Jeffreys Bay - License to Dream
In the cold winter dawn, the steam from our coffee cups and condensation from our breath merged, indistinguishable.
A few elite surfers were already bobbing in the dark ocean known for its white shark activity. The storm had passed, and the forecasted perfect swells had arrived at the world-renowned surf break.
“We may get lucky,” the photographer next to me mused, “if that cloud clears, the sunrise light will be beautiful.” At first light, we found a unique vantage point away from the other photographers in the hope of capturing an image the others would miss. The heavy clouds began to dissipate as the stiff offshore wind blew, and golden light crept up on the horizon.
As the set of waves, bigger than expected, made its final approach, the world’s best surfers scrambled to reposition themselves, caught unaware by the waves’ size. A lone “Average Joe” surfer, sitting wide of the pack, found himself in the perfect position. Unsponsored and on a sticker-less surfboard, an unlikely hero for the first wave of the day.
The wave towered double overhead, as he paddled confidently into the first wave of the set - cheers erupted from the gallery of surfers in the water. Expertly setting his line down the point, he raced across the face of the cresting wave as it roared down the line across the shallow, sharp rock point. Section after section of the breaking wave reared up, threatening to end his ride prematurely. Each time, he narrowly found the unbroken wave face – just in time.
The only sound in my ears was the camera’s motor drive. 40 seconds later, the elated surfer kicked safely out of the wave.
Ted lowered his camera and looked at me, “That’s the beauty of this place. It’s a license to dream for the average surfer. You don’t have to be a professional to get the best wave.”
Touche, I thought quietly, hoping the same could be said for photographers.
After a moment, I agreed. After all, where else, and in which sporting discipline, do the mere mortals get the opportunity to rub shoulders so closely with the elite?
Fire and Ice in Oslo
We arrived in Oslo in late February after heavy snowfall — the train from the airport sped past a wilderness of pine trees shrouded in white.
The following fog-filled days were cold and damp, and my partner and I struggled to find a rhythm in the winter gloom.
Days were filled with bad coffee and good hot dogs.
Even the iconic Oslo Opera house was a subdued silhouette - the reflected lights on the wet streets offering the only trace of cheer.
Certainly not the overwhelming experience I anticipated on my arrival in Norway.
Casting about for something to do, we walked past the popular quayside saunas.
A discordant sight greeted us - sauna visitors in swimsuits plunged into the frozen Oslo Fjord .
Something to try, we decided. Albeit without the icy plunge.
Booking a slot was characteristically easy and a testament to Norwegian efficiency.
The next evening, we arrived for our sauna.
The wan winter sun had long fled the sky, and we were delighted to find the sauna burning hot - cheery red coals glowing in the brazier.
We changed quickly into our swimsuits and entered the welcoming heat — it was the first time, since our arrival, that we had been able to shake the seeping Oslo cold.
The temperature, however, crept steadily upwards. Initially comfortable, the mercury soon rose to uncomfortable levels.
An urgent escape from the overwhelming, dry heat was needed, but to where? Surely our only option wasn’t plunging into the icy fjord?
We resolved to stay a little longer… just 5 minutes more, and then we would make our decision.
After the allotted time, it became alarmingly clear that there would be no other alternative but to find respite in the icy fjord.
Gingerly, we approached the hole cut into the ice and, with a deep breath, plunged into the water.
Visceral, mind-numbing cold embraced us as a thousand icy needles pummeled our senses.
An instant physiological and emotional catharsis — every pore and cell in our bodies sprang to life.
After the first plunge, it was clear — the next 60 minutes would be spent in the sauna , first becoming as warm as possible, and then once again plunging into the frigid waters of the fjord for respite.
We shared our sauna with two other couples we had just met. Conversation quickly followed — the pleasant conversation you have with people with whom a profound experience is shared, but that you know you are unlikely to see again.
At the end of the time slot, we reluctantly had a last plunge, dressed, and said our goodbyes.
We headed home with tingling bodies, delighted to have finally found our travel groove after a memorable Norwegian experience.
The city of Oslo had finally welcomed us into its embrace with a time-honoured Scandinavian ritual.