Seek and ye shall find.

A random conversation with Andy Cotton about the three S’s - secrets, slabs and seeking.

By Ester Spears, May 2008

I’m feeling sick in the back of the van, and for once it isn’t a hangover that is causing my discomfort - there are no windows and the smell of the exhaust is causing creeping nausea. The boys in the front are eating, listen to weird music and cheerfully abusing each other and me. They are high after the first session of the day and I have been relegated to the back as we navigate the labyrinth of lanes on our way to a spot that they want to keep anonymous, hence my informal internment. The day had started in the early hours at Croyde, it was a weekend and the beach would be mobbed with locals and travellers who were gagging to surf as much as possible in their two days off before being locked back into the nine to five prison. Cotty, Lyndon and Lloydy had decided to escape the crowds and check out some lesser known reef set-ups, it was a big decision to leave Croyde when it was going to be good and endure the aggravation of all that driving round.

Craggy Peaks.

It was still dark when we got to the spot, the boys were that optimistic that they had suited up in the dark and sat waiting for the crack of dawn (I’ve always wanted to use that expression), as the cold, steel grey morning revealed itself, the high tide held a shock for the crew – it was flat. Unperturbed Lloydy, frothing as always, charged in, while Cotty blamed Lyndon and they discussed in a loud manner whose idea it was to leave Croyde (which was now assumed to be a near perfect four foot and doubtless, low tide). I could tell Cotty was upset as he explained to me that sometimes Croyde would be six foot and this place would be flat, it was to do with the swell direction probably, when a small set feathered just outside of Lloydy, amazingly the sun struggled from behind the crack and Lyndon screamed manically running into the sea. The tide dropped back it started feeling the reef a bit better and got pretty good for about an hour. The left was a bit fat but the right was smoking, hosing down the increasingly exposed reef and Cotty was there, in and out of the open barrels, loving life. It got a bit “slabby” towards the end, then as the reef finally exposed itself to the tide it all stopped and the warriors returned in triumph to the van. “I’ve been coming here for ten years and it’s been that good a handful of times before.” Cotty explained as he slammed the door on me.

We had met Martin Connelly in the lanes and he was going exploring, buoyed by the surf the boys decided to abandon their plan of returning to Croyde for the afternoon session and get in touch with the roots of surfing and go on a mission with Martin, besides even if they drew a blank they had a good session under their belt anyway. Of course my status was deemed far too dangerous to show where we going so I had to suffer the hostage treatment in the back of the vehicle.

Proper Jobs.

Parked up and carrying our kit it is a long trek through gorse and brambles along what was, at one time, a path of some sorts, down a steep hill and Lyndon fell sliding on his arse for long enough to put a suspicious muddy mark on his trousers. Oh how we laughed, rather nervously I suspect as we knew that anyone of us could join him in the poo-pants club at any moment. The ‘path’ finally led to a ledge and we could see the surf, it wasn’t perfect but perhaps a little bigger that in the morning, and after the hike in there was no way the boys were going back without getting their hair wet.

I managed to get a front seat on the way back and use the opportunity to pin Cotty down on a few topics. Firstly localism. "Firstly," he stutters. "I've never seen any incidents of localism at Croyde, but I thinks it's good for safety, the realism is that if you go to anywhere else in the world localism is a big thing. Where ever you go in the world the locals get the best waves and you just have to take your turn, and that fair. You don’t get guys paddling out at the best spots in say, Indo, on 7 10 bic and throwing themselves over the falls endangering everybody." We all laugh. He has pioneered a few spots in Ireland with Al Meanie (the subject of the excellent documentary “Driven”) so I asked him how you find a secret spot? “It’s a lot of hard work.” He says. “The stuff we did in Ireland was just checking spots, checking all the time on different tides and swell. You do lose surfs over it, if you have a couple of hours for a surf you have to make the decision; shall I go for a surf or check that spot, an hour down the coast, that might be working but probably wont. You never know unless you go for it.”

Meanwhile on the same day at a remote low tide boulder reef Eugene Tollamache was driving his six one along a greeny-grey obstacle course, somehow all these events are connected.

Please note that all these characters are fictitious and the places are imaginary. It was all a fantastic dream, there are no reefs on the north coast of the south west peninsula - it’s all feckin beach break!

© Ester Spears. Plagiarism is the sign of a lazy journalist and could cost you a fortune in damages.