The Garden Route and J Bay

The southernmost point in Africa, a place called Cape Agulhas, marks the border between the Indian and the Atlantic Oceans. I had always thought the two oceans met at the Cape Of Good Hope, but that was misinformation spread by The Endless Summer. We'd grown quite comfortable in the Cape Town area but knew we needed to start making our way east, towards Durban, where we drop our Wicked van and catch a plane onward. With around a week until the end of the Billabong Pro in Jeffreys Bay we decided to spend a while cruising on the Garden Route, then roll into J Bay just after the contest had wrapped up. But first we made way for the southernmost tip.

Highway driving in South Africa is bad enough, but I'm not a fan of driving in towns either. At most intersections they have four stop signs; one for each road entering the intersection. It makes thing very confusing as it's never quite clear just who has right of way. It usually works out alright, but I reckon they need more roundabouts. At least they drive on the left, otherwise I'd be in real trouble.

The supermarkets over here sell hot cross buns in July and, I'm hoping, August. I love hot cross buns.

The town of Struisbaai is home to the southernmost backpackers and very close to the southernmost tip of Africa. Softened by a few nights in a Cape Town backpackers we decided that the harsh wind of Cape Agulhas wasn't in our interests and went to suss out the free tea, coffee, wifi and wood heater the southernmost backpackers had to offer. A lot of backpackers in South Africa offer camp sites for less than the price of a dorm room. Some just have a patch of grass in the back yard for tent-pitching, not ideal for a Wicked van, but others have a wide open area with easy access for us to set up camp. It's nice to have proper kitchen facilities and a lounge to hang out in, especially when the weather is bad. The southernmost backpackers had a nice, big backyard for us to stay in.

The Agulhas Current travels from the Indian Ocean around Madagascar and Mozambique down to the sea off Cape Agulhas. It brings with it warm water from the Indian Ocean which makes the water east of the cape significantly warmer than the water on the west coast of Africa and around Cape Town. The Benguela Current carries icy Antarctic water up the west coast and meets the Agulhas current off South Africa. The mix of the two currents brings together some pretty diverse marine life. Creatures that thrive in cold water and enjoy the nutrients carried up from Antarctica meet the warm water dwellers. Because the currents mix and move around with the seasons this place is a unique ecosystem. And, of course, those nasty apex predators benefit too.

There's lots to see and do on the Garden Route. Between Mossel Bay and Plettenberg Bay (roughly)  you can find some really nice coastline and hills and forests and do a huge bungy jump and things like that. While we were there the swell was big and the wind was offshore. We had to ignore urges to run straight to Jeffreys Bay because you can't surf when the contest is on. Mossel Bay is a pretty cool place, nice scenery and stuff. They have a huge sand-boarding dune near there. But while conditions were right we were sort of focussed on finding waves. I surfed a pretty fun peak inside the bay and Mon surfed the beachies, neither of us were particularly frothing, and we had a few places in mind where we could get some waves further along the Garden Route.

The Garden Route runs along a really exposed stretch of coastline, I didn't realise that until we got there. We drove past a series of long beaches that were just out-of-control, chaotic close-outs without much relief. Victoria Bay is a little cove we'd been recommended and were keen to check out. It's a really cool little setup with a row of houses running out along one side and a few little cafes and stuff. There's potential for some fun waves on the point too, but it was maxed-out like the rest of the coast, we did see a massive pod of dolphins cruising along though. A quick look at the map revealed that the next place where there would be some shelter from the swell and maybe a surfable wave was Plettenberg Bay, at the other end of the Garden Route. Figuring we could just come back and do the Garden Route properly we jumped in the van and kept heading east.

The most helpful piece of information we could find in guidebooks about Plettenberg Bay is that the locals call it Plett. There is a pretty popular body-boarding wave there called the Wedge, but I wasn't too keen to break a board, or limb, just yet, and another wave that's supposed to mediocre and very close to a seal colony, so we avoided that one too. Then there's a stretch of beach called that supposedly gets very good very rarely, but after a day of watching unrideable beach-breaks we didn't even bother looking. We dedicated the afternoon to finding a backpackers and getting food etc. Around dark I ran into a couple of local surfers who'd been down at the rarely-good beach and reported it to be in best-ever form. Although crowded, they said, there were barrels big enough to drive a Wicked van through. After kicking myself, I set my alarm for a dawn session.

We found out about a week later that a few years ago a storm ripped through the dunes that separated the beach from an estuary behind, as a result a new river-mouth was formed that now runs along some rocks and forms a perfect sand bank. When I rocked up the next morning and saw perfect right-hand barrels running down the bank I was stoked, although a little perplexed as to why no one was out. Pushing thoughts of sharks from my mind I got changed as slowly as I could, hoping someone else would show up and paddle out with me. No such luck. I surfed for about an hour by myself, getting all kinds of barrelled, before I lost my nerve and went in. It's pretty eerie surfing at a river mouth in South Africa, especially when it's dark and rainy and spooky, and you're alone and full of excuses. When I hit the beach there were a couple of guys about to paddle out, so I turned around and surfed for another hour. I'd like to thank Mon for her patience over those few days when I surfed my guts out and she got bored. My feelings about sharks at this place turned out to be well founded. The day before I surfed alone someone spotted a Great White out there, just a little one; 2.5 metres. They're common visitors to the area and someone was killed a few years back. I've even heard it called the sharkiest spot in South Africa, and I've only heard five other places called that since I've been here.

A lot of the car parks at surf spots in South Africa are manned by car park attendants. They just cruise there all day and make sure no one steals stuff from your car. Or your car. Which is pretty handy seeing as there're signs and tourist info all over the place advising against leaving valuables in the car. But our car is our house, so we don't have much choice. The attendants direct you to the best available park when you arrive and make sure you don't hit anything on your way out. All for a few coins from the ashtray. I'm not sure if they're employed by the council or something, or if they just cruise in the car park all day and live off tips. They're pretty handy dudes.

From this end of the Garden Route, and with the Jeffreys Bay contest drawing to a close, it seemed kind of pointless and counterproductive to go backward and do the tourist route properly. Besides, there was a big southeast swell on the way and I had an idea of how utilise it. One of the most iconic scenes in The Endless Summer is at a place called Cape St Francis.

They walk over miles of dunes on the off-chance that they might find a wave running down the ruler-straight cape. They're greeted with perfect waves that run for ages, and they figure it must break like that all the time, but they had no way of knowing for sure. In The Endless Summer II they reveal that the wave needs specific and quite rare conditions to break, and that since they started building houses in, and planting-out, the dunes the sand has stopped blowing into the sea to make a perfect sand bank all the way down the cape. It's still a great wave, just not quite the same.

Since I've spent the last few years trying to predict Blacknose conditions I figured I was overqualified for a spot of Cape St Francis forecasting. The huge ESE wind-swell on its way must've been just what we were looking for. I didn't look at the weather report though, just the swell and wind, so we spent a night in an overpriced caravan park sheltering from a hectic storm, cooking dinner inside the van and sipping Amarula hot chocolates. The next day we cruised down to the surfing area, which has been named 'Bruce's Beauties', after Bruce Brown, the guy who made The Endless Summers. Well, it was breaking, but it was big, broken-up and blown-out. Nevertheless, I was keen to get a few waves. No one else was out, so I took a stab at where the best spot to scramble over the rocks was; this was somewhat successful. Once in the sea I was immediately hit by a set which didn't seem to let up at all. I got one wave, fell off and got washed up a boat ramp, pretty stoked I'd surfed Cape St Francis.

The Billabong Pro at Jeffreys Bay had wrapped up the day before, and although we guessed the crowd would probably hang around for the weekend, we figured we'd just wait it out in town and take advantage of others' hangovers and empty waves. We pulled into town on a Saturday and stayed in a backpackers' car park. First thing Sunday morning we went down to Supertubes, the premier wave in J Bay, to see if the sea had cleaned-up at all. There were 144 competitors in the recently finished contest, I think most of them were in the water. Plus the locals. Plus our fellow tourists. So much for hangovers. All the pros and other competitors looked pretty funny on the beach in their brightly-coloured wetsuits, with their corresponding photographers, doing their pre-surf exercises; like some kind of dance recital. The surf was pumping too, so I had to go out.

In the following days we found a really cool backpackers and settled down for twice as long as we intended. Mon surfed more than me, and I surfed a shitload. Supertubes didn't get as good as that first day when it was super-crowded, but it was good most days. I traded waves with Jordy Smith one day, Tom Curren another, got burnt by John John Florence yet another. Surfed all the waves within walking distance of our hostel with dolphins and whales. We raided the factory outlets. Cooked big communal meals with our new friends in the backpackers. And spent two or so weeks relaxing. J Bay kind of reminds me of Torquay; it's about the same size and a really surf-industry-focussed town. There're factory outlets for all the major brands and tourists come to see the surfers ride the waves, like they do at Bells. But you can hide from that. There's a big cape for the swell to wrap around and line up nicely for Supertubes. And the crowd is a pain. But it's a South African Torquay, and I like it better.

Most surfers will agree that no matter where you are in the world, if the surf at home turns on and you miss it, it cuts deep. Even if you're in a place where the surf is quite good, nothing compares to a great day of waves at home. It usually doesn't take long to snap out of it, you realise how lucky you are to be able to travel or to have a decent job or whatever it is that keeps you from the waves, and you just suck it up and get on with whatever you're doing. While I was in Jeffreys Bay I heard about some incredible waves at home, a few photos were posted on the internet, my mates reckoned it was one of the best runs of swell they'd seen on the Surf Coast, and that the waves at home were cooking. I went for a walk to try and shake my gloomy thoughts. I passed the guys who stand on the street corner all day, vying for a chance to mow a lawn for a couple of bucks, they wouldn't sympathise with my predicament. Then on down to the beach where a few nice lines were wrapping down the point at Supertubes. I watched Tom Curren tear apart a wave and figured life isn't all that bad, and jogged back up the hill to get ready for a few South African shacks.

There're heaps of private game reserves in South Africa; like big farms with African animals everywhere. They make money from, among other things, breeding and selling animals, running tours, hosting weddings, and letting people come and shoot the animals for fun (or thrill, or something, not sure). We did a tour of one such park by quad bike, which was pretty fun. We saw giraffe and zebra and stuff. They have Rhinos there too, but they have to dehorn them to deter poachers. Apparently the Rhino horn industry is so lucrative, and the poachers so high-tech, that they use near-silent helicopters and tranquilizers and can poach a Rhino horn from a small game reserve quick as a flash. Our guide reckoned the usual punishment if you catch a poacher is to shoot him on the spot, and no one would mind. Poachers are not very popular. Someone stole the mounted Rhino head from their wedding venue on the reserve not so long ago, hacked off the horn and left the rest. It was a synthetic horn on a synthetic Rhino head, not very valuable.

We went back to Cape St Francis one day when the waves at J Bay weren't really lining up too well. It was really good, which downgraded my previous surf there from significant-moment-in-my-life to a-pretty-stupid-thing-I-did-once. It's definitely not the same wave that Bruce and the boys were getting minute-long rides on in the first Endless Summer, you sort of just surf the end section these days. It's still super fun, I got some great waves, there's even a conveniently-placed boat ramp to walk up when you've finished surfing.

My Uncle Rob lived and worked in this part of the world when he was about my age. He put in automatic telephone exchanges and taught locals how to maintain them, things like that. He has some pretty hairy stories about living in South Africa during the Apartheid era. Back then, he says, the black population was oppressed and did the jobs like garbage collection and being maids and stuff. It was a pretty heated situation back then too, with bombings and strikes and shootings and stuff going down. There's none of those things, that we've seen, anymore. These days there is a bit of a cultural mix in the more desirable fields of work, but there aren't any white garbage collectors, maids, lawn mowers or parking attendants. Just around the corner from every big hotel is a slum area. We're so lucky to live in Australia.

Pat