The Viking Islands
By Chris Thomson - Errant UK
We had finally made it.
After hours and hours of living on a petrol station diet, listening to rubbish radio stations and Leroy’s bad jokes not to mention a couple of bumpy ferry rides, we had arrived at what can only be called Horse Island.
Located south of the islands of Faeroerne and north of the Outer Hebrides our new home had a massive swell window and a coastline that just begged to be explored. The first people to arrive to these islands did so over 6,000 years ago and apart from that not much has changed! One person to arrive a little bit later was my Dad. He upped and left south England three year ago to look after the shipping around the twenty-seven islands. Joining me on this trip would be Ex-English champ Eugene Tollemach, Longboard champion Lee Ryan, underground ripper Nick Lloyd and Carve photographer Alex Williams.
The first few days proved to be a bit of a fact-finding mission. We would spend all day checking out different breaks and all night gazing over dozens of nautical charts Thomson senior had lent us.
By about day three and 38 hours of morning television we loaded up the cars and cruised along to the north shore where a new ground swell was starting to unload onto a reef slab. Parking up the cars in the hedge we jumped the farmers wall and half-ran, half-slipped down through the cow field and onto the reef.
The swell was breaking along the edge of the reef and not onto it, creating flawless lefts. This was mirrored up and down the whole 7-mile coastline. Eugene jumped in first and pounded any protruding lips; we were all to follow. The tide started to turn and so great was the suction of water between the islands that it created a race the size of two football fields and as high as a double decker bus. We called it a day and dragged ourselves up the field and out of our winter wetsuits.
We still had not seen a single surfer, or female for that matter, since our arrival.
As we started to pull away, an estate car came blasting towards us with a board strapped to the roof. Like a bunch of desert men staring into the mist of the Sahara at an oasis, we stood gob smacked.
The car slowed and pulled up next to us. The chap introduced himself as Steve and he continued to tell us he is one of three local surfers. He worked at a local swimming pool and suggested to us that we shouldn’t surf this stretch of coast as the tide is extremely strong and no one had ever gone in before.
The poor lad was then subjected to what can only be described as the Spanish inquisition, how did spot Y break, what was the best wind, how big does it get, where are the women? Poor lad. Steve mentioned various spots on both the East and West coast and told us of the other two surfers. They don’t really see much of each other due to work so it was very common for Steve to surf on his own or with just a few curious seals.
We returned to our rented house and as luck would have it, it was Saturday. My Dad had lent me his 4x4 to drive the boys into town for a night out. When I asked what I should do about the keys, he replied “Leave them in the ignition and I will pick it up on Monday” Trying to picture doing this at home baffled me. Can you imagine parking outside Sailors on a Saturday night in Newquay and leaving the keys in the car, doors un-locked and then coming back to pick it up on Monday! Madness.
Even so the truck had got us into town at around beer o’clock. After a longer than expected queue to get into the nightclub we were pleasantly surprised to find the nightclub packed. Sometime after arriving, Sambucca shots, cheesy tunes and a forgotten journey home, I awoke to Alex prodding my side. As sods law would have it the one wave we had been stalking all week was now offshore.
A brain-bouncing car journey to the point and sure enough it was pumping. This wave was sick, long left-handers fanning into a big deep-water bay. To add to the mystic of the place we had to walk through a settlement over 5000 years old. In fact the whole island is surrounded in folklore and standing stones from years gone by. As islanders, the sea provided storytellers with an ever present, but unknown, realm. The sea’s ability to snuff out life, as well as sustain it helped ignite such supernatural inhabitants as the menacing “Finman”, who wouldn’t think twice about stealing away a mortal woman to become his bride; the alluring mermaid, whose goal it was to entice a husband beneath the waves; the seductive Selkie-man; the thieving sea-trow not to mention sea serpents and monsters. No wonder there is only three surfers here!
Luckily all I had to deal with Lee, Eugene and Nick. After a trip-making surf we decided to head home as the next Atlantic storm was due to un-leash itself on the flat island.
After hours and hours of living on a petrol station diet, listening to more rubbish radio stations and Leroy’s even worse jokes not to mention a couple of very bumpy ferry rides, we had arrived at what can only be called home.
“Chris Thomson is a professional longboarder from Newquay. When he is not on the road, Chris can be found running the UK office of Errant Surf Holidays and sliding the waves at Watergate Bay” www.errantsurf.com
