I was cruising through southern Europe for a few months when, out of the blue, I decided to venture up north to visit my homeland.

When I booked my ticket to Ireland, I wasn’t expecting to surf the best rights of my life.

When I got to Ireland I immediately hooked up with some local surfers who I met a year before in San Diego. The crew showed me around and took me surfing at some incredible secret spots. They said I wasn’t allowed to bring my camera with me, and I respect them for that. I snapped the photos in the gallery at some random spots while staying in the north.

The best rights of my life were caught at a mystical pointbreak we adventured to. There was nobody around, and it felt as if I were in some crusader dreamland.

To get there we had to hop an electric cow fence that shocked my nuts and take a long, boggy walk across a giant, dank pasture. When we got to the bay, the surf was pumping!

We had to negotiate some rocks and do a long, frigid paddle to get to the takeoff spot, but it was worth it. When the tide got low, we scored the coldest and most epic right-point drainers I had ever surfed. All day long we were standing in freight-train barrels. It was insane. It was like epic J Bay without anyone else surfing.

Water must have been 48 degrees, and the air must have been 40. There was frost all over my wetsuit and I couldn’t feel my face, but none of that mattered because the surf was so good.

The Emerald Isle was one of those trips that I will never forget. I felt at home there.

How’s my friend Adam’s cat? Thing is just like Garfield.

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