| The Pushup Coast |
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They’re big blokes, all four of them, standing around the barbie, beers in hand. Listening.The fifth bloke, the biggest of the lot, like Willy Mason big, a comp-surfer turned deep-sea fisherman named Robert Pollock, is getting to the end of his shark story. It’s the one where a White Pointer gets between him and the beach in chest-deep water, and charges.
The big blokes sip their beers. No-one tries to crack a joke, no-one even swears. And no-one doubts the story for a second.
| | Greg Emslie floating, Mossel Bay | Photo: Oakley |
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There are some stereotypes you can take to the bank. That a surfer wearing a scarf will be from Bondi, that deep-sea fishermen are among the hardest bastards you’ll ever meet, and that South Africa is chock full of big sharks.
Outside around the fire, Tom Whitaker, Adam Melling, Brent Dorrington, Greg Emslie, Davey Weare and Royden Bryson do their best to ignore big Rob and his spellbound audience. It’s the last night of the trip, and they’ve had a gutful of shark stories.
| | Davey Weare absolutely annihilating a Mossel Bay lip. | Photo: OakleyMorris |
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The 'S' Word
We should have seen it coming. Despite every assurance from the local boys that there were never any attacks in Summer, and anyway, there hasn’t been one in this part of the country for at least a few years, we can’t get the bloody things out of our heads. Welcome to South Africa.
With a big crew at least the odds were narrowed, and having the country’s best surfers with us at least meant an attack would at least go down in a blaze of glory in the South African media. Former World Junior champ Seth Hulley was our guide, and brought the cream of South African’s current generation along with him: Emslie, Davey and Royden. Greg and Davey have ruled the country’s scene through the last decade, and Royden, heading into his second year on the WCT, is one of the most genuinely exciting goofyfooters in the world right now. For the South Africans, this trip was a tune-up before their tour-year started, and a chance to show the Aussies a part of their coastline even they don’t see too often. For Whits, Melling and Brenno, it was a chance to get beyond Durban and Jeffreys Bay, the only parts of the country they ever see on tour, and get stuck into some uncrowded, rarely-seen waves.
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But first, the shark problem has to be addressed. While there’s not a whole lot we’re going to be doing about them in the water, we can at least rein in a bit of the paranoia, and a ten pushup penalty is set for anyone who mentions the word ‘shark’ at any point, for any reason. Doesn’t sound like much, but when they’re the topic of conversation at least forty times a day, someone’s going to get stuck doing a lot of pushups. No-one is spared. The game had started in the Oakley house in Hawaii with the word ‘mine’, as a twisted way of ensuring no-one claimed anything, even on land. Pushups for answering a question with the word ‘mine’ were still being dealt out even now, and Whits, Melling and Brenno all managed to trick each other into a few sets in the aisle on the plane over, which at least proved an entertaining way of passing a few minutes on a 14 hour flight.
| | The price you pay for a lapse in concentration mentioning the 'S' word. | Photo: Morris |
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After a stopover in Johannesburg with a trip downtown for Ostrich steaks, then a fog-bound flight in a tiny plane over the mountain cricketer Hanse Cronje flew into, we got to the Western Cape.
We’re met at the tiny airport by Royden, who spends the next hour telling us about the waves south of Durban. “If you’re a South African surfer, you don’t need to go to Indonesia. There are plenty of waves worth losing a leg for up there,” he says with a dry, wry smile. We’re a bloody long way from the warm water surfing super-centre of Durban, but we quickly find our part of the coast, called the Garden Route, is littered with setups.
Wherever you go, you’re always comparing it to what you know, and the Garden Route could almost be any bit of coast in Australia. One day we surf beachies like 13th in Victoria, another we’re somewhere that’s a dead-ringer for the Central Coast, and the next day it’s like we’re down south WA.
| | Tom Whitaker launching, Victoria Bay | Photo: Oakley |
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| | Brent Dorrington, Vic Bay | Photo: Oakley |
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With a howling onshore to kick off our trip and the exchange rate fully in our favour, we head out to get stuck into the African wildlife, and the restaurant down the road obliges with Warthog ribs and fillets of Springbok. Before anyone gets too comfy, the power goes down. South Africa’s running out of energy, and until a new power plant is built, blackouts are a part of life. Our waiter, who Royden’s convinced has been getting stuck into the local mushrooms, brings out candles and gets on with his night.
Royden and Seth check a few spots at dawn, eventually rounding the troops and heading for Victoria Bay, a right point that hosts the SA national championships. The wave is a regional classic but when we roll up Roy and Seth are embarrassed to find it’s the worst they’ve ever seen it, but Tom, Melling, Brenno and Royden shake out the travel dust on the end section ramps. It’s a classic location, a small bay with a few tiny hotels and houses along one side, a cliff along the other and a rippable wall running down the rocks with a beachbreak left running into the end section. It’s not world class, but with only two other blokes out, it’ll do.
Greg Emslie and Davey Weare hook up with us after the surf and we’re now a fully operational crew with six pro surfers and a coast full of potential. We also have more onshores, and rain.
| | Royden Bryson, Vic Bay | Photo: Oakley |
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| | Adam Melling, Vic Bay | Photo: Oakley |
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Time to see the wild beasts.
“Don’t stand up too quickly, and only pat it on the side. DO NOT touch its head.” The young ranger helpfully drags a small tiger awake, and it starts gnawing on his leg as he motions Brenno over. “Phwoarh, no way! I’m not going near that thing!” Brent says as he inches over anyway, mesmerised. Although it’s only a few months old, the tiger is already as big as Brenno, but unfortunately for the rest of us on the other side of the fence, seems completely disinterested in the little fella.
| | Brent D experiencing South African wildlife | Photo: Oakley |
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Unimpressed, photographer Billy Morris heads into the part to find more action, and comes across the crocodile enclosure, where an ancient shark-diving cage hangs on a winch above a pool holding three large, fat crocodiles. Whits volunteers straight off the bat, but as the cage is lowered into the water and the winch operator helpfully drops it on one of the croc’s tails, no-one’s laughing. Or at least, no-one who’s in the water. Fortunately, the crocs seem almost as uninterested in Tommy and the cage as the Tiger was with Brenno, and barely moves.
| | Billy Morris and Tom Whitaker, diving with crocs. | Photo: Oakley |
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In what’s fast-becoming a pattern, Royden’s up at dawn next day and champing at the bit. He knows there’s swell around, but by the time the troops have rallied the wind’s up and as the mountains behind us gather clouds to them, it starts raining again. We head out anyway, east this time towards Knasnya, South Africa’s token coastal hippy-town.
We stop for a pie in the main street, and the power goes down as we’re standing in the bakery. Immediately all the shops begin closing up, and out of nowhere, machine gun-wielding police appear around the bank. It’s another reminder we’re a long way from home, as if the shanty-town slums on the outskirts of every municipality weren’t a constant reinforcement. We hear different stories of the standard of living in the lean-to shacks we pass each day. Some of the Saffers tell of hovels with roofs that barely keep the rain out but are chock-full of pimping electronic gear and huge home theatre systems, while others tell completely different tales, of the families who do own a TV making sure someone’s home at all hours on telly duty to make sure it doesn’t get nicked.
| | Davey Weare, hand in the elephant's mouth. | Photo: Oakley |
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The Wreck
On the other side of the mountains the weather clears, and after an hour of wrong turns down dirt tracks, we find a beach called the Wreck. Long lines organise themselves into bowly peaks and round left and right barrels. It’s pumping.
Although they’d never surfed here before, Davey and Royden know a few of the crew in the dirt carpark, and all of them can’t stop talking about how cold the water is. It’s sunny and hot on land – how bad can it be?
Suiting up on the beach, Greg points out how none of the guys in the lineup are actually sitting on their boards. Everyone’s lying flat, hands and feet in the air, out of the water. No-one needs to point out the dead seal on the beach, or the other dead seal to two large pieces sticking out of a wheelie bin.
Royden and Brenno paddle out, get barrelled on their first waves, and are back on the beach in five minutes. “I can’t feel my feet!” yelps Brenno.
Melling, in a shortarm steamer, comes in after a couple. “This is definitely the coldest I’ve ever been. It’s colder than Scotland,” he says, borrows a long-arm wetsuit vest from Davey, puts it on over his wetty and paddles back out again.
Having been told the water’s warm down here in Summer, all Whits has with him is boardies and a vest but he’s out there anyway, only coming in when he tries to pull his vest down after a wave, but finds he’s so numb he’s grabbing his own skin, not the rubber. The freezing water is due to some sort of upwelling caused by east swells and west winds, and the locals decide it’s about 10 degrees. It hurts to paddle, every duckdive takes five minutes off the session and with no-one wearing more than 2mm of rubber, the cold beats everyone back to the beach.
| | The Wreck pumping. Pity the water temp was a chilly 10 degrees | Photo: Morris |
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As we look for somewhere to eat that night in George, the biggest town in the area, the power goes down again. We find a restaurant with a wood-stove and some candles, and the waitress is delighted to find she’s serving pro surfers. Explaining that her boyfriend is a surfer, the local lass asks everyone at the table for their signatures. Seth signs ‘Gary Elkerton’, and old-mate the boyfriend would no doubt later be surprised, when he reads the napkins, to see that not only Elko, but Kelly Slater, Shane Dorian and Peterson Rosa had been in the house that night.
It’s flat next morning but the ever-optimistic Royden is calling six foot by sunset. We drive west to Mossel Bay and sit on the point marvelling at how good the set up is, and just how little swell is on it. It’s unsurfable. From what we can tell, South African surfing is based around a lot of “if it’s two foot and south-west here, then it’ll be six foot and dredging there”, but if it’s flat, it’s flat, which leads to a lot of “I’ve never seen it this small”-type calls, which is great and everything, except for the fact we’ll probably never get back here again.
We surf Mossel next morning, but it’s not quite doing it, though reassuringly, the boys see a few dolphins. Disconcertingly, there are also seals hanging around the point, but according to locals this isn’t necessarily a bad sign as it means at least there’s other food options for the Sharks, re-named ‘Pushups’ by Seth, who’s been averaging about 40 a day.
After pouring over the weather maps, it’s decided that somewhere has to be pumping next morning, and at first light the crew loads into four different cars to check four different spots. Royden, on a tip from a local, comes through with the goods. A rivermouth further west has burst its banks and created epic beachies, and we pull up to watch a perfect left spit so hard we can see it from the road, over half a k away. Three more heave their guts out and the boys are out there. Down on the beach it’s bigger than it looks, with outer bombies organising the swell into big, swinging peaks. All the boys are on it and into solid standup pits. Everyone’s stoked. The beach is deserted except for two locals.
| | Davey Weare pocket jam, Mossel Bay | Photo: Oakley |
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Wait a minute. A rivermouth? Isn’t that where? Yep.
Barely half an hour into the session, a shout goes up from Emslie. Initially the boys think he’s just swearing to himself as he gets worked trying to punch back out through the whitewater, until we hear the ‘S’ word.
Greggie wears a set on the head, yelling at everyone to get the hell back to the beach as we all turn and do as we’re told. Kicking out of a wave, Greg had seen a two-metre hammerhead cruise toward him through the next wave, and being right in the impact zone and not wanting to get worked with a shark on his tail, had no option but to keep duckdiving until the set passed and he could call everyone in. Back on the beach and with all limbs intact, he wordlessly drops and does his pushups.
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For this story and more checkout issue 235 of Australia's Surfing Life:
The summer was pumping in all corners and the latest issue of Australia’s Surfing Life has all the silly season’s highlights. We eat pies with the next batch of Aussie Dream Tour qualifiers and have a chat with the tour’s Next Big Thing Jordy Smith. We get scared in South Africa, score gold in Mexico and of course, we bring you the regular departments that make ASL the surfer’s best mate.
Once you’ve finished reading the mag, you’re going to have to strap yourself into the couch because bundled with this issue is our latest DVD masterpiece Dialled In, featuring all the epic action from Hawaii and beyond. www.surfinglife.com.au
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