FORDS DON’T FLOAT!!!

FORDS DON’T FLOAT!!!

Magical sunrises at 4 in the morning over palm-fringed beaches with sand so clean that it squeaks when you walk over it. Warm, azure-coloured Indian Ocean water so clear you can see the fish swimming in the waves as they rush to break on the shore. Anticipation builds as you wait for the day to unfold…. Jet-skiing, scuba diving, deep sea fishing, power kiting or maybe just soaking up the sun. And later in the evening, around the beach bar, you may just convince yourself to participate in the seafood buffet with crayfish so huge you would think that they are ‘made in China’. Who cares what you do anyway. You are in Mozambique! Sounds almost too good to be true. In some way, I will not blame you if you think this is some cigarette advertisement about lifestyle. This is reality and you don’t even have to fly to some exotic far flung island. Many of these holiday destinations on the Mozambique coast are closer than the Natal south coat, without the congestion of the annual Groot Trek to the sea from GT. But even in paradise you will always find a story worth telling. On one such lazy morning, after spending some time zigzagging through the waves on the jet-ski, I lay in the shade of a beach umbrella indulging in freshly-roasted cashew nuts bought on the beach from the locals and ice cold Laurentina Beer (hey, the sun rose at 4am remember?), watching the beach come to life as holidaymakers slowly meandered down from their reed chalets. Mozambique is a big fishing destination and some serious SA fishermen frequent its coast. It was one such boykie that succeeded in providing the day’s entertainment. Let’s call him Koos. Koos arrived on the beach with much fanfare. His new toys were big – very beeg – and everyone had to take note of his arrival. His massive double cab 4.2 litre diesel Ford F250 was colour coded in white and green to match his nine-metre ski boat and trailer which were equipped with all the bells and whistles needed (or not) to catch fish. You do the math: this rig easily exceeded R1.4mil. I suppose Koos had the right to announce his arrival in the manner which he did; after all, he was a Springbok Hengelaar and his accolades were clearly etched in green and gold on the side of his prized boat. Hitching the boat’s trailer to the front of his monster truck, Koos proceeded to push the trailer into the ocean to float his boat to head off for the day’s fishing. This was, however, done with a little too much gusto and within a flash, Koos had buried the front of his F250 in the soft sand, the waves breaking over his truck’s bonnet. A little further and Koos would have been halfway to Madagascar. The gears slammed into reverse and huge clouds of black diesel smoke billowed from the twin exhausts as Koos floored the powerful engine to extricate himself and his new toy from the passionate embrace of the Indian Ocean. It is said that too much power corrupts. Koos proved this perfectly as his F250’s wheels spun violently and, almost instantly, the wheels dug into the soft wet sand with the surf mercilessly pounding the Ford. While all this was happening, Koos had successfully managed to float his boat with no-one aboard and it was lazily drifting off and out of reach.In a very short space of time, the relaxed atmosphere on the beach erupted into a scramble by all and sundry to assist Koos. Anything with four wheels that resembled a 4x4 converged on the stricken Koos to pull him to safety. People were swimming out to the boat only to discover when they got there that you cannot get into such a big boat from the water without assistance. The masses of instant salvage operators swarming around the F250 discovered that no-one had any form of decent snatch straps to attach to the F250 and made a feeble attempt at a recovery with a Nylon ski rope. Needless to say, this rope snapped without making any impression on the sunken four-ton truck. As fast as the attempted recovery started, it came to its end while Koos was sitting, frozen in disbelief, in the cab of his truck. So, with people helplessly floating around the boat and the hapless salvagers on the beech around the F250, the stage was set for some serious high drama.As if on cue, two guys on a Wave Runner came flying in across the surf from the North toward the drifting boat. The passenger boarded, started up the twin 200hp outboard motors and without much ado, proceeded to hit the accelerators and point the bow at the beach. Koos was up to his chest in water in the F250’s cab, and for a brief moment tried to shout at the jet-skier to switch off the outboard motors before beaching his new boat. His cries were drowned as the next wave smashed over the windscreen of the F250. While this was all happening, an old Mozambican who had probably seen this fiasco happen many a time in his life, slowly came across the beach on a thing that must have been a tractor some time many years ago and now only consisted of a chassis, 4 wheels, a huge diesel engine, a homemade seat and steering wheel. With all the high-tech 4x4 owners silently watching, this old man casually attached a huge rusted chain to the F250’s rear axle and slowly walked back to his tractor. Like some unknown sea monster, the F250 and the boat trailer slowly emerged from the sea. The old man on the tractor, in his own subtle way, without any words, made a loud and clear statement…. Eish, Fords don’t float!