Cayton Point


More reminiscing. I have n’t surfed here for close to three decades. It was always a little bit wild, bitterly cold and sizey on occasion. The first time I surfed here was in early January. We drove through snow drifts to reach the coast. The beach had an inch of snow so we could  be certain that we were first in the water that day. The wind howled and the Marigold gloves I used for insulation to my hands may as well been of rice paper. My red and yellow wetsuit leaked in the hole below the zip but I cared not. Clearly peaked by the attitude of it’s owner the suit’s back zip burst open an hour later. The frigid sea water flooded through the suit and dragged it off my shoulders. I was beaten. I cried adieu to my friends, paddled in and walked along the beach to the base of the steep ramp that leads to the car park atop of the cliffs. By now I was beyond cold and becoming pleasantly drowsy. The dopiness pushed in on me and I detached myself from the ice and snow on the ramp and smiled blissfully  like the idiot I was. Briefly I snapped out of it and shouted at my tired limbs to restart the trudge up the ramp.

”I think I will lie down and have a rest” .I said to myself.

”No you wo n’t dog breath”. I responded through gritted teeth.

It took me a quarter of an hour for me to stagger up the ramp. Gripped by the strangely warm embrace of hyperthermia I struggled to unlock the Morris Minor’s door with completely numbed hands for a further ten minutes. My friends discovered me standing semi naked in the snowy carpark looking beatifically into the middle distance a short while later.

The beach in the lee of the point is or more accurately was used by nudists. It always struck me as strange for people to want to gamble around in the altogether in such a chilly place.