REFUGE REMOVAL
When you’re rubbish at outdoor-holiday pursuits, it’s crucial to have a bolthole where you can hide, admits Richard Holmes
MY longboard is rather disappointed in me; looking down its 2.7m nose and wondering how it ended up with a coward for an owner. After days driving between Stilbaai and Jongensfontein, it remained on the roofrack, tie-downs fastened and zip firmly caked with dust.
Surfers flock here from across the country to paddle out at these legendary point breaks … but not me. On one day, the surf was out of my league. On another, there was barely a ripple and the rocks were all too daunting. On my final attempt, the swell was perfect for my pint-sized supply of courage, but there wasn’t a soul in the water. It was just me and the NSRI-sponsored “shark-attack kit”; sitting on a rock at the bay, watching the metre-high righthanders roll away. Surfing alone in a sharky river mouth teeming with fish just didn’t seem like a smart move.
Speaking of fish, my fishing rod is equally unimpressed with my masculinity. Kabeljou, grunter and elf have made Stilbaai’s Goukou River famous, but the only thing I managed to hook was some weed from the riverbed. Foiled again.
Which is why — when you’re as enthusiastically inept at outdoor-holiday pursuits as I am — it’s important to have a bolthole to which to retire, a place where you’re safe in your abilities to whip out a bottle of shiraz; where craft beer is no match for your hipster bottle-opener; and store-bought lamb-chops quiver before your braai tongs.
And I’ve found my spot, here at Long Thin Farm. It’s a place where the rooikrans crackles and I can believe my own excuses about the swell fading and the fish not biting. From the stoep, I can all but hear my rod and surfboard sigh with frustration but, with the sun dipping and a good blaze going, I’m at least sure the braai grid holds me in high esteem. — ©