I was climbing the path to Steeple Point.

Towards the top, the land falls steeply away, rapidly becoming a cliff face that drops vertically to the rocks below.

With the tide in, these rocks are covered by sea – Atlantic rollers reaching their nemesis on the Cornish coast.

From up here, you watch those big swells roll in.

They build, curl and crash forward in a welter of foam, sparkling in the sunshine. Piling over the back-tow of their predecessors, they waste themselves on the pebble ridge.

There are intricate patterns of foam, constantly changing, highlighting myriad currents and cross-currents.

That morning, there was nobody in sight.

I was enjoying the aloneness. . . the warmth of the sun . . . the smell of salt in the air. . .  the sound of waves on rocks.

The sea was still heavy from an earlier gale

There was a slight breeze, I remember.

And then this guy appears below me on a surf board.

The waves were sweeping in from around the Point. He had been hidden out there as I climbed.

So, it wasn’t my sole world after all. There were two of us – the one holding a camera and idly watching, the other intently doing.

It was so totally unexpected. I felt a little shocked – a bit put-out.

Then I felt admiration – what a great ride in such a beautiful place.

And then a change of mood –  sudden concern because of what I could see from my vantage point.

A moment of doubt burst into this memorable day.

The concern was all mine, of course.

Whatever I saw, whatever I thought might happen, was way beyond my control.

He didn’t care. He knew what he was doing. He was having a ball.

I could only watch, my concern pointless.

Let him get on with it.

He paddled out to catch another wave. I continued my walk.

Two separate lives enjoying  the same space, viewing it through different eyes.