Session Magazine’s serial contributor Dylan Stott also plays a role of guardianship and chaos regulator to Ireland’s most famed break. In a recent flurry of WhatsApp messages, Dylan was adamant that the winter 2025-2026 swells at Mullaghmore could not be contained by a single story. So, he offers snapshots from several of western Ireland’s most radical moments told in the first person point of view of being a part of the maelstrom, while also bearing witness to the legacy of others.


PART I

I Can Die Now: Natxo Gonzales

Very deliberately, I pressed the red stop-engine button on my jetski wanting to be absolutely certain that when I jumped into the water to hug Natxo, the ski was not going to motor off into the rocks or out into the open sea. I jumped off while he was screaming long vowels. I pressed that red button fifteen minutes ago. The screaming and hugging were fine, but the sobbing got awkward.

Natxo was still hugging me when his sobbing started, his eyes focused on something in the middle distance, something not there. After the long vowel yell and after screaming, “I can die now,” for like, the fiftieth time, his voice finally gave out.

He just kept hugging me tight, making noises like a punctured whoopie cushion, and sobbing deeply. Both of us were floating up to our chins in water, hugging through our winter wetsuits. Even with all that rubber I could still feel his warm tears on my neck.

It was awkward even though I knew certain things. I knew this was the best wave I’d ever seen paddled into. I knew it was all the more profound because Natxo had only recently recovered from a serious brain injury. He spent two years at war with nausea, mood swings and extreme vertigo, bookended by successive concussions in Mexico and failed electroshock therapy in some secret cave in Austria. The flood of relief.

But it was still awkward.

I was relieved when Nic came and Natxo started hugging him too. I thought I could finally swim away, but Natxo would not let me go. I was locked in a three-way awkward floating man-hug when Gary, who has speakers, like, actually in his jetski, put on “Driving Home for Christmas”, by Chris Rea. Everyone started waving their arms to the music.

Everyone except me and Natxo and Nic. We were locked in an awkward, happy, sobbing sea-hug.

Natxo squeaked again, saying something I could not fully understand through his blown out vocal chords.

Nic looked up at me and translated, “He’s saying ‘Mom, I’m coming. I’m coming home, Mom.”


PART II

Infinite Elephant:
Tom Lowe

In Ireland, nearly all of the schools are religious, either Catholic or Protestant. My nine-year-old son, Axel, picked this particular photo out of the bunch on the table and said that Tom Lowe surfing this wave reminded him of an infinite elephant.

How fascinating it is that on this Christian-saturated island, where Tom Lowe is mentioned at least once a week, but we hardly ever mention Jesus Christ.

“I like the effs,” I said, complimenting my hobbit-sized son on his use of assonance. Then I could not help but ask, “How come Lowey reminds you of an infinite elephant?”

“Because he’s always there surfing the biggest wave and he’s… always there.”

“He’s a presence,” I offered.

“Yea, he’s a present,” he agreed. “A present that keeps coming back.”

“You mean coming back to Ireland?”

“No, he comes back after being killed,” he said.

“Like Jesus?”

“No, not like Jesus,” my son said, “like an infinite elephant.”

 

PART IV

The Blender:
Matt Etxebarne

I was out the back when I saw this guy let go of the rope. I shook my head and promptly forgot about it until I saw this shot. There is a lot going on. The driver on the ski in the foreground is going to pick up a surfer who fell on the previous wave. The surfer who kicked out on the first wave of the set was trying frantically to paddle his tiny tow-board over each consecutive incoming bigger wave. Then there was - of course -Matt who predictably ate shit shortly after this photo was taken. His wing hit the boils.

The head of safety at Mullaghmore said a foil at Mully is like throwing a Grizzly Bear into a crowded public swimming pool. It’s a lot of effort to do something that turns an already dangerous situation into a kill zone. Matt went over the falls with his foil and the surfer who was trying to paddle the tow board over the set. Three surfers were in the blender with that blade. “Are we being smart lads?” Clem asked, not expecting an answer as the lads were still underwater.

 

PART III 

The Mantra:
Nic Von Rupp

We put three life vests on Nic von Rupp when he was still a teenager in 2009. That was before the pull vests came around. This December, Nic has been a presence at Mullaghmore. He’s aware that putting on three life vests way back when was a very special time and place to be alive. 

Nic is now old enough to be wise out here, and still young enough to be dumb which is a pretty rad combination of talents. On the paddle sessions this December, Nic would paddle back out saying, “That was the wave of my life,” over and over again. After the sixth or seventh time, he shortened his mantra to just “Wave of my life!” The waves of his life kept coming to him and he kept up his chant until the very end.

Then, he said once again, “That was the wave of my life.”

 

PART V 

Winning Hearts:
Luca Padua

Because of the current geopolitical state of the world and America’s role in it, there were — at first — some G.I Joe cracks made at Luca’s ‘God Bless America ‘attitude, his Special Force’s style beard, and the stars and stripes badge on his baseball cap. But once the crew saw Luca surf, those comments turned into something more like admiration.

Luca hops over boils when he surfs and uses all of his Laird Hamilton School of Doing Tough Shit knowledge to get through some of the gnarliest moments.

“That’s great gas,” Clem said of Luca’s military salute claim when this wave spit him out. Gas in Hiberno-English can be translated to fun.

“Love the salute. I gotta give it to you Americans. Ye are all entertaining.”

 

PART VI

Pure Character
(Shambles) McGoldrick

Those of you who are my readers (hi Mom!) of Session Magazine will remember me going deep into the lore of Shambles. You already know that I think his genius lovably opposes most of our natural human constructs like linear time, capitalism, and paperwork.

His yin is genius, his yang is chaos in perfect sync with universal flow.

Shambles is a modern day W.B Yates. A banjo player first and foremost, but a bodysurfer deep down in his soul. A poet who carries that sponge around just in case he needs a turbo boost.

 

PART VII

The Weight of Being: Noah Lane

One way or another, this image represents how all of us felt at the end of December, just two days before Christmas at the end of the Year of the Snake.

This photo represents all of us. Some were elated at the end of December having seen lifetime dreams arrive and attained goals of a lifetime. Others felt defeated having gone through the bone grinder for twenty days straight and coming away with nothing.

The weight of the 2025 December run of waves in Ireland felt heavy either way. And, the whole community bowed their collective heads in reverence to our beloved Mullaghmore.