It’s less than a week since we left 30-something degree temperatures in Vietnam, two-weeks since abandoning the steaming Sunshine Coast in Queensland. Now I’m on Dublin’s South side, wedged in next to the stove-box eagerly feeding it’s hungry maw with as many peat bricks as its prepared to guzzle. Outside the snow swirls fitfully about, eddies about the eaves.
I’d called out to the North-side of Dublin to catch up with some of the lads and to pick up an additional component for the quiver. It’s perhaps an unlikely spot to pick up a 7’8 pin-tailed single-fin. Equally unlikely is choosing the harbour in Rush to wind out a few turns for its first session. Howling onshore winds, about four or so degrees air temp and we’re fighting our way inside somewhat damp wetsuits, booties and gloves, and then struggling down the old stone steps taking great care not to have the boards whipped loose and dashed against the harbour walls. The sand is coarse, grey littered with pebbles and, well, litter. Fragrant too.
Hard to say how big the sets were. Just an bitter onslaught of 1-2 foot slop bashing its way into the narrow corridor of the shallow harbour. There was a few curious onlookers who soon escaped the chill. Highly doubt this was what Joel Tudor had in mind when he conceived this shape. I’m aiming West to Sligo and surrounds soon enough to find something a little more appropriate to slide into.