Push! Puuush! Kicking up sand, the tyres spin but get us nowhere. Stranded. Kilometres away from anyone or any help. I really don’t want to walk all the way back to Grandpa’s house. And what about the little kids? Natalie and Robert? I know they would not be able to make the hike through the scorching heat reflecting off the dunes. Our peaceful braai on the beach really has been ruined now.

“Duncan! Over here!”  It is Grandpa. “I need you to dig holes under the back wheels!”

“Okayyy….” I sigh, already tired.  As I throw shovelful after shovelful of warm sand over my shoulder, I wonder if I am making any difference. Grandpa and June went to go ask some people if they have a cell phone. That’s Grandpa for you: always prepared.

“Okay, we have the beer, the umbrella the chairs, the braai, the wors, the coolies, more beer…” as we left. But no cell phone! We’ll be just fine pushing the bakkie out of the beach when it stalls. Finally. I have a  deep hole dug underneath each back wheel. And now, the moment of truth: the back wheels start turning…

“Goddammit!” The back wheels spin, but we only move two or three inches. It is getting hotter; the kids are whining.

“I wanna go back!”

“Its hot! I gotta pee!” Come the whines from in the shade.

“Arnold is on his way!” a guttural cheer from Grandpa.

“Who’s Arnold?” I question.

“A friend of mine who-”

“Ooohh,” the universal reply. Grandpa knows everyone in the twin towns of Gansbaai and De Kelders. And I mean almost everyone. He can always call someone up (providing he has a phone) and get a favor: a free beer, a shark dive, and now, just what we need! A tow truck!

Right on cue, amid a clud of dirt and sand, comes the lumbering tow truck with its shiny winch, gleaming in the afternoon summer sun.

“Norman!” a yell from the truck, and of course Grandpa replies with,

“Pardon me,” He is a little hard of hearing. “Say again?

As the big truck hooks up to our flat green little Land Rover pickup, we all cheer. But here comes the bad news: we have to push. Luckily, they only need three. Being one of the less fit males present, I am exempt. Matthew, Alastair, and Dad have to push the small but heavy truck out of the sand. Rumbling and sputtering, the tow truck heaves and pulls as the three pushers exert with all their might to move the bakkie. With a great sput of power, It is pulled from it’s resting place and onto the rocks off the beach.

“Yay!” Everyone cheers. I am joyous; we won’t have to deal with the whining and crying of the kids. No hot walk back.

Packing up is hard. We have to stuff all the stuff into the back of the truck, where we will be sitting on the long bumpy drive home. Finally, we are packed and on our way. In the back of the truck I am snapping pictures of the sunset and the beach. I have enjoyed this day and will never forget it.