I’m in London. Working backstage on a film and trying to save my pennies for the next trip north, a world away from this room. I’m ready to get out of the city and road trip with my good friend, Mike Guest. As my mind wanders back up the long road to Scotland I remember all the trips I’ve had, and all the good waves. I’m longing for Thurso East, that almost-mechanical right-hand barrel can handle almost any size swell. It really is Scotland’s ‘crown jewel’ of waves.
We leave London early and head due north for Edinburgh. We blow off some cobwebs at one of Mike’s local breaks before we take to the road again. It’s mid-November and the Scottish hills are getting their first dusting of snow as we head through Cairngorms National Park. There’s a different ruggedness to Scotland, the hills aren’t massive, but they’re formidable. You’ve only got to leave the city and you’re met with wild coastlines and bleak hilltops. It’s good to be back.
The 6-hour drive will take us almost to the northern-most tip of UK mainland. We’re both tired but anxious to get in the water, unfortunately, we get word that the swell hasn’t picked up yet. There’s no rush. Mike calls his girlfriend who’s with family near Inverness and we drop in for the night. A home-cooked meal and a dram by the fire and the memories of distant cities dissolve a little faster.
The next morning an early start gets us to Thurso before noon. The temperature has dropped to just over 0° C/32°F and the dusting of snow gives the day a crisp and clean feeling. However, this doesn’t make sleeping in the trucks a very tempting idea. Fortunately, Scotland is a small place, and Mike Guest knows a lot of people. We head round to see a friend of Guesty’s, Chris Clark, on the hope of a room somewhere. Chris happily obliges and shows us to a tiny unfurnished apartment just around the corner. Thankfully the unappealing prospect of a frozen night in a tin box is sorted. We pull our beds from the vehicles, crank the thermostat up, and head out for a surf.
Words by James Parry
We spend the next five days at Thurso and I quickly remember why it’s one of my favourite waves. A gentle roll gives you time for a deep bottom turn and a quick speed check before the curtain throws over. There’s nowhere in the world that looks and feels like Thurso, or not that I know of. The first section is clear-as-gin, then you reach the peat-stained river water as it mixes with the icy sea for a long whisky-coloured barrel. There’s something about this wave. Its rugged location, perfect form, and captivating colour. You could almost take a dram of it.
Our nights are spent at the local pub. Gazing into our whisky and bringing back memories of the day’s waves. The bed is welcomed with heavy eyelids, a belly full and sore arms. That’s what I find so appealing about Scotland. You work hard for your reward but it makes it all the more special.
As the swell ebbs we get back on the logs and surf Shit Pipe, a boulder reef just left of Thurso. The wave is a perfect proving-ground for the younger surfers of North Scotland. They cut their teeth at Shit Pipe. Keeping an eye on the older lads tucking in to those whisky-hued barrels and dreaming of doing the same themselves one day.
The swell dies off at Thurso but the days we got were special. We pack up and get back on the road, but as always in Scotland, the charts are constantly changing. There’s maybe a three-day window that’s reliable. Even then, you’ve got to really know the spots and be willing to search high and low. Mike spent the best part of a year travelling Scotland and building a network of friends that are always happy to see a fellow surfer. Our best chance of a wave is to visit Colin and Jim out west and hope the wind is blowing the right way.