Trenouth

by Bea Green

  A surfer had jumped a wave too late. He’d tried to catch a wave that had all of a sudden become steep, like a wall, and it had also started to crest in the direction his surfboard clearly wanted to go in. Within seconds, the board had flicked up into the air, and he’d disappeared under the weight of a collapsing breaker.

  Some of the other surfers, who’d been in front of him and were paddling back out to sea, had seen him disappear. They quickly moved across to where they thought he was.

  Nothing but crashing waves and swirling foam appeared on the spot for a good couple of minutes. But, after what seemed to be an eternity, a head popped out, gasping for air. Soon he was surrounded by three other surfers, all of them checking he was still intact.

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’s swimming to shore now. Although he’ll feel like a rag doll that’s been put through the washing machine,’ said a deep voice at her side.

  Elinor came back to earth with a jump.

  She realised she’d pushed back her hood in order to see better and the rain had soaked her hair and crawled under her collar. It was now dripping unpleasantly down her back. She pulled her hood up and turned to face the man beside her.

  It was the surfer she’d spoken to before on Treyarnon Bay. He was obviously making his way into the water for the first time that day, as his wetsuit seemed to be relatively dry.

  ‘Hi. I’m sorry, what was your name again?’

  The surfer grinned, not in the slightest bit offended.

  ‘My name’s Tony Reece. I remember your name... Let me see, Elinor, isn’t it?’

  Elinor laughed.

  ‘Yes, it is. I’m sorry for being so rude. I’ve never been very good at remembering names.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. So you’re still photographing surfers? Even in the rain?’

  Elinor blushed. It did look like a bit of an obsession. After all, how many others would be out in weather like this?

  ‘Surfing fascinates me.’ She pointed out to water. ‘They look so free.’

  ‘As free as the sea allows them to be, I guess, but I get your meaning. Have you tried surfing yourself?’

  Elinor chuckled at the thought.

  ‘No, never. The waves would make mincemeat out of me.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Everyone has to start somewhere. Most people learn the craft and then put it into practice.’

  Elinor shook her head.

  ‘I’ve never been sporty. I’m not sure I’d be capable of learning how to do it.’

  ‘You only need to have a reasonable amount of balance and core strength. The rest is instinct. You either have it or you don’t. Only one way to find out.’ Tony turned to look at her with the enthused eyes of an addicted surfer. ‘There’s a beginner’s surf school at Porthcothan Beach every Saturday morning, as long as the weather’s reasonable. I’m usually helping out at it. The guy that’s in charge, Mick, is a friend of mine. You should give it a try.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Elinor, shrugging her shoulders casually and nodding.

  ‘You’re not going to even try, are you?’ asked Tony, laughing at her knowingly.

  Elinor bristled. What was it with the Cornish? She wasn’t used to dealing with sledgehammer tactics, yet ever since she’d moved here they seemed to be coming at her from all sides.

  ‘I might,’ she said audaciously, staring him down.

  Tony’s laughter subsided. He looked down at her meekly.

  ‘OK, then. Well, maybe see you there. I’d best head off and catch some waves before the wind changes.’

  ‘Sure, see you later,’ Elinor called out gruffly, above the roar of the ocean.

  She watched him wade confidently into the water, as she stood in one spot, with her arms folded protectively around her.

  Was it really that obvious she’d no desire to get out of her comfort zone? Certainly Tony seemed to imply it. And Leo, despite his laid-back attitude, seemed to see the need to prod her continually, to get her to try things out. Well, maybe, just for once, she’d surprise them both...

  15

  ‘Leo, do you need the car this morning?’

  Leo looked up from his usual weekend breakfast of fried kippers.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘I was thinking I might try out the surf school in Porthcothan.’

  Leo looked thoroughly taken aback.

  ‘Surf school in Porthcothan?’ he repeated, his mouth full of kippers.

  ‘Yes,’ said Elinor, trying to sound as though this was the most normal thing in the world to be doing. ‘They’ve apparently got a beginner’s class. I thought I might give it a go.’

  Leo nodded placidly. He’d noticed her recent interest in the surfers but Elinor had appreciated that he hadn’t commented on it. She didn’t need to feel supervised.

  ‘Do you need any money for it?’ mumbled Leo, after taking another mouthful.

  ‘No, thank you. Mum’s given me plenty to get by on,’ Elinor said quietly, very shamefacedly. Nothing could be more humiliating and demeaning than being a twenty-eight year old who still needed to scrounge off her mother. Still, there was no getting around it now.

  Leo looked at her with understanding in his eyes but didn’t say anything. There was no need for explanations. They both knew how far Elinor had fallen.

  ‘Why don’t you walk there? No need to take the car.’

  Elinor flinched at the notion of walking all the way to an hour-long surf lesson and back again. Her fitness levels hadn’t quite reached those of Leo.

  ‘I’ll think about it for another time... I mean, maybe I’ll do that later on, if I stick out the course. What are you planning on doing this morning?’ asked Elinor brightly, trying to get a measure of revenge on Leo’s attempts to keep her active.

  ‘I’m going to try and explore a couple of caves near here, once it’s low tide. I’ve been waiting for the lowest tide of the month, which will be today.’

  ‘Any reason why you’re wanting to go cave hunting all of a sudden?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been delving into the past, as you’ve seen, and also looking back at our family’s history here on the coast. As I’ve already told you, those young men have got me thinking about our smuggling ancestry. And I remember my grandad told me about a tunnel which the miners dug near here at the height of the smuggling craze. It stretched from the back of a local cave and ended up exiting further inland. Quite simply, I want to find it. I know my grandfather found it.’

  Elinor wanted to ask Leo to take care of himself. Walking into slippery, dark caves didn’t seem the kind of occupation for someone of his age. But she sensed Leo had a will as unstoppable as the ocean itself. Once he’d decided on a course of action he was going to follow it through, no matter what anyone said to him.

  ‘Just leave me a note and tell me which cove you’re in, in case we need to come and find you.’

  ‘I’ll text you,’ said Leo, smiling at her concern. ‘My mobile’s waterproof.’

  ‘Yes, but you might not have a signal down there.’

  ‘I will outside the cave, and I’ll text you from there,’ said Leo, firmly, brooking no argument.

  ‘OK!’ said Elinor resignedly, getting up from the dining room table and reaching across to pick up Leo’s empty plate.

  Before long, she was in the old Volvo, following the blind twists and turns of the road to Porthcothan.

  Steep Cornish hedges were on either side, making it nearly impossible to see any oncoming drivers. They hemmed in the road. No doubt they were used to corral cows in a different age but they were thoroughly inconvenient for the modern-day car driver, thought Elinor, tooting her horn vigorously at the blind corners.

  One way or another, history was etched into every nook and cranny in Cornwall.

  16

  Ten minutes later, she parked the car on a road lined with houses, spying Por
thcothan Beach at a close distance.

  She looked at her watch. It was 9.35 so she still had a good twenty-five minutes before the class started.

  Porthcothan Beach was a very long, sheltered beach and she could see why they would have a beginner’s surf school here. The waves would never be as mighty and powerful here as they were on beaches that were fully exposed to the open ocean and its winds.

  Before long she was walking across the soft sand to a stand with ‘Dolphin Surf School’ on it in big red letters. Next to the stand sat a gangly young man in a wetsuit.

  Elinor assumed he must be the man in charge. She cleared her throat loudly.

  ‘Hello. I’m here to sign up for surfing lessons.’

  The man, who’d been busy looking at his phone, jerked his head up and swivelled round to look at her.

  ‘Great! My name’s Mick. Welcome to the club. What’s your name?’ said Mick, holding out his hand and shaking Elinor’s.

  ‘Elinor Campbell.’

  ‘OK, Elinor,’ said Mick, bending down and rustling around in his rucksack. He eventually brought out a handful of papers.

  ‘You’ve to fill this in and sign it,’ he said, passing her a form and pen. ‘Today’s a free lesson for you, but if you sign up after it then I’ll need the ten weeks paid for, upfront. Account details are on the info sheet.’ He handed her another slightly crumpled piece of paper. ‘If you don’t have your own wetsuit, you can get yourself one from the trailer, back there,’ he said, pointing to an open trailer that was at the edge of the beach. ‘You can change in the cubicles next to it.’

  Elinor nodded and bent down to lean the form against her thigh so she could fill it in. Predictably, Mick was back on his phone again.

  Once she’d filled in the form (ticking the box for experienced swimmer) and handed it to Mick, she made her way to the trailer. She had her swimsuit on under her clothes, but for someone who’d been as body conscious as she’d been, to put on a wetsuit was going to require a great deal of courage. She knew she was visiting Cornwall and was unlikely to bump into anyone she knew, but this was still going to require what her grandmother would call ‘gumption’.

  She looked into the trailer, piled high with wetsuits, and smelt the heady scent of rubber and sea. She started to sift through the wetsuits, trying to estimate which one of them was closest to her size. To her horror, most of them were coated in sand.

  Eventually, she picked one out and went to get changed in the cubicle. Pulling on the wetsuit with a grimace of distaste, she felt the previous wearer’s sand and grime sticking to her skin. She pulled at the rubbery fabric, yanking it up her legs and over her hips, finally wrestling like a maniac to get the arms on. At the end of it she was panting and felt like she couldn’t move. She then had to reach to her rear, in what was practically a yoga stretch, to pull the zip up her back.

  She put her clothes neatly into her shopping bag, and left the bag on the floor of the cubicle.

  She waddled out onto the beach, trying to get used to the feel of the wetsuit. With a gasp of dismay, she saw there were four boys, who looked to be about eleven years old, lined up in front of Mick.

  She was tempted to hurry back into the cubicle, but Mick had caught sight of her and waved her over. With her head bent low in embarrassment, she went and lined up with the boys.

  ‘Right, guys, welcome to your first surf lesson. You might think it’s all about rushing into the sea and having a go, but I’m afraid it’s not. At least, not at the start. I’m here to cover the basic safety training, and to explain to you how to paddle out and pop up. Got me?’

  All five of them nodded their heads, as though someone, somewhere, was yanking on a chain attached to their necks.

  ‘Great. Today’s first half hour will be about basic procedures, the second half hour you’ll get a chance to go in the water. Firstly, you need a board,’ Mick said, as he turned to a pile of boards piled up next to his chair.

  He started handing them out like they were candy. Elinor ruefully noticed they were all getting the same size of surfboard. Which made sense, as the young boys were almost the same height as her.

  ‘OK, one thing surfers routinely practise is holding their breath. Why do you think that is?’

  ‘So you can swim underwater when the waves are coming at you?’ asked a cocky boy with a thatch of red hair.

  ‘Not quite... It’s because when a powerful wave hits you, it can hold you under the water for quite a while. So you’ve to steer clear of any large waves until you can easily manage the smaller ones,’ said Mick blandly. ‘These waves you see here are small waves.’

  He pointed to the water and they all turned obediently to look.

  ‘You can get six-foot waves on Constantine Bay. The bigger waves might look like more fun, but when you fall off a big wave and get hit by it, it’s like being hit by a sledgehammer. A big wave will drag you under, shake you around and hold you down there for quite a while. If you’re down really deep, your ears will start to ache with the pressure.’

  Bloody fantastic, thought Elinor, wondering why she was doing this.

  Mick stared closely at them all to make sure they were taking in his teaching.

  ‘The most important thing is to remember to try and stay relaxed when under the wave, because if you panic you’ll find it a lot harder to hold your breath. As soon as you start panicking, your body will become rigid, too, which could cause more damage to your limbs.’

  They all stood there silently, listening avidly to Mick. Elinor looked at him with disbelief. This was supposed to be fun, wasn’t it? It didn’t look as if surfing was worth it. She decided to bow out gracefully after that day’s lesson.

  ‘OK. Let me see... There are five basic rules you have to stick to when surfing. One: follow the advice of the lifeguards, at all times. Two: wear your leash so you don’t lose your surfboard. Surfboards can keep you afloat in an emergency and make you easier to find. Three: check your equipment for damage before use,’ said Mick, talking so quickly Elinor was finding herself struggling to keep up with him.

  Mick paused for a minute as if trying to remember what he’d just said. He’d obviously given the same speech so many times that he’d managed to lose track of where he was in his talk.

  He coughed apologetically. Then his face cleared, as he remembered where he’d left off. It was like a light bulb getting switched back on, thought Elinor amusedly.

  ‘Make sure your surfboard is in good shape, in other words. Four: you can bodyboard between the red and yellow flags, but you can only surf between the white and black flags on any beach. Got it? Five: the most important one in my view, is that you have to learn what’s called surfer etiquette.’

  Mick waved his finger vigorously in the air, as if to emphasise his point.

  ‘That is, you’ve got to know when it’s your wave or your turn, or else you’ll become extremely unpopular. Don’t get in the way of other surfers. You don’t want a lot of irate surfers after you, believe me.’

  He bent down and picked up a pile of leaflets and started to hand them out.

  ‘Here are the basic guidelines for surfing manners summarised, along with the safety procedures. This leaflet explains how you must communicate when you take a wave, shouting “left” or “right” to let others know what direction you’re going in. Also, whoever is closest to the peak of the wave has the priority. It’s important to remember that.’

  Mick picked up a surfboard and showed it to them.

  ‘Right, these are beginners’ surfboards. They are foam soft tops, not like the standard epoxy and hand-shaped boards favoured by the pros. The reason we use these to start with is that they’re light and there are fewer risks in the water with them. Have any of you ever been hit by a surfboard?’

  They all shook their heads.

  ‘Well, I can tell you from experience it bloody hurts. You wan
t to avoid the pain, believe me. These boards are also more buoyant so you can catch more waves and learn faster. They don’t manoeuvre as easily as the pro boards, but they’re a stable ride for wobbly beginners. So it’s a win/win situation, don’t you think?’

  Mick didn’t wait to hear their answer. He put the board down on the ground and began to walk behind the group. They all stretched round to try and see what Mick was doing, but before she had time to think, Elinor felt a heavy thump on her back, pushing her forward.

  She had to put out her right foot to stop herself falling forward onto the sand.

  ‘Cool! So Elinor’s what we would call a Regular, meaning her right foot’s the one that’s strongest,’ said Mick. ‘So that one has to be at the back of the surfboard. The left should be forward.’

  Mick then went on to push the others forward. By the end, four of them were considered to be Regulars, and only one was what Mick called a ‘Goofy Surfer’. In other words, left-footed.

  He then went on to explain about the ‘stringer’, the imaginary line running down the centre of the surfboard, and how their foot arches had to be positioned, equally, on either side of the stringer.

  Finally, he got them to stand up on the boards.

  While he was checking their positions on their surfboards, asking for feet to be a shoulder width apart and knees pointed into each other, Elinor spotted Tony Reece arriving with another group of young boys.

  Seeing them, she started to wonder if she’d finally lost the plot completely. Was she going to be the only girl out here? And was she the only one above the age of fifteen? It certainly looked that way. She sighed...

  17

  Elinor shrieked loudly as felt herself falling with a resounding smack onto the water. Bitter, salty seawater entered her mouth and nose. She rose up to the surface, choking and spluttering and pushing back her hair. She quickly flung her two arms over the surfboard and lay there exhausted and immobile, letting the water rock her.