work, life, art.
Edge of the earth.
Steve checking his leaves…”will I get barrelled?”.
With a hot tea inside, you could appreciate the location, if not the decor.
Nick brewed up in an old shack as we sheltered from a storm that blew out the surf for a day.
Paddling back across the river in the afterglow of two hours of head-high surf. Nice.
The photo doesn’t do justice to how small you feel in the presence of nature.
We drove through big country in search of bigger waves. One man, standing alone. That is I.
The ritual surf check held small promise.
A distant wave breaks the morning.
I sneaked off to Scotland with a couple of mates recently to surf some epic waves. After a 12 hour drive from Bristol to the north coast, we pitched the tent on a beach at 1am. This was what we woke up to a few hours later.