of spindrift. The rip bowl will be good soon.