Let’s daydream a little…
When most people think of holidays and surfing, their minds drift south—to Portugal, Morocco, and warmer shores beyond.
We’d had Scotland on our surfing and kitesurfing radar for years. After regular trips to Ireland—and falling head over heels for the place, its glorious winds and perfect waves—Scotland felt like the natural next chapter in our hunt for the Atlantic’s out-of-the-way beaches.
Even more than Ireland, Scotland tends to slip under the average European surfer’s radar. For roughly the same money, you can head somewhere supposedly more exotic, where the sunshine does a bit more of the pampering.
Fine by us. Off they go.
It’s not as if we can’t get our hands on the best wetsuits in the world. And we know the Gulf Stream sends a little warmth our way, even up here.
Having a perfect wave all to yourselves, with just your mates for company and crystal-clear water beneath your boards, is a rare luxury these days… unless you’ve got Scotland on your radar :)
So, in the middle of autumn, five adults, one baby and a seven-year-old boy who was already catching waves piled into two vans and hit the road in search of that perfect, never-ending ride.
We boarded the overnight ferry in Amsterdam, sailed to Newcastle, then headed straight for Thurso in Scotland’s far north—a tip from our fellow surfers at O’Neill Wetsuits in the UK.
Where did we stay? Airbnb, as usual. We rented a comfortable house right on top of a hill, overlooking Thurso Bay, for a very reasonable price. A kitchen, several bedrooms, a garden, and sheep-filled fields all around. Sorted.
On day one, everyone’s jaws hit the floor at the sight of the waves. One of the spots right in Thurso is supposedly among the easiest places in the world to get barrelled. And sure enough, the promised barrels were rolling through like there was no tomorrow. They weren’t exactly small, either. They looked deceptively easy to catch, but we’ve all got a way to go before barrel riding becomes part of our regular repertoire… unless we fluke one, of course.
In October, the water sits at around 10°C, with the air temperature in single figures. A 5mm wetsuit and boots, and you can happily splash about for hours without giving the cold a second thought. Hood optional. No gloves needed.
There are usually a handful of locals in the water, all friendly, welcoming and happy to share a few tips. There’s a proper queue in the lineup, too. Paddle out, wait for the people ahead of you to catch their waves, then take your turn. Civilised stuff, from people who respect those around them. No bullying, no aggro, no tantrums, no localism. Just everyone in black wetsuits, looking like a colony of seals.
So we spent the first week happily battling our way around the spots near Thurso, enjoying the empty lineups, stunning seascapes and sheep-dotted countryside. Expect regular company from actual seals, too, who pop up to inspect these strange visitors—and are quite happy to catch a wave themselves.
Thurso itself isn’t exactly buzzing. Forget nightlife: one pub, five bald blokes, and that’s your party. We didn’t spot much in the way of big tourist attractions, either. There’s a lovely simplicity to the place, though. Very little fuss, plenty of peace, and all the space you need to enjoy the solitude and the scenery.
Supermarket prices? Some things cost more, some less. All perfectly manageable.
Pretty much the whole of northern Scotland is dotted with surfable beaches. There’s plenty to keep you busy… and preferably you’ll have at least two wetsuits. Two sessions a day, one dry suit for each. Between the battering from the North Atlantic and the permanent exhaustion of surfing far too much, we often spent a suspiciously long time sitting in the van, gathering the will to get back out there. The main obstacle? Pulling on the cold, soggy wetsuit from that morning.
Two wetsuits. Trust us ;)
For the second half of the trip, we headed west to the island of Tiree, also known as the Hawaii of the North and the Sunshine Island. Another ferry ride, naturally. Tiree sits in the Sea of the Hebrides, off Scotland’s west coast, and belongs to the Inner Hebrides.
Apparently, it gets less rain than anywhere else in England or Scotland. The sun shone for most of our stay, which feels like a serious luxury when the air temperature is hovering around 10°C.
We found our house through Airbnb again. With an ocean view, of course. Honestly, finding a house without one might be the bigger challenge.
And this island… phew. It went beyond every surfer’s daydream. Absolute sex on the beach.
No other surfers. For the first time in our lives, we surfed perfect conditions and were consistently the best surfers on the beach.
Because we were the only ones :)
Around Thurso, we’d mostly been surfing over rock. Here, it was all white-sand beaches.
And the water… sweet mother of mercy. We’d never seen anything so clear. Ridiculously, impossibly beautiful.
The island is tiny—you can drive around it in a little over an hour. One shop, which has awarded itself the title of best shop on the island :). No proper towns. Around 700 official residents. Glorious solitude.
Beaches wrap around the island’s deeply indented coastline. We found surf on those facing southeast through south to west. Elsewhere, the water was more like a lake, with a couple of windsurfers making the most of it.
There were some properly windy days, but we never quite found the right waves for kitesurfing. With such brilliant surf on offer, the kites stayed packed away.
Beyond surfing, there wasn’t much going on during our island stay—everything seemed to be closed. There was, of course, a whisky and gin distillery, although we never got around to tasting anything. We somehow missed out on the seafood, too.
Before the trip, we’d read online reviews claiming there was practically nothing for visitors to eat on Tiree. Some apparently got so desperate they had food posted over from the mainland. Having read all that, we stuffed both vans with supplies before boarding the ferry.
Complete nonsense, as it turned out. The island shop was well stocked with everything we needed.
Eventually, the mice started working their way through our wildly excessive food stash. They proved to be a bit of an issue—more seemed to appear every day. We even caught one and kept it captive for a while. At first, it seemed like a harmless little creature. A day later, nobody could bear to look at it: it had peed and pooed all over its temporary quarters.
We’d overfed it!
Its temporary quarters, incidentally, were a vegetable drawer from the fridge. All the better for observing our new housemate.
That was life on Tiree: the gentle rhythm of island days, clear blue water and crystal-clear waves. A proper surfing fairytale.
By the end of the trip, every single one of us agreed: we’d definitely be back to Tiree for more peaceful island living and ten-star surf, with the waves all to ourselves.
To finish, the usual handful of facts and tips:5mm wetsuit boots.
• A 5mm wetsuit—ideally two. You may well be getting in twice a day.
• Neoprene hood optional.
• Your own wheels are essential.
• Police: we barely saw any and had no dealings with them.
• Driving: on the left, along very narrow, winding roads.
• The locals: friendly, helpful and happy to give you more than a one-word answer.
• You can, of course, try to spot the Loch Ness Monster and buy the souvenir to prove you tried. Beyond that, the places we visited felt refreshingly untouched by mass tourism.
• Leave the skateboard at home. The tarmac is far too rough.
• Scotland does gin as well as whisky.
• Finding a leg of lamb is no problem, but vegans have claimed shelf space in practically every shop, too.
• Fuel was on the pricey side.
• Currency: pounds sterling.
• Occupation: English, according to the cheekier version of our travel notes.
• With Brexit looming over the conversation, plenty of people we met were hoping for Scottish independence. We’re cheering for Scotland.
• Definitely try haggis.
• Edinburgh struck us as a fairly wealthy city. Out in the countryside, life seemed much more modest. Rural • • Scotland is properly rural.
