Well, we have finally got here. Autumn rustled off stage during the last week to give her grey cousin our full attention. Of coarse there are not the histrionics we suffered last year. There are no Arctic temperatures to freeze wetsuits firmly to the washing line, no easterly winds that cut all in two as they try to pull on wetsuits in dark early morning lay-bys, no ice to catch out Mountain Bikers on their sheltered trails and no snow. This year she has snuck into December with more subtle qualities to the fore.
Croyde is coal dark by 4.30. The swell has been scratched out into directionless mounds of white water by the constant blustery north-west winds. The air is nippy and a walk on the beach is not quite the easy pleasure that we enjoyed a few weeks ago. The cold rain driven by that banshee north-westerly tugs at resolutions to get out on the bike and exercise the unwilling body.
The dark season is upon us.