THE full moon shimmered on the inky black ripples that lapped the Durban beachfront.
Beyond these thin slivers of light and the diffused glow from the street lamps lining North Pier, night’s dark cloak stretched into the distance, taut and impregnable.
As I paddled out in the rip current, the pylons of the pier slid past like pallid ghost legs striding to shore. The water was warm. In the darkness, white smears of foam morphed from the gloom as waves broke with a breathless sigh. The waves weren’t very big, maybe 1-2’, but still, surfing at night? Was I crazy?
Before this madcap decision to go surfing at 1am in the morning, we had shivered in the car park as the first stirrings of the southwesterly buster ruffled the palm fronds along the golden mile, now more like the golden two miles after World Cupinspired renovations extended the beachfront almost to the Mgeni River.
Sometimes it happens on a full moon. You do something crazy and impulsive. It was one of those nights. We all need them from time to time. It forces us to veer from the routine, to do something out of the ordinary.
As we stood around, the chilly tug of the wind beginning to wear down the bravado, I grabbed a longboard with no