Spitting off the Cliffs by Mike Lay

When I was young I thought Ireland sounded cool. I liked the names of the counties that were also human names, I went to school with a girl named Kerry, my auntie was called Clare. I would say County Clare over and over in my head. I would search the map for County Michael, and never find it. I always wanted to go to Clare. In one of my favourite books two characters spit off the cliffs of Moher, I had it on audio cassette too and wondered why anyone would want to spit off a cliff. When I first went to the cliffs and realised they were actually in Clare, that they were the cliffs from my book, an armful of memories flooded my head. And just like that a connection to the place was made.

As surfing became a more important part of my life I didn't think of Ireland much. I only thought of the beach closest to my house, about how I would get myself and my board there. I stopped thinking of playing the guitar, football, swimming club–only the beach and how I would get there. I then learnt to drive and other beaches entered into my consciousness, I started thinking of wind and swell and so my world spread out just a little. I travelled to Indonesia when I was 18 and saw amazing waves for the first time. Waves that had been fictional up to that point, in my mind or on the back covers of sketch books, even the surf movies were too distant, confined to a rectangle of pixels. I came back from Indonesia and started lifeguarding on my beach at home.