PART 1: Hobo Life and Heroin
The high wind growls, huffs and occasionally wisps, as it tries prising open the nearly closed jeep door. (Shuts door) Now, the window slightly open, I hear the tent, nestled between cliff, car and fence, ruffling, resonating the gales as a dog shakes after being in water. She stands her ground, tail-like guy ropes strongly pegged down, years of pitching experience pays dividends at times like these.
The site is a car park, found after much driving around in the dark of this winter's eve. I'd encountered muddy fields, dead ends, the boy racers in other car parks and deliberating the least likely location to draw attention and the most likely to fall into the 'adventurous' category, I'd found a great spot high up on the cliffs. And so it was, exposed to the elements in defiance of the norm, I could see eastwards, the town of Filey; it's lights shaping the curve of the bay below as it fended against the sea.
2hrs prior saw me at Cayton Bay. 'You should have ben here yesterday!' He He...
I know this to be true for this trip, as speaking to the surf shop and checking the swell, I knew I'd missed the best of the waves by staying the extra days in Ripon. Hey Ho, I was at my sister's at the time of the call and a quick jaunt over to the coast was inevitable, I'd just left it too late. (I contracted surfitis on that first wave nearly two years ago and firmly in its grip, a mere 100miles was a stones throw to catch some waves)
Arriving in Scarborough I instinctively drove to Cayton. Letting Benbo out of his portable house in the boot, we went to say hello to the sea, the third visit to this spot spelled millpond, that dreaded witch's tit!
Never mind, I'm involved in the process of surfing and that's food enough to fill this hunger. It's medicine for my condition.
More on this trip on my next blog...
Copyright © 2010 Thomas Ramwell.
