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Photos shot for Dagda edit by Wasted Talent

Gearoid McDaid: Nothing Beats Home

Sep 262017

Ask Gearoid McDaid what the best waves he’s ever surfed are, in all his travels around the world and he’ll say the same thing each and every time… nothing beats home.

It doesn’t matter where in the world he is, if the waves start pumping in his home town of Sligo, West Ireland, all it takes is a phone call.

A casual check of forecasts. France. Everything that could be wrong with a forecast is wrong. North Spain. Devil Wind. Portugal. Nup. Scotland. Nup. England. Please... Other distractions, not surf related but wholeheartedly enjoyable none the less; Barcelona is incredibly fun but we’ve rinsed it a fair bit. London is cold and the flight is full. Paris, we hit that pretty hard last week and it’s a just little premature to go back. 

However what’s this? A blip somewhere cold, green, fickle but beautiful and overall romantically familiar is looking good. Actually really, really good. Sneaky swell and favourable winds… We’ve got five hours until the only flight leaves, no tickets and a maxed out credit card.

Enter Gearoid McDaid For those of you who are unfamiliar, Gearoid (Pronounced Gea-akdjhaipudh), Gearoid is one of Ireland’s nay Northern Europe’s hottest prospects right about now. A supremely well round surfer and amazing value on the beers. Needless to say we get along outstandingly well. A phone call is made - “Guys I’d love to have you come stay, and shoot - it’s pumping, but I’m stuck in Portugal and it sucks”


More phone calls are made, to powers that be with credit cards shinier than ours. iMessages back and forth. “Shit this is actually doable” Emails sent and followed by drumming of fingers on desk. “Shiiit emails are slow”. Back to phone calls. Boards and Cameras lie packed, hinting at a trip but un-sure of their destiny. Much like their owners. Grasping of hairs and constant iPhone checking. More emails. Travel agents with superpowers have got us tickets. Gearoid has a ticket. Life is fine and life is great. Invitations to beers and a dinner in France (we’re still very sorry) are politely blown off. We are so stupid. We are so clever. One high tail up the motorway. A full long stay car park. We’ll leave it in short haul and deal with that on the flipside. One Flight. One tiny hire car. 3 Guinness's. Sleep.


And 24 hours later we are there. The waves pumped outside of our hostess with the mostess Noah Lane’s house and him and Gearoid ruled the roost. The forecast of emerald barrels and guiness showers rang true. A glorious three days”


Words by Alexei Obolensky | Photos by Robin Pailler .