Lorenzo… Lorenzo… Lorenzo. That’s all that was being talked about in the week leading up to this trip, the WhatsApp group constantly buzzing with updates. No, we weren’t talking about that annoyingly handsome Italian barista in Cafe Nero, this was Hurricane Lorenzo.
He was the easternmost Category 5 Atlantic hurricane on record, and to us Devon boys this wasn’t our average forecast for a trip; everything was booked and we weren’t holding back.
The crew consisted of four Paignton locals – Alex, Jimmy, Shaun, and myself, as well as a Dutch photographer/videographer called Quinten. You know a guy means business with a name like that!
After rendezvousing in Edinburgh it was a scenic five-hour drive north. Uncle Jimmy was the only man who’d been into Scottish territory before and he assured us we’d be safe if we remain calm and try not to make our southern complexions obvious.
We arrived in Thurso and headed straight to the Airbnb to unload the gear and start the search for slabs. Everyone was on mach 10 stoke right from the get-go, so much so that I thought it wasn’t possible to get any higher. Apparently I was sorely mistaken.
Early starts, where do I start with early starts… 3.30 am on the first day to be precise. Dawn patrol was locked in from day one. If there’s one way to maximise your surf trip it’s to be the first ones in the water, frothing your guts up for the day ahead.
Every day seemed like a game of cat and mouse, studying the charts to within an inch of their lives so we knew where to be at what time. We spent the first few days hopping between right-hand reefs depending on the tide. The thick layers of kelp that carpet these rocky outcrops may fool you into a false sense of security, but there’s no cushion that will ever soften your blow on a waist-deep reeler.
The third day threw us a little curveball; 40mph easterly. Now to us back in the bay that’s a 5-star golden girl report if we ever saw one, so we knew just where to look – east coast beachies. Sure enough, after a bit of lane exploration, we came across what we thought reminded us of one of our home breaks. Huge rollers breaking far out only to reform closer in for head high onshore madness. Out of all the spectacular breaks we visited, pulling up to this one was the most exciting with everyone completely losing it, Quinten staring at us in disbelief. Stepping out of the van and being blasted in the face with that fierce Scottish wind only for Uncle Jimmy to accurately sum up the whole situation…“it’s perfect!”
The weather cleared again for our remaining days, treating us to healthy doses of blue sky. Still scouring the charts every evening to plan our next moves of attack, a new bigger swell was arriving and there was one place left on our hit list.
Now you’ve probably read this far not knowing what the hell a doodlesack is… a doodlesack (correctly spelt doodlezak) is the Dutch word for bagpipes. And it just so happened that we found the lost bagpipes on our penultimate day in the cold water paradise.
Seeing the first wave unload onto the reef was something I’ll never forget. Everyone went quiet except for one man – Alex was already suited and booted before I’d even had the chance to mutter the words “I’ll get on the drone for this one”.
It was as if everything had lead up to this point, the big crescendo. The stage was set and cameras were rolling. Boy did the guys put in a shift! This wasn’t an easy wave to ride with such a small window of opportunity due to its shallowness and dependence on the fast-moving tide.
Scotland, thank you for being so welcoming and putting so many smiles on our faces. Epic place, great company, and dreams becoming reality.
