Weskus Undisclosed.

Sunday 16 August 2009 - Saturday 22 August 2009

Opportunities don’t magically appear, but if you go with the flow, good things happen. A few weeks back, I was up the West Coast, chilling out at the Surf Shack, vainly waiting for the swell to drop. I was hoping to score the point all to myself. By Pierre Marqua

On the second day, my solitude was interrupted by unexpected neighbors. Ten solid dudes from the South African Navy pulled into the sleepy lobster village – instant rent-a-crowd. Great, there went my solo sessions.

What I remember of Navy guys – based on an earlier interlude with the Mag - is scary. They were mal-kops who would turn the Pig-n-Whistle into the Fight Club. Hard drinking, hard playing soldiers that you didn't mess with unless you were some gnarled parabat three two battalion freak.

Thankfully, I discovered a crew of mates, dedicated, motivated and super friendly.

From the word go they were amped. I told them the swell was too big, and the wind was wrong. But there were having none of it. A long car ride lay behind them. They were going surfing. The point was out, but they knew of a wave not far away that had the potential to be offshore. It was going to be chunky, so I grabbed my cameras and headed off. Opportunity came ‘a knocking.

Potato Bay was heaving, but I didn't see guys wimping out. Wetsuits were donned, and out they went. They were from the official Navy Surf Club. Most of the crew were Navy Divers. Like other sections of the military, the Navy catered for any wave rider, and didn't discriminate. The rank were two kneeboarders, the warrant officer Sean and Bobby Rossouw and a bodyboarder I got to know as Rat. Phil and Clements were surfers, while Matt and Spoon were bodyboarders. Then there was Van from Sandwedge Port in KZN, a surreal waterman comfortable on a surfboard and bodyboard.

While the rest of the crew opted to take on Potato Bay via boogs, Clements made a solid effort on his surfboard. The ease these guys paddled out is testimony to their unique training and fitness (to become a Navy Diver is not easy feat). Initially I thought, hey it looks easy, maybe I go get my board. Then I saw Rat get caught inside on a large set, get nailed big time, and then swept down the beach in minutes. After an hour or so in the water, a few solid waves and many heavy beatings later, everyone was on the beach. They got wet though, and I didn't.

The next couple of days the storm worsened. Attempts were made to surf the next town, but it was dismal. The winds raged and the rain lashed endlessly. The Benguela Barracks, as it become known, hosted surf movies and an endless table tennis tournament. Catering was in shifts with everyone pitching in. I kept to myself mostly, but I was invited for breakfast one morning, and treated to a true Indonesian Breakfast of banana and pineapple pancakes, made by Una, Bobbie's wife from the island of Gilli Air off Lombok in southern Indonesia . For a moment, I was back there.

For a change of pace, this crew set out in bucketing rain to pick up flotsam and jetsam swept in by the storm - amazing to see how many black bags are needed to clean up the junk man discards chucks into the ocean.

The rain began to clear. To clear the cabin fever, Bobby the PTI (Navy Diver Physical Training Instructor) decided that a hike was called for. Now I have been coming to this Point since I was a boy, and I have never been up the mountain so I was game.

After an hour of solid missioning I was greeted by an amazing view. The river was in full flow and the land was green. Only issue was the swell was still massive. The point was closing out across the bay.

The skies were clearing, and the walk down was warm, which served as the catalyst for a scattered session at peaks perceived to be waves. The solitude of the bay remained. Clements claimed a peak in the corner. Some guys took on Wishy Washies. Others attempted the big bowls of Outer Nipples. I again opted not to surf. I came here for the point, and that is what I wanted, but it was still out of control.

The next morning dawned golden and pure. The swell had dropped, the sea was clean, and the wind offshore. But I wasn't the first one out. Each diver had beaten me to the punch. But as it goes, after an hour, they were hungry and I was left alone on the point for the rest of the morning. I finally got what I came for. The point, to myself, not another soul on the beach or in the water. Joy.

By afternoon, the whole crew was in the water again and things started to get a little competitive as slowly but surely the early scouts of the weekend warrior brigade started to arrive in the dorpie. My legs were finished and I ended off the day on the rocks shooting the action, soaking in the post-surf peace that had descended on my soul.

That night, a braai of epic proportions took place on the deck of Benguela. As the sun set over the monkey-shaped mountain, hangovers were discussed, beatings evaluated, and tube time judged.

The next morning, everyone was on the dawnie/ The waves were better than the day before, and the crowd was still far away. Like a shark feeding frenzy the crew attacked the line-up. It puzzled me until I was told they were shipping out in an hour. One by one they all left and vanished over the Dune, thus leaving me to my solitude again. Second morning in a row, the point … all to myself. Stoke.

Upon my return, I found the house deserted. The house was, in true military fashion, cleaned to a spotless perfection, much to the astonishment of the old lady across the road. As it was when I was in the bush during my National Service. Cover your tracks and leave no trace that you were there. And so the Navy surf club pulled out and headed South back to base. Mission accomplished.

Bobby, the cunning waterman that he is opted to stay. We scored the point again and again and again. It's so epic to surf perfect waves with an old friend. A perfect ending to an epic week of R and R. The weekend loomed. My time was up. About 45 guys in the line-up at dawn is not my idea of fun.

It was time to head back to the land of depressing TV news, internet oblivion and cell phone madness. mmm … maybe there's a rugby match today. Bokke!