Things come and things go; energy rises and energy falls. Swells are fleeting things; especially here in the North East of England where the lows pass by our swell windows and blow out; change direction, dissipate, hit land. This swell was a rare one; one that Surfline can’t quite get its head around presenting as worth surfing; it’s been that way for a long time, Magic Seaweed couldn’t do it either.

I teach surf forecasting as part of my job, but sometimes wonder if people trust themselves and their knowledge as much as colours on an app. Either way; there were few takers.

Alex Tatko finding a corner whilst Sally McGee debates going to grab a different board, or at least a leash…

The alarm went off at 5.45; the coffee got brewed, the headlines browsed whist the sun struggled to wake up. As soon as it did, the webcam (yes, the 100m walk from the comfort of the bed is sometimes replaced with a webcam, how tragic). It was too small, or not quite hitting a bank, the swell wasn’t yet showing either way, Billy was tired, we let him sleep with the hopes that it might come good for us after the school run. The wind was stiff offshore and the after-drop-off peep over the lookout hill told us all we needed to know.

Suit, earplugs, wax, log, go.

All’s quiet. Tatko, Roger, Scotty, Winia, Alison and the juvenile herring gulls (not so juvenile anymore) are the only people clocked on to this one. Fast, offshore zippy walls ran down a mid-beach bank, stood up; not sheet glass but that little texture the slight south wind gives. Take off, lock in, go.

Eventually the tide kills it again, too high. Lagooning; never heard that before but Tatko said it and it makes sense. 45 minutes from high, so in an hour and a half we should be back to where we were, but the swells dropping; how much by, it’s hard to say. It was a lot bigger than expected this morning, solid on the sets. Bit of food, cup of tea and we could score again.

INSERT SURF CHECK SHOT

After a quick cuppa and a little check up the coast, it’s evident how quickly the swell is dropping. Breaking on the shore up there, would have been amazing at first light but one thing we can’t have, unfortunately, is it all.

The home beach was a ghost town again. More right handers, this time on a different bank, screamed across the beach every few minutes. Tom and I traded set waves for an hour uninterrupted; we had Guillemots fishing on the inside, Terns fishing on the outside, Cormorants heading south. He ran to grab the camera, swell dropping, offshore wind picking up. Every so often they came through still, small with perfect little walls standing up, we connected for a few, always good when that happens..

The school run is always more interesting when you are actually running; still wet from the post-surf shower. There’s no feeling like it. Another feeling we had been experiencing all day was guilt; guilt that we weren't as productive as we perhaps could have been, or indeed needed to be. Also guilt that we had surfed our brains out and Billy had put in a full shift at primary school and probably missed the best of it.

Low tide now, swell nearly gone. It’s a ticking clock and the wind is howling; this last session is for me, Billy and our friend Elsa who just picked up her first singlefin from our garage half an hour earlier.

Letting off some steam after a hard day of being at Primary School.

Perfect walls are perfect walls, whether double over head or double over ankle.

And just like that, as we walked back up the beach in the rain, dark moody skies closing out the swell, a look over the shoulder and it’s just Elsa left, sat in a mid-tide pond; the last breaths of energy getting smaller and rarer; but still out there for the willing.

The one-day swells are a panic of bliss, tactics, knowledge of tides, spots and directions. Trusting our forecasting abilities or taking the time to double check can often offer us sessions we might not be expecting. Sliding along lumps of water in an empty sea is a rare, rare thing in this world. Risk is often balanced with reward, but to tell the truth; seeing a change in seasons from a first hand perspective is worth getting wet for, feeling the chill on the hands, enjoying the feeling of wrapping un-booted toes over the nose, seeing a friend on an empty runner, watching a weather system pass over, feeling the rain from inside the water. It’s all connection. Understanding that these things are fleeting; not on tap. Not bookable between one and two o-clock on a Wednesday, but at the whim of our natural world make the act, the art of surfing one of the most beautiful things I can imagine doing.

12 hours at home; a one day pulse.