PART I - A LOVE LETTER TO ENGLAND
“I packed a bag and my surfboard, and after many strange looks on the London tube, I made it to the south coast. The Jurassic coast.”
Growing up in Canada with a British mum, I’ve inherited a deep love for the motherland, England; a country I’m proud to call my second home.
My grandparents lived in Saddleworth, a collection of seven small villages in the North of England where cobbled streets, rolling hills and neighbourhood pubs are plenty. It’s a charming setting.
Walking through the streets, along the canals, or through the countryside, I couldn’t help but think of the thousands who have done so before me. The country is rich with history that dates back thousands of years, and though I’m far from a history buff, it’s impossible not to appreciate the castle ruins and ancient architecture that England has to offer.
I’ll always cherish the time spent with family across the pond, as it comes by so seldom. Though the circumstances that brought us together this time were less than ideal, it was great to catch up.
I could have spent the entire trip living out of my cousin’s flat, but I decided that this trip would be different than the rest. It was time I took off to see what the rest of England has to offer. On my own dime and my own schedule.
I packed my surfboard, and after many strange looks on the London tube, I made it to the south coast. The Jurassic coast.
Dorset was the starting place. Bournemouth to be exact. Not much for waves at that time of year, so I decided to check out some local sights, linger a bit too long in a few coffee shops, and meet up with some local shapers.
My first morning on my own, I awoke before dawn to catch the sunrise at Old Harry Rocks - a world heritage site that marks the easternmost point of the Jurassic Coast. Definitely not the worst wake-up call.
After a quick stop with John and Cam, the legends behind Olero Handshapes, I continued west.
From Bournemouth, I headed west along the A35 towards Durdle Door, which was overflowing with beachgoers from all over the world. England recorded it’s hottest summer in something like 10 years, I was told. And the people flocked to the beach like I’d never seen before. The temperatures were in the mid 30’s and I, myself, hadn’t even brought a pair of shorts with me - goes to show I was used to the weather in the North. I kept my distance as I weaved through the masses of tourists before continuing on.
The Jurassic Coast took my breath away on multiple occasions, but Cornwall was the county I had my eyes truly set on. Where I had a chance to score some waves in the Motherland.
Finally, after a full day of driving, I made it. To my delight, Cornwall is what dreams are made of. The end of the earth, it seemed like. The most southwestern tip of Great Britain.
Situated along a narrow peninsula were quaint medieval villages, centuries old stretches of farmland as far as the eye could see, and stunning coves, beaches and coastline. It was heaven.
At first, there was no swell to be seen. I had never tried harder to find waves with so little success. My host was in the process of converting a 400 year old barn into a guest house, so I lent a hand where I could. When the day was through, I’d stop by a local butcher and pick up some Cornish pasties for dinner (though the Yorkshire in me still prefers a steak + ale pie) but I kept that to myself.
After a week of working on the farm and wishing for waves, the swell finally came.
Continued in Part II ..
england
summer 2021
canon F1