It’s that time again, the Great Swell meandering languidly from Humansdorp. A slow-moving convoy of roof boxes, surfboards, Labradors, and high hopes is on its way to St Francis Bay and Cape St Francis. You can almost hear it now: the whine of roof straps in the wind, the muffled argument about whether anyone packed the charger, and the distant cry of “Are we there yet?” echoing off the dunes.
Within weeks, the village will double in size. Supermarket shelves will empty (and then be restocked) at record speed, coffee shops will discover what “pressure” really means, and someone will always be in the wrong queue at the Spar. The petrol station will turn into a social experiment. Locals will try to maintain composure while visitors debate whether diesel is cheaper in Jeffreys Bay.
When Two Tribes Go To War
Shoppers will divide into two tribes: the early birds who arrive as the doors open, and the evening strategists who sneak in five minutes before closing to avoid the chaos. Both groups will swear their method is superior. The same applies to those who stock up on booze “early to beat the rush.” Everyone knows it’s a trap. You don’t drink less when you plan ahead; you just start earlier. In the month, not in the day. Although that too. It’s a trap, buying booze early. A vicious, cyclical trap. A nice trap, but a quagmire nonetheless.
Out at Seal Point, the contest for car parks and waves will be fierce. Expect the usual ballet of reversing SUVs combined with faux SUP diplomacy in the lineup. But this year brings something new to the village. The groynes are rising, sand nourishment is about to reshape the beaches, and the coastal project will begin to reveal its first tangible results. St Francis Bay will have more beach to argue over, and that’s progress. Something we’ve wanted for a very long time.
Cape St Francis, with its Blue Flag status, will again prove why it’s the calm eye of the summer storm. The beach team runs a tight but friendly operation, keeping things clean, safe, and cheerful. The Beach Kitchen will be open to help feed the hungry masses, and extra security and law enforcement will keep the summer circus running smoothly.
Billys Beach
Then there’s Billy’s Beach, the annual rite of passage for over-18s and the young-at-heart who descend on the “beach” to dance, debrief, and test the limits of endurance. This year features Goldfish, whose two members both happen to surf, which feels like a good omen. Billy’s has long claimed the title of South Africa’s best New Year’s jol, and few would argue once the lights start flashing and the bass rolls across the bay. Because, you know, I’m all about that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble, I’m all about that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble, I’m all about that bass… etc.
Except for those who don’t like the bass, and there are a few of those in St Francis Bay. The bass makes them feel “giddy” and “impulsive,” apparently, although there are far better ways for older people to get giddy and impulsive, said a friend of mine, once.
For those seeking something slower, there’s the Flash Float, where people drift peacefully down the canals armed with inflatable unicorns, coolers, libations, and questionable navigation skills. Over at Sunset Rocks, the daily pilgrimage continues. Every evening, a crowd gathers to film the sunset, a glowing orange ritual that has become a national phenomenon. It’s our own version of Uluwatu, minus the cliff bars and Bintang singlets. There are singlets, though, the kind everyone used to call “wife beaters,” a term we’re definitely not allowed to use anymore, that I didn’t just write, that you only imagined you read, that was written in invisible ink, and was actually supposed to say “wife eaters.” Or is that worse? It’s so hard being woke.
The Flash Float / photo from Facebook
Ribs and Ginger Beer
So here we go again. The traffic will crawl, the waves will be crowded, and the queues will stretch past the tills, past the energy drinks, past the frozen lasagna, and end somewhere between the ribs and the ginger beer. But there will also be laughter, tan lines, familiar faces, and that unmistakable feeling that summer has arrived.
Take a deep breath, smile at the chaos, and welcome the annual swell of visitors. Come mid-January, our village will be quiet again, the smell of roasting chicken fat at KFC will have mellowed, and we’ll find ourselves wondering where everyone went.
Editor
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