There is an eerie glow through the clouds, it’s almost unreal, are we seeing things? Do we want to see this? It’s freezing as well, a gale is blowing clouds down the little U-shaped valley.
We’re outside our cabin, a summerhouse really with an electric heater inside. We’d all been hoping for a glimpse of the northern lights but it wasn’t to be. Nestled in this string of islands jutting out into the Atlantic, predictions of clear starlit nights are rarely correct, and tonight it’s way off.
The cabin is tiny, it’s all we can afford and with the body heat of three grown men, an electric heater, and some decent sleeping bags it’s comfortable enough.
At about three am things get lively. The wind goes from a gale to gusting hurricane force, the gusts are like punches on the cabin. With each hit there is a mix of rain, sleet and snow peppering the roof, thin walls, and windows. Sleep is over, it’s just too much to sleep through. You can hear gusts thundering down the valley sides before they thump into the first man-made structure, us. I think we all admit to thinking of making a run for the main building at some point, but the twenty-metre sprint at four in the morning in these conditions is totally counter productive.
The view in the morning is not what you dream of in cold places, it’s snowing, but the ground is a mixture of snow, mud, frozen mud, puddles. This is the reality of these places. Yes, you get those magical snow-covered scenes, but most of the times it’s like this. The village is small and it feels like a bit of a farmyard as sheep slow our progression towards the beach. Drying fish hang from under the rafters of each dwelling, nets covering them to stop the gulls. It’s early, there is barely a light on and I can’t blame anyone for not being up on this storm-ravaged morning.
The righthander is ripped to shreds, there is plenty of swell, but I refuse to get out of the car and into the cold to have a closer look. About a mile away is a lefthander, protected from the bulk of the wind by a towering arc of mountains, all snow covered and dominating the point break.
Peeling myself off the heated seats and into the cold is painful. The dial on the car says -3 we reckon the wind chill is about -20, it’s cold, really really cold. The wave though knows nothing of this and sets pile through. Sections barrel, sections peel perfectly and some just race onto the boulders. We’re in.
It’s cold. Pulling on a wetsuit, even a dry one is painful, anything not covered by rubber is just numb within seconds. I’ve been cold before, but this is another level. Looking back up the two valleys gusts are bringing snow with them that try to strip the skin. It isn’t much better in the water either. The Gulf Stream warms the water a little, but go below a foot and you’re into mountain run off which cannot be much above 2 or 3 degrees. A duck dive is painful, but the water is of a quality that is so magnificent it is almost forgotten, until the next hail shower.
The waves are good, despite the howling offshore they are rifling down the reef at a near perfect pace. The top section barrels hard, then it backs off into a wall which is just made for top to bottom surfing before it speeds up to a hollow inside section ending on the boulders. I have never been in water and air temperature before like this, and it’s taking its toll. For the first time in my life, I have a water housing fogging up, this has never happened to me before. The only way to deal with is by using my breath like a car heater on the front port. Both the air and the sea are so cold that contact with either causes what very little moisture there is in the housing to condense due to the camera inside. It becomes a chaotic mix of breathing, avoiding sets, trying to keep spray off the element. And all whilst waiting for Micah to get a wave to shoot.
I last two hours.
The slippery walk back up the boulders is treacherous, hands like claws, feet like solid blocks of ice; the icy wind numbing anything that is not rubber clad. It is all I can do to squat on the grassy bank behind the low stone wall to catch a moment’s breath, lungs burn in the cold air, the following change is swift, in the brutal breeze. The heated seats in the car don’t even touch, I am for the first time in a long time numb to the very core, a hot shower and hot drinks take an hour to get things back to normal. This is the Arctic, it is another level of cold, another level of weather and gives a whole new definition to surfing in the cold.
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