Never Say Never: A Surfski Vacation in Cape Town to Remember Forever
Why In the World Would I Go to Africa?
When I bought my first surfski—an Epic v8 pro—from Eric Costanzo, co-owner of Shark River Paddling in Belmar, New Jersey, in the fall of 2018, I knew neither where my Epic would take me nor how it would profoundly change me as a paddler and as a person. Few events have the power to change one’s life forever, but I can say without any hyperbole that buying my Epic v8 pro, which continues to this day to be my best friend on open water, was one of the rare phenomena that unleashed dreams within me that I never knew I had. Through my acquaintance with Eric, I learned about a recent trip he took to Cape Town, South Africa where he aspired to set a time record for himself at the Miller’s Run, a roughly 7-mile downwind paddle from Miller’s Point to Fish Hoek Beach, a paddle that he conveyed as the Holy Grail of surfski paddlers, as the ultimate downwind experience for which surfskis are made. I sighed in reaction: couldn’t paddlers have just as much fun and fitness paddling a ski on the flat to the rough-and-bumpy waters flowing through fickle wind and reckless boat traffic on the Jersey shore? Yet Eric’s description of the downwind surfski experience as both an “intellectual’s game” of reading the ocean and an athlete’s challenge of riding waves had a certain appeal I couldn’t ignore.
Further, Eric introduced me to the names of brothers “Dawid and Jasper Mocke” and their famous surfski school in Cape Town. Although I was desperate to find a surfski instructor in New Jersey, would I go to Africa to find one? Never! I was content with the rare occasions when South African surfski gurus would come to town. I had, in fact, already taken my first surfski lesson with Sean Rice after Eric invited him to Belmar in July 2018, a class that solidified my decision to buy the very demo v8 pro I used during the session. But as much as kayaking in Africa piqued my curiosity, I asked Sean the question that every naïve American paddler who has already paddled very possibly unknowingly with the greatest marine predators always asks: “Have you seen sharks?” Sean laughed and said, “I paddle with them all the time,” with a nonchalance that he might have used to describe paddling with his brother Kenny (with whom I’d have a chance to take my second surfski lesson the following year in an advanced skills land and ocean class in Rhode Island). Sean and Kenny Rice were indeed the first authentic watermen I met but their ocean spirit, as carefree as it impressed me, a foreigner to the water world culture, did nothing to diminish my fears of a place where great white sharks and humpback whales could toy with kayaks as thin and fragile as seashells. As someone who grew up almost entirely indoors, who didn’t learn how to swim until age 31, who was plagued by chronic pain for years that had prevented me from paddling and at times even from taking casual walks, who had, in short, lived a life anathema to risk, I would never paddle in the south Atlantic Ocean. The mere thought of being in Africa drowned me in fear: from microscopic to macroscopic menaces, from non-potable water to loadshedding that amounts to shedding the daily luxuries of the spoiled American, I promised myself: “Never will I travel to Africa!”
Thus, I easily repressed my fantasies of adventures on the forbidden continent. And since I had moved to New Jersey in 2008, why did I need to travel abroad at all? I had already been to Europe multiple times, and after assuming a “been-there-done-that” attitude, I was convinced that Chevy Chase, playing the role of Clark Griswold in National Lampoon’s European Vacation (1985) revealed a wise adage to his son Rusty at the end of the movie: “The best part of traveling abroad is coming home.” New Jersey was, and still is, my home sweet paddling home… until recently: I yearned for an escape. For the past four years, I worked tirelessly on re-establishing first, the Toms River Paddling Race, then once, the D&R Canal Race, founding a limited liability company to promote paddlesports racing in New Jersey, and finally, yanking the collars of the administrators in Toms River Township to let me have a venue permit just one last year to make the Toms River Paddling Race survive its 50th Anniversary in 2023. Without having to worry about directing another event this summer, my paddling goals radically shifted from supporting other athletes to supporting myself. The moment had come for me to live the philosophy I often preach to my students: Never run from fear; instead, run after it until you’ve conquered it! Suddenly, a revolution formed in my thinking: why would I not go directly to the surfski capital of the world and get lessons from the great Mocke Paddling surfski school?
Trip Planning
I must confess that the planning and preparation of my trip proved far more exciting and far less stressful than what is required to organize a race. First, I wondered if I would be at a disadvantage being obligated to take a vacation to South Africa during the winter season in the southern hemisphere, since most surfski paddlers plan their trips during Cape Town’s spring and summer seasons, which favor the sunniest, warmest, and windiest days. I started by contacting Nikki Mocke, Dawid’s wife and instruction coordinator, who assured me that I could plan downwind sessions virtually any time of year: even in the coldest, wettest months of July and August, conditions vary considerably day-to-day, and despite the greater frequency of calm days in the winter than in the other seasons, strong NNW winds make possible a reverse Miller’s Run whereas the spring and summer witness a predominance of SSE winds required for a proper Miller’s. Besides, as I experienced during my trip, a Capetonian winter with heavy but short downpours and daytime air temperatures ranging from the low 50sF-low 70sF is equivalent to the New Jersey spring and fall wetsuit seasons. Nikki also confirmed that I needn’t worry about my trip conflicting with the Mocke Paddling instruction schedule: I could come any day of the year and be guaranteed sessions with Dawid, Jasper, or one of their expert instructors.
The other major planning that centered on health concerns made me realize that most of my fears of traveling to Africa were unwarranted or could be mitigated with the right strategies in place. The infectious disease doctor I visited told me that I was “smart” to be staying so far south on the continent that I would need to worry neither about taking anti-malaria medication nor encountering the tsetse fly. Although I treated my clothing with Permethrin before packing, my precaution was superfluous, since mosquitos are generally not seen in Cape Town in the winter. After only a few required vaccines, I felt equipped with the armor I needed to stay healthy during my trip. Aside from establishing confidence in my health, I was also easily able to avoid the inconvenience of loadshedding known to most South Africans as a way of life to save energy of which the supply does not meet the demands of the population: many hotels and Airbnbs boast an alternative energy source so outages never affect their guests.
Yet three weeks before my scheduled flights, I encountered one obstacle that threatened to cancel the trip: a severely strained hamstring. The doctor suggested that I would need at least four weeks to recover entirely, without which I could aggravate the strain, especially while paddling. But I was not about to give up on what had become a dream unrealized: I rested as best I could, and settled on a diet high in protein, fruits, and vegetables knowing that I may not reach the paddling goals I intended on the trip in which I had already invested so much time, energy, and money to plan perfectly.
The Trip
On the first days of travel, I was overcome with as much excitement as self-doubt. After being forced to shuffle through London Heathrow Airport (LHR) (aka Labyrinth of Hell and Rip-offs), I was somnambulant as I boarded the flight to Cape Town that would force me to sit on my injury for nearly 12 hours.
At last, in Cape Town, I was greeted with unusually sunny, warm weather reminiscent of a typical Jersey shore day in late spring. Despite feeling rather disoriented, I enjoyed a first walk in the bohemian-style fishing village of Kalk Bay. Although an itinerary of Cape Town by land merits its own article, I will limit myself to a brief summary: Kalk Bay is marked by its abundance of arts and crafts boutiques, coffee shops, bakeries, restaurants, and a quaint pier with sunbathing seals; Fish Hoek, about five minutes away by car from Kalk Bay is where the surfski school is located, and is also a neighborhood with a good assortment of grocery stores, American fast food eateries like KFC, and popular hotels; still, other desirous neighborhoods south of Fish Hoek like Glencairn and Simon’s Town, home of South Africa’s largest naval base and museum deserve exploring. From any one of these neighborhoods, one can easily drive, get an Uber, or arrange for a guided tour of the most iconic Capetonian sites like Table Mountain, Chapman’s Peak, the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, the Constantia Wine Route, the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, and of course, the Cape of Good Hope or even the southernmost tip of Africa, Cape Argulhus. As I learned, any day is a good one to explore Cape Town, with plenty to do in nature or indoors, regardless of weather conditions.
Paddling Sessions With Dawid
Even when you take all medical recommendations seriously to avoid the effects of jet lag, locals warned me that a full recovery might take up to three days from the day of arrival in South Africa. They were right; nonetheless, I was glad to take Nikki’s advice to meet Dawid at Fish Hoek Beach Sports Club for an initial informal session to set up my loaner Epic v8 pro on my first full day. Whether still jet lagged or dizzy with the realization that I was finally getting my first lesson with Dawid, I felt as though I were dreaming as we headed down to launch from a beach made sublime with views of the mountainous shoreline on a golden sunny afternoon. Although Nikki had suggested that I might want to do a bay paddle with Dawid in a double to take the first session lightly, I felt a sense of greater accomplishment after he persuaded me to take the v8 pro on the water as initially planned, since I had now overcome the jitters of paddling for the first time in the Indian Ocean (or, if you prefer, the South Atlantic). A bonus on my début paddle was catching sight of a whale breach about 200 meters from where we were. Winter is whale-mating season, and Dawid told me that a mother and her calf seemed to be frequenting the bay lately.
My biggest takeaways from my first session with Dawid include: learning how to properly launch a surfski on a beach, identifying the impact zone and selecting a wave to “attack,” and lengthening my stroke at the catch. While a friend had previously told me that I tend to plant my blade in the water where I should be exiting, Dawid explained how to correct myself and recommended that I lengthen my shaft by one centimeter. According to him, I still had traces of the sea kayaker’s stroke, which I thought I had long since abandoned with my adoption of a wing paddle. Further, the paddle Dawid loaned me was brand new in my hands: a Knysna Swing, which, as Michele Eray had already warned me when I selected a Knysna Racing paddle from her online shop, was a different-shaped blade from the Delta, the latter Knsyna model belonging to the same twisted tear-drop family of wing blades as the Gara Odin, my favorite open water paddle. Although the Swing paddle initially felt as though I was trying to scoop water with a fork, I quickly adapted myself to the new longer, skinnier blades when practicing a few sprints. I believe the familiar tear-drop-shaped blade allows me to have a more powerful catch, though the Swing was smooth in the next sessions, including on the Millers Run. I returned to my residence that evening with peaceful confidence that I had paddled a solo on a calm Indian Ocean.
The next session with Dawid took place on another placid, bright winter day. With such beginner-friendly conditions, I took a leisurely 7-mile round trip tour of the famous Roman Rock Lighthouse that serves as the halfway marker for those doing the Miller’s Run. As such, we had time to explore a kelp forest (one of thousands that line the ocean floor along the entire South African coast) and towards the end of the paddle, we spotted a sunfish the length of a car. Aside from enjoying the scenery, I had the opportunity to practice my beach launching skills (something I hardly ever had a chance to do even as a sea kayaker) and to work on fine-tuning my stroke. Finally, the challenge was practicing how to land on the beach, an area of paddling in which I’ve had the least exposure and which causes me the most anxiety as I am too uncomfortable to look behind for waves without having a sense of losing my balance or being shoved and dumped aggressively onto the beach. While I improved my strategy for beach launching to the degree that I am confident to practice without guidance, landing on the beach after all my lessons on this trip will be an area in which I will seek maximum practice with friends. I was, in fact, somewhat disappointed in my performance: as the aggravated injury caused an increase in pain and fatigue with almost every stroke, I had the impression of operating only up to about 40% of my power.
The opportunity to have Dawid as a one-on-one instructor was an experience that rewarded me for all the effort and money I spent to finance my trip and even the physical discomfort I had to endure to make the journey. He is every bit as patient, kind, and welcoming as he is remarkable in his paddling and coaching. As much as he encouraged me to join him on another paddle, I obeyed my physical limits and declined but I was impressed to witness his land warm-up with his squad representing a wide range of ages. When you plan your visit to the surfski school, be sure to take advantage of the plentiful options you have based on your skill level and comfort: while you can book a one-on-one session any time of year, you can also either sign up for one of Dawid’s surfski training camps on his calendar or ask him to schedule a camp for you and your friends, according to the goals of your group and based on your availability.
The Miller’s Run
Even with a couple of days to rest before my first Miller’s Run was scheduled on Saturday, July 27, pain enervated me physically and mentally. The wind, which howled throughout the night of the 26th , contributed to renewed pangs of self-doubt. But after months of planning and anticipation of what promised to be the pinnacle of my surfski paddling experience thus far, cancellation of the Miller’s Run was not an option: I was ready to push through any pain just to achieve my dream. I woke up to the coldest morning I experienced on my trip, with the air temperature in the low 40s and light drizzle mixed with steady wind. “Should I have packed my dry suit after all?” I wondered. I had to arrive at the club in the dark at 7am, since the NNW winds were due to change unfavorably west by mid-morning. Hence, the window was tight to complete this “now-or-never” paddle with a new instructor assigned to me. As soon as Levi Mayes introduced himself to me with an enthusiastic smile, my doubts started to dissipate. Levi convinced me that my neoprene layers topped with a single paddling jacket would suffice for warmth and, he worked quickly to make sure that I was comfortable in the new-to-me Fenn double. Interestingly, I am hardly the only paddler averse to leg leashes: Levi showed me an effective alternative, which consists of a strap tied with a bowline knot and attached to the ski. After addressing an action plan in a worst-case scenario of a capsize, however unlikely, Levi led me onto a cold beach with overcast skies just beginning to show signs of daylight. The plan was to take my first Miller’s “conservatively,” which meant that we would stay away from the lighthouse and avoid the largest runs. I was glad that I already had a tour of the lighthouse because I was never able to see it due to its distance from us during the Miller’s.
The first two kilometers were easy. The small runs, which made the sea look like a pot of boiling water, were not unfamiliar conditions to me. Only anticipation made me nervous, but Levi assured me that he could feel from his cockpit everything that I was doing at the stern. I kept in mind Dawid’s advice to fix my gaze ahead, and further, I promised myself that no matter what I encountered, I would work as hard as possible to imitate Levi’s stroke, as next-to-impossible as that task was with his optimal technique and power. As swells filled my cockpit like a bathtub overflooding, Levi asked if I were okay, since I was tensing myself. I explained that I was wiggling my way back onto the seat by either quickly putting my hand on the gunnel or trying to resist the buoyancy threatening to push me out of the boat. Levi assured me that the washtub was normal, and I was so surprised by how warm the ocean water was that after a while, I started to enjoy the amphibious ride. As much as I like the low gunnels on my Epic surfskis, I appreciated the deeply carved cockpit and high gunnels on the Fenn in these conditions.
I asked Levi to keep talking to me throughout the paddle, so that I would be distracted from any apprehension. He guided me through his reading of the ocean, explaining how we were seeking to catch little runs in order to connect them with bigger ones. I felt mild uneasiness with the unfamiliar sensation of waves picking up the stern but the downward ride was nothing less than a thrilling roller coaster ride. Finally, I was experiencing what I had seen professional paddlers do in countless videos of the Miller’s Run: slight leaning back while maintaining a brace down the waves or temporary ceasing of the stroke for a paddle-free ride. I also learned through watching Levi that one has to be on high alert to look for, and to twist in one direction or another to select the next run to chase. This roller coaster on the water is thus one that the paddler controls based on instant decision-making, lightening reflexes, and the ability to sprint and/or to push one’s body forward to accelerate efficiently onto the next wave. When Levi informed me that the boulder now in sight marked the Miller’s Point where we would land, I could hardly believe that the joyride was about to end. The landing itself was intimidating as we approached, since I could see nothing but boulders until Levi pulled us past crashing swells and onto the narrow ramp between the rocks. I survived! While Levi reportedly finishes the Miller’s in 42 minutes on his own, he estimated an hour with me, and in fact, I recorded a time of 50:32 in 24kts of sustained NNW winds and gusts over 34kts.
Although I was dubious about meeting a new instructor, I am convinced that no one could have ensured my safety, my well-being, and my overall enjoyment of the experience better than Levi Mayes did on my first Miller’s Run. Gregarious with seemingly boundless energy, Levi was no less experienced. Like many watermen, he was born into a family of lifesaving surfers and progressed to paddling a surfski for ten years during which he completed thousands of Millers’ Runs and competed in races worldwide. When he humbly thanked me for “letting” him “join” me, as is his habit to do after initiating paddlers to a Miller’s Run, I was quick to remind him that the honor was mine. His expression of gratitude reminded me, in turn, of an important trait in a great educator in any field: a passion for sharing what you love with others. I was fortunate to make the acquaintance of this rising star in world-class ocean ski racing and coaching.
The Last Paddle Session
I still had one last important mission to accomplish on my trip: meeting in person and taking a lesson with Ian Black whom I’ve been privileged to call a friend on social media for several years and whom I had wanted to meet in the U.S., and even possibly at the Toms River Race. But as fate demanded, I got an authentic lesson from Ian at Fish Hoek Beach. We began the lesson on land. I’ve taken numerous dry-land paddling clinics, with the large majority proving to be a waste of time. So I was amazed that the first part of my session with Ian was as invaluable to my learning as our second part spent on the water. Ian takes a holistic approach to teaching paddlers: he acknowledges that no one paddler has the same in body type, physical comfort, or needs. After performing a drill that can be used as a warm-up or as muscle-memory practice anywhere at any time, Ian taught me how to test whether the footboard is at just the right distance for my legs. As we agreed, the “rule of fist” just doesn’t work. Further, he already started to correct the angle of my catch, the place where I should exit, and the recovery phase and set up for the next stroke. Although I’ve been a self-sworn-Oscar-Chalupsky- zero-feather die-hard, I could tell that Ian doubted that the zero shaft was completely right for me but he said he’d have to see my stroke on the water.
As we headed to the beach a little less than an hour before sunset, a happy paddler greeted us with news that we were in for a treat with “big swells.” Sure enough, my mouth slightly dropped when I saw several sets of thrashing breakers on the beach. I had wanted to challenge myself in bigger launching conditions but my sciatica had returned with a screaming vengeance. I was already fatigued, and now I was letting self-defeat slowly creep over me. Although Ian could read my facial expression of hesitance, he encouraged me: “It’ll be alright.” We walked down the strand in search of a gentler impact zone but the waves were still big. Ian directed me when to finally hop in the cockpit after we waited for a very brief lull between wave sets. I did as he instructed and, I ultimately succeeded in attacking the next wave that stood higher than my head but my anxiety was made worse by having to fidget with a tight foot strap. Once we were finally past the impact zone, Ian recommended that I forget the standard advice for keeping the foot strap tight: although one’s contact points are well known to be located only at the feet and buttocks in a ski, Ian does not concur with popular thinking that a tighter foot strap makes much of a difference in holding you in place in rough conditions. As I just saw, it can make timing difficult and increase the risk of a capsize.
Finally, the most fun part of the lesson came when it was time to start strategizing how to chase runs. Once again, Ian’s approach to downwind paddling differs from that of other instructors but I believe that students benefit more by exposure to a greater variety of teaching approaches. Ian coached me to increase my cadence before looking for waves. And with acceleration, I finally started to succeed in getting
”the nose in the hole” and then onto the wave. The SSE wind generated soft rolling swells towards the beach that were perfect for downwind practice. Besides, the Stellar Pro Wing Mid paddle that Ian loaned me was an instant winner with the familiar shape of blade and lightness that I love about my Gara paddles. After strategically zigzagging closer and closer to the area of the beach nearest the club, it was time for the ultimate challenge: testing my anxiety and growing fatigue with what looked to be a rough landing. My confidence was nearing zero but Ian assured me that he would stay right alongside me to guide me through surfing a wave before waiting for the next breakers to pass safely under the hull. I almost made a perfect landing until about 30 feet from shore when I was oblivious to the need of straightening out my ski before I was sidled by a wave. Ah well, I made it through my last lesson, just in time for twilight at Fish Hoek. This last lesson seemed to be my greatest accomplishment, since I had to synthesize what I learned in all of the lessons I had on the trip.
Once on land, Ian asked me how my paddle felt at the end. I was a little puzzled by his question but I answered, “It was fine.” Ian grinned and pointed to the paddle shaft that was left unlocked: he explained that a strategy for checking the best feathering angle is to let the hands naturally move the loose shaft while paddling. My paddle was at 50 degrees. Ian promised the unlocked shaft was accidental but I conclude that Ian is one brilliant instructor. Humble as few champions are, caring for the paddler’s needs, and protective when his students lack self-confidence, Ian is simply amazing.
Unlike Bonnie Hancock, I did not touch the stars on this trip, but I am honored to have paddled with a few of them as they helped me to make my paddling dreams come true.
Enduring Lessons
When I walked into the Visitors’ Center at the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve, a sign welcomes you “home,” for, as according to the paleoanthropological “Out of Africa” theory, “the recent African origin” model proposes that all modern non-African peoples originally descended from Homo sapiens that came from Africa. The sign was in perfect consonance with the purpose of my trip: a quest for self-discovery through downwind surfski paddling. Although I was born and reared far from the water world culture, meeting the watermen who served as my surfski instructors taught me that I belong in this culture, a culture whose people thrive in the ocean for which they have so much reverence. Although I am not religious, I experience no greater presence of the divine than when I am in my element, at sea. My first paddling instructor sea kayaker John Pagani once explained the difference between whitewater and open water: “In whitewater, the waves come to you whereas in open water, you go to the waves.” I am decidedly an open water paddler, since I approach life in the way that I do the ocean: I don’t wait for what I want; on the contrary, I chase after my dreams with the utmost intensity. And when I catch up to one dream in my field of vision, I enjoy every moment of the ride all the while knowing that I will not rest for long. I immediately accelerate towards the next dream, but I start by realizing small ones in order to build towards bigger ones. I do my best to maintain the run rate of fulfilling one dream after another. I’ve been using this very strategy in my paddling journey: five years ago to the day of my first Miller’s Run, I was terrified during my first ocean race in Rhode Island where I met Kenny Rice and at a time when I still couldn’t perform a remount. My former self had no way of predicting that the Battle of the Bay Race was a small run leading to my first Miller’s Run, which my current self managed to complete with hardly any anxiety. No matter my future, if I ever fail to attain a dream, I remember that there’s always another dream right behind me, beckoning me. I’m anxious to set my sights on the next one.
