ThePaddler 120
I coax Marc
into a small one, he takes the drop, goes left – not pretty but it’s one under the belt. As the session progresses he gets more comfortable, generating more speed on the wave and turning the board off the tail. We convince Neil that taking the drop on his knees is ill-advised and he too bags a couple of good rides. Linzi is on the 8’10” Hokua – she’s lighter than the boys but finding it tough pumping the low volume board down the small faces. Boris and me are sharing waves, getting footage on the GoPro and larking about – he’s pulling his signature pants-down pirouette and trying handstands. It’s barely 8:30am but the tide is dropping and wind increasing so we head for breakfast. That afternoon we hang out on Galu Beach, windsurf and kitesurf and play with the kids in the pool. Our cottage is just down-wind from the fisherman’s village and suddenly we hear a terrific commotion coming from that direction. The locals are launching dhows, frantically detangling nets and piling into the ocean. We run down to investigate. The lagoon is boiling. Sleek silver bodies rolling and thrashing in a great mass, alight in the dipping sun. It’s the start of the sardine run. Young boys shepherd the fish into waiting nets; old women scoop up bucket-loads of briny water, dump the contents on the beach and return for more; others snatch out writhing handfuls. As quickly as it started it’s over and the bait-ball dissipates. The beach is now covered with a shimmering blanket, fish piled three-feet deep in some areas. Spoils are divided, middlemen appear
my backhand, grab the rail and tuck under the lip. It goes dark for a second and then I race out into the light, along the line and kick-out into the Mlango. It’s going to be a good session! Another big set looms on the horizon. Boris and Marc line up for it. I start filming. They both paddle for the same wave, a solid A-Frame. Boris is deeper, drops, goes right and steams down the line as it jacks up behind him. Marc is too shallow; he takes off late and plunges into the pit. The board pops out the back of the wave like a champagne cork and we all hoot and holler. I think nothing of it and follow Boris with the camera as he completes his ride. As I paddle back out I hear shouting. Marc is lying on his board, he’s lost his paddle and blood is staining the white deck of his board. He has a gash above his right eye – it’s about two inches long but clean, more likely an impact from the rail of the board than a coral cut. It’s not life-threatening and – typical elder brother – I suggest he paddles in and gets stitched-up at the dive school. Marc’s feeling dizzy and reminds me that he faints at the sight of blood so I reluctantly paddle back with him. Safely on dry land we apply iodine before carting him off to Diani Hospital. Tetanus and local anaesthetic is injected directly into the wound before he is expertly stitched up by Dr Lennox (the ‘fundi’) and discharged.
*Hakuna Matata means “no wor with bicycles and baskets to ferry the catch to market. We leave with 4 kilos of sardine for supper. Our chef cleans them before deep-frying and serving with chapatti and sukuma-wiki (a local spinach not dissimilar to kale). The next day we go again. The boys are up before I am and raring to go. We paddle out, squinting into the sun as it slowly rises above the horizon. The waves are breaking right into the channel – a sure sign that it’s bigger. The swell has built overnight – it’s breaking chest to head high, super-clean at about 14 second intervals. One shapes for me, I paddle for it but realize I’ve drifted too far right with the current. It’s too late to pull out and I drop, crank a bottom-turn left onto
Back at the cottage we meet up with Neil, Boris and Linzi. Not only had they caught a hat-full of waves but they encountered two pods of dolphin
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and watched a sailfish – barely 50 yards away – leaping clear out of the water as it chased a shoal of dorado. We had another three or four sessions that holiday before heading back to London and bleak midwinter, but conditions were never quite as good. Marc’s scar is barely noticeable (a testament to fine needlework) but his big brother hasn’t yet forgiven him for the lost session. Boris is now training to compete in the SUP World Tour with the first event in Hawaii – it’s nearly 11,000 miles from Kenya but we have no doubt he can share the Hakuna Matata vibe (and his nakedpirouettes) with surfers and paddlers on the other side of the planet.
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