Slide Mag

Ahh Poop...

2010-07-29T23:08:31+01:00

We live in a bunch of damp little islands sat out in the Atlantic. We get a lot of weather. Which is why we love to talk about it so much. In sunnier climes, California for example, people don’t talk about the weather, as it’s sunny and nice most of the year. Doesn’t make for good small talk-“So it’s sunny, blue skies and not rained for weeks again.” ‘Yep, err, later dude...’We love to talk about the weather as we get more of it than most. Which is one of the reasons that being a surfer on our chunks of rock sitting off the edge of Europe is a good thing. As long as the weather is in a constant state of flux then we’ve got a shout at getting some waves. If a big summer high is sat out in the pond then we are knackered. Thankfully the Atlantic has been doing it’s impression of an agitated two-year old with sugar issues, it’s placid and sleepy before kicking off violently every now and then for a short spell before it slumbers again. Mid July it had one of those little glucose fuelled spaz attacks.

A vicious low pressure formed up in the western approaches that had many wondering if they’d walked through an unseen time loop straight back into winter. The mythical coves and bays that only work on big storms were being talked about in hushed tones (or blurted all over FB by some ‘tards) and there was a genuine sense of decent surf at the deep shelter spots in the middle of summer.Now this storm was coming at us like we’d spilled its pint of Stella, knocked it’s Scampi Fries off the table and groped it’s birds rack whilst insulting it’s football team. It wasn’t going to be pretty, the weather forecasters kept showing a massive green blob of radar rain and hellish winds as the system came in to duff us up good style. Before we got a lamped by the low there did appear to be a window of opportunity, a few hours of precious sunshine -as a photographer my medium is light, not torrential rain- where the swell would be thumping through and everything would align. The sheltered spot we had our eyes on hasn’t been on for a long, long time, hell, I’ve never scored it good ever. It’s always blowing a hoolie when it’s on and pissing down. So to score this ‘winter only’ spot in the summer with a chance of actual real sunshine was too good to miss…Now for reasons to complex to go into here the editor of this magazine is currently residing officially in the Big Smoke, yup, London Village, which makes shooting in Cornwall a pain in the arse. Seeing as I can be in Stansted in 40 minutes it’s possible to be on the beach in Biarritz or Easkey in less time than it takes to do the five and a bit hour drive to Kernow. But I digress…The day in question- on the road at 5a.m, leaving time mandated by opening hours at the nearest Maccas for pre-long-drive coffee and McMuffin hit. Sailed through pre-rush hour Londinium and fanged it down the M4/M5 with nowt but two stops for extra shot soya lattes and a regulation coffee dump. Caffeinated to the eyeballs I arrived in Kernow in plenty of time, it was still sunny, the tide was still way too, err, wrong for this particular spot and I bided my time by walking into the local village. Where I proceeded to get bum-raped in the local mini-mart- a paltry poultry sandwich, Curly Wurly, small juice and bottle of water costing over £6.This was the beginning, not that I knew it, of a bad day.I sauntered back to the wave and sat in the sun watching the tide move. The waves started to show, it wasn’t big but it looked like it was gonna be fun. A small posse of pro’s were supposedly en-route for a shoot so by the time they arrived at 12:30 I reckoned it was gonna be cooking.The allotted time arrived but the guys didn’t. The sun was still out, the surf was now producing a super-fun, head-high wedge. Perfect for shots- take off on the wedge, heaps of speed for a big turn on the first section then race to the air section at the end with maximum velocity to burn in the sky. I was frothing, the potential for huge air shots from the water was, well, huge.An hour passed. One booger and surfer had the place to themselves. Feasting on every set. I waited and texted and wondered where the crew had got to.Come 1:30 the window of opportunity slowly closed. The big raging rainstorm was slowly moving in, blotting the sun out of the sky and heralding the arrival of a million boogers and surfers. All of whom had missed the good bit of the tide.I was officially peeved.Five hours of driving, a painfully early start, £15 worth of coffee and nibbles for nothing. The guys arrived as the rain drops started to fall. The surf was now a brown close out with 40+ guys fighting over it. It took Herculean will to even get my camera out in the rain. I was now in a sulk. It could have been so good. It could have been cover shots. It could have been the first time I’d ever got good shots at this infernal spot. As it was it was rainy, grey, and shite like it always is in the winter.As the rain turned from drizzle to junior apocalypse I bailed. Had to do some stuff in the office anyways.So bummed was I that I drove home that night, which was fun, as I kept finding myself doing 90mph on the A30 without having my foot on the accelerator. The storm had really wound itself up and was lashing the southwest with a proper southerly bluster. The gales were giving me an unintended efficiency saving on my fuel. It was also fun trying to hold onto the steering wheel with the combo of high winds and swimming pool sized puddles on the road.I couldn’t get home fast enough.

G-Unit Gets A Cover...

2010-07-29T11:47:27+01:00

My favourite lady surfer's gone and got her mug on the cover of Cooler. I fink it looks pretty sweet...

I Don't Like Traffic, No...

2010-07-24T11:19:39+01:00

I done a silly yesterday. A dumb thing. A little slice of idiocy that someone my age should know better to avoid. Of all the things you should avoid (apart from getting involved in land wars in Asia) trying drive to the south west on the day the schools break up for the summer hols is the main one. Now I know most kids should be in school until the end of the shift but the blatantly weren't. It took me six hours exactly to get from the Big Smoke to Honiton, which shouldn't take less than four hours. I figured leaving at lunchtime I'd be ahead of the curve. But no. Driving down the M4/5 in second gear, whilst sweating and needing a fat piss really does suck ass big time...

Anyhoose. I'm on me way to the Billabong Juniors at Fistral on for the weekend. Not there yet as the swell is small to bleh. Should be okay tomoz, I hope... I might get there assuming the A30 isn't a car park from Newquay all the way to Exexexexexexexeter. Fingers crossed.

See The Serendib Dreaming Videos On Your Mobat...

2010-07-12T20:01:18+01:00

All you mobile internet browsing type people can now see the videos I've been making cos I've stumped up the cash for Vimeo plus so can now do mobile versions...

Just click here to go to me little video channel and check em all out on yer iPhone (other handsets are available).

If yer even more modern and using one of them fancy iPad things then I've added a link below the vids below to goto the Vimeo pages so you can see each one. They are working on embedding for the iPad now.

Serendib Dreaming- Webisode 3...

2010-07-06T00:51:37+01:00

The Sri Lanka adventure is over, I'm sat in the Colombo airport coffee shop, it's 5:15a.m. We got up at 2:30a.m because our flight was supposed to be at 6:00a.m. It's 1.5hours late. So we could of stayed in bed until 4:00a.m. Which would have been nice. Anyhoose. Blighty beckons. Enjoy the vid...
iPad users click here for the Vimeo page where the vid will play fine.

I DON'T LIKE JELLY NO… I LOVE IT.

2010-07-01T13:30:00+01:00

They're big on karma in these parts. A theory that basically distills down to 'do good things and good things will happen to you and vice versa.' I don't subscribe to any particular religious philosophy but I do always have karma in the back of my mind. So when I rescued a washed up jellyfish yesterday I thought I was a little bit in credit with Mother Nature.

Skip to this morning when I was shooting particularly average A-Bay from the water; a wave with much potential but yet to really come to the party this trip. All was going well even though the surf wasn't quite right, the dawn light was lovely, the wind favourable and the swell had built over night. It felt like time to get some decent photos finally.

I was wrong. Turns out the jellyfish I rescued wanted to say thanks, it did this by casually drifting up to me and giving me a big hug, right around my throat. I responded to the insane pain of being stung in the throat by an adult jelly by punching it off. Net result- stings all over my knuckles as well. If you've never been stung by a jelly it's like a nettle sting turned up to 11, or a really good scald, end result is that tight burning pain you know is going to linger for hours… On the plus side this was a really good time to find out I'm not allergic to jellyfish stings.

Anyhoose. Karma can do one.

Enjoy the little film. iPad users click here for the video page.

Hot Daaaaaaaaam Hot...

2010-06-29T09:02:28+01:00

So. I is in Sri Lanka innit. Where it is about 1˚ cooler than the surface of the sun. I'm sweating in places I didn't even know existed. The only time of day where you are not sweating is dawn, but cos the island is close to the equator the sun rises fast and it makes an audible swooshing noise as it flies upwards. The waves thus far (have been here since Sunday night) haven't been too hot, but a good swell is brewing. Check the vid for the skinny... iPad users click here for the vid.

SCREAM 4, SNORE 1….

2010-06-27T03:22:39+01:00

It's said that travel broadens the mind and expands your soul
Which is all well and good but travel can be a right pain in the shitter as well.
Case in point my recent hop, skip and a jump to Sri Lanka.

The voyage started off well- a seamless tube trip to Heathrow, a painless check in with Sri Lankan airlines, a good (but anchovy free?) Caesar salad in the airport bar and stress free boarding… This is pretty much where the nice bit stops and the wanting to bang your head on a wall bit starts.

I was allocated an aisle seat in row 20. Which means a bulkhead seat, plus points being ample leg room and no doofus in front of you to recline their seat into your in-flight meal, but the bulkhead row is a false promise, it carries a dark secret, one that frequent travellers will also be aware of.

Because that row is also known as the 'creche'.
For the bulkhead row is where all the screaming babies get sent.

I hoped this wasn't going to be the case as I'm a marked man when it comes to wailing infants on long haul flights.

I took my seat on the aisle of the central bank of four seats, I waited in trepidation, hoping the three seats would be filled by some normal, quiet, adult people, of course that was never going to happen. In a flurry of bags and babies the three seats next to me filled with two adults and two infants, one about 18-months, the other maybe three. Across the aisle to their left another woman with a baby and another toddler. In front of her, a young couple with another wee bairn…
So within spitting distance that's five potential screaming machines, FOUR in my row alone, behind me another two young kids, slightly older, hopefully not the kind that spend the whole flight kicking the back of your seat for shits n giggles.
Of course not all kids scream the whole flight like their clothes are made of nettles.

But that's in an alternate universe where kids don't scream on my flights, I actually get to sleep and maybe one of the films on the plane is worth watching.

On cue the baby closest to me (of course) started it's screamathon. The opening act in a symphony of wailing, tears and screams which lasted nine hours out of an eleven hour flight… and we'd not even taken off yet. Such was the din, with sometimes three screaming at the same time, I slept for only two hours, basically the Middle East, I fell asleep over Turkey and woke up over Oman. Which is a sentence that sounds awfully strange when you say it out loud.

At least when we got to Sri Lanka I could get a good nights sleep in the first nights west coast hotel before we did the all day drive of doom across the middle to A-Bay… or so I thought.
Which brings me to the now. It's 4:25 a.m. I'm not awake thru jet-lag or anything cool like that.
I'm awake because my allocated room mate for the trip, Mr T Plant of Pit Pilotshire, has a snore on him that can only be likened to the noise of dragging a heavy leather sofa across a wooden floor. He snores like a traction engine, much like I imagine Hagrid from the Potter films would.

And then there's the AC unit- which looks like an AC unit, sounds like an AC unit, but has no discernible effect on the ambient air temp. It's only the ceiling fan (borrowed me thinks from a Spitfire and powered by a Rolls Royce Merlin engine) that's stopping me melting completely.

Travel. It broadens the mind, expands your soul and gives curmudgeons like me something to write about...

Sri Lan Ka Ka Ka Ka...

2010-06-25T08:44:54+01:00

So. I is orf to Sri Lanka this arvo. It's one of those rare beasts- a free media trip. Rarer than unicorn poop they are. It was all a bit last minute, the flight was confirmed wednesday, as in two days ago, so it hasn't been the easiest thing for the nerves, especially when we're hopefully counting on a decent feature for the mag from the trip and it might not of even happened and deadlines next week... Anyhoose.

Forecast looks ace, the sand on the point is good, Stoker is out there already (he was there for the QS) and reckons its hotter than hell on a hot day when the AC is broke, in one email he wrote, "mate, it's so hot here it's not even funny, I'm sat in the Internet cafe in me pants it's so sweaty." Which is a delightful mental image I'm sure you'll agree.

I'll let you know how we get on...

ps: This heffalump is from last years trip...

I Heart Parko...

2010-06-24T09:55:45+01:00

My two favourite surfers in the world- Dane Reynolds and this fella- Joel Parkinson...