Big Stevie’s surf story

BY EMMET McELHATTON

e.mcelhatton@ulsterherald.com

If you detect the smell of burning burgers mingling with the sea breeze by Rossnowlagh’s lifeguard station some Sunday morning, chances are you are standing downwind from Big Stevie McMahon’s post-surf cook up.

The local surf legend never misses the chance to break out his almost lorry-length longboard, or his barbeque.

As he stands, spatula in hand, surrounded by the ‘Rossi-Posse’ (local surfers), you might take the hairy-chested burger-flipper to be the pater familias of the group, but the truth is that Stevie is a Fintona man who came to surfing relatively late in life.

Big Stevie took his first surf lesson in Bundoran 12 years ago, and like a regretless addict fondly recalling his first hit, he says, “and I was hooked from the first wave”.

I spoke with Stevie to find out how he got into it, what he gets out of it, and his favourite spots to get on it.

“Somebody mentioned to me that this surfing carry on was supposed to be great craic, so not one to let great craic slip by, I booked a lesson.”

And in Donegal’s ‘Las Vegas’ of Bundoran, the land of sand and casino, Big Stevie hit the jackpot and ever since he has watched the waves roll in.

“I started surfing at Tullan Strand  n Bundoran and I was loving it, but when I caught a Rossnowlagh wave, things were elevated to another level.”

The waves at Tullan Strand can be scary, two waves sometimes converging to form a towering peak that can crash on a surfer, torpedoing them nose-first toward the seabed, holding them inside the maelstrom beneath the surface.

Whereas Rossnowlagh is comparatively tranquil. The sea is better tempered, more content. On a good day, each wave respects the next, affording it space to form and break of its own accord.

“When you hit Rossnowlagh on the right day, it’s magic,” says Stevie, true love in his voice.

Covid has generated a tsunami of new surfers, and some people reckon there aren’t enough waves in the sea to go around.

“Experienced surfers get indignant and give off that there isn’t enough space, complaining that the sea is overcrowded, and that people are wasting waves; but in Rossnowlagh people are as happy to see you catch a wave as they are to catch one themselves. We are soul-surfers.

“Don’t get me wrong, there are hundreds of good spots up and down the coast, and the Irish surf community tend to be better natured than their counterparts in other countries, but Rossnowlagh is particularly relaxed.”

Stevie describes it as an inclusive space that opens its arms to all ages and abilities, but even Eden isn’t without the odd snake.

“In a rare incident of bad manners, some young fella shouted at me the other day, ‘are you not too old to be surfing?’,” sniggers Stevie, “And what happened next was beautiful; I didn’t even have to speak. I just lifted my finger and pointed to Barry Briton, a 69-year-old of genuinely heroic status in Rossnowlagh, who was coming cruising in toward the beach on a wave, shoulders slumped, style still hanging off him.”

When Stevie looked round to see the cub’s face, he had vanished, dematerialised by the sheer style of the beardy-buck sailing shoreward.

Anyone who hasn’t tried it, take a leaf from the big man’s book and never let the opportunity for great craic give you the slip.

You might be adrenalised by the speed of the wave. Perhaps you’ll find friendship and camaraderie at the barbeque.

Or maybe your heart will be stolen by the starry water around you as you watch sun setting on the Atlantic horizon.

Guess you’ll not know until you’re wet.