Exhausted from the paddle downstream, I sought a gap in the multitude of surfers, swung my board round and stroked hard. As I popped to my feet for my first ride at St Pardon in three tides, who should be on my outside but a recouperated Silver Surfer. On my inside was a huge oaf we had not seen before, with his shortie hangin down, demanding a gauche, to which I refused to respond, especially with Silver holding his ground on the left. Negotiating one fin was hard enough, and I didn't want to tangle with this Laird look-a-like either, so as we approached marker 12, and I spotted the second wave walling up, I kicked out, lay prone and paddled hard. But it was to no avail as i slipped over the back of the wall, only to be scopped up by a steep three foot face on the third wave. This was more like it, and having the wave to myself, I was able to trim across the face, cut back, put in a bottom turn, and eventually kick out to again be picked up by the fifth wave. Now I was really stoked, so much so that I failed to see the paddler in front of me as I ran aground on his head! Silver also scored some of the following waves, and Wizard, who also encountered Mr Hamilton and his zebedee action, succeeded in avoiding an untimely fate, and rode the second wave right up to the jetty where he pulled out for the next stage of our race to the Garonne.

It was so exciting running up the jetty past the crowds as the other surfers just stood around, and fighting our way through the multitude of dispersing spectators, knowing that the fun hadn't finished yet for us. We were strapping the boards onto the rack, when Philippe suddenly appeared through the foray. He was going to be absent on our final morning, and had commitments to his girlfriend that night, so had come to say farewell. Charged with adrenaline from the ride, I gave him a huge hug, we all proclaimed our deepest gratitudes, and we were off hurtling down the country lanes.

I had decided there was going to be enough light to film again, and so, having conquered Spot X and the Garonne river that morning, I fumbled around in the back organising the camcorder, as Wizard spun us along the rickety French lanes. As we rounded a bend in the small village of Creon, we suddenly ran into Philippe's car. He had decided to put his girlfriend on hold for half an hour to join us for one last wave. The irony was that he was unsure of the correct route having only surfed at X a couple of times, and so after a brief discussion followed us. Now we felt like experienced Mascaret riders, because, afterall, we were leading the locals to their own breaks! Sadly my judgement was erroneous, and as I clambered along a barbed fishing platform to an advantageous filming spot, the evening light started to slip away, making the footage somewhat dark and hazy. I did, however, get a pretty clear view of another perfectly hollow four foot barrel, as Silver this time snuck outside Fabrice and his brother Anthony to ride the shoulder. It was Wizard who again rode the furthest, just stepping out onto the muddy bank as the wave backed off.

Some elderly French locals were somewhat taken aback as I came clambering out of the undergrowth, still donned in my wetsuit, announcing 'au revoir, ca va?!' in my stoke-fuelled delerious state. They just shrugged at one another and mumbled 'anglais'! Walking back to the other bank to rejoin the others, I passed Philippe and said another brief farewell as he hurtled off to meet his waiting girlfriend, somewhat later than planned. The previous night we had been cordially invited to Henri and Anne's house for a meal, and a freshen up. It was the first shower we had had all week, and I knew I needed it! Finally and reluctantly, I resorted to burying my tour tee-shirt in the depths of my ruck-sack and selecting some clean garb for the evening's dinner.