Surfed and turfed - Umhlanga July 2006

Surfed and turfed.

I have fond memories from childhood holidays in KwaZulu Natal and on our first morning confidently take Tristan by the hand for some body surfing in the strong, warm Durban surf.

KwaZulu Natal is very much “between the flags” swimming and it is of particular importance at Umhlanga where dangerous black rock reefs run diagonally across the beach making bathing treacherous outside the demarcated area.

Standing in knee-deep water explaining in great detail how I will be catching the waves, the sea suddenly retreats like an emptying bathtub. The calm seas and soft, sandy beaches of Cape Town have softened me and I am unprepared for the mini destruction that breaks over us. It is not only the force of the water driving you back that takes you by surprise, but the coarse sand and rocks the size of golf balls that bombard your shins and ankles. As you recover the backwash drags you deeper and the debris that somehow missed you the first time clatters into you at the second attempt.

“Lets get a little deeper”, I shout to Tristan who is temporarily deafened due to the sand in his ears, “The waves won’t break as hard and there won’t be as much sand”. Luckily he can’t argue as he is still coughing up copious amounts of seawater.

The plan set, we brace for the next barrage, then fight the backwash as one wave after the other crashes into us. 3 steps back, 4 forward trying to remain upright. One step and the sea floor drops from beneath your feet and you flounder on tiptoes at the mercy of the current, the next you stub your toe and stumble forward over a sand bank.

Eventually we find our footing and I decide to take the next wave. A perfect takeoff and I immediately find myself on the crest, suspended a metre in the air looking down on….. a black rock floor beneath me. Pulling out saves me from certain death and I am tossed around by the wave like a sock in a full wash cycle. When I am eventually able to come up for air, I fight my way back to Tristan, who is by now a few metres away and moving further out, grab him by the hand and head for the shore. “Dad” he splutters, eyes blinking madly from the salt “I don’t like Body surfing”.