Why you should never wear a Speedo

The thing about bad luck is that it never comes your way at a convenient time. So you should always try to learn a life lesson when adversity strikes, says Christie Gerber.

Ben and Tas leave Eshowe early morning and point the Hilux’s nose in the direction of Goedertrouw Dam in the Nkwaleni Valley.

This dam on the uMhlatuze River is one of the biggest in KwaZulu-Natal and you definitely won’t struggle to hook a largemouth bass. Your chances, however, are much better if you get to the water early, which is why Ben and Tas have hit the road at 5 am already.

Ben’s boat, Ntombazane, is behind the Hilux. The road is quiet and the kilometres flash past.

The two avid fishermen arrive at the dam and look for a private spot to camp. Each angler has his own secret recipe to catch that big one and the fewer prying eyes the better. Tas is wearing conventional swimming trunks, but Ben decides to spend the day in his orange Speedo. He wants to use the opportunity to get some colour on his 120 kg frame. That morning, Meisie, his wife, had sternly told him to remember to put sunscreen on and now his skin is glistening.

Soon, they’re on the boat and heading out on the dam. It’s a scorcher of a day in the valley and on the water. The two have their fishing gear ready and the sinkers splash into the water. Now it’s time for patience and silence.

An hour later there’s still no sign of a fish. In fact, the only bite the two friends can claim they’ve felt is that of the sun.

“Let’s go a bit further,” suggests Tas. They reel in, Ben puts Ntombazane in gear, and the two head off further up the dam.

The next moment the engine suddenly cuts out.

“And now?” asks Tas while the boat’s momentum silently carries them forward.

“I don’t know,” answers Ben. Tas leans over his friend’s shoulder and checks the dashboard.

“We’re out of fuel,” he declares. “Where’s the spare tank?”

Ben is silent for a second. “At home in the garage,” he admits sheepishly.

Tas calmly says, “Right, get your flare. There are enough fishermen on the dam, I’m sure someone will see it and come and help.”

Ben looks uncomfortable and struggles to get his words out. “Uhm,” he finally manages, “I don’t have stuff like that on the boat.”

Tas tries to keep it together but finally let’s rip. It’s a scorching February day and the sweat is running down his face.

“My friend, you do realise we’re basically in the middle of the dam, right? We can’t even see the shore. Calling for help won’t work. We’re too far and no one is going to hear us.”

“THERE’S JUST ONE thing to be done,” says Tas when he’s finally calmed down a bit. “We’ll have to row to shore.”

Ben, who for the moment forgot that as the owner of the boat it was his responsibility to make sure all the emergency equipment was on the boat, cheekily asks Tas which oars he wants to use, because there aren’t any. But the look on Tas’s face shuts him up quickly.

“You and I are going to get into the water on both sides of the boat, hook one arm around the side and row with the other. It’s the only way,” says Tas.

“But what about crocodiles,” asks Ben nervously, but Tas refuses to budge.

“If we don’t row to shore we’re going to stay here until the archangel Gabriel comes to fetch us.”

The two friends jump into the water, point the nose of the boat to where it seems the shore is closest, and start to simultaneously kick and paddle. It’s slow going since it’s a near impossible task.

Ten minutes later Ben asks if they can stop to rest. No. “We’ll have to knuckle down and swim, otherwise we’ll still be here tonight,” replies Tas.

So, they paddle and kick. Paddle and kick. And finally, after what seems like a lifetime, they feel rocks and gravel underneath their feet. They push the boat out of the water and drop down next to Ntombazane in an exhausted heap.

Ben is the first to get up. He takes a cooldrink out of the cooler box and downs it in three sips.

Tas looks at him with a wry look on his face. “Listen my dear friend, you’ll have to go fetch the bakkie and trailer and I’ll stay here and look after the boat.”

The thought of having to walk a kilometre or two in the heat in nothing but his orange Speedo is almost too much for Ben. But he has no other choice and he puts on his slip-slops (which, thankfully, were on the boat) and starts walking over the rocks to the nearby dirt road. Out of breath and tired, he stumbles on, down the road. The slip-slops are not the best protection against the sharp pebbles and his feet are suffering.

A LITTLE BIT further, two men are sitting in the shade of a big flat crown tree, staring at the figure coming down the dusty road.

“Indoda emhlope izohambolani nqunu elangeni?” asks the one. Ben can speak Zulu so he knows the man wants to know why he’s walking semi-naked in the hot sun.

He decides to ignore the comments and rather focus on the sound of an oncoming car. Instinctively he holds out his thumb.

The bakkie stops next to him and, of course, it’s two ladies.

“Where are you going with those two red cheeks?” asks the driver, a striking redhead with a mischievous smile.

“It’s a very long story,” Ben says, trying to steer the conversation into another direction. “Could you maybe take me to the campsite?”

The ladies agree and Ben gratefully gets onto the back of the bakkie. A kilometre further they drop him off and the redhead tells him he should put cream on his bum before he goes to bed that night.

Ben gives an embarrassed wave goodbye and heads to the camp to put on shorts and a T-shirt.

A few fellow campers help hitch the trailer and as he drives to fetch Tas he shifts from one butt cheek to the other.

He finds Tas peacefully standing at the water’s edge, fishing rod in hand. There’s a giant largemouth bass lying next to the boat.

“And that?” asks Ben.

“I had to pass the time somehow and I got this monster,” boasts Tas with a huge smile.

When they finally get the boat securely on the trailer, Ben wants to know if maybe, just maybe, there’s a cold beer left. Tas nods in the affirmative and Ben slowly sips the welcome refreshment.

He looks searchingly at Tas. “I have this friend who claims you create your own problems,” he declares. “That’s why I made two decisions today, here next to the Goedertrouw Dam.

“I’m going to sell the boat, buy a caravan and from now on rather camp next to the water. It’s much more convenient to fish from the side, as you’ve seen for yourself.”

“And your second decision?” Tas wants to know.

“When we get home, I’m throwing my Speedo in the bin.”

You do realise we’re basically in the middle of the dam, right? We can’t even see the shore. And calling for help won’t work.