Les Vagues
Biarritz is the birthplace of French surfing, and it's a fact that never ceases to amaze me. Daily, someone in a wetsuit walks by me, surfboard in hand, either heading to or coming back from the ocean. I should be accustomed to spotting people who seem straight out of Santa Cruz, but there's this perpetual sense of surprise that makes me give my head a little shake and chuckle. Because, let's be clear, I'm not in Santa Cruz; I'm in Biarritz. I'm not in California; I'm in the southwest of France. 64!
When I step out of my apartment, I absorb the beauty of the Cotes des Basques. The ocean paints a different picture each day. Sometimes, it's a serene and glassy panorama, inviting us to dip into its tranquility. On stormy days, massive swells command attention, leaving me in awe of their power. There are days when we grab our boards and descend the stairs to catch some waves. There are also days when we find ourselves mere spectators, yearning for the skills to go out and surf. As we watch the waves from the shore, there's a silent vow to improve, a promise to ourselves that someday we'll charge into those towering swells. Well, at least go out when it is a little bigger.
We bought Charlie a board because our boards were too long, and surfing wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs for him. We were stuck in a lazy day until Charlie decided to shake things up and said, "I want to surf. Let's go!" Well, that was the wake-up call we needed. We geared up and made our way down to the Cotes des Basques. We hit the beach right in time for the last hour before sunset. It was a warm and glorious eve. A welcome shift from the previous week's frigid temperatures, reaching as low as 0 degrees Celsius and highs in the 6 or 7-degree range. Once in the water, the waves were surprisingly big, so we opted to stay on the inside and ride the mousse. Turned out to be an absolute blast. Charlie, with his new board, was grinning from ear to ear. I was catching waves on my Terry board, and Gabe was catching waves, too. (Luke was back home nursing a cold and stomach thing) Charlie, big thanks for being the force that got us off our butts and into the water. That session was a sweet reminder of the pure joy of surfing, especially when everyone's got the right board under their feet. Here's to more spontaneous surf adventures and the infectious stoke that comes with it.
The swell at Mundaka was going off, and we figured it was the perfect time to make the drive while the boys were in school. Two hours later, we're standing there, staring at Europe's longest left-breaking wave, and let me tell you, it was pumping. There were about 20 people out there, riding those massive waves. As I watched, it hit me how technical this wave is. Just getting out into the lineup is a challenge on its own. And then, of course, catching one of those monstrous waves is a whole different ball game. It's not just about skill; it's about strategy and timing. And let's not forget about getting back in – that's a mission in itself, dodging currents and navigating the unpredictable nature of the ocean. Mundaka is no joke; it's a wave for the pros, no doubt about it.
This week, huge waves dominated. A massive rogue wave crashed against a seawall, near the Rocher de la Vierge, surging over it and carrying spectators away. The seawall is around 6-9 meters (20-to-30 feet), but the combination of the swell and France's notorious tidal fluctuations, the wave breached its defenses. There's a viral video online that captured the whole scene. Once things calm down, we'll get back on our boards. Right now, we're playing the spectator game, but from a safe distance.
