It's been nearly 250 years since Captain James Cook gave Westerners the first written description of surfing and in the intervening years writers haven't progressed far beyond Cook's description. Surfing, it would seem, is a terribly hard thing to describe.

For this reason it's surfing's extraneous factors – competition and celebrity, design, travel – that have made for the best surf writing. Surprisingly it's the last one – surf travel writing – that is the least explored. Of course you can pick up any surf magazine and read a surf travel feature but the cultural dimension is usually a very distant backdrop to the surfing. This could be anywhere, this could be everywhere.

UK author and pro longboarder, Sam Bleakley, is an exception to the rule with his two books of surf travel essays, Surfing Brilliant Corners and Surfing Tropical Beats. In many respects they're both standard travel books, each chapter covering a different country or coastline, but Bleakley distinguishes himself by immersing himself in the relevant cultures, researching their histories and then weaving them all into the written mix.

Bleakley is one quarter of the surfEXPLORE team, a tight-knit brigade of travellers who've made a name for themselves owing to the destinations they choose and the manner they travel. Together the surfEXPLORE team research, fund, explore little-known coastlines, and then write photo-illustrated articles for a network of publications to fund further trips. The other three surfEXPLORE members are photographer John S. Callahan, who's excellent work features in both books, Emiliano Cataldi and Erwan Simon.

But it's the author of these two books who's work comes under scrutiny. Sam Bleakley, a lanky longboarder from Cornwall with a degree in Geography, shows himself to be a crafty young cat. Yet it's not Bleakley's knowledge of the natural world that guides his writing, rather he's found an unlikely muse - 1950's jazz - and employs it to (mostly) good use. The first book in particular, Surfing Brilliant Corners, the title is adapted from a 1957 album by Thelonious Monk, features regular jazz references.

It's tempting to say he riffs on the references. Like a jazz piece that falls back into the riff after each player lets fly with their solo Bleakley's point of reference is the similarities between surfing and jazz. He does this through essays with titles such as Haitian Fight Song, Manila Dawn, West African Highlife, and the Birth of Cool. It's said that when an author writes their first book they go to what they know and Bleakley wears his knowledge of jazz as proudly as a sharp tailored suit.

The prose is dense and at times verges into stream-of-conscience musings. Long sentences and long paragraphs sometimes make the narrative hard to break into. Like a riff that doesn't sit well, you can try but still not get into it. Then, when you do, the reward is more than worthwhile.

Stylistically, however, Bleakley is prone to overdoing metaphor in Surfing Brilliant Corners, and at the risk of overdoing it myself, Bleakley's writing is akin to a longboarder spending time out on the tip. It's a balancing act but occasionally he's out there too long and the story sinks under the weight.

Surfing Tropical Beats is the second book and is a more subtle affair. Although Charles Mingus gets namedropped on the first page – the first paragraph, in fact – Bleakley ropes in his jazz routine, yet, when he does employ it, it's to great effect. The power of a lighter touch is very evident.

Surfing Tropical Beats concerns itself with travels between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. Relentless humidity, post-colonisation politics, confounding bureaucracy, and dark skin locals are the elements that get woven into these ten essays that show the qualities of a maturing writer.

Surfing Brilliant Corners and Surfing Tropical Beats are published by Alison Hodge and available online through Woodslane.