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A crispy clear winter's day like this is a rare thing in England. Reubin Pearce on a finely shaped little beast in deepest west Cornwall.
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Making the most of some premium evening light with a sweet back-lit hook courtesy of Newquay's Ollie Adams.
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Alan Stokes adding a little flair to a murky day at Fistral.
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September is magic time in South West England. After a long, often flat summer, the Atlantic finally cranks up the storm machine and with a little luck, something like this arrives on our doorstep.
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Cornwall's famous Porthleven reef. It rarely gets good, but it's always worth the wait. This is Ben Skinner at the end of a twelve shot sequence. He's a world class longboarder, but on this day swapped for something smaller to maximize the tunneling potential.
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This shot pretty much sums up winter round these parts: cold, grey and sometimes perfectly formed. Mark Harris locked in, Newquay.
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When big winter storms slam into the Cornish coast, forgotten coves lurch into action. James Carr hooking into a windswept wedge.
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Josh Hughes cutting loose in the last light of the day, Fistral.
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The South West still has a few secrets left. This one is a substantial drive, followed by a long walk and a longer paddle.
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Reuben Ash is probably the best British surfer we have, typically smooth on the wave of the day, at a spot he has on complete lock down, North Cornwall.
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In the depths of winter, just a good view is enough. Stefan Little vs a North Cornwall sand beast.
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One of the best things about England is its proximity to Ireland. I make a point of trying to get there for some heavy solitude every year. Believe the hype.
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There’s a lot more on offer than 15ft death slabs on the Irish coast. Epic points, pristine A frames, fun beachies, whatever you want is out there. Including, of course, 15 ft death slabs–if such a thing tickles your fancy.
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Exploration is the key to a successful Irish adventure. Any unlikely farm track or overgrown road could lead to something like this.
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Ireland in the winter is plain heavy. Just another day in the office for a local charger in North West Ireland.
Blame it on Swayze, this salt ridden, wave crazed life. Ever since I saw the mighty Bohdi chasing down the 50-year storm as an impressionable kid, there was never any doubt about what I wanted to be.
The many faces of Andy Ford.
Growing up on a small corner of coast in the South West UK, it was necessary to develop a fondness for seaweed, closeouts, long dark winters, and short inconsistent summers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Of course, there have been twists and turns, flat spells and moments of high adventure. Death defying Desert Point, North African walls reeling into eternity, Irish isolation, and lava toothed Atlantic Kraken. But through it all, I’ve realized that there’s no better feeling than scoring at home.
Somewhere along the line, I decided that it wasn’t enough to simply slide along these watery creations. I needed to document them. So began an infuriating quest for that magic 1/1000th of a second when swell, tide, surfer, and light come together for one glorious instant. At the best of times, it’s a task that is never complete. Add in the ample inconsistencies and flaws inherent in British surfing, and it’s enough to make you launch the 300 mm into the sea.
But I never do, always sustained by the unshakeable belief in the backlit off-the-top. Surfing in the UK is a flawed and beautiful thing that requires little local knowledge and an ample helping of luck and patience. But that just makes it that much sweeter when everything comes together.
These are my homelands. Enjoy.
View more of Andy’s work at his website
