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It was sheer madness heading off today as the tail end of Hurricane Mitch hit the south coast of Ireland, with a force 9 gale shoving a big southerly swell onto the shore. We decided on Redstrand, hoping that the offshore reef might break up what would otherwise be a foaming mess. Sure enough the mess wasn't as bad as we feared but finding a smooth wave was out of the question so we contented ourselves with being tossed around in the chaos and the young lad of the Vaughans even got his first stand while everyone got rosy red cheeks. An unsatisfactiry day was compounded when Eddie left a carmat from the Corolla on the beach.
The forecast was poor so when we crested the hill and saw the west beach playing host to a healthy swell throwing up some decent five-footers, the spirits were high. The day was calm and the water glassy. Eddie started the better catching a few nice forehanders near the finger but as the day went on he tired, leaving the king in control on the emerging backhand. On we went, trading waves 'til the sun disappeared to be replaced by an evening chill which was soon cleared by a large pot of freshly brewed coffee in the surfers lounge of the new hotel. Perfect.
Eddie was off measuring curtains with Larry, so it was late enough when we hit the beach. A great swell was spoiled by a growing gale so we were stuck surfing in a big windy jacuzzi. Highlight of the day was when I came out of a scary wipeout looking for my board. The top of my skull found it as it appeared from nowhere. Ouch. The volume of the impact was only matched by Eddies unsympathetic howls of laughter.
A healthy south-westerly had been blowing all week, but today was calm so a big day in Inchydoney was safely predicted. And so it was that Helen jumped back on the bandwagon and along with Evelyn G and Freckles and off we set with the Corolla practically finding its own way to the beach. Sure enough a great swell was rolling in with glassy 8-footers hitting the beach like clockwork. Our timimg was appalling as ever though as we caught the tide on the backward food and after a promising start the waves fell to pieces as the ebbing currents played havoc with the decent incoming swell. After 2 hours of sheer frustration, during which we went from the sandbar right over to the west beach in search of a rideable wave, we threw the towel in. Our abject misery was lifted only by a surreal encounter with Bertie Ahern (down to open the hotel), and thoughts of Alan Fadds house warmer tonight.
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