Back in the 1990s, when I was a student in Cape Town, a West Coast surfing trip offered The Great Escape. A long weekend up to Elands Bay, with boards and beers and babes, was the Holy Grail, especially after year-end exams. For many Cape Town youngsters, E-Bay (Elands Bay) meant the first kiss, the first babalas, the first green tube of eternal stoke.
Twenty years later, and still a sucker for surfing in all its forms, I planned a road trip to my West Coast haunts of yore. I phoned the lads, all of them a bit longer in the tooth but still surf devotees, and many were heading north too, as the wind and waves looked to be smoking. Dave suggested Swartriet, Luke said Elands, Philip was going…
