In this weekly column series, Bernie Shelly explores the strange, funny rituals of everyday surf life — from awkward line-up conversations and endless paddle-outs to bruised egos and near-collisions in the surf. At the centre is Ichabod: intense, stubborn and fiercely focused, the perfect foil for Bernie’s dry humour and sharp observations about friendship, etiquette and the absurd beauty of sharing waves with other people.
15. Learn From Locals.
I have to acknowledge, after trial and error, that jumping off the pier is a knack and requires good timing. Especially good timing. Landing on someone’s head is not on. Knocking the wind out of the person who landed just ahead of you is not on. Dropping your longboard onto someone’s beloved shortboard is not on.
I totally get it.
I should have asked for assistance from a local. Or I should have gone out with the rip next to the pier. But I didn’t and now Ichabod is sorting it out with a murderous Durbs guy.
I know he’s a Durban guy from the way he says ‘alright’ and ‘fight’.
Well, actually, I did get advice but I didn’t think it applied to me. Neither does the wrangling apply— I’ve rediscovered my feminine side and am appalled by the boys’ aggression. There’s nothing I can do to mitigate the situation: I’m long past playing coy, using eye lashes and breasts.
Also, the sight of blood is unpleasant.
So I paddle away and leave them to it. To faat, alraat.
Discretion is the better part of valour and it seems my friend has landed squarely on the idea. He paddles to the other side of the pier and does the right thing, being calm and reasonable, favouring his fast swelling eye.
One of the locals I cosy up to tells me she runs a nursery and has horses. The smell of manure and the fragrance of flowers permeate the break. It makes a change from rotting seaweed.
She tells me where to sit and who to watch out for and where to paddle out and all the things I need to know in order to keep Ichabod out of harms way.
She warns not to drop in on the red-headed chap over there. The one I just dropped in on. I’ll apologise and express my amazement at his brilliant barrel. (The one before the one I ruined.) He’s not likely to pick a fight if he believes I am impressed with his nifty manoeuvres. And even if he does, Ichabod has gone back to shore, so he’s safe.
I’ll ask the nice garden woman where the best lunch option is. Surfing, and life generally, is more harmonious when you learn from locals.
Also, I’ll pay for Ichabod’s lunch so he’ll have to talk to me — a simple thank you will do. Talking will keep his mind off his grievances. And his rapidly closing eye. Which is turning dark around the edges.
Also, Ichabod will be safe inside — the guy from the pier incident is still around and still looking murderous.
Check in next week for more lessons with Ichabod.