During the darkest hours of North Devon's darkest days, there is still a light that burns bright. Matt, Paul and myself just about made it to the ridge, only to be buffeted back by the wind which had now veered north north-westerly. Temperatures had also dropped to around 6 degrees but with windchill it felt more like sub zero. So as we huddled round debating whether to go out into the 3.3 m swell reading, a vote was called and we agreed a 'no sail'.
On these rare occasions, the only comfort, was to accept Paul's generous offer of a mince pie, with a whisky chaser.