1 More Saffa | Some dreams are made of Braunton ‘spiders’

A tribute to the person who showed me around Braunton (North Devon). Seeing the passion with which this person showed me an area he spent a year living in, I felt it only fair to write an ode to what I undertstood to be his inner memory.

A tribute to the person who showed me around Braunton (North Devon). Seeing the passion with which this person showed me an area he spent a year living in, I felt it only fair to write an ode to what I undertstood to be his inner memory.

 Brett

A true English surfer – no matter how cold, flip flops are always worn

It was my dream. With a Spider surf shop in full swing, shapers on speed dial, the morning ritual of opening the door to spider surfboards, followed by Cj’s breakfast roll was only the beginning of the butterflies.

I woke up that morning with that feeling you get before flying home. I knew today was another day in my world of delight. But every day in Braunton brought more perfection in the adventures and mistakes. Waking up with the punishing reminder of too many beers at our next door pub, it didn’t matter. The wind, the chill and the alert to the surf report is all that mattered. Walking down the stairs from my room, I saw them. Three hungover surf diehards. Being one and the same, we all nodded and knew the boardshorts would shortly be interchanged with our wetsuits.

Benny being the ultimate crazy skeleton, poured a strong black coffee and invited us to our regular fried eggs and bacon breakfast. Joy and simplicity then fell in love when we whole heartedly piled into the van with surfboards piled on the rack.

Numerous banter and debates began with which beach would suit our adventure craving hearts. Saunton proved tame with rolling flat waves, while Croyde boasted a swell for the adrenalin junkies. Parking in our famous parking lot, it took no longer than a thought, and before you knew it, I was waking down the footpath towards my heaven.

The tide was perfect. The swell looked promising and as I paddled out, I knew that barrel would come. Braving the cold with my 5mm suit, and only needing a little cold water to filter in through my neck, I was ready. Sitting out there while the English sun tried desperately to rise beneath the clouds, my feet dangled while my finger tips felt the waters surface in anticipation.

It came. The perfect wave. Brian, Benny and Raffer all missed what I saw. Simple perfection in volume. I turned… I paddled… And I rose like something out of the endless summer.  Turning and facing, I weaved through the barrel and swiftly cusp every lip. Whatever it looked like, my smile could have lit up the entire coast.

A simple morning. A perfect morning. A day in the life of my dream. Now – all that was needed was a warm shower and kronenberg’s finest draft. It could always be added to the curry gem of The White Lion pub. But it didn’t matter. Boys banter – meaningless joy and friends was my story. And of course that perfect wave I fell in love with.

Thank you Braunton. For every day of happiness.