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I grew up on a farm situated well into the hinterland and a helluva long way from the ocean. The Baviaans River bisecting the arid thornveld flooded maybe four or five times a year, usually in summer after the impressive pyrotechnics of an African thunderstorm had unleashed its fury on the ironstone koppies and dusty plains. The smell of cordite would roll in on the reverberating thunder rumble and gradually the dry river bed would be transformed into a thrashing, muddy water monster, surging and snapping ferociously at anything in its way. But usually this ferocity would be short-lived and soon only a few placid pools would remain along the sandy river course to remind us of the fleeting deluge. And this is where I learned to swim, doing a muddy crawl amongst wary terrapins and monitor lizards out on the prowl in search of a frog to snack on. Sure, we did the annual Christmas exodus to the Transkei coast, but swimming never really became what I would call a strong point. And neither did kayaking. But then I wasn’t going to let this interfere with an invitation to partake in a sea-kayaking weekend out on the West Coast. So when the guys from West Coast Guided Trails invited me to join them for two days of surf play out at Paternoster, I grasped the opportunity with a slight touch of trepidation. Be advised though - when you venture beyond the boerewors curtain stretching past Melkbosstrand, you are well and truly into no-crap country. Here people devour huge slabs of red meat and say exactly what they think. Full steam ahead and bugger being politically correct. Beers go down like water and you better not be afraid to look a Klippies and Coke straight in the eye. Pack an appetite, but leave any pretences at home and you will fit right in at the fisherman’s cottage perched on the Paternoster beach where West Coast Guided Trails have established their base. We arrive just in time to meet our host Hannes returning from an extremely productive hunting and gathering expedition, with more than a dozen shiny hotnotsfish hanging from a stringer and makulu crays and perlies bulging from his waist bag. It is immediately quite clear that we will not be starving during this particular jaunt on the West Coast. | 
