I wanted mortal combat with a truly wild beast of Africa and I got it.
As a young kid my father once told me a story of a Great White Hunter who got carried off into the bush by a Savanah Lion with one of his shoulders in the thing's jaws. At some point the hunter regained conceousness and, with his good arm, reached down between the lion's legs for his field knife. After repeatedly stabbing the predator between the ribs it let him go and he survived the ordeal.
That one would be so dedicated to their pursuit for it to expose them to mortal combat with a wild beast remained a macabre fascination that somehow perpetuated my behavior beyond the next horizon. The possibility of it surely qualified many of my planned excursions.
Years later I believe the character in question we ID'd as Ol' Sellous himself. All of us could be wrong. Including him...
The story somehow stuck as a specification to Rites of Passage for a young boy. Afterall, I grew up believing everybody's Dad speared fish off Bassas da India regularly & everybody's Mom was an Ultra Marathon Specialist.
Whether by Hurculian task or Sisyphusian ardure the mechanism undeniably exists much to the amusement of the analytical mind.
As a young boy my dad used to take us two sons Bass fishing at a dam high up in some hills on summer afternoons. We passed a Turkish Fig plant on the way there and back. Ever the Naturalist, my dad would scoff at the alien. (That would be the latter by the way.)
Armed with slashers my brother and I later set out on our Crusade to avenge Bushveld Conservation. We did not know my dad reluctantly left the offending plant be since Ben Jacobs, one of his orchard managers, raved over the fruit. Some time later, after hacking away mercilessly at the giant Turkish Fig, I exited the surrounding tall grass and crossed a dirt track to shade in the adjacent orange orchard. Picking a ripe fruit and peeling it I heard a slow, mechanical rustle. I watched in awe as a mature Python slithered out of the grass and onto the dirt track between my brother at the Turkish bush and me next to the citrus trees. He couldn't see it from his position. I yelled for him to get out of there and directed him where to run to. After the Python had enough of these two young children behaving like Monkeys, he slowly made a u-turn and vanished into the tall grass.
We never returned - believing Ben Jacobs had a massive snake guarding his Figs.
Crusaders kitted for Vengeance. R.I.P. Ouboet - Ek gaan jou weer check, tjom. Net gou bietjie besig hier onder.
This one time I was surfing a filthy city beach with a Military Instructor - preferring to avoid the stoner-surfer-scene altogether. Duckdiving through a good wave I should have taken I stared straight into the eye of a Mako. It was so fast I couldn't immeditely ID it. The Instructor confirmed my suspicion and we promptly vacated the surf. A quick rendezvous on the beach determined the lifeguards' uselessness and the two of us went about clearing swimmers in and around the swimming zone. Since the waves that day were too good to pass up, The Instructor paddled straight back out and I followed his example.
Some years earlier I was on a college vacation. I bummed a lift off my Best Buddy to a roadside spot where a flatmate picked me up. We spent a week camping out under golden sun, warm nights and surfing balmy water at a beach lined with ALL the bikinis.
One day a poorly timed duckdive through an ungroomed wave ended up in a contorted mess of limb and surf equipment. A fin sliced a 1 Rand coin sized chunk of flesh off the ball of my foot. Our potbellied host insisted on treating my foot hole with his finest brandy. The appropriate spirit for the job would have been white but that's for alcoholics and will not pass over his lips. The result was a high maintenance, festering mess of a wound. At the best of times I'd have it wrapped up in a combination of TP and ducttape. I dragged the smelly, passenger around surftrips across the Boland for the rest of that summer.
On one particular trip, lifeguards at Castle Reef in Pearlybeach evacuated all swimmers while I came in from a relatively short surf. Steven Spielberg would have approved of the commotion that day. There was a Great White hanging around the reef according to one lifeguard. "My foot!" - I thought. That thing stank more than the dead Puffadder in the parking lot.
When I graduated college I planned a surf trip and completed my Pilgremage to Jeffreysbay. Along the way I spent a few days in Plett and stayed with some mates that live there. At Lookout Point I came to terms with surfing in shorts for the first time when my cellphone started vibrating in my pocket in the backline - shorting out and ruined. At The Wreck off Robberg I thought the cute baby shark silhouette started getting a bit too big and close for comfort as it kept coming my way. By the time we were on the beach calling in swimmers, the submarine had turned parallel to the beach and cruised along it toward Robberg. It was a White casually going about his business. We relocated to Robberg Beach 5 settling for lesser surf. A mommy Hammerhead came in with her pups, circled a few times and then left them behind. They just chilled there for 2 hours like it was daycare. Tiny little cute Hammers by the hundreds getting to terms with the hydrodynamics of the world they'd recently been born into. Wide eyed wanderes merrily fumbling about their swim.
This one time I speared fish off a boat at Dassen Island. The water was pink with Krill. We dropped at a few spots. I descended onto a reef and sat inside a silver vortex. Looking up at the sun's rays piercing the water's surface through a blue disc above within one cylindrical body of hundred-fold Bream swirling around. I did not take a shot deciding to appreciate the moment instead. Later, in a small bay, I missed a decent fish on a chance shot. I was pulling my spear back in to reload when something caught my peripheral vision. When I turned around the water was jet black in front. A pectoral fin bladed in and passed in an S trajectory underneath my flippers while a giant caudal fin was inbound on my position without impedance. When I turned my head a huge eye made momentary contact with myne. A Humpback was casually feeding on the Krill in less than 10 meters and I could have speared it point blanc with a Kelpgun.
When I was done the boat was nowhere to be seen and I floated haplessly on the surface waiting in space-time and staring at the sky. The skipper's ear lit up for a spell when he eventually arrived.
This one time I went spearing fish from shore in Maasbaai. Working some quiet habitat and playing with an Eagle Ray for a while, I noticed a Blinder some distance off with Cormorants hanging out around it. I decided to commit to the swim. When I arrived, there was a drop-off on the other side. Short, stocky silhouettes marched by in a string and I thought today was the day I bag a big Kob. I retreated to the closest kelp bed and double checked my gear before positioning for the ambush. As they came by again I thrust forward 1/2 body length silently. It took too much of a second to combine the tail silhouette leaving with the head silhouette following it but it became clear. These were teenager Raggies. I backed out calmly but accidentally spooked one unsuspecting, relaxed individual. The nursery erupted into absolute mayhem. Being the undeniably good preditors they are those teenagers gave me one hell of a time finning the 200 meters back to shore. Every minute or so one came up under my blindside and I'd have to push it off with a screeching speartip. One of them just kept cruising out ahead of me in a seemingly co-ordinated effort to keep my attention and distract from the others. Right up until the last meter of depth they hung around still coming in. Above sealevel we burnt ourselves into Crayfish snacking on a rock afterwards.
This one time I speared fish in a bay off Klein Hangklip. I had just expended a spear on a chance shot and was in the process of pulling it back in to reload when a firm pressure clamped down on my calf. When I looked back, a young Leopard Seal had my leg in his mouth but I wanted my leg too. So we fought over it like two dogs and a bone. With the spear dangling limp below my gun I repeatedly punched the critter in the neck with the blunt muzzle until it let go. When I had my leg back the Seal rolled his head looking at me as if to say: "Dude, what the hell did you do that for?" In an instant he vanished.
It is not unknown to have them visit our shores occasionally yet I believe such incidents need to be reported and recorded. I wrote the University of Cape Town about the encounter and never heard anything back. Some years later two spearos had a hellish experience off The Sentinel outside Houtbay when a Leopard Seal pinned them down on a reef for a few hours...
Somewhere along the way I learned about a Polynesian method of dispatching an Octopus. It involves placing the head of the Octopus in your mouth and inducing one swift bite behind the eyes, crushing the brain. I went about targeting one and found a mature Antlantic Comon off Blousteen while spearing. While approaching it the thing darted off to a reef close by squirting an impressive trail of ink. We played chess for a few dives until I eventually got him. Investigating and planning the Kill-Move took a second or two but I committed to the dispatch. In the process it wrapped its tentacles around my head. As I instinctively tried to pull it away from my face my divemask flooded. Choking and spewing seawater I managed to get the Octopus strung to my buoy eventually. Yes I bit it's brain and accomplished the mission but I finished my diveplan only to discover some predator had decimated my catch.
Working in the Gamtoos Valley for some months had many perks. It's proximity to Jeffreysbay was one of them. Over one particular weekend I needed vehicle repairs done so I decided to combine it with a surftrip. I'd go down, get the job done early in the morning and stay with my buddy, The Ranger, who has a house there. We ended up getting Magna Reef quite good and put in some time at Point too. Fishing proved testing and we retired after the wind started detracting from the experience.
Itchy, someone suggested a night out on town. Our mob went about finding a relaxed spot to play pool at and while the time away until we could surf again in the morning.
Philosophizing with Bruce Gold the Original Surf Hippy at JBay Point the day before Mortal Combat with Savages.
In the later hours we decided to pack it up and leave. Since a pool queue had gone missing I wasn't perturbed by hanging around over something I wasn't there for in the first place. I went ahead to meet them at the bakkie a 100 meters away instead. As I stepped out onto the curb by myself a whore approached and offered her service with a striking array of options. The moment I broke my facade and turned to her to decline her advances a team of men pushed me into a dark alley like a well executed rugby maneuver. I got clubbed over the head from behind and the image infront swooped by like a camera strapped to a falling log. There stood a shadowy figure akimbo watching his prey go down. I estimate around 5 or 6 individuals may have been involved. Relentless kicking and beating followed while I could feel another person straddling my chest and pinning my arms. Mostly kicking ensued punctuated by the sensation of a blunt object making contact intermittently. I kept my head shielded with curled arms. As a darkness faded to a deep inner awareness something spoke. "If you don't do something right now, you will die here."
With miniscule Jiu-Jitsu training I worked my arms free from the grip of the assailant on my chest. At what seemed like a snails pace I placed my thumbs at the base of his throat, wrapped the remaining fingers around the back of his neck and squeezed. Eyes shut while the beating continued I kept squeezing until either the affliction burnt off like mist before the sun or I blacked out. A vague memory of being tossed onto the back seat of a red VW Golf lives in the recesses of a battered cranium. The gang dumped my unconscious body on an open lot in tall grass where I came to later. I couldn't find my keys or cards anywhere and realized I was nowhere near the bakkie. Dazed and confused I started walking along a road to find the bakkie. Cars were passing in the dark and I kept walking until I reached a fence with some people behind it. I clawed at the fence asking for directions. The one African spoke seriously: "You better get your White ass out of here or you'll get killed. J-Bay is that way." He pointed in the direction I came from...
I walked back along the same road past wonky cattle fencing and broken up road shoulders until some hours later I realized my sandals had also been stolen. Eastern Cape streets have a coarse finish about the tar. Just ever so slightly threatening to puncture the soles of your feet. Back in J-Bay I got lucky when some line paint came up and I could walk on that. Sometimes a sidewalk of grass broke the monotony by which time it felt like walking on manora blades anyway. At least one kind of pain distracted from the other. At this stage I started looking for The Ranger's house and walked up one hill after the other. I traversed a contour streets to see if any features looked familiar and then move on to the next. Sometimes I had to backtrack when hitting a dead end.
I kept wiping at a fluid on my face and every now and then my cheek would fart. When the predawn blue light started filling in colours I could see my hands and jersey covered in splatters of blood. Along with my feet, my legs ached from the beating and breathing hurt. Then my Body spoke to my Brain.
"I realy appreciate what you are trying to do for me and your Heart. Please give me 30 minutes of rest and I will carry you out of here - I promise." An empty house for sale came into sight. In the front yard was a large shrub. I crawled in under a perfect Igloo type canopy with a beautifully soft bed of fallen leaves. I dozed off slightly cold but got the requested 30 minutes in.
The sun had risen by the time I crawled back out of that bush. Trying to remember The Ranger's address I walked the same strategy until I descended another hill. The aspect over the bay looked familiar and the elevation seemed right. I knew I was close. When I saw my laundry soaking up the morning sun I flashed back to finishing my Breede River Solo. Having made my peace with God on that trip I cried at the finish. This time We were already good so all I did was grit my teeth and put one foot infront of the other for the final 100 meters. I had walked for 12 hours.
The Ranger opened the front door with a gasp exclaiming: "THE FUCKER'S ALIVE!" We sat on his balcony over a few cups of coffee and exchanged our perspectives on the whole episode. They were out all night checking the streets, Police Station, Clinics and even driving out on beaches in search of me thinking I was throwing a tantrum. We must have narrowly missed each other the whole night. Every time I took a sip of coffee it pissed through a hole in my cheek. After checking the rest of my body for wounds I took a shower. We drove around a bit to find a doctor that promptly refused to stitch up my face hole and turned us away. I've always been under the impression they're under oath, but ok, FUCK HIM! The next step was to declare the incident with SAPS that issued a docket merely stating "Common Robbery". The Ranger was livid, swore revenge and went about doing a better job detecting than the blues themselves.
Nothing ever came of it though. So I bummed a pantyliner off The Ranger's girlfriend, stuck it over my bleeding cheek hole and fished the Kabeljou's lagoon.
Orcas have been displacing Great Whites and are decimating Sevengill populations killing them for their livers while rabies has been identified in Cape Fur Seals.
According to Prof. Piet ( ~er-Bobbejaan-Skieter ) van Rooyen's writings large Yellowtail specimen can be found swimming alone late in March
Hold off on the leading Bonitos boys....wait for the 'Tail...
Odendaal's Punt - Blombos.
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