A postman and a surf at 59° North

I arrived in Thurso expecting to be able to buy what I needed to surf. Thurso East is, after all, one of Great Britain’s most respected surf spots. But instead of surf shops there were surf rats taking part in the international Highland Open professional surf contest. This meant lots of boards, wetsuits, hoods, boots and gloves floating around, and Sandra’s Hostel above the chips shop seemed to be a good place to start catching them. One guy walked into the chips shop at 10 pm, in his wetsuit, having driven seven hours from Edinburgh for a surf. Before I said Hello I said, Fancy selling your board? But he was too cold to talk so we sealed the deal in the morning, at the castle walls near the surf spot. Well, I spent more than I’ve ever spent on his board, but it’s practically new and epoxy 6’3, wide and floaty, good for all kinds of waves, and there were no other boards for sale in town. The best I could do for a wetsuit, hood and gloves, was a size too big. But no boots. So I was forced to surf Thurso East without boots. I surfed it alone too, cos the contest was over and the surfers had flown home to Oz, USA, Brazil. Well, I wasn’t entirely alone. In the hostel I’d met a Scottish postman who’d come to watch the surf contest for his holidays. Since I didn’t have wetsuit boots, he offered to hold my hiking boots and socks for me while I surfed. I could then pull them on the minute I got out the surf. It was a great idea! So there he stood, on the rocks, in the drizzle, holding my boots upside down so as not to get them wet, while I caught waves till my feet got cold. There was no-one else in sight. Just a lassie in the ocean and a postie on the shore.