It’s likely that, in ten year’s time, U.K. wavesailors will look back on the winter of 2013-14 and talk about it in the same tones as a sun worshipper reflects on the summer of 1976 – an all-time classic.

Amongst the recollections of all those wild and windy days we may well reminisce that the winter storm named Hercules provided some of the biggest waves the Atlantic’s ever produced.

Needless to say, the infamous Motley Crew Red Phone went berserk throughout the Christmas and New Year holidays, but on the morning of January 6th 2014, Hercules triggered the rare Code Black ring tone, indicating an incoming mega swell of unknown proportions. John Carter reports.

Story & Photos JOHN CARTER

(This feature originally appeared in the March 2014 issue of Windsurf Magazine. To read more features like this first, Print and Digital subscriptions are available. Prices include delivery globally for 10 x issues a year!)

OFF THE SCALE
With climate change seemingly tipping the scales in favour of wet, wild and windy weather, who knows what the future holds for U.K. weather patterns?

But as far as British wavesailors are concerned, I’ve not heard too many complaining! This winter, storm after storm has hammered the coastlines of Britain and Ireland, causing travel chaos, floods and widespread damage that most folk will remember as the worst in several years.

But for the hardy crew that are prepared to brave the elements, there has been barely a day between sessions to heal up those callouses or recover those sore shoulders the never-ending barrage.

The endless flow of massive low pressures was getting so ridiculous we were almost starting to take mast-high waves and 30 knot sou’wester for granted.

But then, one particular blip out there on the Atlantic radar became a kind of huge black boil and was even heralded ‘larger than the perfect storm’!

Pretty much the whole windsurfing and surfing world were talking about it. ‘Winter storm Hercules’ even mystified the weather experts!

Graphs that usually only go up to black signifying 50-ft. waves, forced them to stretch the scale to white and even gold. In fact the swell reached up to 70 ft. at the height of the storm, with an area of over 300 nautical miles of 50-foot-plus seas.

In simple English, this was the mother of all storms and the only real questions for anyone chasing XXL category waves was ‘where shall we go?’

WRONG PLACE RIGHT TIME
Hercules promised two days of massive waves that were forecast to hit pretty much every single south and west-facing break in the U.K., not to mention the coastlines of France, Spain, Portugal, Morocco, the Canary Islands and every reef and beach all the way down to the Cape Verde islands.

Everywhere was set for a hammering, with many of the forecasts warning that it was simply going to be too big and out of control in most spots and advising all but the most experienced watermen to stay out of the water.

With this in mind, I had made a plan to head to Cornwall with an open brief as the storm hit on Monday morning and then possibly score the Tuesday at The Bluff, which hopefully would be cleaner and better with clearer weather and less chaotic conditions.

With huge spring tides a major factor and 60-knot winds as Hercules hit on Monday morning, we heard from local sailor Ian Black that The Bluff was off-the-scale and pretty much un-sailable.

At this point we were an hour away and pretty much committed to sailing somewhere on the north coast of Cornwall or Devon. Apparently Blacky, Andy Fawcett, Harvey Dawkins and a few others had made it in for an hour on the high tide, but none of them had barely ridden a wave and were all glad to make it back to the beach in one piece.

Bearing that in mind, we made a huge call to head up the coast to Lynmouth, a sheltered point break that promised clean waves, cross-off wind and down-the -line perfection.

Without paying too much attention to any maps we set off in convoy with Timo Mullen leading the line, myself and Ross Williams in the second wagon and Chris Murray ‘Muzza’ bringing up the rear.

To cut a long story short, we arrived in Lynmouth after a three-hour nightmare on the winding roads of Devon to find some semi-decent surf, but barely a breath of wind at the bottom of the surrounding cliffs.

In other words, we’d blown it. To make matters worse, Timo was committed to a meeting in Manchester the following day while the rest of us would have to retrace our tracks all the way back to Hayle and hope we could pull something back the next morning.

Six hours driving on that day of the year was a real killer, but as if the day hadn’t been bad enough, during the tedious journey back to Hayle through lashing rain and horrific conditions, reports were starting to filter through of Alfie Hart and a Welsh crew scoring epic mast-and-a-half point breaks, while we also heard the south coast back home was having it, with every break from Weymouth, Avon, The Isle of Wight, Hayling Island and Pagham all on fire.

Over in Ireland, Finn Mullen had scored in the North West and the final nail in the coffin was Blacky starting to rephrase his earlier report that the Bluff was not so bad after all.

On the surfing side of the news, a crew, that included Antoine Albeau, had posted shots from Belharra, France of themselves surfing 60-foot-plus waves.

Meanwhile down in Morocco, Boujmaa Guilloul paddled into huge surf at Anchor Point, while down in Guincho, Portugal, one of my favourite beach bars had been washed away. (What? No more icy-cold Superbocks? Ed.)

Further afield in the Canary Islands, Danny Bruch was making Social Media headlines, dropping into huge barrels at a secret slab on his paddleboard in Tenerife.

To say we were frustrated would be putting it mildly! Instead of that feeling of stoke after an amazing day on the water, we finally hit the pub in Hayle, merely to eat as a necessity, rather than a celebration of the great day it should’ve been.

I was feeling that low and empty, that even a beer wasn’t going to solve any issues. We were at rock bottom!

JUDGEMENT DAY
If Lady Luck ever felt she owed somebody a break, surly we were first in line after the previous day’s catastrophe? All I could do was imagine all those shots I had missed but in all reality, maybe it had been too big and I was just feeling sorry for myself.

Having bunked down in the Travel Lodge in Hayle overnight, we headed to the Golden Arches to load up on Sausage McMuffins before heading to the Bluff.

New Year’s resolutions of a healthier diet were going to have to wait, this promised to be a big day and we had no time to mess about. Outside, the sky looked kind of clear and the trees were still waving around despite the forecast calling for it to drop off later in the afternoon.

Perhaps we were going to score a windfall of epic conditions? Surely after those ridiculous waves there must be plenty of leftovers for the second course?

After all, the call from Magic Seaweed was still giving a six-metre swell with an 18-sec. period. In my books, that’s still massive! ‘Come on Carter’ I murmured to myself, ‘Start focussing and look on the bright side!’

Up in the car park, the local crew were all sat in their vans and cars pensively checking the conditions. Andy Fawcett, Harvey and Blacky – the usual suspects – are always there when it’s big.

Fair play to these guys. With the tide right up to the rocks, the wind on the edge and pumping eight-to-ten-foot close-out sets, I already was thinking the worst.

That this was going to be one of those frustrating days when the elements don’t quite play ball the way you want them to. But Andy Fawcett and company looked pretty optimistic and were already starting to rig, ready for their second day up against the Herculean Storm.

Without further ado, everything started to click into place. The tide started to slowly recede, the waves were cleaning up and still firing, blue sky seemed to be dominating overhead – and the wind was even looking steadier.

The swell had no doubt subsided slightly from its peak, but there were still massive sets to make for an epic big-wave, Bluff session.

Out to sea, I could see massive lumps of swell marching across the horizon, while the waves crashing over the rocks at Godrevey lighthouse signified that this was no ordinary day.

Downwind I could just about make out a couple of brave punters headed out at Mexicos, but the Bluff seemed a little more cross-offshore and cleaner, so it made sense to stay put.

Within an hour everyone was out in the thick of the action, playing mental poker with their wave selection decisions. Choose the wrong one, get caught out by a bone-crunching set and for sure it would mean game over and one long swim back in.

Hayle breaks either side of a river mouth, so with the outgoing tide there’s also a nasty current that can drag you back out through the waves if you’re caught floundering with broken gear.

Ross Williams was simply not messing around and making no bones about picking off the biggest sets and charging hard from the word go!

After yesterday’s fiasco, it looked like he had a score to settle and was smacking aerials and powering out huge hacks as if were 3-4 feet rather than mast-high, top-to-bottom close-outs.

Andy Fawcett bided his time wisely before cranking out some huge aerials on the meatiest of sections, while Blacky was deep in the thick of the biggest sets and throwing down some full-rail turns when he could find a decent section to dice with.

By early afternoon both Harvey and Ross had broken masts and, for most of the crew it was game over, as the heavy waves dredged onto the shallows.

Muzza had also been revelling in the thick of the action though, ironically, his only equipment damage came when he slipped up on the rocks on leading back to the car park, poor guy.

With the tide racing out, the waves began slamming down on the sand bar, a situation Blacky refers to as ‘low tide death’ and it was time to trade places with Alan Stokes and a gang of Cornish hot shot surfers who had come down to film some huge barrels and challenge Hercules on their terms at The Bluff.

Despite a few hiccups along the way, Lady Luck had finally shone down on us and I reckon we must have been in one of the best spots to accommodate this Richter-Scale swell.

Every trip I take around the country on our quest to explore the best the U.K. coastline has to offer, I always come back armed with a few extra titbits of useful information, which is all useful knowledge for the future. Maybe Lynmouth goes off on its day in extraordinary conditions, but as far as I’m concerned, I won’t be heading that way for some time to come.

Next time a massive storm of this proportion comes along, I have a few spots in mind where I’ll be headed and North Devon won’t be on the list!

Having said all that it was a beautiful spot and, for surfers, it’s one of the best breaks in England when most other beaches are maxed out – it’s just that at the time we were there we weren’t exactly in the frame of mind to appreciate the scenery!

HERCULES VS. NEPTUNE – THE AFTERMATH
After causing ‘Polar Vortex’ havoc in the USA, Winter Storm Hercules certainly left its mark. In Porthcothan, Cornwall a huge rock arch formation was smashed by pounding waves, while up in Wales, the seafront at Aberystwyth was pummelled by the storm surges as the sea defences failed to cope with the waves.

On the South Coast, at Portland, the flood siren was sounded at Chesil Beach as powerful swells hammered the manmade defences. 70 mph. gusts at Sennen, near Lands End, helped fuel waves to crash over the whole town, while spectacular surf at the lighthouse in Porthcawl made the front page of most of the tabloids.

On the Continent, set waves in Portugal breached sea walls, flipped cars and tore down harbours, while many homes all along the Atlantic Coast were flooded or lost power.

Over in Ireland, one surge actually burst open through a pub door, imagine that, when you’re sipping a pint of Guinness in front of a log fire, although actually, in Ireland maybe they didn’t even notice?

The power and the dangers of the sea should never be underestimated and, even though many of us like to think we can cope with the big stuff, always weigh up the dangers when sailing in big storms, never sail alone – and watch out for your mates!

Even if you go along to watch a storm armed with a flask of hot chocolate and a camera, beware of standing too close to breaching waves and if you see a huge set coming, while you’re on a vulnerable promenade – run like hell!

ROSS WILLIAMS
“I got so excited when I saw this last massive low pressure directly in the firing line for the U.K. All signs were pointing to this swell being The Big One! The night we drove down I don’t sleep at all.

“I kept thinking about what it would be like. Unfortunately the first day didn’t go according to plan and the hours of driving around the Devon and Cornish countryside crushed my spirit. That night I tried to relaxed and rest up ready for the second day.

“Though we had missed Big Monday, the actual forecast was looking amazing for the next morning and we were not disappointed. It was high tide at The Bluff when we arrived, but it was showing all the signs that it would turn into an epic day.

“By the time I was ready to set foot on the water most of the local crew were arriving too and rigging.

“I really don’t think we could’ve asked for more perfect conditions. I think they were the best waves I’ve sailed so far at The Bluff. There were still some big old lumps to chicken gybe around and equipment-breaking lips that made my heart pump.

“I remember hitting the lip just right on a few waves and I could feel the focus of the wave chucking me skywards – now that is one of the best feelings in windsurfing!

“This has been my first full winter in the U.K. in many years. It’s really brought home to me how good our own country can be on its day. I’m not sure if we’ll have many more sessions like this for a while, but I hope so!”

IAN BLACK
Honestly, the last thing I needed was Hercules turning up on our doorstep! I wasn’t really up for it! I’d literally spent the last two weeks getting relentlessly beaten trying to keep up with ‘Marky’ Mark Meardon who seemed completely oblivious to the fact that every day was serving-up mast-high, dredging close outs!

‘Yeah it’s going off’ seemed to be his daily take on the situation!

After checking the forecast, Daymar looked like a definite possibility. But, for ‘the biggest swell of the century’, surely somewhere would be sailable other than Daymer?

Would the wind be too offshore for ‘over the river Bluff’? I took a chance along with the rest of the local crew and rocked up to check it out.

We were greeted by doom close outs, even at high tide. It looked like a no-win day, just like the other recent days I’d sailed and got slaughtered – but this time on steroids!

Everyone seemed keen Was I missing something? There were no excuses, the boys were rigging and heading out …

I’m glad I sailed, just to say I was out, but it was one of those frustrating days. The wind was just a fraction too offshore, certainly for the size of the swell.

Five degrees more to the west and it would have been off the scale. As the tide dropped out, the waves actually became more makeable – some of the best surf I’ve ever seen in Cornwall – but so many slipped underneath you, dam it was annoying!

Oh what a stupid, crazy sport! Still, we survived. I think all of us came close to getting The Bad News. There was a whole load of water moving about out there and in hindsight it was all a bit sketchy!

The following couple of days always looked the best on the forecast and, sure enough, it went off. The next day at The Bluff the Gods were kind to us and, for about an hour or so, was as good as it gets.

The Bluff, when it’s on, is as good as anywhere. Glassy, reeling lefthanders in the river mouth just like ‘the good old days’, the stuff dreams are made of! Just ‘INSANE’. These days really do make windsurfing the best sport in the world!

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