Tour de France
Intro and captions by Justin Brown; All photos by Jimmy Wilson 

The Atlantic can be torture sometimes, especially for Southeastern surfers. One lousy season after another (evident by this year's hurricane season), a swell-dampening continental shelf, a ruler-edged coastline with barely any geographical features to speak of, and as of late, red tide. It's no wonder many in the surfing world think of a place like Florida as the dining-room table of surf destinations -- it just wasn't meant to be surfed. After all, the general west to east weather direction sends most of our swell-producing energy away from us, not towards us. As each color-coded swell blob skirts off into the North Atlantic, we make due with background scraps while the real feast is to be had on some distant shore. This October, Hurley teammates Asher Nolan, Michael Powell, Michael Dunphy, and myself decided to get on the proper side of the map and discovered the Atlantic itself isn't to blame -- it's just a matter of positioning.

Asher and Jimmy were chased through the streets of Hossegor for snapping this shot.

You spend a lot of time checking spots in France. There are just so many sandbars, you always feel like there's a better one just around the corner. Michael D and Michael P, contemplating.

There are no givens on a surf trip. You pick your dates and hope for the best -- it's all part of the excitement. But when it's your job to make the trip productive, it can get a little stressful. That's where Asher comes in. You just don't plan a photo trip without this guy. Come hell or high water, you're comin' home with good images when Asher's there.

The sandbars in France are really similar to the sandbars in Cape Hatteras, NC, where I grew up. Only with a lot more sand and a lot more swell.

With war relics always in plain view, it's hard not to wonder if there's still a couple mines planted in these dunes.

French life is as much about bread and pastry as it is cheese and wine.

Gabe made a guest appearance on the trip in between 'CT heats down in Spain. As diehard Jacksonville Jaguars fans, Gabe, Asher, and Jimmy posted up each Sunday at the local bar to root on their team over internet radio. Between the three of them there was enough black and teal Jags gear to open a gift shop. I think they went 2-0 in France, which is good because had they lost, Jimmy would have been too depressed to shoot any more photos.

The good thing about having groms on a trip is that it's like having little personal assistants on hand. Dish duty, trash disposal, luggage loading -- you name it, they're on it. Michael Dunphy, earning his keep.

Every time La Graviere broke, multiple ambulance visits followed. We assumed the spot's name translated to "The Grave," but turns out it just means gravel. Jason Apparicio, mid-reset on a dislocated shoulder.

This is the face you make when you're used to checking First Street Jetty, Virginia Beach, and then turn your eyes on the heaving beachbreaks of France.

This is a WW2 pillbox bunker. Apparently, they are too costly and too difficult to destroy (which I guess is the whole point), so soldiers just left them there.

Jimmy was working on these angles with the sand in the foreground. Here he nails one of Michael Powell and even manages to get a passing fisherman in the frame.

Michael Powell missed a couple weeks of school at UNC Wilmington to go on this trip. And though every trip is a great learning experience, sometimes it takes that one session or that one wave to make it truly memorable and worthwhile. Here's Michael on the last day of the trip, happy to play catch up.