Windows down, sunnies on and the Fruitbats playing from my mp3, which is connected through a cassette adapter to the car radio - this is how we left Nazaré. Sailing into new adventures and eventually going further south. Later that night, when we arrived at Peniche, we would for the first time on this trip meet what I call the beach tribes. A bunch of campervans of all sizes and designs from everywhere across Europe and beyond, some of them camping there right behind the dunes for no less than five months already. I lit my first campfire to celebrate that encounter and soon the two boys from the motorhome next door joined and we exchanged stories about our trips. They caught sick waves in Scottland last year, then went to Ireland and after that chose pretty much the same route as I did and as the beach tribes naturally do. As usual, I was just a bit late which is why I had to get that far to actually meet them. Supertubos was firing these days and I scored without getting wet by taking some good shots in the morning light. As soon as I feel like I really should do something just not to miss out, I have learned to give myself a pat on the back and say "no need to do anything at all my friend, just do as you feel".
As wind and swell droppped, it seemed more than natural to check the exposed area around Ericeira offering reefs and points. But to be honest, I actually had a score to settle with Coxos. I'd been there once or twice before but never got to surf the point itself. This time I would. Friday early afternoon, when I felt the tide should be low enough for the sets to start breaking at the outside, I found myself in the sea with only one other person. We were having a good chat and taking turns. Only at exactly 14:30 at least ten people with boards started their pilgrimage down the cliff and I felt it was time to make a move. Weekend, sunshine, turquoise waves and bathing belles.
It's funny how quickly and intensively the weather changes the setting of a spot. Overnight the wind had changed and clouds stretched their grey blanket over the sea. Only a few cars on the cliff now, and these were not the ones of surfers. Men wedging themselves into wetsuits as thick as seal skin and buckling on weight belts were now dominating the scene, preparing themselves to spend this saturday morning in the spluttering dark of the rocks underwater where they'd lie in wait for unsuspecting prey, holding their breath into dizziness, not moving more than the water around them, the finger on the trigger of the speargun, calm and focused. I spoke to one of them who'd just come back, two substancial specimen at his weight belt. He explained that he needed to stop for today since he got seasick and had to throw up all the time, while his ears were in pain, too. But since he'd stopped smoking a while ago, it has been an amazing experience to be down in that realm again, he said with a smile.