Part of the Silence

I hear the helicopter just seconds before it looms overhead, its dark shape low enough that I can feel the downforce from its rotor blades, which whips up my hair, mixing it with the spray flying across the sand.

I turn to watch it, the sun briefly dazzling me, and then, just as quickly, it’s gone. Retrieving my towel from where it’s been blown across the beach, shaking the wet sand from it, I’m only idly curious. Around here, it’s not uncommon to be buzzed by a low-flying helicopter on its way to rescue an inexperienced climber or an injured surfer. There are any number of beaches along this stretch of the north Cornish coastline that are not easily accessible by road. I turn my attention back to the waves just in time to see Rick catch a glassy barrel, then gracefully ride it to shore. After picking up my board, I go to join him.