ALIVE & KICKING A Decade of the Donkey
Three days before, we had been struggling to make the call. A deep purple blob was hurtling towards the west coast of Africa late in the southern hemisphere winter. The text messages started pinging back and forth soon after, but right from the start, the outlook was ominous.
Naude Dryer, my local contact on the ground, had told me earlier in the season that the lineup at Skeleton Bay had been split in two. The top of the point had become too fast, even by Skeleton Bay standards, and was a closeout. The bottom section had been reduced to a sluggish peeler.
“The bay still has a big kink in it, “Naude replied when I feverishly texted him for an update. “It’s got a bit better since the start of the season, but it’s definitely not the wave we know.”
Born and bred in Namibia, Naude knows the wave intimately. He drove past Skeleton Bay everyday on his way to work, where he guides kayaking tours around Pelican Point on the northern tip of the spit. The ‘big kink’ was a massive berm of sand that had steadily been building up over the past few years and had now filled in the top curve of the bay, effectively kneecapping the world’s longest tube.
I had seen traces of this the previous season. Instead of the smooth, continuous curve that makes those half-minute barrels possible, there had been jagged patches where the sandbank appeared to be creeping into the lineup. Many locals feared it was the beginning of
