Outer Banks: Irish Exit

We all converged in the small village of Bundoran the night before the swell and began preparing. For me, that meant cameras, batteries, SD cards, wetsuits, impact vests, and coordinating which jet ski I’d be shooting from, as the wave at Mullaghmore breaks on a shallow rock shelf nearly a kilometer offshore. For the surfers, it was meticulous checks of boards, fins, CO₂ canisters for pull vests, and organizing safety teams. On days like this, preparation is everything – with dedicated safety skis on standby for inevitable wipeouts.

Alarms went off three hours before first light. Fueled by little sleep and a lot of adrenaline, we pulled on wetsuits and launched the skis into pitch darkness, without even seeing the ocean yet. It wasn’t just the enormous buoy readings that told us what was coming – waves were already crashing over the harbor walls, somewhere they never normally break. As first light crept in and we reached the channel, we finally locked eyes on the waves. Clean offshore winds sent white spray flying off the backs of the biggest barreling waves we had ever seen. We knew instantly this was something special.

Amid the chaos, I ended up aboard a battered red dinghy with an outboard that wouldn’t rev above 2,000 rpm, desperately coaxing it into position to get the shots. What the photos can never fully convey is the brutal cold and ferocity of the conditions. Horizontal sleet, constant spray, and savage gusts made visibility so poor that some jet ski drivers wore ski masks. For a photographer, it was a nightmare – keeping the lens clean, adjusting manual settings with thick wetsuit gloves, working with limited light, all while dodging 40ft-plus waves from a half-broken boat.

Despite all of that, there were moments when everything aligned. One of them was capturing Matt’s “ride of his life” from the perfect angle. The lineup erupted as it unfolded, and we were all stunned by what we’d just witnessed. Without question, it was the greatest foil ride I’ve ever seen. In conditions that heavy, simply surviving is hard enough – controlling them on a foil was breathtaking. It remains one of the most remarkable moments I’ve ever pointed a lens at.

Later in the session, a violent storm slammed into us – the same one visible brewing in the background of my photos. Shooting became almost impossible, even though massive waves were still breaking. The only option was using a window wiper on the lens just before the wave broke – a precarious move while sitting on the back of a jet ski or drifting on the lip line in a sketchy dinghy.

To make matters worse, my lens stopped shedding water properly. Knowing I needed a rubber window wiper, Red Bull surfer and fellow Scot Ben Larg blasted me through the whitewater and dropped me ashore. I swam in with the camera, sprinted to a nearby shop, and scrambled back down the slippery cliffs of Mullaghmore to get back out. But no one answered the radio. I was stranded at the base of a slimy, near-vertical 40ft cliff as surging waves flooded through. To make it worse, I could still see the guys out there, riding giants.

The tide rose quickly during the forty minutes I waited, cutting off my route back up. With waves smashing the original path, I carefully inched my way up the cliff, fighting for balance and desperately trying not to lose the camera – and the footage – to the sea below. Somehow, I made it back safely.

At the time, I was gutted to miss the final hour of the session. Later, I learned I hadn’t missed anything. The morning window, before the storm hit, was the window of a lifetime. It wasn’t until I loaded the images onto my laptop that I truly understood how special Big Thursday had been. Watching the surfers see their shots for the first time was unforgettable. Frame by frame, all of us there will forever relive those intense, fleeting seconds at Mullaghmore.

THE RIDER | MATT ETXEBARNE AGUIRREGOMEZKORTA

Going to ride a wave on a foil at Mullaghmore was a real challenge. The wave is intimidating: a massive slab with a giant barrel detonating onto dry rocks. I had been watching this spot for a long time, wondering if it was truly possible to foil there. When I saw a huge swell approaching, I decided to go and see for myself.

When we arrived on site the day before the swell, we learned that the jet ski we were supposed to use had broken down. Total panic set in – it was impossible to find another jet ski at the last minute. Luckily, we managed to get in touch with Peter Conroy, who offered to tow us into a wave the next day.

The wake-up call came at 6 a.m. after a night full of questions. We headed to the harbor to get ready, in freezing cold conditions. Once we reached the line-up, the waves were monstrous – huge barrels, and absolutely mind-blowing. I only wanted to do one thing: to grab my AXIS foil and get out there. But I had to be patient. I waited on the shoulder for two and a half hours before Peter came to offer me a wave. During that time, I was able to analyze the lines, and Justine Dupont, who had just been in amongst it, gave me invaluable advice.

When that wave finally came, Peter looked at me. I said, “OK, this is the one – let’s go.” That’s when I let go of the rope and fully focused on my line, determined to avoid any mistakes and make it through the wave. The sensations were insane. The wave changed constantly, forcing me to adjust several times. Near the end, heavy turbulence knocked me off, but I was beyond stoked and deeply grateful to have had the chance to ride a wave that day.

That day at Mullaghmore allowed me to understand many things and look even further into the evolution and future of our sport. Experiencing such a powerful, raw environment reminded me how much there is still to learn and explore. Riding big waves around the world on a foil is a challenge I want to keep pursuing, pushing the limits even further. Each session teaches me something new about ocean knowledge, equipment performance, and mental commitment. The constant search for better control, speed, and safety drives my motivation every time I enter the water.