SternWake
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The year was 1998.
The vehicle was a '73 VW Kombi Westfalia I had bought in Capetown 5 months previously. There were 3 of us headed up to the Mozambique border. There was a wave up there we were told about, and saw in some local surf mags. There had been a near fatal shark attack on a surfer there a few months previously. A long right hand PointBreak, guaranteed to be uncrowded. Some said it was 4wd only, that we'd never make it in a gutless Kombi, others said it was all about the driver. A good driver could get in there with two wheel drive. I was fairly impressed with the traction the Kombi had with all that weight over the drive wheels and was confident in the van and my abilities as a driver, even in a right hand drive van and shifting with my left.
There was a long drive over the worst washboard I had ever seen, just to get near the border town where the crossing was. We'd had some brake issues along the way, of course tire issues, and at one point I had to use a tuna can lid and some rusty baling wire to rebuild the air intake on one of the carbs which had mysteriously melted, but ever northward up the dark continent we travelled.
Finally we approach the border town about midday, and I stop at the first store for some cold beer to clear the road dust from my throat. I see a long line of people in front of me, so I go grab some cold beer and goto the end of the line, and I was the only white guy in the place. The person in front of me, turned around looked at me, and then stepped out of the way gesturing me forward, the person in front of him doing the same thing. I was confused, and indicated I would wait my turn, threw out a smile for good measure, but every person in front of me stepped out of the way and motioned me forward to the clerk, and got impatient when I tried again to indicate I would wait my turn, So I went forward, paid the meager sum and walked out cold beer in hand.
I'd been in Africa for 5 months and nothing like that had happened before, and I was a little rattled.
But I had cold beer, and we all had one. I started up the Westy, pushed in the clutch pedal to the floor, something snapped, and it stayed there. I found it amusing and started laughing. My travel buddies groaned and one freaked out saying it was Not funny.
The spoilsport, a little miffed about my my Macguyver abilities with the tuna can outdoing his idea, crawled under the van and started asking for our meager tools. I knew he could not fix it, and just opened another beer, and soon a crowd of people had formed around us, very curious, hearing our accents and just flashing big smiles.
I said we were headed to Spot X to go surfing, and once again we got the 'No way would we make it in this vehicle.' And another guy saying it is all about the skill of the driver, and they would yell at each other in their language and come back and reassure us in English that yes we could, and no we couldn't make it, and then they would comically argue and throwing their hands around, again in their own language which I think was Matabele.
My travel buddy was still below asking for various items saying he was sure he could jury rig it, when I was sure the forces involved with the clutch cable were such that he could not fix it or jury rig it with what we had on hand. I'd even got some fresh baling wire from a Shebeen nearby, knowing at least I could better attach the tuna can to the air intake with it and seal it better, but well aware it was not going to be enough to jury rig the clutch cable with baling wire, but I had to let the guy try, and resigned myself to the delay, and futility of it.
So I cracked another beer, and let him do his thing, and spoke with the crowd around us. Never afraid or intimidated or worried about theft, I was just taking it all in, rolling with it. I knew we were not crossing the border that day, and got some info about Caravan park nearby to stay at. I noticed my cold beers were kind of coveted so I pulled out some Rand, gave it to one guy and said to get us what he could with what I gave him. I guess he had to wait in line for a while but he returned, gave me the change and handed me the beer and some Biltong( meat jerky) I took one and passed the carton around and was greeted with huge smiles all around, and mawed down on some spicy jerked bushmeat. I think it was some type of Gazelle.
Caravan parks in South Africa were just a few dollars at most then, and most all had excellent facilities, and some even had armed guards walking around. Lots of guns in South Africa.
My Buddy had told me to get in and try the clutch, and of course it went to the floor and stayed there, and a curse was emitted from below.
A few hours had passed, the sun was getting low, and I'd already found out where the mechanics were located from my drinking buddies, and the Caravan park's location, so I said my goodbyes to the crowd around us, told my buddy to get inside, and started the VW in 1st gear and we were off to the caravan park I was told about. Shifting was not too hard without a clutch, just maintained a steady speed on level ground and jammed it quickly into the next gear, and not too many gears were ground.
So we get to the caravan park and grab a level site, and low and behold there is a grass hut with a happy guy with a Giant smile and a really clean white uniform serving beer, and since I was already rolling with it, I rolled over there and let my travel buds do whatever they had to do as we were all kind of sick of each other. I had some more beers and some food and went and took a hot shower, and went back to the Caravan park bar for another Carling Black label. One of my travel buds was there, the other called it a night already, and there were a few rude white Guys ordering the Bartender around. Turns out the one guy was the local mechanic in town. He'd heard about our broken clutch cable and sought us out, and he was half in the bag already.
I did not like the arrogant and rude jerk, but we needed him to continue our journey the next day, and I was still rolling with it. It was kind of getting late, I was getting tired, but the mechanic was adamant that he was partying, and that we might as well party with him, as he was the only mechanic in town, so we kept drinking. He says we've got to go to this other bar, which is kind of a game lodge, so we jump in his truck and drive some crazy roads and pull up at this very nice establishment, made out of rough wood with mounted game animals on the walls. It is filled with Afrikaners, all having a good time, and we two American's were a novelty, and very popular. More so than I am comfortable with.
At one point the bartenders called out that they were closing and that we all had to leave, but the mechanic nearly caused a riot, demanding they stay open, and insisted the employees get the owner on the phone, who told his employees to keep the bar open after hearing the crowd chanting "Give us Beer", and we kept going, for far too long.
At one point the mechanic started finding people who would head butt him, challenging everybody, and I was a bit Surprised that this was apparently expected from him, and that others also found it amusing and joined in. I managed to get away with only a lump or two, but some others were just dripping blood from split skin that needed stitches, band oblivious of that fact, and just kept partying. I was kind of done, and thinking I needed to extricate myself, but I pretty much had no idea where I was or how to get back to the campground, so I rolled with it, and eventually they forced us out of the bar, practically at gunpoint, and the drunk mechanic drove us back to the campground, where he woke up the bartender and demanded to be served more beer. but the Caravan park owner came out with his rifle and told him to Eff off.
I was done, said my good byes to a lot of ridicule, and went to sleep in the Westy, but my travel buddy stayed up with the lunatic mechanic and they apparently found another place to serve them more beer.
So next morning rolls around and I drive down to the mechanics shop and he and his buddy are still bloody messes from their head butting bash the night before, and still drinking.
Thankfully, he was just the owner of Shop, and his mechanics were waiting for us, with another cable they had pulled from a junked Kombi somewhere else. It was too short or too long and they wound up Brazing our clutch cable back in one piece. These were good guys and friendly and when I told them of our intended destination, it was the same reply, that the VW would never make it in there, and another guy saying it depends on the driver and more arguing in Matabele.
I pay the shop owner, tip the mechanics and get out of there. At the border, two of the uniformed South African border agents are guys we were partying with the night before in the Lodge, and one of them had some butterfly strips across the gash on his forehead and dried blood on his face still.
The border was the most Lax I've ever crossed, and once my passport was stamped and I was officially in Mozambique, I aired down the tires and followed the road out to Spot X, the fabled world class right hand sharky point break, on the road which might, or might not, allow a 2wd vehicle through.
There were a lot of soft spots on the track/ road that I entered at a good clip in third and barely made it out of in first gear, foot to the floor and slipping the clutch some to keep the rpms and torque up. Some sections I stopped on hardpack and walked the track ahead to plan where to put the wheels. Some sections I made my travel buddies jog alongside ready to push when it started bogging down, and we barely squeaked through some of those, and breezed through others.
At one point we come around a bend and are met with a wide soft sand flat spot with tracks leading all over it, and areas where there were pits where previous travellers had gotten stuck, at the end of this soft flat spot was a steep sandy dune, and the track led right up it, with a few pits here and there where more vehicles had gotten stuck. I'd walked the whole track and gone up the hill and seriously doubted I could make it.
So I turned around and went home, the end.
As if. I walked and planned and studied the route, making some arrows, some marks here and there, told my buddies to shut the hell up and get inside. I backed way up on the hard pack, let some more air out of the tires and gunned it, full on power shifting a weak engine, getting up to about 50 Mph before we entered the soft sand. It was all about slaloming, avoiding the pits and the super soft areas, and slowing down enough in some areas to not catch air, and gunning it right after in a feeble attempt to maintain as much momentum as possible.
We still caught air, landing and the front bumper digging in and throwing a blinding wall of sand in front of the windshield. We were being bounced around in what would have been comical fashion, if it was not fairly serious situation requiring concentration. At least I had the steering wheel to hold onto.
My travel buds were yelling" watch out!!! "look for tha, Arrgh Ow Ucking hell!!" Curses warning, cries of pain the occasional laugh and me yelling to shut the F up, and laughing maniacally when getting past one obstacle then another, and driving like a complete madman, but a skilled one.
I'd maintained enough momentum and traction that we were able to just barely crested the top of the Dune, and I very nearly drove into a pit caused by some previously stuck vehicle, and nearly rolled the van trying to stay out of it. But I somehow kept it upright and unstuck, and we pressed on.
I figured that was the worst of it, but there were a few more rough areas requiring planning, and we even tried filling in one of the holes with sand and dirt and plant material where somebody else got stuck as it was just too deep for the suspension to handle. I drove across this pit alone, and once again the front bumper kicked up a wall of blinding sand, and then the gas pedal got stuck flat to the floor. I'd made it across the pit, but was stuck at full throttle, with a turn coming up, and trying to pry the gas pedal from the floor with my bare foot. But it was not working, and the engine was screaming and nearing redline, as I was accellerating away from my friends. I was still in the semi soft stuff and braking was going to get the Kombi stuck, so I wound up reaching down with my hand and pulling the pedal from the floor, but it took a lot of force and more time than expected and more than one try, and I was basically lucky to not have run into a tree or the really bad parts of the track. I managed to free the pedal on the third attempt and stop on some hard pack. My friends came running up, and laughing hysterically, one of them, a Brazilian was saying between belly laughs:
" Do it again Do it again, I need picture!!"
I spent a little time insuring he gas pedal was not going to get stuck again and continued on.
So that was the worst of the track, it was mellow from that point forward. We make it into the small village, where there exists another small fairly modest caravan park, and there are other vehicles there, all of them 4wd trucks, or Bokkies as they call them there. Most were looking at us a bit startled to see such a vehicle in there. We approach the park gate and the touchy brakes were acting funny again, and kind of lock up a bit, and all of this sand pours off the roof of the Kombi, and we all just lose it at this point, laughing hysterically. The gate guard joined in and bellowed louder than us all.
We stayed for 2 weeks. The first week the waves were minor, but the Potential was obvious though. One night we were drinking it up a bit, when the reef started making a lot of noise. A new swell was filling in, and we walked out to the point to observe it in the moonlight.
Sunrise revealed beautiful 6 to 8 foot waves peeling down the sand bottomed point for hundreds and hundreds of yards. Light offshore winds. Backlit green waves. Just gorgeous and amazing conditions, and we were the only surfers there.
One of my most vivid memories was of a small porpoise riding a wave just at the tip of the point where the tide was too high in front of the reef for us to catch the waves. This porpoise rode so high up in the lip of the breaking wave, and turned upside down, its pectoral fins sticking out of both sides of the lip of the tubing wave, and just angled perfectly to stay there in the lip of the breaking wave, 20 feet in front of dry exposed reef. It was, and still is the most impressive piece of wave riding I have ever seen.
I was in position to catch this same wave, and did so, and just a few yards in front of me was this porpoise riding the same wave underwater, not having to move a muscle, just in perfect trim and watching me through the crystal clear water occasionally popping out in front of me for a breath and continuing on riding the same wave as me. The rides were so long ones legs would tire out from all the cut backs and crouching in the tube, and there was a strong current running down the point, so when paddling back out it made sense to paddle out to deeper water to where the opposing current was less. Also the temptation was too strong to spin around and take another wave peeling down the point if one stayed just outside the breakers, so the deep water paddle back out was fairly necessary, as the best part of the wave, the biggest part, was right at the tip of the point.
At one point I'm paddling looking at waves perfecting peeling down the point, when I notice a big Black Shadow pass below me. I jammed my head underwater to have a Look, and I swear it was a huge Crocodile. I was so filled with adrenaline from how good the waves were, I put it out of my Mind and just kept surfing for another few hours, without telling my buds what I saw. Eventually the wind came up and exhaustion could no longer be ignored and we got out. I mentioned seeing something very large swim under me, and they both said they saw something too.
Usually a Shark sighting causes a panicked departure of the water, but we had travelled half way around the world to ride some of the best waves in the world, and not even the threat of a Shark, or perhaps a huge Nile crocodile, could force us to leave perfect conditions.
So we rolled with it.
We got a few more pretty good days of surf, and then left. There were some hard rains which packed the soft sand down and driving out was easy in comparison to getting in.
Travelling overseas was the best thing I've ever done with my life. I would not trade those memories, those experiences for anything. That Kombi was my first Van, and was the start of my love of a rolling self contained box lifestyle.
The vehicle was a '73 VW Kombi Westfalia I had bought in Capetown 5 months previously. There were 3 of us headed up to the Mozambique border. There was a wave up there we were told about, and saw in some local surf mags. There had been a near fatal shark attack on a surfer there a few months previously. A long right hand PointBreak, guaranteed to be uncrowded. Some said it was 4wd only, that we'd never make it in a gutless Kombi, others said it was all about the driver. A good driver could get in there with two wheel drive. I was fairly impressed with the traction the Kombi had with all that weight over the drive wheels and was confident in the van and my abilities as a driver, even in a right hand drive van and shifting with my left.
There was a long drive over the worst washboard I had ever seen, just to get near the border town where the crossing was. We'd had some brake issues along the way, of course tire issues, and at one point I had to use a tuna can lid and some rusty baling wire to rebuild the air intake on one of the carbs which had mysteriously melted, but ever northward up the dark continent we travelled.
Finally we approach the border town about midday, and I stop at the first store for some cold beer to clear the road dust from my throat. I see a long line of people in front of me, so I go grab some cold beer and goto the end of the line, and I was the only white guy in the place. The person in front of me, turned around looked at me, and then stepped out of the way gesturing me forward, the person in front of him doing the same thing. I was confused, and indicated I would wait my turn, threw out a smile for good measure, but every person in front of me stepped out of the way and motioned me forward to the clerk, and got impatient when I tried again to indicate I would wait my turn, So I went forward, paid the meager sum and walked out cold beer in hand.
I'd been in Africa for 5 months and nothing like that had happened before, and I was a little rattled.
But I had cold beer, and we all had one. I started up the Westy, pushed in the clutch pedal to the floor, something snapped, and it stayed there. I found it amusing and started laughing. My travel buddies groaned and one freaked out saying it was Not funny.
The spoilsport, a little miffed about my my Macguyver abilities with the tuna can outdoing his idea, crawled under the van and started asking for our meager tools. I knew he could not fix it, and just opened another beer, and soon a crowd of people had formed around us, very curious, hearing our accents and just flashing big smiles.
I said we were headed to Spot X to go surfing, and once again we got the 'No way would we make it in this vehicle.' And another guy saying it is all about the skill of the driver, and they would yell at each other in their language and come back and reassure us in English that yes we could, and no we couldn't make it, and then they would comically argue and throwing their hands around, again in their own language which I think was Matabele.
My travel buddy was still below asking for various items saying he was sure he could jury rig it, when I was sure the forces involved with the clutch cable were such that he could not fix it or jury rig it with what we had on hand. I'd even got some fresh baling wire from a Shebeen nearby, knowing at least I could better attach the tuna can to the air intake with it and seal it better, but well aware it was not going to be enough to jury rig the clutch cable with baling wire, but I had to let the guy try, and resigned myself to the delay, and futility of it.
So I cracked another beer, and let him do his thing, and spoke with the crowd around us. Never afraid or intimidated or worried about theft, I was just taking it all in, rolling with it. I knew we were not crossing the border that day, and got some info about Caravan park nearby to stay at. I noticed my cold beers were kind of coveted so I pulled out some Rand, gave it to one guy and said to get us what he could with what I gave him. I guess he had to wait in line for a while but he returned, gave me the change and handed me the beer and some Biltong( meat jerky) I took one and passed the carton around and was greeted with huge smiles all around, and mawed down on some spicy jerked bushmeat. I think it was some type of Gazelle.
Caravan parks in South Africa were just a few dollars at most then, and most all had excellent facilities, and some even had armed guards walking around. Lots of guns in South Africa.
My Buddy had told me to get in and try the clutch, and of course it went to the floor and stayed there, and a curse was emitted from below.
A few hours had passed, the sun was getting low, and I'd already found out where the mechanics were located from my drinking buddies, and the Caravan park's location, so I said my goodbyes to the crowd around us, told my buddy to get inside, and started the VW in 1st gear and we were off to the caravan park I was told about. Shifting was not too hard without a clutch, just maintained a steady speed on level ground and jammed it quickly into the next gear, and not too many gears were ground.
So we get to the caravan park and grab a level site, and low and behold there is a grass hut with a happy guy with a Giant smile and a really clean white uniform serving beer, and since I was already rolling with it, I rolled over there and let my travel buds do whatever they had to do as we were all kind of sick of each other. I had some more beers and some food and went and took a hot shower, and went back to the Caravan park bar for another Carling Black label. One of my travel buds was there, the other called it a night already, and there were a few rude white Guys ordering the Bartender around. Turns out the one guy was the local mechanic in town. He'd heard about our broken clutch cable and sought us out, and he was half in the bag already.
I did not like the arrogant and rude jerk, but we needed him to continue our journey the next day, and I was still rolling with it. It was kind of getting late, I was getting tired, but the mechanic was adamant that he was partying, and that we might as well party with him, as he was the only mechanic in town, so we kept drinking. He says we've got to go to this other bar, which is kind of a game lodge, so we jump in his truck and drive some crazy roads and pull up at this very nice establishment, made out of rough wood with mounted game animals on the walls. It is filled with Afrikaners, all having a good time, and we two American's were a novelty, and very popular. More so than I am comfortable with.
At one point the bartenders called out that they were closing and that we all had to leave, but the mechanic nearly caused a riot, demanding they stay open, and insisted the employees get the owner on the phone, who told his employees to keep the bar open after hearing the crowd chanting "Give us Beer", and we kept going, for far too long.
At one point the mechanic started finding people who would head butt him, challenging everybody, and I was a bit Surprised that this was apparently expected from him, and that others also found it amusing and joined in. I managed to get away with only a lump or two, but some others were just dripping blood from split skin that needed stitches, band oblivious of that fact, and just kept partying. I was kind of done, and thinking I needed to extricate myself, but I pretty much had no idea where I was or how to get back to the campground, so I rolled with it, and eventually they forced us out of the bar, practically at gunpoint, and the drunk mechanic drove us back to the campground, where he woke up the bartender and demanded to be served more beer. but the Caravan park owner came out with his rifle and told him to Eff off.
I was done, said my good byes to a lot of ridicule, and went to sleep in the Westy, but my travel buddy stayed up with the lunatic mechanic and they apparently found another place to serve them more beer.
So next morning rolls around and I drive down to the mechanics shop and he and his buddy are still bloody messes from their head butting bash the night before, and still drinking.
Thankfully, he was just the owner of Shop, and his mechanics were waiting for us, with another cable they had pulled from a junked Kombi somewhere else. It was too short or too long and they wound up Brazing our clutch cable back in one piece. These were good guys and friendly and when I told them of our intended destination, it was the same reply, that the VW would never make it in there, and another guy saying it depends on the driver and more arguing in Matabele.
I pay the shop owner, tip the mechanics and get out of there. At the border, two of the uniformed South African border agents are guys we were partying with the night before in the Lodge, and one of them had some butterfly strips across the gash on his forehead and dried blood on his face still.
The border was the most Lax I've ever crossed, and once my passport was stamped and I was officially in Mozambique, I aired down the tires and followed the road out to Spot X, the fabled world class right hand sharky point break, on the road which might, or might not, allow a 2wd vehicle through.
There were a lot of soft spots on the track/ road that I entered at a good clip in third and barely made it out of in first gear, foot to the floor and slipping the clutch some to keep the rpms and torque up. Some sections I stopped on hardpack and walked the track ahead to plan where to put the wheels. Some sections I made my travel buddies jog alongside ready to push when it started bogging down, and we barely squeaked through some of those, and breezed through others.
At one point we come around a bend and are met with a wide soft sand flat spot with tracks leading all over it, and areas where there were pits where previous travellers had gotten stuck, at the end of this soft flat spot was a steep sandy dune, and the track led right up it, with a few pits here and there where more vehicles had gotten stuck. I'd walked the whole track and gone up the hill and seriously doubted I could make it.
So I turned around and went home, the end.
As if. I walked and planned and studied the route, making some arrows, some marks here and there, told my buddies to shut the hell up and get inside. I backed way up on the hard pack, let some more air out of the tires and gunned it, full on power shifting a weak engine, getting up to about 50 Mph before we entered the soft sand. It was all about slaloming, avoiding the pits and the super soft areas, and slowing down enough in some areas to not catch air, and gunning it right after in a feeble attempt to maintain as much momentum as possible.
We still caught air, landing and the front bumper digging in and throwing a blinding wall of sand in front of the windshield. We were being bounced around in what would have been comical fashion, if it was not fairly serious situation requiring concentration. At least I had the steering wheel to hold onto.
My travel buds were yelling" watch out!!! "look for tha, Arrgh Ow Ucking hell!!" Curses warning, cries of pain the occasional laugh and me yelling to shut the F up, and laughing maniacally when getting past one obstacle then another, and driving like a complete madman, but a skilled one.
I'd maintained enough momentum and traction that we were able to just barely crested the top of the Dune, and I very nearly drove into a pit caused by some previously stuck vehicle, and nearly rolled the van trying to stay out of it. But I somehow kept it upright and unstuck, and we pressed on.
I figured that was the worst of it, but there were a few more rough areas requiring planning, and we even tried filling in one of the holes with sand and dirt and plant material where somebody else got stuck as it was just too deep for the suspension to handle. I drove across this pit alone, and once again the front bumper kicked up a wall of blinding sand, and then the gas pedal got stuck flat to the floor. I'd made it across the pit, but was stuck at full throttle, with a turn coming up, and trying to pry the gas pedal from the floor with my bare foot. But it was not working, and the engine was screaming and nearing redline, as I was accellerating away from my friends. I was still in the semi soft stuff and braking was going to get the Kombi stuck, so I wound up reaching down with my hand and pulling the pedal from the floor, but it took a lot of force and more time than expected and more than one try, and I was basically lucky to not have run into a tree or the really bad parts of the track. I managed to free the pedal on the third attempt and stop on some hard pack. My friends came running up, and laughing hysterically, one of them, a Brazilian was saying between belly laughs:
" Do it again Do it again, I need picture!!"
I spent a little time insuring he gas pedal was not going to get stuck again and continued on.
So that was the worst of the track, it was mellow from that point forward. We make it into the small village, where there exists another small fairly modest caravan park, and there are other vehicles there, all of them 4wd trucks, or Bokkies as they call them there. Most were looking at us a bit startled to see such a vehicle in there. We approach the park gate and the touchy brakes were acting funny again, and kind of lock up a bit, and all of this sand pours off the roof of the Kombi, and we all just lose it at this point, laughing hysterically. The gate guard joined in and bellowed louder than us all.
We stayed for 2 weeks. The first week the waves were minor, but the Potential was obvious though. One night we were drinking it up a bit, when the reef started making a lot of noise. A new swell was filling in, and we walked out to the point to observe it in the moonlight.
Sunrise revealed beautiful 6 to 8 foot waves peeling down the sand bottomed point for hundreds and hundreds of yards. Light offshore winds. Backlit green waves. Just gorgeous and amazing conditions, and we were the only surfers there.
One of my most vivid memories was of a small porpoise riding a wave just at the tip of the point where the tide was too high in front of the reef for us to catch the waves. This porpoise rode so high up in the lip of the breaking wave, and turned upside down, its pectoral fins sticking out of both sides of the lip of the tubing wave, and just angled perfectly to stay there in the lip of the breaking wave, 20 feet in front of dry exposed reef. It was, and still is the most impressive piece of wave riding I have ever seen.
I was in position to catch this same wave, and did so, and just a few yards in front of me was this porpoise riding the same wave underwater, not having to move a muscle, just in perfect trim and watching me through the crystal clear water occasionally popping out in front of me for a breath and continuing on riding the same wave as me. The rides were so long ones legs would tire out from all the cut backs and crouching in the tube, and there was a strong current running down the point, so when paddling back out it made sense to paddle out to deeper water to where the opposing current was less. Also the temptation was too strong to spin around and take another wave peeling down the point if one stayed just outside the breakers, so the deep water paddle back out was fairly necessary, as the best part of the wave, the biggest part, was right at the tip of the point.
At one point I'm paddling looking at waves perfecting peeling down the point, when I notice a big Black Shadow pass below me. I jammed my head underwater to have a Look, and I swear it was a huge Crocodile. I was so filled with adrenaline from how good the waves were, I put it out of my Mind and just kept surfing for another few hours, without telling my buds what I saw. Eventually the wind came up and exhaustion could no longer be ignored and we got out. I mentioned seeing something very large swim under me, and they both said they saw something too.
Usually a Shark sighting causes a panicked departure of the water, but we had travelled half way around the world to ride some of the best waves in the world, and not even the threat of a Shark, or perhaps a huge Nile crocodile, could force us to leave perfect conditions.
So we rolled with it.
We got a few more pretty good days of surf, and then left. There were some hard rains which packed the soft sand down and driving out was easy in comparison to getting in.
Travelling overseas was the best thing I've ever done with my life. I would not trade those memories, those experiences for anything. That Kombi was my first Van, and was the start of my love of a rolling self contained box lifestyle.
