A DESPERATE SURF

I returned to the house around 11p.m. on a Sunday after being away for a few days. The boys that I live with had been at the local pub, The Killigrew Inn, playing darts. As expected, they returned quite energized and rowdy. To my surprise, they proposed the idea of going surfing at Gyllyngvase Beach, the nearest beach to our house in Falmouth.

I chuckled, assuming they would come to their senses, especially given that it was pitch black outside and the waves hadn’t been favourable that day. I headed upstairs to put my belongings in my room. Upon returning downstairs, I found them half dressed in their wetsuits, clutching their boards, fully determined to go. Being the responsible, sober one at the time, I decided it was best to accompany them, knowing full well that their minds were set on surfing.

I got their boards, loaded them into my van and drove down to the beach. For the next hour, I watched as two lads had the time of their lives in what I can only describe as 1-foot shore-breaking waves. Now, while I wouldn’t recommend anyone attempt this and certainly wouldn’t do it myself… however upon asking them if they would do it again, their answer was “Absolutely.”