'When I was younger, a framed photo of my dad surfing here in the early 80s used to hang on our toilet door. I studied that picture fairly regularly - once a day for a number of years in fact. ‘Gul’ wetsuit with green arms and ‘Best-Ever’ twinnie underfoot. Big grin on the old man’s face. Although in that picture my dad wasn’t old - he would’ve been younger than I am now. 

Looking west towards Trewavas mine, I realise I am sat in the exact spot that my Dad had his picture taken some 30 plus years ago. A wave of distant melancholy spreads over me as I come down from the natural high of my session. I feel cold to my core. How many more days will be like this? How many years of this do I have in me? As with everything, all things eventually come to pass. I wonder how many more years I will be able to keep my harbour affair going? Some of my most treasured, impassioned surfing moments have happened at the entrance to this harbour. I look over at Steve sat diligently at the peak still waiting for the ‘one’ and recognise that in our endless search we are all guilty of occasionally not giving thanks for the ‘ones’ we have had and the finite amount of ‘ones’ we may be blessed with in the future. I give my own thanks to the Atlantic and my County. I decide to get out after ‘one’ more.'

Excerpt from my story 'A Harbour Affair' featured in White Horses Issue 25.

36799579_1791748000911569_8239891398711574528_o.jpg