We assumed France would be an easy way to score countless hollow barrels.
What we found was ourselves scattered and lost, standing around the quiet streets of Capbreton in the middle of the first night. Pete Devries is triple checking his emails, while Noah Cohen is struggling to get the wifi in our rental car to cooperate.
There must have been a miscommunication that was lost in translation while organizing a place to stay for our two weeks in France. That can happen when you buy plane tickets the day before departure. Jet lagged and frustrated, we drove around blind and found a room at the only hotel open this late.
Turns out our arranged home was anything but arranged, and the owner was 900km away. Most of the following day was spent getting laughed out of vacation rental offices for not having a reservation. By the time we got to inhale after our sigh of relief, wetsuits were on and boards were waxed. The forecast was still promising, solid swell with long period and strong offshore winds, a perfect recipe for the beach breaks of Hossegor. We assumed.
Never assume what’s on the other side of the dune.