BLUES LINES

 hear a knock on my bedroom door followed by the door being flung open, and my introduction to this new day was an incoherent mess of words I desperately tried to string together in my half-asleep mind …pumping …overhead …Porthmeor… I was beginning to get the picture and rubbed my eyes to see two figures standing in my room, one with phone in hand, Surfline glimmering in the dark. 

Let me introduce you to the intruders. They consist of my younger brother Nate and my cousin Zack (who goes by the mysterious nickname of Jinden) Together, they have formed a surfing collective and use YouTube to put out various vlogs and edits. Atomic Gromz is the name that is heard rattling the walls of our house most days and screamed across the lineup most surfs. Reuben Wakely, who unfortunately couldn't make it to this particular session, is another member of the self-proclaimed surf collective. Together, they wreak absolute havoc, or at least like to think they do.

 Breakfast was skipped; it's only vital energy, right? And an ungodly amount of surfing apparatus was crammed into my car. The front seat was lowered to flat, and five shortboards were stacked on each other in alternate rotations so the fins didn't scratch the board above/below. Nate's board, Nate's spare board, Zack's board, Zack's extra board and finally, my board ( which I knew I had a fat chance of using, knowing the persuasive nature of these two photo-obsessed lads). And what can I say? They are a blast to shoot with; they are stoked with whatever you get, are always super grateful, and just have great vibes all around. They also surf pretty flipping good. By the time we got to St. Erth, the tunes were in full effect. These two boys have an increasingly random taste in music that varies from Fleetwood Mac to Central Cee. Niko B was the artist of choice this fine September morning as Nate and Jinden sang every single word throughout the entire journey. 

We pulled up at the top of Porthmeor Hill, and as many of you know, you can see the swell piling in from the top, but not the waves breaking, well, at high tide at least, which it was. We slowly drove down the hill, and there was a few seconds of silence before the car erupted into complete and utter psych. It was pumping. This did not help the sketchy three-point -turn I had to complete to manoeuvre out of the ram-packed carpark. Unfortunately, most other surfers in the local area and further afield had the exact same idea when they woke up. Not that the boys care; busyness doesn't matter to them. No matter how many people are in, these lads always seem to get about a hundred waves a session. 

As we re-climbed the hill in the car, I hung a hard right down a row of houses to the end and parked on a dubiously faded double-yellow line. We started to get our suits on when a posh-looking gentleman came from one of the holiday homes. My heart dropped, and as he got closer, I tried to formulate in my mind what response I was going to take. He stopped just in front of us with a great big smile and said, "You don't wanna park there, mate! The traffic wardens come down here and have a field day; they catch about 10 people a day", I gladly replied with, "Thanks so much mate, that was close!" he then continued with "Just pop your car in there if you like" gesturing to the empty spot next to his car. That was not what I expected from that interaction. Legend. 

We made the descent to the waves with the boys skipping along and me lugging my camera housing and fins, stopping to take shots on the way down. What we saw as we approached was a picture-perfect lineup. Crystal blue lines and warm, bright light shined upon everything. It was like a summer's day. As we passed down past the surf school, I laid eyes upon a group of St. Ives legends; you could spot them from a mile off. I chatted to Jacob Down, who said he was about to jump in; I would later catch up with him in the waves. This 2-minute conversation gave the boys a hefty headstart as I saw Nate putting his leash on down the other side of the beach and bounding into the waves. Jinden followed and sprinted down to the shoreline. Putting on my fins as fast as possible, I checked my camera housing seals last minute and walked into the aqua blue. 

Most people who have surfed Porthmeor will know it's not the tamest wave, especially on the inside. I took a few heavy ones on the head, but the swim out was worth it. We got out into the middle of the beach and decided to paddle down to Boilers as it is known ( the submerged boiler from a shipwreck might have something to do with the name). A notorious hollow and hard to manoeuvre right on the best of days. Today, it was lovely, not too heavy but hollow enough to have a lot of fun on. Perfect for Nate and Jinden. Nate scratched into a couple of absolute beauties, powering down the line and bringing the tail around in a satisfying slash. Zack followed him, sliding into an absolute beauty, the famous Boilers barrel breaking slightly too small behind him. 

The boys continued to get wave after wave, and I went and changed my battery after it died, I shot from land with my 200mm lens. This session reminded me what it is like when surfing means everything... you are so excited to wake up every day (no matter what the waves are like) and get some fun surfs in with your buddies. It was a wholesome and refreshing day and one of the most enjoyable shoots I've had in a long time. I even got a surf in; the sun dropped in the sky, and the lineup was bathed in purple and orange. I ran up to grab my board and joined the two boys in their fourth session of the day; I watched Zack scratch into an absolute bomb, it was so good I didn't even think it was him. He bottom-turned perfectly, and the setting sun shone through the barrel behind him. I should have had my camera really, but the fact I didn't made that last session even more special. A lot of people, myself included, need to go back to the thankful and appreciative grom-centric mindset of surfing, no matter how crap the waves are.