Guest blogger "Tarsius" tells of shipwrecks, kayaking and shark encounters in
Arniston, a fishing village on the beautiful
Overberg coastline.
I have a great dislike for sentimental, empty words like “charming” and “quaint”, but I must confess when writing about Arniston it’s hard not to employ them. This small coastal village exudes serenity. Whitewashed fisherman’s cottages, boats resting in the harbor, and in the right season, whales lolling just beyond the breakers, it’s all so disarmingly mellow.
Whenever I stroll down the beach I can’t help but indulge in romanticized daydreaming about the early Khoi people who lived in these areas before the arrival of Europeans. One can still find the stone traps that they built to catch fish on the receding tide, and the oysters which are now rather scarce must have been clustered thick on the rocks in those times.
History of Arniston
When the Europeans did arrive in this bay, they did not come as conquering heroes; in fact, the few that made it to shore were half drowned, clinging desperately to the shattered planks of their ship, the Arniston. This vessel, which was to give the town its name, had been on its way to Britain from Sri Lanka transporting 378 passengers, many of them sick and wounded soldiers. Heavy seas separated the Arniston from the rest of the fleet and destroyed most of the ship’s sails. Driven toward a rocky shore with two of three anchor cables snapped, Captain George Simpson made the desperate decision to run the ship aground in a sandy bay, but they were still two kilometers from shore when it struck a shallow reef. In the pounding surf, only six crewmembers reached the shore.
Standing on Roman beach, or better yet gazing at the ocean over your bacon and eggs at the Arniston Hotel, “perilous” is hardly the word that comes to mind. In fact you may find yourself once again at risk of using words like “charming” and “quaint”. Walk to the sandstone outcrops west of the town, however, and even on a calm day you will see a long stretch of churning currents and rushing waves. This is Saxon Reef, which has claimed at least fourteen vessels since Arniston ran aground on May 30, 1815.
The six remaining crewmembers survived as best they could for fourteen days until a young farmer, Daniel Johannes Swart, discovered them. One can imagine young Daniel cresting a sand dune on his horse and coming across the scene, which he described to the visiting Simon’s Town Naval Commissioner two years later, “The shore was covered with wreckage of every description, masts, sails, timber, and planks, hove high upon the beach, which was strewed with dead bodies."
Daniel helped the survivors to his father’s farm where they recuperated for a week and then travelled on to Cape Town. At some point in the following years a passing farmer perhaps thought it a good site for a holiday cottage, and perhaps there were others who thought he was on to something. In any event, where once six desolate survivors found an empty beach, and where many years before indigenous people had built fish traps and lived in sandstone caves, there is now a village called Arniston.
Shark encounter at Arniston
Before modern urban life, which is evidently so intolerable that many coastal villages now build their economy around people escaping to them for weekends and holidays, Arniston was all about fishing. It was on a fishing trip that I had a uniquely memorable experience, one that I intend recounting in some detail. My brother, cousin and I had taken an early morning drive from Cape Town for a weekend’s fishing. Arriving full of adrenalin, my cousin and I set off on the kayak. Within an hour we had a Southern Right whale swim right up to us and my cousin and I found ourselves eyeball to eyeball with leviathon. We thought that was intense, little did we know what awaited.
It was about half an hour after our whale encounter and we had paddled out to deeper water hoping for some sign of life at the end of our lines. Sitting placidly in the kayak, I looked up to see a four meter great white shark cutting through the water ahead of us. I learned then that terror and panic are two quite distinct experiences. My mind was calm, there was no panic. My first thought was, “don’t try to deny this, it is happening”. I alert my cousin and we sit transfixed as the shark slowly takes a wide arc. Unlike panic, which seizes the mind, terror is a corporeal experience; one physically senses it as a weight in the chest and a strange, metallic taste in the mouth. I remembered that I had heard stories of great whites attacking kayaks from the rear, so when the shark came up from behind we quickly paddled to face it, and it gracefully veered off to the side and took another slow turn around us. Approaching a small piece of kelp drifting in the water, the shark opened its massive jaws and took an investigative bite. This was my worst fear, not so much that the shark would aggressively attack the kayak, but that it would give it a bite just to figure out what this strange floating object was. That would have been enough to tip us into the water and then, with our flailing arms and kicking legs, the shark’s predatory instincts would certainly have been aroused.
When it approached us again it came in slowly from the side. With the shark less than a meter from me I was on the verge of slamming my paddle into its nose, but then it occurred to me that the startled shark’s movement might be enough to throw us off balance and tip the kayak. Again it submerged, and this time I was certain it would come at us from below with jaws agape. My mind was numb. Then I noticed a dark shadow in the water just beneath my elbow, the shark was literally within touching distance. As it moved off again, I started to worry that we were beginning to resemble some incapacitated creature drifting helplessly in the water – we had to start moving. Fortunately, the shark appeared to have lost interest and we paddled safely to shore. Never before has it felt so good to have sand under my feet.
Visiting Arniston
As you can tell, there is plenty to do in Arniston that will keep the adventurous souls occupied. There are beautiful hiking areas, great fishing and diving spots, and I’m sure one could have an incredible time exploring the area with a mountain bike. If you really want to enjoy Arniston, however, it’s best not to be too ambitious in your pursuit of thrills. Wash your fishing tackle off in good time, have a shower, light a fire, and if like me your enthusiasm for fishing far exceeds your talent, walk to the small caravan parked in the harbor and buy some of the freshest and tastiest fish and chips your likely to find anywhere. Back at the fire, as the mellowness sets in and your tales of encounters with fish, sharks and whales become interspersed with ever longer silences, you may try to find one word to encapsulate the entire experience, and realize you can’t do much better than “charming
(Headings added by Travel Blog editor;
Pano image submitted by Tarsius;
Thumbnail image by Turkinator Creative Commons License)
About the writer
Tarsius - my travel notes are inspired by the tarsier, a shy forest creature with enormous eyes that don't miss a thing (check these critters out on Google images). I like to delve into history, etymology, and other quirky facts while I relate my adventures and misadventures around Cape Town, elsewhere in South Africa and also beyond our borders. The articles are more "wordy" than most blogs, but I like to think there are travellers out there who still appreciate a good read.
