NO BLUE SKIES
NO CLEAR BLUE SKIES. No boardshorts. No beautiful turquoise waters lit by sub-tropical SUNLIGHT……
This is Cornwall.
The Isle of Kernow. Land of the black and white flag. Pasties. Mizzle. A long leg of England extended gingerly into the jaws of the Atlantic Ocean, where legendary fifth century healer St Piran landed and brought Christianity to the heathen Cornish. Thrown from the cliffs in Ireland with a millstone around his neck, he floated to Perranzabuloe where he set up a church and performed miracles. Now it’s home to the Kernow Foil Crew, aka the KFC. A loose collective of aeronauts (not a well-known purveyor of chicken buckets) brought together by a love of small crumbling waves and high-octane flights.
Chris texts me. “Foil session at the usual winter spot?” I look outside: it’s February mid-winter, semi-dark with curtains of rain washing across our inland valley in the onshore gale. There’s no color. Just faded browns and greens beyond the veil of grey rain and grainy skies. I cross-check the surf forecast instinctively. 10ft @ 12 seconds. 20-30mph onshore winds. Yep, it’s on.
Eighteen months ago – as a surfer and SUP boarder – I wouldn’t have even bothered. Our Atlantic winters are a series
