The Day That Went Pearshaped

Friday 27 August 2010

Lone surfer Kimon de Greef tries to patch a gaping hole in the fabric of time and space torn apart when a mysterious stranger with straggly blonde hair and burning green eyes paddles into the lineup at an empty reef break near Cape Town.

I went for a surf at a secluded reef-break that I know, and ended up meeting probably the weirdest dude that I ever have. He was seriously far out. I'd taken off lectures that morning and arrived in the car park just as the sun began to rise, but there was nobody in the water so I suited up quite slowly in case someone arrived to paddle out with me. Nobody came. That place gives me funny vibes sometimes but I could see that there would be waves, so I locked my door and started along the sharp gravel walkway to the beach.

The sand was cold against the soles of my bare feet and it felt damp too. I sank in as I stepped off the path. I could hear angry gulls shouting at each other over the wind and I could smell the sharp pong of rotting kelp. I headed towards the headland at the end of the bay. The beach was deserted except for the birds, and I turned back again to see if anybody had pulled in. Mine was still the only car there.

I reached the jump-off spot. Spray from waves against the rocks whipped my cheeks as it flung past me in the whistling air. I bent to tighten my leash, and waded through a shallow gulley into thigh-deep water. My fingers went numb as soon I started to paddle. I felt nervous – I always do when I surf on my own – and I pulled hard to distract myself from thoughts of you know what. Soon I was nearing the backline about a hundred meters offshore.

The waves were good. They ran past in slowly bending lines and crashed against mussel-crusted boulders on the shore. Some hit a barrel section about halfway down and went seriously hollow. I guessed that it was about four foot – big enough to be taken seriously – and already going thick on the dropping tide. I sat wide and watched a set roll through before paddling over and positioning myself in the frothing takeoff zone.

I must have surfed for about fifteen minutes when I noticed another surfer picking his way along the rocks. I was stoked. I hadn't scored a decent ride yet and I was still feeling edgy out there by myself, so I was happy at the prospect of sharing the lineup. I saw him stretch a bit but then he disappeared behind some bushes and I didn't see him again. I'd ridden another two mediocre waves by the time he joined me at the back.

“You're not taking off deep enough man,” he called out as soon as he was near enough. I nodded in response. “Ja I know bru, I'm struggling to line up properly here.” He stared at me with green eyes.

“I've been watching you surf for the last hour. Every time you get the chance to backdoor the section, you jump off the back. Are you scared or what?” I was a little bit confused – I'd only been out for twenty minutes. “Are you sure?” I asked, “I haven't been in the water that long.” He nodded at me with a serious expression but said nothing.

He was quite strange looking, with straggled blond locks and a tufty mustache. He had a really thin neck. His wetsuit was lank old, like a faded Reef from the nineties or something, and his board was yellow and green. “Do you surf here much?” I asked, having never seen him before, and he nodded the same serious nod. Silence. I tried again. “Waves are decent hey?”, but this time he ignored me completely and bent to fiddle with his booties. I didn't know what to do, so I paddled a little further out and turned to face the ocean.

Almost immediately I felt a tug on my leash strap. “Hey man! Watch it, you can't just paddle to the inside like that.” He sounded genuinely annoyed; I wasn't sure if this was his idea of a joke. “Inside paddle? But you just got out here,” I pointed out. “I'm on the inside already.” He frowned and shook his head.

“You wouldn't be on the inside if we were surfing a right. And I got here long before you.” This was getting ridiculous. I sat up on my board. “You did not get here long before me bru. I just watched you paddle out. And what do you mean 'if we were surfing a right'? That's irrelevant. This is a left!” I was tempted to tell him that he was being a complete chop too but I stopped myself. I wasn't sure I wanted to provoke this guy in case things got even weirder.

“Do you know who I am?” he suddenly asked me. I shrugged, confused. “Well I'm Rob Machado. Ja that's right Rob Machado. And this is my local break and I don't feel like your nonsense okay?” This was just ridiculous. I was surfing with a loon. “Rob Machado? From California? Yes I can see how this would be your local. I forgot just how much you love flying over for the early session.” I was fed up.

This guy was threatening to ruin my morning and he hadn't even been out for five minutes. Flipping monkey. I turned away again and paddled further across the reef – too far out to catch anything, even – just to get away from him for a bit. Angrily I faced the ocean. I'd rather have been left alone with the sharks.

I'd been sitting there a short while when I saw a set crease the horizon. It looked bigger than anything else that had come through since I'd been out, and I sat at the furthest edge of the reef watching the dark grey bumps approach. The kelp strained as the water started to slowly drain towards the coming swell, tugging against its grip on the bottom, and the first wave began to rear up and feather immediately in front of me. In the right spot after all! I quickly spun and dug my arms in, paddling hard against the backwards suck of the ocean. I could see the reef emptying out below me. The roaring reached its peak, I was just about to get to my feet, and then I noticed Rob Machado windmilling his arms about in an attempt to catch the same wave to my left. He was completely blocking my way.

“Hey hey hey!” I shouted, standing up and starting to drop down the steeply drawing face, “hey I'm on this one!” He ignored me and cut directly across my path. I had no option, I had to straighten out. I swore loudly at him – “You fucking doos!” – as I leaped off my board into the heaving shallows and felt the whitewater explode.

I surfaced in a rage. This ou was too much! I dragged myself onto my board and got dunked by the next three waves before reaching the backline again. My breath was heavy and my heart thumped in my ears. I looked towards the shore to see where he'd gotten to. I was seriously going to tune him this time, the prick. What was he on? I actually felt like throwing him a tight smack. I waited, fuming, and watched the sea settle into patterns of hissing foam. I couldn't spot him anywhere.

I never saw Rob Machado again. For the rest of the morning I was alone in the water. I managed to snag a few absolute bombs, and when I got out and returned to the carpark it was empty except for my bakkie.

He must have left after catching that one wave.