This is a really cool article from wavescape.co.za 

Like shiny wet seals, we are sea-sprayed surfers in full-skin black wetsuits huddled on a boat motoring over a heaving sea. Our destination is Robben Island, the 'island of seals', and our mission is to surf Madiba's Left, a surf break off the island's northern side. A big Atlantic storm has hammered Cape Town for three days, and a gnarled swell is grinding along the coastline. 

By Spike. Pics by Michelly Rall

The 10-metre semi-rigid inflatable dinghy lurches towards our destination 12 kilometres distant – a long sliver of land that thickens the horizon. The excited banter is drowned by the guttural roar of two 85 horsepower motors rolling out a wake that connects the stern to the foot of Table Mountain. 

Our host, Rudi Keyser, shouts that we'll be there in 20 minutes. He confirms that we are one of several low-key trips – bearing small groups of surfers – made possible by the lifting of the one-nautical mile exclusion zone around the island. However, he warns us to respect the sanctity of the island's status as a World Heritage Site, and the law. We may not set foot on it.

'What if a big wave dumps me, and I get washed to shore?' asks someone. 'Don't stand up,' says Rudi. This leaves us pondering the legalities of what happens if a big wave bounces us off the reef. For a split-second, strictly speaking, we'll be liable for a penalty. We resolve to be at the top of our game. We just won't fall off.

 It dawns on me that as a surf spot, Robben Island will remain isolated and empty, her kelpy secrets safely guarded by a simple reality: only the hardiest few will dare to venture here. This forlorn stretch of Precambrian metamorphic rock is not littered with the rusted hulks of ships for nothing. The elements have brutally disposed of 29 ships on these shores, most smashed into oblivion by the violent surf. Then there is the gut-curdling crossing, the no-trespassing laws that cocoon her, and the looming prospect of 'men in grey suits' – great white sharks patrolling the depths.

We wonder whether Mandela knows there is a wave named after him. Madiba's Left, or Madiba's Point, was aptly named in honour of our master statesman during a trip there some years ago by big wave surfing champions Ian Armstrong and Cass Collier, a black surfer with strong anti-apartheid roots.

It is doubtful that Mandela, during his presence there for nearly two decades, was aware that his island was rich in surf spots. It is also unlikely that he knows of the other link that ties him to surfing. Former Cape Times editor Tony Heard once recalled his pie-in-the sky plan in the late 70s to break out Madiba by paddling him on a surfboard into the shipping lane.

‘The prisoners would often harvest kelp on the shoreline. I thought, hey, why not paddle quietly through the soup (the white water of broken waves), camouflaged by the kelp, get him to climb on the board and paddle two-up out into the shipping lane to be picked up by a foreign freighter. Anything to get him out of South Africa!’

The plan – also mentioned by former Daily Dispatch editor Donald Woods, in his book Rainbow Nation Revisited – did not come to fruition. There was uncertainty about Madiba’s safety. What if the ship did not see them? What about weather and sea conditions? But it’s a nice thought. Imagine the subject matter of a dialogue between a white surfer and Nelson Mandela as they drift silently out to sea off the Cape of Storms. 

Heard almost broached the subject with the famous inmate’s wife, Winnie. While Heard’s illegal interview with banned and exiled Oliver Tambo in 1985 brought him international recognition, failure in the Madiba paddle plan would have brought him a career-ending notoriety. Besides, it was unlikely that Mandela would agree to a ‘take-off’ into the unknown so willingly. It was a wipe-out waiting to happen.

Reveries are broken with a bump that marks our transition to calmer waters. The shuddering, thumping and crashing motions cease, and we glide smoothly over leeward waters of the island protected from the elements.

Easing around the northern end of the island, which is only one kilometre wide, the northern and western shoreline slowly unravels, fringed by pounding surf. The distant roar is daunting. The sky is gunmetal grey. It merges ominously with the sea. Lowslung clouds scud past like bombers. Shipwrecked hulks hove into view, jagged and cracked. These lonely metal sentinels, streaked with rust and guano, guard the foreground. In the background, above the low trees and slight incline of Robben Island, looms Table Mountain and the profile of the Twelve Apostles bleeding to the right. It is an unusual view, unlike anything depicted in a brochure. 

 Our skipper, Richard Duckitt, a descendent of a long line of Duckitts from the West Coast, preps us with hand signals if we need to be rescued. We will be going straight over the side of the boat, from where we must paddle to the surf. 

Madiba's Left, the first break, is lumpy and sporadic, with occasional head-high waves. However, about 300 metres further up the reef, lies another break, where double to triple-overhead waves are curling over a rock barely covered by surging backwash. The waves detonate with some violence – raw swells fresh from the coiled energy of the latest sea storm. They convulse shoreward. Spumes of spray burst skyward. I wonder whether this break is part of Madiba’s Left, or is regarded as a separate spot. Maybe it’s called Outer Madiba's, or maybe Madiba's Extension? Keyser says it hasn’t got a name. 

Slowly surfers begin to jump overboard. A total of 10 pensive men – scattered across a wide area - gradually navigate a deep, murky channel that has more than a few synapses firing fearfully. At the surf spot, the surf is six- to ten-foot, with an occasional beast of an outside wave rearing up behind, a wave face up to 20 foot high. The waves are focusing steeply onto the reef, but hard to catch unless you're positioned right in the curl. There are some horrific wipeouts, but the learning curve gives way to some great rides.

The sun has gone as we roar back to Cape Town, ramping over the oncoming swells, elated yet humbled.

In front of us, the future, and behind, the dark profile of a special place fades into the gloom. Go in peace Madiba. Your presence will never be forgotten.

 Source: www.wavescape.co.za