I love this wave, even though I haven't surfed it in a while. A decade or two ago it was the the most vaunted of big wave spots, the Cape's Holy Grail of size. Then as the current generation adapted to Sunset and Dungeons became the pinnacle of what was possible with size and NW wind, Crayfish Factory slipped from the media's attention.
I had a memorable session out there with just myself and Chris Bertish - an awesome priviledge in itself. The session cost my beloved 7'6" Pierre de Villiers, but just hanging with the man and garnering nuggets of wisdom from him seemed a worthwhil trade-off. Pierre, who lives within sight at Scarborough, is also one of the stand-outs here and probably has more claim on this place than anyone.
One of my other favourite memories was, ironically enough, not riding it at its best or biggest. Going on yesterday's theme, it was a dying swell late one evening. There were a few of us out, and most were packing it in. It reached the point where we were saying to ourselves: If there's no wave in the next few minutes, i'm just paddling in. Which is a mission against the current which pulls out the bay. Eventually, everyone except myself had made that call. I sat and waited in the dusk, peering it to the gloom, hoping for a dark rise to appear. Some seals were hunting nearby, cormorants skimmed past on their way back to their roosts. The dark form of a whale cruised past, just visible in the late dusk. At the time, I thought of it as a cold and lonely heaven. The antethesis of what we think of as paradise, but to sit on the edge of the reef, surrounded by so much life was such an experience.
A wave did come, but on bottom turning I snagged kelp and bailed, so had a bit of a paddle in. It was completely dark by the time I reached the slipway. I was shivering, hadn't had the waves I'd hoped for, but still so stoked.
Pic credit: Ant Fox. and lifted from The Bomb
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| And, you know what: I'm fine with that. |
One of my other favourite memories was, ironically enough, not riding it at its best or biggest. Going on yesterday's theme, it was a dying swell late one evening. There were a few of us out, and most were packing it in. It reached the point where we were saying to ourselves: If there's no wave in the next few minutes, i'm just paddling in. Which is a mission against the current which pulls out the bay. Eventually, everyone except myself had made that call. I sat and waited in the dusk, peering it to the gloom, hoping for a dark rise to appear. Some seals were hunting nearby, cormorants skimmed past on their way back to their roosts. The dark form of a whale cruised past, just visible in the late dusk. At the time, I thought of it as a cold and lonely heaven. The antethesis of what we think of as paradise, but to sit on the edge of the reef, surrounded by so much life was such an experience.
A wave did come, but on bottom turning I snagged kelp and bailed, so had a bit of a paddle in. It was completely dark by the time I reached the slipway. I was shivering, hadn't had the waves I'd hoped for, but still so stoked.
Pic credit: Ant Fox. and lifted from The Bomb
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