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Keira Lyn

NOTABLOG

Talkin' loud - sayin' nuthin.

MAELSTROM

One of the earliest uses of the Scandinavian word maelström was by Edgar Allan Poe in his story "A Descent into the Maelström" in 1841, about the Moskstraumen, a powerful tidal current in the Lofoten Islands off the Norwegian coast.

One Spring morning a year or so ago, me and DL went out for a dawny on a dropping tide - there was a new chest high swell building with light cross-offshore breezes at one of our local spots. The usual paddle out was via a small stream in the corner of the beach. So we suited up and got in the water - just the two of us as the sky started to lighten.

Almost instantly I was rushed out the back on a speedy conveyor belt of moving water that dragged me away from the clean waves I had been aiming for. I found myself in a swirling, choppy, ripped up patch of water that was a lot further out than I wanted to be. It was literally a big circle of churning, boiling sea, and I was stuck in the middle of it! I'd surfed this beach many times and thought I knew most of its moods but was taken by surprise at how violent this particular rip was. I tried to focus and paddle across and away from the rip back to the relative calm that seemed only 20 metres away yet I was still going further out to sea in the opposite direction. A change of plan was needed so I steered off toward a bouncy, backwashy impact zone that would not normally be an option, but I wanted to get out of that rip before I ran out of gas. After another 15 minutes of sustained hard paddling I finally got away from the rip and across the dumping sandbank and decided to recoup back on the beach.

Back onshore I waited for DL, a strong paddler, who had also been caught in the same predicament and was making his way back to the beach.

"That was like a fuggin maelstrom out there!" I declared.

Not really understanding how it had been so ugly, because as we looked out on it now from the safety of the beach the rip had disappeared, and while I had been seemingly paddling for dear life the rip had faded away, the waves had cleaned up and a whole crew of surfers had arrived and were out having a whale of a time on the clean lefts.

The combination of a fresh pulse of swell meeting a quickly dropping tide above some particular bathymetry had produced 20 minutes of almost whirlpool-like conditions if you happened to have paddled out at exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.

Bad timing? Not really - I can't say I enjoyed it, but I can say I'm glad I experienced it.

TORTOISE

millions now living will never die.

Dug out a couple of Tortoise CDs last night, cranked em up, turned the lights down low and dived deep into the soundwaves.

I'd forgotten just how good they sound.

Got to say thanks to my good friend Meany for turning me onto Tortoise (amongst others) all those years ago. He was a sort of musical mentor to me for a while when our paths first crossed.

TNT.

VIVIAN MAIER

These Vivian Maier images are awesome for so many reasons.

Over 100,000 unpublished and many undeveloped negatives unearthed at a junk sale. Her personal life still a mystery. An archive of candid street photography going all the way back to the 1950s.

Those three sentences alone would be enough to get me interested.

But what really knocks me out is the quality of the work - the composition, the subtle details, the choice of subject, and just what a great eye she had. And don't forget that she was doing this day in and day out such a long time ago and for such a long timespan.

It's somewhat easier nowadays with a digi-camera to capture real life pics from the street, and then broadcast them via the internet, but I haven't come across many collections of images as good as this.

See more here.







Vivian Maier - Photography blog.

VIRTUALITY

Now you can get really close to Vincent's Starry Night at the Museum of Modern Art in New York without having to leave your house. Thanks to this.

COMPASS

Born and bred in the South West - that's where I got my bearings.

An affinity with South and West is something I've always taken for granted. Growing up in Cornwall, North and East were always 'away'. Therefore I felt totally aligned in that lower left quadrant of the compass. Used to knowing which way was which. Being able to orientate myself easily and quickly depending which body of water I was near (the distance between the North and South coast being only a few miles).

Going any further South or West wasn't really an option until I was older and had the means to do so. And even then my first independent forays away from home in my teens were to the similarly situated coastlines of South West France and South West Ireland.

Later in life I lived for ten years on the East coast of Australia. Although initially thrilled and often dazzled by the sun rising over the Pacific ocean in the mornings there was also something perplexing about being an East coaster. Sunset surfs just didn't feel the same with night already fallen out on the horizon while the sun slowly sank inland...

I no longer take being in the South West for granted as I strongly believe there is a form of calibration between our sense of belonging and the particular point on the compass to which we naturally feel aligned.

NEIGHBOURHOOD WATCH

SICK!

Day off work! However I'm ill in bed. The mind wants to go out and do stuff, try to make the most of this little window of opportunity - but the body just ain't up to it today...

Our old pal Johnny 'Gomez' Wright used to say that you should always make the effort to go to work when you're feeling rough and then pull a sickie when it's pumping and go surfing. Much better time management.

Unfortunately that hasn't quite worked out for me today.

CHARLEY HARPER

Digging Charley Harper.

CUBED

Every now and then our 10 year old daughter Tyde will produce a small white cube from her pocket and holding it up between her fingers announce "The CUBE of DESTINY!". Then slide it back into her pocket without another word of explanation.

It always tickles me...

Painting borrowed from Amanda Williams

SATURDAY SURF

Was good if you were in the right spot...

(Clicky piccy to go big)

INTERVIEW - SAM BLEAKLEY

Sam Bleakley is a multiple British and European surfing champion, has a Masters in Geography from Cambridge and competed on the Oxbow WLT for ten years. He is a regular contributor to magazines and publications all over the world and has recently published his first book, 'Surfing Brilliant Corners' - a jazz-inspired account of a decade of extreme global surf travel. He loves hanging out at home in Sennen, West Cornwall with his family and has created a lifestyle that allows him to combine his passion for surfing remote coastlines with freelance writing. He was kind enough to share some insights into what keeps him stoked...

When and where did you start surfing?

I started surfing aged 5 at Gwenver thanks to my Dad - Alan ‘Fuz’ Bleakley. He also grew up in Cornwall. There’s a classic story behind his first board - In the early ‘60s there was just a small crew of visiting lifeguards (from Australia) and local surfers. My granddad (Jock) was a fisherman and ran a hotel with a popular bar where the visiting lifeguards used to drink late into the night and play poker. ‘Phantom,’ one of the more colourful Australian lifeguards, was losing heavily to Jock. Phantom did not have the money to pay the debt. Instead, he offered Jock a 9’ 8” surfboard recently shaped by Bob Head (later forming Bilbo with Bill Bailey). Jock knew that his son (my dad) was keen to get into surfing, which had just established itself amongst a young crew locally. Jock hid the surfboard, and gave it to his son for his 15th birthday. My dad pooled resources with his schoolmate, who had a sleeveless diver’s wetsuit top with a beaver tail. They took turns surfing in frigid February conditions.

Dad eventually moved to west Penwith, and as I grew up many years later our family were always close to the beach. So it was only natural that I started surfing with my sisters in the very early 1980s, mostly at Gwenver in the summer and Perranuthnoe in the wintertime.

Can you remember your first green wave?

Yeah, I remember it clearly. It was actually in San Onofre, California. We spent 1987/88 in the USA because my dad did a University lecturing work exchange. We were based in Virginia on the east coast, but spent the summer visiting friends in California. I was eight years old and had only ever surfed with my dad pushing me into the waves. At San O, I went solo, paddling out beyond the whitewater. Fellow Cornishman and close family friend, Paul Holmes, had loaned me a 6’ 0” channel-bottomed five-finned board shaped by Hawaiian Brian Bulkley. To me, a gangly kid, it was perfectly crafted and totally ‘magic’. Paul was the then editor of Surfer magazine. He had an injured shoulder from a trip to Bali, and watched from the beach. Outback I remember the pungent smell of kelp and the local pelicans. I stroked into the first set wave alone. It turned green, peaked, and as it broke I took off, angled and found trim. I rode its entire length, locked in the pocket. That wave was a defining moment. Paul gave me the board and I took it home to Cornwall in ‘88. It set me up for life.

Right on!

ONES

SUNDAY SERVICE

At the Chapel of Love.

One of my favourite places for evening worship, particularly on a Summer's Sunday night after all the weekenders have hit the A30 for the long drive back home. This morning felt light and mild and optimistic and reminded me that, although only just past mid-winter, we are heading towards Spring once more.

MINTYFRESH

A great finish to last year along with a good start to this one.

So twothousandandeleven is upon us. It seems a little late for New Year wishes now, so I'll just say 'let it flow'...

HUNTING, PHYSICALLY & MENTALLY

Live forever.

A fortune teller, a bounty hunter. Always looking, always anticipating, trying to predict.

A wave is something already begun but yet to come. Search the horizon. Will it be mine? It could be mine, I want it, I need it. A moment from time rolling towards the future, to its end, to its conclusion. Sometimes shyly, almost unseen. Sometimes ominous, dark and powerful.

Can I be where it reveals itself, can I be there? Over there. Yes, this could be it. I've waited all my life it seems for this. The meeting of moments. The coming together, the birth or maybe a death. Not birth for the wave, for it was born long ago. So, a new birth for me whilst I hitch a ride on the back of death, ride the death throes of the wave.

I join the wave. The past and the future become the present. The mental and the physical are dancing in liquid. A birth, a life, a death. And I want to do it all again, and again, and again for ever.

HAPPY LINES

To you one and all.

SOON COME

Flat today.

But swell on the way hopefully...

DAVID BYRNE

Detroit by David Byrne.

The amazing David Byrne Journal is always well worth a visit. This is a typical account from a visit he makes to Detroit.

PiXeL

A few more pixels from the hard-drive archive.

View.

Arrr!

Tech Deck Sesh.

Frozen water.

Dog fob - no eyes.

Exit strategy.

Breakfast of champions.

Beloved north coast.

BONEY

Lost a leg...

But he still rips!

WARDS OFF EVIL

Ginger & Honey Tea.

I think I'm addicted to this stuff, I find myself glugging down at least a cup every night. Packs quite a punch and I'm convinced it wards off evil. Rubbish pack design, but does the job.

What's it got to do with surfing? Well DL introduced it as a winter apres-surf must-have last year and let me tell you it certainly delivers!

SURF JUMBLE BUDE

Surf Jumble in Bude this weekend - might be a good place to find that quirky Xmas prezzy...

PIPED

That's why they call it the Pipeline.

There's a whole world of waves out there, and amazingly still more are being discovered every year. But Pipeline still grabs my attention. Ridden well by relatively few, despite being fairly accessible (ie; just a few yards from a public beach) and widely documented, it certainly can't be underestimated.

Personally, I just can't get enough of views like this. I can only imagine how it would feel to be in position and committing to a drop like this, on my backhand too! (dream on...)
Photo: djstruntz

SHOEGAZER

Most of the time I'm kicking a pair of Vans...

For at least half of the year - it's flip-flops...

And then in the winter I stomp around in some good ole Blundstones.

[My feet are actually quite big in real life]

BLACK HOLE OF ICE

The bucket where I normally rinse out my wetsuit.

After a brief thaw on Sunday, we're back to zero again this morning...

BLU

...

FROZONE

Temps haven't risen above zero for 6 days now.

WOO

Whichever way you are going you are going wrong.

Many moons ago, when I had endless time on my hands and a pocketful of loose change I came across an album in a record shop and just bought it on a whim. I used to do that a lot - sometimes it turned out to be ok, more often than not it didn't. But this time I struck lucky - a quirky, organic & atmospheric collection that often kept me company late into the night.

There wasn't much info on the sleeve about who WOO were, apart from the names Mark & Clive Ives and I never really followed it up at the time and certainly haven't come across them very often since.

But a recent post by Cabinessence reminded me of how much I enjoyed discovering their album and sent me off in search of the Brothers Ives again.