Coffee Bay to Jeffrey’s Bay
Dawn flickers. He’s gone surfing. A bit of an explore brings me to a rocky beach crowned by thunderous waves. Scrambling up a grass sand-speckled hill, I reach the crest to be faced by the most beautiful stretch of yellow, a yellow dripped in silver and gold. Black rocks, angular against skin-white dunes. Twisting trees, their branches and roots wound as one. He surfs, I run. Local villagers silently pick their way through shoreline crags, their wares in plastic vessels. A dog shouts good morning, snapping at fish in the shallows.
We bump our way down potholed roads, 9km of potholed road to the Hole in the Wall, a rock face with a gaping corridor to the sea. I keep forgetting where we are. This coastline reminds me of the UK’s Jurassic beaches. Today is the longest drive; 9 hours. We leave the sea behind us, climbing back into the beige hills, timber land, dusty roads and dusty faces. At last the road curves, the sideline turns to emerald, and the smell of salt hangs in the air. The names of towns passing by sound like a sailor’s ship log: Dutya, East London, Port Alfred, Alexandria, Port Elizabeth, Jeffrey’s Bay. The sun sets. A sky on fire, its angry flames licking at the blackening clouds. We finish today in Jeffrey’s Bay, and seek sleep at a surfing haunt. I go to bed telling myself I’ll do some research about a man called Jeffrey.
Jeffrey’s Bay to Wilderness
I wake up to the sound of the sea, a sound I will always maintain as one of the best. The waves, the shore, they’re so close I feel the tide at my toes. It is also raining, the pitter pattering of drops on a nearby tent are calling, ‘come-out-side-come-out-side’. Its been a few months since I’ve experienced rain, real spitting, random, heavy splatters of rain. The wind whips up the sea and darkening sky as I pace along the shoreline. Pierced by the sun, clouds create ladders from the sky to the sea.
Our hostel’s resident surfers are out in languid force as I return, the smell of a recently smoked herbal cigarette blending in with fresh coffee. Steadily, as if it never lost hope, the sun breaks through gloriously warm, and like owls, we creep outside blinking. Lit up like a diamond, each facet, wave, band of rocks, house window, shoreline bird is glinting. But it fails to hold out, and we drive through the most epic rainstorm I’ve ever experienced. Like a curtain, he sees it falling up ahead, preparing me but not for the full force of descending water. I can’t see the road, the rain comes in waves, and windscreen wipers unable to cope with the sheer deluge. The mountains are covered in a thick blanket of emerald, jade, lime; a pantone chart of the world’s greens. They curve their way to the sea, resonant of a female body form that undulates and falls. And then the peaks as we climb, smokey clouds curl over the top. Steam on a coffee cup.
Plettenberg Bay falls away from us, more beautiful than the photographs, and we continue onto Kynsna. It is as if we have stumbled across a Wild West town; saloon balconies peek out from shop fronts. The river winds itself around the town, trees dips straight into the water, and the road curves along its watery stitching. Our plan was to stay here, but we head on, anxious to reach Cape Town by tomorrow.
He’s been told of Wilderness, known for its dramatic coastline, beach, and snaking river. The small hillside town lives up to its name. Coarse, haunting, an old disused train track totters on the hill edge above the beach. We are told a homeless, yet harmless, man lives in a cave at the end of the line. We choose not to investigate. The rain clouds hang in the horizon, sunlight desperately injecting through for one last time. The rain again, a sheer wall of darkness heads to batter the coast. I’m drawn to the raging sea, a wind so strong it blows the spray from the wave tops, herds of white horses. They gallop across the breaking tide line. I’m reminded of Cornish summers, curled up on a sofa, while outside the elements use the beach as their battleground.
Part 3 to be continued…