For sheer stress relief there’s nothing quite as effective as trying to catch the surf along the Irish coastline – especially if you can follow it up afterwards with a nice warm bath. Emma Cullinan gave both a try in Inchydoney.

The rain advances towards my window across the sandy bay, splattering against the glass in heavy bursts carried by periodic surges of wind.
When I had accepted an invitation to go surfing – half an hour before – the sun had been out, although even then it was just providing weak heat. This was an Irish spring after all.
It just seemed a deliciously ridiculous thing to do. To venture into a winter-cooled sea and learn something new. The rest of my party wasn’t keen – and with whale watching and facials in the Inchydoney Thallasotherapy spa on offer as alternatives, I could understand why.
But that human need to try new things and also relive spectacular past moments nagged: my childhood Christmas plunges into the sea – with a clutch of siblings and cousins – were obviously calling. The best childhood memories involve the sea and yet, as adults, most of us steer clear of the briney.
Rod was waiting for me at the West Cork Surf School hut. He was standing in for the owner Colum, who had made a snap decision to surf in Bali for three weeks. News was out that the surf was up out east.

Rod had just finished his day job in Cork and driven down here to finish the working week instructing me to ride waves.
“I thought we’d have to call it off for a moment there,” said Rod, referring to the recently departed rain storm. It’s good to know that even seasoned surfers don’t feel the need to brave the sharpest of elements.

Having rolled rubber up over our bodies – to defy the cold sea – we waddled in our wetsuits over to the surfboards. The only other natural substance I’ve slid across is snow and the equipment – in the form of skis and snow boards – doesn’t come much taller than the person they’re attached to. So when a nine-foot surfboard is handed to me I wonder how I’ll ever control the thing both in the water and out. If you carry one on your own the wind turns you into a human sand-yacht.

The only other natural substance I’ve slid across is snow and the equipment – in the form of skis and snowboards – doesn’t come much taller than the person they’re attached to. So when a nine-foot surfboard is handed to me I wonder how I’ll ever control the thing both in the water and out. If you carry one on your own the wind turns you into a human sand-yacht.

The two of us carry one end each and walk past the front of the Inchydoney hotel – and its decently dressed clients – in our black skin-tight suits and head calmly down a slipway into the sea. As we descend into the water I discover that wetsuits work wonderfully.

The waves are small, which is a relief. I hop up onto the board, lying tummy down with my toes tucked over the back. Lesson one is on how to catch a wave. “Paddle, paddle, “says Rod as a breaker comes my way and I do a pathetic front crawl – arms outstretched across the board – happy in the knowledge that Rod will give me a push to assist propulsion. I instantly understand the appeal of surfing as I glide into shore on substantial wave power. Exhilarated I grab the board and head straight back out to sea. I really, really want to do that again……and again.

After four tries Rod breaks the news that I really should try to stand up. We wade out onto the beach, lie the board onto the sand (digging a hole for its rudder-thingy) and he demonstrates. “You lie on your tummy like this. You tuck your toes under like this and then you….” Flip, suddenly he’s standing up.

“Some people,” he smiles indulgently, “cheat and get onto their knees first, before standing.”
I don’t feel ready to mock such a two-phase advancement to an upright position. Had I had about six month’s warning I could have toned my stomach and arm muscles to aid the upward propulsion. Instead I just lay on my stomach, on a board, on a beach – watch by a fit surfing instructor – wondering how I was going to get my body from down to up in nought to two seconds.
It happened – with a lot of effort – but it can’t have been a beautiful sight because Rod was soon eating his mocking works. “You might want to try kneeling first,” he suggested.
Back into the sea, wave comes, I pretend to paddle, Rod pushes the board and I’m off. Crawl onto knees and then up, a bit too late, just standing on a motion-free board long after thee wave has broken.

Determination takes over – I go again. Stand up, fall off, go through a spin cycle under water, find feet, back out to sea and again. I’m torn now; Rod is getting colder and colder but insists I carry on. “You have a go and warm up,” I say, but he won’t.

As I get churned under water, struggle to stand up and wade endlessly back out to sea I’m having the best time. I haven’t laughed so consistently for ages – probably due to weakness and helplessness as well as the feel good negative ions being hurled around by the sea.
Climbing back onto the board becomes more and more of a fish flop – if the whale watchers came by now they’d surely think they’d found a prize (albeit beached) specimen. I’m drenched, I’m exhausted and pathetically giggly and gliding helplessly along on waves. I don’t really crack the standing – only ever getting to my feet long after the wave has gone.
Eventually Rod is beginning to turn blue with cold and I’m turning to jelly, so we head back to the hut. Then the cold hits and luxury, I pad next door to the Inchydoney hotel, run a very deep hot bath and bliss out – happy that I pushed myself to do something that was bit of a struggle.
For all the relaxation treatments available to stressed out office workers – the best antidotes to everyday life are up mountains and in the sea.