Surfing with the penguins

A warm sun bordered by a clean sky that covers you gently in its heat. Majestic palms, whose leaves softly wave in a light breeze, cast their shadows on white beaches touched by turquoise waters. This is what you seek when you go surfing. This is not what you are going to find when you go surfing in the UK.

Instead you’ll find freezing waters, greyed by overshadowing clouds that block any ray of sunshine. Heavy rain that hits you sideways, sharpened by the strong cold winds. Icebergs that floats inexorably in the distance.

Okay, the Icebergs part isn’t true. And it wasn’t actually that bad. But it was with those premises that, Friday 3rd November, 45 people from SurfSoc left from the Union, heading down to Newquay, for the first surf trip of the season. Some of them had already experienced the harsh conditions of the Cornish coast, but most of them were beginners and had no idea what awaited them.

After a seven hour bus ride, a surf movie, jokes and stories about past trips, we finally arrived in the surf capital of the UK. Too late to go surfing, we dropped off our stuff in the rooms (nearly all of them were taken by us) and begun the clubs’ second favourite activity: drinking. Forgetting momentarily about our 8am alarm set for the morning after, we invaded the hostel’s bar.

Half sleepy, half hung-over, we were awoken by the soundof waves and the sour promise of a watery coffee. In the same bar from the night before, we ate our cereals and toast staring out of the big windows, looking at the bay below us. The cold, blue waters already hosted some intrepid surfers. The conditions looked better than expected from that altitude and we were not disappointed once in the sea.

With an average of four feet, and some sets almost head height, the waves, even if not perfect, were more than enough to have fun. The sun, breaking through the clouds from time to time, provided a more than welcome psychological comfort. It was only after two and a half hours, when hail the size of almonds replaced rain, that most people decided they had enough for the morning.

But the day was still long. After a quick lunch, the ones that still had some strength left in their bodies were in for another session. The most experienced surfers headed to Fistral Beach, hoping that its greater exposure to the swells from the Atlantic would result in bigger waves. Though the strong winds had transformed the unsheltered bay into a giant open sky washing machine, their efforts were rewarded with larger waves.

Sunset at five put an end to surfing for the day. Once more, it was time to drink. After initiations for the new comers (the distasteful details of which we will not mention here), everyone put on their fancy dress, mandatory for each member. And so, once again we invaded the bar. A few costumes in particular stood out. A drunk Irish penguin (J. McGuckin), a onesy tiger suit (S. Gutierrez) and a bad Bruno impression (A. Harvey).

The morning after we awoke with headaches, heavy eyes and, in keeping with SurfSoc pranking tradition, one of the rooms covered with sand, from their bed sheets to the inside of their shoes. However there was no time for complaining. After packing the few things we had, we headed down for one last session.

Our suffering was rewarded and our hangover alleviated not only by bigger and more energetic waves, but also by a massive rainbow whose ends touched the entrance of the bay, creating a gigantic gate in the middle of the sky.

But time flies when you have fun and three hours later it was already time to go back home. The bus fell silent after a few minutes, while people tried to find their lost sleep.

In the following days, the most common question from my non-surfer friends was: why? Why face waves that hit you like buckets of freezing water, cold winds that slap your face penetrating your bones, icy streams which flow between your skin and your oversized rented wetsuit? Why do you face all that for a few seconds ride? I have tried to explain that it’s that few seconds ride, that moment in which all your problems, all your worries slide away and it’s only you, the sea, the speed and the adrenaline, that makes it all worth it. And it makes you want more. But it’s pointless. The only way to understand it is to experience it.