First mornings on any long-haul tropical trip are tricky. Firstly your body clock is all over the shop. Secondly the many hours of being cooped up in a plane, watching five different sound free films over folk’s shoulders simultaneously, has kind of fritzed your brain synapses. Thirdly it’s hot, oh Jeebus, it’s so hot. Can a human actually sweat this much hot. That’s your thoughts for the first few minutes of the day. Then comes the bold cry of ‘give me coffee or give me death!’ Once caffeinated (thanks to Clifton Coffee Roasters in Bristol for the custom selection for the trip) you ask the vital questions: where the hell are we, are there any waves and can I have another cup of Joe, thanking you please. Normally the answers to these questions are 1) *shrug* 2) nope it’s onshore/shit/small 3) Yes but only if you’re making it. But this blessed day the answers were 1) We’re just arriving at NAME REDACTED 2) It’s small, but pumping and it’s empty 3) Why of course, where’s your mug you cheeky muffin? This is not how photo trips go. You don’t wake up all bleary eyed, itchy and farty with the news that it’s time to bust out the Pelican cases and dig out the camera gear. The first day never pumps. It’s a law. That is the job of the last day. The first day is for bumbling confusion and naps. No one has fins in their boards or any idea where the wax they insist they packed has gone. In short it was a shock to the system. But it was indeed fun AF. But you could tell everyone was two day travel/three flight cranky, it takes a while to recover from long haul. Unless you’re Markie Lascelles who got a bunch of nice barrels that magically eluded everyone else. But then he did sleep most of the trip there. We spent the afternoon getting similarly fun, but bigger, waves on a more exposed reef and life was good. If only all trips could start this way…
Still, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me introduce the cast of characters assembled for this mission: Markie, as already noted, freesurfer, Beachbeat and Cord shaper, can sleep anywhere. Sam White, known as Wiggs, formerly editor of big league TV shows, currently one of the crew making Schooners on the shore in St Agnes a must visit eatery (their double burger in gravy is a thing of wonder). Also the reference connection to the past as he visited these islands pre-event, where he managed to break his neck. So there were demons needing put to rest. Then there was Jonny Marshall, another Aggie boy, traveller, sailor, rogue. A man with an anecdote for any occasion and handy insights in to life on those big-ass, Monaco-style pleasure cruisers. Very useful chap to have around when it came to nautical business and pina colada party starting. Jem Rogers, part-owner of said boat and one of the keenest surfers you ever likely to meet. Lucy Campbell, Brit world tour competitor and all-round frother from Devon. Conor Maguire, yes the wee Irish fellow more normally associated with the kind of mad waves that make you want to curl up in a ball saying ‘No! No! No!’ over and over again. Being the whitest man onboard he put his factor 50 on in the dark each morning to make sure he wouldn’t go up in flames. Leonor Fragoso, Portuguese QS gal, who is jammy enough to be sponsored by OMX travel co, hence nabbing a spot to Mada and this trip. Robbie the captain, Cullen the deckhand, the ship’s cat and I completed the roster.
We spent a glorious few days acclimatising to the heat while sessioning this delightful wedgey left by ourselves then as the swell backed down we headed further out into the blue. Boat travel days mean one thing: fishing. Now in three Ments trips I’ve never seen a fish caught; apart from potentially on the Chinese factory ships that light up the horizon at night. Where we were, which was sparsely populated to uninhabited, not even a mobile signal remote, was a different story. We caught many flavours of fish. Not that I know any apart from tuna. Every guy had a hunter-gatherer gene satisfying moment of catching a fish big enough for dinner. Well, maybe Conor’s was only an aperitif; but the fresh sushi still tasted good. Much as they’ll all deny it: Lucy caught the biggest fish. A technicality renders it controversial. The deckhand brained the thing to put it out of its misery as is standard. He then handed it to Lucy for the triumphal trophy photo. A master of comic timing the ruddy great fish decided, as pics were being taken, it wasn’t its time and came back to life. Jumped out of Lucy’s understandably surprised hands and slid down the stairs back into the sea as everyone’s stomachs yelled ‘Nooooooooo!’ To her credit Lucy jumped off the back of the moving boat to regain her catch and she had it briefly before it went deep. It was effing funny.