Why We Travel: A Foiler’s Love Letter to the North Atlantic

Here's an alternative look at travel for foil trips and how the motivation has changed compared to surfing. It follows a trip to Ireland this summer – an interesting take full of adventure from Robin O'Connell

One of the reasons we all love foiling is it lets us make the most of any conditions. So, if we can have fun anywhere, why travel? And if we do travel, where should we go?

We all remember our introduction to foiling, the challenge, frustration and reward of those first days trying to achieve flight. At that point I remember thinking “if I could achieve a few minutes of flight, I would be set!”, but then we achieve it, we progress. We want our first gybes, tacks, waves, airs, rotations, flips… the list goes on. Foiling is showing no signs of plateauing yet, the gear continues to improve, and our ambitions follow those at the pinnacle of the sport.

Our desire for conditions goes hand in hand with our desire for progression. Where once, a couple of feet of wind blown chop gave a buzz that satisfied our craving for wave powered euphoria and satisfied an itch we couldn’t previously scratch with fin-based wave riding. Those of us who have a feeling of childlike excitement every time we see a perfect wave, even if only a 3 inch boat wake breaking along the banks of the Thames. Inevitably we eventually crave the same powerful, long period swells that surfers and windsurfers have chased for decades. We can, and do, have endless fun on the windblown chop at our local beach, but “the search” is always calling. Niggling at the back of our mind.

So that covers the why, but what about the where?

I spent the summers of my late teens and early twenties heading to Indo, the Maldives, Morocco, Japan, Portugal. I spent summer after summer in tropical paradise riding around on boats and scooters chasing the perfect blue waves I’d seen in magazines and YouTube edits. Convinced that anything closer to home was inferior and not worth my time. Despite being on the far side of the planet it was easy, accessible and cheap. For £450 I could get a return flight from London to Bali and then survive on $10/day (why would I not). My carbon footprint grew, but my surfing ability didn’t.

15 years ago I went on a camping trip to Scotland in February. 3 of us in a 4-man tent perched on the edge of the headland at the cold water mecha of Thurso East. 7 days of sub-zero temperatures with no heating of any kind, no showers, electricity, running water. We didn’t have the luxury of a camp site; none would open for another couple of months. But what we found was perfect, uncrowded waves that exceeded anything I had found on previous trips, unbelievable scenery, and other surfers who were actually pleased to see us paddling out (this has changed at certain breaks since).

That was a defining moment for me. Gone was the appeal of long hall flights and tropical destinations. I had discovered the power of the North Atlantic and the wild, dramatic scenery of Northern Europe. I swapped the Indian Ocean for Scotland, Norway, Ireland, Wales, Brittany and Spain. We bought a van and it became our mobile holiday home. Restricting our range to what could be reached by ferry and a couple of days driving but expanding our potential to 10s of thousands of miles of European coastline, while slashing our environmental impact.

Fast forward to spring 2025, I’m 3 years into my foiling journey. Tessa (my wife) has just taken upwing foiling and we are starting to think about our summer trip. I’m completing my nightly ritual of scouring YouTube for foiling content and come across Mike Birt’s video Brandon Bay – Why you have to go. Not a destination that had been on my radar as a surfer, but the video has me convinced, finding teenage ripper Leon Schiel’s videos on Instagram confirms it. We locked in the dates and booked the ferry.

With 2 weeks booked in June, not the most reliable time for Atlantic swell, to an unfamiliar destination this was a mission to score as many sessions, in as many disciplines as possible. Hoping that at some point everything would come together and turn a good trip into a truly memorable one. To this end the van was packed for wing foiling, SUP foiling, SUPing, surfing, kayaking and fishing.

Day 1 started with a flat-water wing foil session at the enclosed crescent shaped bay, Scraggane, at the tip of the peninsular. The day was most notable for the arrival of ex pro-windsurfer, surf shop owner and local legend Jamie Knoxx. At 65 its hard to believe the level of froth emanating Jamie. Over the 14 days he appeared at almost every session we had, often multiple times a day. Arriving each time with a trailer full of foiling toys to match any condition and grommet levels of enthusiasm. Often exclaiming “its F***ing good out there”. 

It was a trip of 2 halves, the first week delivering sunshine and lighter winds from 0 to 15 knots with many perfect SUP foil and surf sessions in the morning to the backdrop of lush green mountains. The bay was dotted with foilers of all forms (assist, prone, sup and tow booggie) and dolphins playing out back. Everyone stoked and scoring, but never busy. The afternoons provided flat water or small wave wing foil sessions in the clear, cool, Irish waters.

The second week everything stepped up a notch. The wind began to crank, with sessions from 20 up to 40knots. The gentle rolling swell made way to endless lines marching in along the length of the bay, providing overhead exhilaration. The clear skies and warm sunshine were replaced by thick cloud and near constant drizzle hanging in the air (you can’t have it all), and the epic backdrop of mountains and waterfalls was obscured behind a veil of grey.

By this point the memory of the office was long gone and the foil was starting to feel comfortable under foot. I had started developing the ease on the foil that you can only achieve by riding consistently day after day. The conditions built through the second week, peaking on the final day. Arriving at the beach at 8am we drove along the track between the dunes, parked the van on the beach and were greeted by head high + waves, evenly spaced and firing over the sand bottom, a pushing tide and 25knot cross offshore wind with no one else at the beach. I inflated my 4.5m float and rigged my 950 carve 3.0 foil and skipped down the beach. For an hour and a half I had a wave a minute, each providing clean faces, steep sections and the chance to try manoeuvres which we never get the conditions for at home.

By 10am the gusts had increased to 40knots and I was reaching the top end of my 4.5m wing, so it was time for an Irish breakfast and a change of gear. With my 3.5m unit in hand I headed back out, this time joined by 4 windsurfers to share the stoke. Welcome company in challenging conditions! Another couple of hours of hurling myself off lips and into whitewater. The final day of a trip allows you to push yourself with slightly less concern for your fragile equipment, but remarkably everything survived, the strong wind lifting the wing clear of the foil in each wipeout. I emerged exhilarated, aching and satisfied. Mission accomplished!

So where to travel? For me, 400miles across the Irish sea by ferry provides the same richness of cultural experience, quality of conditions and natural beauty as flying 6000miles to the other side of the planet. Will I go to tropical destinations again? Probably. But it won’t be because I have tired of the wild and remote coastlines of Northern Europe with their endless headlands hiding beaches, reefs and inlets.