Road Ranger Adventure : chapter 1 : The Journey Begins

Our destination was Roscoff, a tiny town on Brittany’s western peninsular, best known as a ferry port where English people buy cheap alcohol in bulk. It was here that after many hours spent driving and listening to dreadful french radio that we would greet the rest of our group, and start making our way down the coast.  

In any adventure, large or small, things rarely go to plan. In our case the tightly packed atlantic isobars necessary for perfect surf had been replaced by settled high pressure systems. The monster barrel waves we had envisaged while toiling away in our respective jobs were, upon arrival in Brittany, no more than wind blown ripples. 

Days of reading, sleeping and playing beach themed ball games ensued. We were at a loss; devoid of imagination, stupefied by our apparent lack of luck. This pain was shared by dozens of other migratory surfers who make an annual pilgrimage to the french coast. The result was a car park full of frustrated men and women whose main daily activity is checking the swell charts. 

 

Things start to improve. Upon traveling south we searched out more obscure locales. the two Amaroks and Westfalia van were led to the end of dirt tracks in search of secret surfing reefs, and in spite of the continued flat spell, our daily routine began to show more promise. Swimming, fishing, fitness training and heated intellectual debates began to dominate our lives. We no longer looked to the waves for inspiration, but found wonder in the nuances of everyday life, from creating the perfect sandwich to appreciating a good driftwood fire. Then the surf arrived. 

 

By Struan Campbell Gray

 

more vidéo's : here