Surf here. It’s way more than waves. Photo: Troggs
I remember it like it was yesterday: kissing my parents goodbye and heading to the airport, catching the next red-eye flight from JFK to Dublin, and then making the two-hour drive north to Belfast.
Opposite side of the road, opposite side of the car, different currencies, and different accents: I was in my new home for the next nine months. So, naturally, I checked the surf report, and the next morning I headed North on the earliest train to find the closest surf town. I stumbled upon Port Rush, Northern Ireland.
As the train strolled to the last stop, the sun brushed my cheeks, people were awake, and there were waves in view. Getting off the train, I immediately felt at home, so I headed into the first coffee shop in sight to get some information. A kind old man handed me a coffee and directed me to Troggs Surf Shop and said to ask for Andy Hill.
Cruising up to the shop, the first thing I noticed was the “Closed on Tuesdays” sign in the front door window. I looked down at my watch to find out. It was Tuesday. Cleary, I was still a bit jet lagged from my flight the day before.
Karma was on my side that brisk September morning. I heard a “yewwww” and some guy asking me what I needed. I told him I needed a board, a wetsuit, and to get in the water. The next thing I knew, I had met Andy Hill, I was buying my 5/3 Rip Curl suit, Andy was lending me his shortboard (since they didn’t hire them) and we were headed to West Strand.
Paddling out that morning is so clear in my mind. The air was chilly, the water was this shade of crystal clear blue (that we do not get at home in New Jersey), and it was the first time in my life that I knew no one in the lineup. I jumped in, not really sure where to sit, but was eager to figure it out. The salt water splashed on my face and I closed my eyes. It was exhilarating.
For a few moments, I took it all in. The scenery was indescribable from my normal setting in New Jersey. The green waves of hills were merging with the blue waves of the ocean. It did not take long to feel part of the Port Rush surf family. Andy was giving me tips on the local breaks and people were hooting and hollering for every wave. That was the main thing I learned about the surf culture in Northern Ireland, and all of Ireland in general: everyone is so stoked, no matter how bad the ice-cream headaches may be.
I will possess an endless gratitude for this culture. People were lending me boards, offering rides from Belfast when there were waves, and sending me daily surf reports. Surfing in Northern Ireland has taught me more than I ever thought it would. It taught me to enjoy the bits of surfing I hadn’t even thought of before. It showed me how rewarding it is to have a hot shower and a beer after throwing on a 5 mm suit. It taught me that surfing could bring people together. It taught me the importance of crossing cultural and social boundaries in order to understand the world I live in. Go surf Northern Ireland. It’s the land of good “craic” and banter.
