Surfing Scotland

Scotland Gallery

By David Hitchens

I'm in the Scottish highlands in one of those little tourist towns that you see on postcards, quite near that castle that you see on the shortbread tin and in films about dishevelled Scottish guys with bad accents throwing off the yoke of English suppression. I am one-eighth Scottish - I have got a great grandfather who was about 5'2", ginger and had a close affinity with his country's liquid exports. A few things started to make sense when I found that out. I don't know if that tenuous ancestral linkage entitles me to make a knob of myself by wearing a kilt at formal gatherings, but it might explain the urge that I have always felt to visit this place.

To be perfectly honest, as a holiday destination, it takes patience. It has rained every day that we have been here, although we have had an hour or two here and there where the sun has managed to poke through the mizzle. But I'm glad that we are here - it is atmospheric and you can always get away from the coach tours by heading ever further north. That is where we found waves - empty beaches and powerful reefbreaks. Right at the top; where you can look out to sea and on a clear day see polar bears floating around on icebergs. OK, not exactly - but you get the idea.

You've probably heard of Thurso East. The 'Nias of the North' as its been called. I've never been to Nias, but I've always taken that statement with a pinch of salt. Thurso is not the prettiest of places on a foggy, wet, October afternoon. It looks like it spends most of the year being ravaged by polar weather. We were just passing through and were lucky to get Thurso reef pumping. Its on the edge of town with a backdrop of decaying warehouses, ruined stone buildings and a stony beach covered in rotting seaweed. I really liked it.

It's a long paddle from the other side of the river, which is dark and peat stained. There was no wind at all and it was a bit eerie paddling across the expanse of brown glassy water, peering through the fog and trying to get a glimpse of the waves that I could certainly hear. The break in front of the car park (called Shit pipe as I later discovered) was about two to three feet, but the reef was far bigger than that. There were four guys on it, two locals and two French guys. They were all charging, taking off late and pulling into the difficult shifting barrel. The sets were breaking a bit further out, well overhead and powerful with it. My first wave was a set. My foot got caught in my leash as I stood up and I made it down the face in a retro feet-together pose before falling spectacularly. I got properly worked - its a world class powerful wave.

Five people is hardly a crowd and I got loads of waves, but I just couldn't make the barrel on my backhand. I tried pig dogging, the Quasimodo Squat and every variation, but kept eating it. I gave up after a while, tired of swallowing water and picking seaweed out of my teeth. What an amazing surf though. Unfortunately the pics that Rachel took are just a foggy grey blur with a black speck going over the falls in the distance.

West of Thurso are a myriad of spots, mellow beach breaks on deserted white-sand beaches, fun river mouth sandbars and chunky reef beasts. The best one we didn't surf was the left point in front of Dounreay nuclear power station. There was no-one around and a big sign in the car park stated that radioactive particles have been found on the beach. Rach refused to get out of the car. I had seen pics of people surfing the place and it was pumping that day, hard and fast lefts breaking off a breakwater and running down the rocks - completely empty. I was champing at the bit but eventually decided against it. I am still kicking myself, those waves are haunting my dreams.

Those two French guys at Thurso had the right idea. They told me that they make the trip every year at the end of summer when their home beaches at Hossegor get invaded by Brits and Aussies and WCT surf gods. They reckon the north coast could become a cold water Bali if you could get a flight to somewhere a bit closer than Inverness. Personally, I think it should stay just the way it is.

Buses are always late ay Reg, bah ha ha

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