Seventy Four

I imagine my legs like pistons.  Steam pressure forcing them in endless cycles.  My mind grasps for any mental image that will force some extra energy from my aching muscles.  Turning a corner onto the home stretch is like colliding with an invisible wall.  I head strait into the full force of the wind.  No peleton here for protection.  A deal struck, energy expended here to be repaid later in time on the water.

Endless time wondering.  Hoping.  Never quite sure.  Never quite certain.  But to peer through morning curtains and look upon inverted umbrellas, far slung rubbish escaping from within bins as if errant children let loose from the hands of their stalwart parents.  This sight turns hope to certainty.  No if.  No but. Just the knowledge of imminent adventure.  Ultimately the rest is just delays.

Seventy Three

Coming out of the blue and blindsiding me like a eighteen wheeler this impromptu surf trip slammed the official seal on the arrival of summer.  Sitting on the sofa watching Inception and shoveling Vienetta and minstrels into my mouth I was in two minds about jumping in the car and speeding across the southwest.  But adventure is pretty hard to find at the bottom of a bowl of ice-cream so a late night trip to Bristol and an early morning cruise into north Devon found Andy and I standing on the beach looking at the sets roll in just after breakfast.

Paddling out for the first time in a long time made me realise how much I love surfing and made me question where where fitness had decided to wander off to.

A three hour beating send us scurrying for the shore in search of dry clothes and a fist full of vittles.

Discussing kiting, surfing, sailing and become all rounded water men.

Times like this put a lot into perspective.

Fatigue forgotten we slid back into wet wetsuits and paddled out for another session

This smile is because for the only time that day we managed to catch the same wave

This is an adventure we will be talking about for a very long time to come.

It is one of those stories that will become a central pillar in our own mythology.

Seventy Two

   Tendrils of darkness entwined themselves around my heart.  Their icy grip squeezing all hope of summer from within.  The memory of a hot sun warming my skin oozed from my pores and pooled upon the cold grey concrete floor.  It slithered and slopped its way along the path of least resistance until it merged in the sewers with the multitude of other forgotten dreams.

But not so easily washed away are dreams, their ambition is far from humble, kindled as they are by sun and light.  Left unbidden in dark corners a crack of light strengths their resolve and bursting forward they sweep you up and deposit you at the nexus of your desire.

So, with far less hyperbole.  Its been a long, grey, cold winter but now summer is here and I am back right where I want to be.

                                         

Seventy One

This blog has never really been about me.  The photos were mine but the action and the adventures were collective.

In seventy posts my face has appeared but a handful of times and that is the way I like it.  But things are more than a little different now.

New job.  New home.  New corner of the world.

The friends I used to spend most every day with throughout the summer are now in the east and the west, with me in the south we cover three points of the compass and sessions together are far fewer than once upon a time.  But finding myself as I now do with a plethora of new spots and miles of coastline to explore hopefully there will be more stories to tell than ever.  But the geographic dissolution of my friends necessitates I am now the hero of my own adventures, and if you are going to be a hero there is only way to take photos.  It’s a little different from what I am used to that’s for sure.

More than anything seeing my friends blogs, seeing their adventures keeps me connected to them.  We don’t kite together as much anymore but that doesn’t mean we can’t share in each other’s sessions.  This blog is no longer a chronicle of our adventures, but one story of many.

 Andy Dave Kris

These are the other chapters if you want to read the whole book.  I can assure you that at times these stories will intermingle criss-cross and amalgamate.  At other they will diverge and spin off on their own trajectories.  But they will never exist in isolation.

 The same old characters will pop up again but for now there will be much more me and I am probably more uncomfortable with that than anyone.

But here goes.

Seventy

Inspiration and desire seem to wax and wane within me like the changing phases of the moon.  For close to half a decade my camera was an appendage to be found at the end of my right hand.  But for many months my camera’s new residence within its bag has remained undisturbed.  But upon picking up ‘Seven Degrees’ by Andy Gotts I found my new hero.  I went out and bought a flash made in the 70′s and an umrella that would do little good in a downpour for less than the price of a pack of haribo.

And this is where we find ourselves, back with my camera, back with some inspiration…Fancy a photo, get in touch.

Sixty Nine

 

With humanities removal

and the passage of time

it is possible to see that

Beneath the Concrete, the Forrest Grows

Sixty Eight

The Day of the Chicken

It started like any other day.

But then low and behold the beast began its attack.

Curse my hasty judgement it turned out to friendly.

And hungry

But something sinister still lurked behind those eyes

And so I trapped it.

Only for it to foil my plans and begin a campaign winning the hearts and minds of my colleges.

Not all of them.

But ultimately its campaign was a success and it was provided food and bedding to stay with us as long as it likes.

The End