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.
4. The Right of Way:
It’s one of those blissful, sunny, windless, days at Muizenberg. Waves ambling towards the colourful bathing boxes. Waist to shoulder high. Glassy. Good shape. Water warm enough for baggies or bikinis. Longboard happiness. Logging heaven.
And Ichabod’s lip is no longer swollen from the accident I caused. So he’s talking to me. But not in the line-up —that’s not allowed.
“Did you see that?” I ask.
“What?” Ichabod’s pink ears betray his irritation. (I’ve broken the no-talk in the line-up rule.)
“That chap. On the blue board there. He paddled for the first wave. Missed it. Paddled for the next.”
Ichabod is nothing if not pedantic. His pink ears turn red. Rules are rules, written or otherwise. If you miss the wave, you go back to the end of the queue. Others are waiting.
Having distracted him, I grab the next wave. There’s someone on it already but I ignore that little fact. In a male hegemony a girl’s gotta assert herself.
Back next to him I notice that the colour has spread from Ichabod’s ears to his neck — visible because he’s wearing the exact right wetsuit for the conditions. A thin summer long John, wide neck etc . Because why wouldn’t he.
“You dropped in on that person,” he says.
“Yes but this is a multi-peak beach break.” My standard warm lettuce excuse at times like this.
“Doesn’t matter, he was closest to the breaking end. In the pocket.” Ichabod’s warming up now.
“Sorry,” I say, because that’s always a good strategy and in any case, it’s polite. However, I’m not sorry about the transgression but I’m regretting now to have alerted him to this delinquent behaviour of mine.
“He was on the inside.” As if my deed was an affront to all existence.
“People on SUPs are difficult to predict,” I say. “They cruise along across the horizontal plain and then at the last minute, they turn into the wave.”
That gets him bristling about SUPs, intently focusing on the offender.
Having handed over the screaming baby, so to speak, I caught a wave and left him muttering into the blue dome above.
Back in the carpark he returned to the issue. Of course he would. He’s a bulldog at heart.
“That chap on the blue board really was a menace,” he said, in between drinking tea from the flask he brings, to save money. “He came back time and again and took whatever was incoming, never mind who was waiting there.”
“I’ve observed someone else who does it. Not noticing others. Focussing intently.” I say, with feral innocence.
After choking on the dregs of his tea, he left. Perhaps he’ll talk to me tomorrow. Or next week.
On that note, check in next week for more lessons with Ichabod.