In this new regular 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.
3. Paddling To The Line-up:
“You nearly took my fekking head off,” I shout at Ichabod.
“You ruined my ride,” my friend shrieks back. “What were you thinking — paddling in front of me?”
The water is arctic and we’re both in it, right next to each other, yelling. Our boards are knocking against each other, bobbing around on a sizey day at Milnerton lighthouse. The next set is stacking up to annihilate us.
We scramble back onto our probably-damaged boards and head for the horizon, through a five-wave hollow closeout set.
My ears hurt, my head pounds. All the worse because I know I was in the wrong. I had paddled not behind the breaking wave, not on Ichabod’s inside, but right into the trajectory of his ride.
I glance over at him. His mouth has a big red blemish and is swelling fast. I hope, hopelessly, that he won’t notice until he gets home. Maybe if I offer him some coffee after the session.
“Coffee? Coffee?” he yells. He’s particularly gifted at being affronted and indignant. “Ice. How about ice?”
A reasonable request.
We trundle over to the restaurant and sit on an outside bench— Ichabod with a blob of ice and I with tasteless coffee. I should rather have asked for a coke.
I try to say something about it being a multi-peak beach break, that it’s not like a point break where there is a clear and only peak to take off, but he’s having none of it. So I steer the conversation towards tips on the best way to paddle. Not where to paddle. How to paddle.
“You need to lie straight, paddle without a wiggle,” I say.
“What’s that got to do with . . .”
“Keep your feet together.” I say.
He grunts: “Paddle around the break.”
I protest: “Sometimes you can’t; not in time, anyway. If you come off halfway along your ride.”
“Just move out of the way.” His voice is now an octave higher than usual.
I try evasion again: “It helps to lift your legs at the knees, feet in the air, towards the last moment to give yourself more momentum and push. Or march your legs in rhythm with your arms. To catch the wave,” I say in case he hasn’t caught my drift.
‘What are you talking about?’ Except it comes out more like ‘shwot are you stalking affrout?’
I try for “Longboards are easier to paddle. Your mid length . . .” But he’s had enough.
Maybe he’ll talk to me again next week, once the swelling has subsided.
Check in next week for more lessons with Ichabod.