It's a long, long road

The small town of Springbok has long featured on a map of the Northern Cape, but I have no recollection of ever visiting there, although when we travelled to Namibia in 1969, we probably passed through it. As a 13-year-old, it's unlikely that my enquiring mind had kicked in yet to include rural towns. So our arrival there at the end of a long day's driving (more on that just now) allowed for only a cursory assessment: a narrow valley with one main road carrying all the traffic between the Cape and Namibia (a railway line would be preferable) and a couple of parallel side roads on the lower slopes where a variety of architectural styles housed the residents. Familiar shops revealed that all mod cons could be obtained if desired and indeed are probably the only source of retail therapy for the farming communities in the surrounding few hundred kilometres or so.

With no early memories, I was stunned by the topography - massive granite domes rose like bubbles across the landscape, which I always thought would be flat and arid semi-desert. This is the part of South Africa where minerals such as copper and zinc have been extensively mined, the lifeblood of the economy in the north. It was also the scene of clashes in the Second Boer War, with remains of stone walls still visible, should you care to clamber a kopje. We in fact stayed at the foot of the granite dome where they are found but resisted the call of history as we have seen many a relic of past conflicts in more accessible places. 

The main purpose of the trip, apart from a break from the daily grind, was to do a recce of the area for background knowledge on where to find birds, the condition of the roads and a general satisfying of curiosity for new places. Having left Kommetjie at 5am and not exceeding 100km/h but with no stops except for the thirsty fuel tank, we actually arrived in Springbok around 1pm. A quick stop at the local Engen to refill again allowed us to also refuel with the ubiquitous Wimpy road trip burger. Google Maps took us to our comfortable accommodation (not totally reliable, the GM) and then of course we were back on the road to cover as much ground as possible in the few days we would be there. The much-vaunted displays of carpets of orange and yellow had faded from their early glory and had little more than a week left as no more rain had fallen for weeks, so only small patches remained.

Our destination that afternoon was a dirt road leading off the N7 at Aggenys, some 150km away. Yes, the mind boggles. The target was the Red Lark. I once took a photo of one on a far distant bush somewhere near Sak Rivier; such a bad photo that only the stance and colouring identified it. The Frazzled Birder needed it for his life list, so distance was no object. I take a much more relaxed view of birding and try to combine every conceivable experience of nature into every trip. This involves flowers (much easier to photograph), fascinating geological features (of which South Africa has an abundance), clouds, the way light reveals folds in the mountains, the smell of the veld on a warm summer's evening, etc.

The road was long. The road was straight. Cars overtook us as though we were standing still. We left the granite domes behind and entered flatter territory with low hills and vast windfarms and solar arrays. The Northern Cape has fully embraced the power of nature. Soon a pair of Greater Kestrels with a nest were sighted on a telephone pole. Great excitement, stopped for innumerable photos. There were pairs on every third pole. There is no shortage of breeding pairs in that area. Another target for the FB was a Sociable Weaver, preferably with nest. Lo and behold! We stopped again for further photos. If we still used film that needed to be developed at CNA where we waited for two weeks to see if they were any good, I am sure no more than three or four photos would have been taken. The difference now with digital photography and multiple bursts is that two weeks is what it takes to sort, choose and delete the photos when you get home.

At last we approached Aggenys, where a colossal mine dump has grown over the last 10 or more years as zinc is mined from inside a mountain. The mountain is now a deep hole in the ground with the mine dump concealing Man's destruction. It has doubled in size since I was last there in 2019 and Google Earth will give you a bird's eye view.

We had reached our first dirt road since leaving home. Adventure time!

Heading north to explore more

A road trip invariably has led us along now familiar routes through the Tankwa, Little Karoo, Great Karoo or Garden Route. After months seemingly velcroed to my computer, the call of wide open spaces and new horizons could no longer be ignored. Reports of spectacular displays of flowers in the Northern Cape due to exceptional rains followed by unseasonably warm weather planted the seed. Head north to Springbok, perhaps take a left to Port Nolloth and a right to the mines of Aggenys - even (gasp) the bustling metropolis of Pofadder? A quick search on accommodation websites secured a home from home within minutes, and payment at the tap of a finger meant the trip was on! Time from first thought to confirmation of pending adventure - maybe an hour. I love spur-of-the-moment plans. And the weather would be perfect. 

With birding being high on the agenda, I knew this would be four days of early starts, long hours on lonely roads, lots of reversing, gazing across distant landscapes for a fluttering of wings and craning the neck to scan blue skies for the soaring speck of a raptor. For my part, I would be also scanning the ground for new plants to add to my iNaturalist citizen science observations and unusual rocks to feed my appetite as an amateur, very amateur, geologist. I have no regrets in life, but if I did, it would be that I didn't become a geologist. Stargazing would be out of the question due to the full moon, but that interest is fully covered by annual star parties at Leeuwenboschfontein and long days require early nights.

Although a road trip begins as soon as you leave your driveway, the process of actually leaving Cape Town means that you are technically an hour away from home before the city lights fade behind you and the lush farmlands of the Swartland unfold on either side of the road ahead. Rather like opening a zip. 

Rolling hills adorned with verdant pastures soon gave way to the mountainous Cederberg, where the road follows the meanderings of the Olifants River, its waters enabling the thriving citrus industry with orchards lining the banks and farmstalls urging us to stock up on the season's bounty. Our destination lay far ahead, and we pushed on without exploring side roads as we kept well below the speed limit and allowed the cowboys who suddenly appeared in our rearview mirrors in twos and threes to overtake and disappear into the distance. Apart from the odd 'train' appearing behind us, the road was surprisingly devoid of traffic and even trucks, for the main route to Namibia. A pleasant drive overall and in exceptionally good condition.

Arriving at the 'knersvlakte', a word which aptly described the crunching of wagon wheels in the pioneering days as they crossed this quartz plain, meant we were truly heading for the Northern Cape, and despite the early morning coolness, patches of purple and yellow and orange could be spied among the low scrub. My last visit to the region was about 14 years ago, and I had forgotten how spectacular and mountainous the geology would become as Namaqualand drew nearer. Vast granite boulders became granite kopjes, a landscape of veritable bubbles from millions of years ago, and the fields between were far from the desert I had imagined - excellent rains a while before has made this a sheep's paradise. 

Every kilometre brought new and awe-inspiring vistas and it became necessary to pull in at a lay-by to breathe in the pollution-free air and appreciate the scent of the vegetation, together with the absolute silence that comes with the absence of tyres on tar. It soon became apparent that the veld was alive with birdlife, calls coming from all over, and as we scanned with our binoculars, a 4x4 pulled up and the most personable young farmer who owned the land we were gazing at so intently asked: "Are you alright? Do you need any help?" On hearing we were just looking at birds, he unhesitatingly invited us onto his farm, to wander at will, and just to make sure the gate was closed when we left. He would unlock any gates for us. This is the spirit that drives the soul of the farming community. We took him up on his generosity and enjoyed a short time among his sheep at the windpomp, while he drove off into the distance to check on his livestock. Salt of the earth.

Then it was back on the road - Garies, Kamieskroon, Springbok. What would the next few days bring?

STILLNESS OF THE NIGHT

The Karoo can be unnervingly quiet for city dwellers, particularly the hours of darkness, when unfamiliar calls carry across the kloof in the stillness. Was that a baboon calling from the crags, a nocturnal insect, or maybe even a leopard? 

A quick trip to the Ceres Karoo/Tankwa found us lodged in a secluded kloof at the very edge of the Cederberg mountains,

with no other visitors in the well-spaced cottages. We were entirely alone - something to be sought eagerly during daylight hours, yet strangely fearsome once darkness descended. This is one of the truly dark sky areas of the country, with a Bortle 1 rating, even better than Sutherland, and as a result the Milky Way lives up to its name - a milky white splash across the firmament, unbroken by individual star patches as the billions that make up our home galaxy become accessible to our eyes. We should have spent hours gazing up and outwards in wonderment at the vastness of our insignificance, but those unfamiliar sounds with no way of knowing any distance kept us inside after a pathetically short time.

How marvellous it must have been for the original inhabitants of these mountains, who were intimately acquainted with every living creature, many of which were recorded for posterity in the thousands of rock paintings scattered throughout the range. They would have known which should be feared and which were merely coexisting in that harsh environment. The very fact that they stayed in the area must be evidence that water was always available, although in limited amounts, and the thick salt deposits in the waterways reveal the ancient history of this once seabed. Today's inhabitants filter the borehole water up to four times before drinking.

We scoffed when the farmer told us guests from Europe were frightened at night. Perhaps we were too quick to judge, or were just a little too far out of the comfort zone. I am sure that a longer stay would have soothed our nerves, but there are indeed leopards.

Returning to my original blog - stressless and less stress

 Having learned from harsh experience that not everybody cares as much as one had hoped, I have abandoned my Eye on Life website and returned to my first writing platform: Pamela - A day in the life. Back in 2011, my nephew said, 'Why don't you write a blog?' and ever one to take good advice, I immediately set about same. With no thought about a title for the blog, and as always having music on in the background, what would be playing but Abbey Road ... I read the news today, oh boy ...  You know the one: A day in the life. And there I had it. Over the years it grew from musings on a weekly basis to an almost daily scribble, which gave me such pleasure in relating and was originally intended to keep my parents informed of my activities when I couldn't find enough time to visit them - only 14km away. They loved my wordsmithing and encouraged it always.

 And so here I am again, not hoping to gain followers or monetary compensation (those ghastly adverts blotting my copy), but merely indulging myself in the love of the written word without disappointment or dejection. Looking back over the years, I can see a different me in different stages of life, and this new journalling journey will surely reveal a new zest for life! You can join me if you like.

An expanded view.

After almost 10 years of blogging under this site, I have now expanded into an online magazine. This will initially consist of my own articles on a broad range of subjects, with the intention of expanding to select guest contributors who can offer content that is unfamiliar to me. For the moment, I can draw on many interests for inspiration, inculcated in me as a child by parents who participated in many activities right into their late 80s and who gave me a childhood grounding that has enabled me to find joy in the simple pleasures of life as well as appreciate the finer things, such as art, photography, birding and the natural world.
From the first time I learned to write, it has been my passion. That is not a phrase I use lightly or even readily, as I do in fact find Life is my passion, and cannot single out a particular aspect as being the most important. But somehow writing has enabled me to share the experiences I have enjoyed most with others, usually unknown and from far-flung places, and knowing that someone, somewhere, has taken the trouble to read my scratchings and appreciate them in the brief time needed to do so has made the effort so worthwhile. It is my small effort to bring a little light into the world.
So thank you for your readership. This blog will continue, but should you wish to share my world of travel, trips and trails with some food and drink thrown in, you can find me at https://eyeonlifeonline.com
It's all about fun!

Floral fantasy on Slangkop

Despite a dreary day, those irrepressibly cheerful yellow daisies bloomed undeterred on top of Slangkop yesterday! We slogged our way up the zigzag path from the lighthouse (only the beginning really, as the upper path is very easy on the legs) with one thing in mind - to see the fabulous array of spring fynbos currently adorning our mountain. I say 'our' because I live near the lighthouse and have been privileged to see the changing seasons and flowers for nearly 40 years now. The verges become a snowy white carpet of rain daisies, followed by the lovely dark yellow daisies, and beware anyone who mows the lawns in Spring! There are places in Kommetjie that rival the West Coast displays for coverage, if not size, and it seems that nobody ever tires of exclaiming about the flowers, year after year.
It's such a pleasure to hike in cool conditions, where you don't have to bother yourself with how hot you are and can concentrate on the restoration of the soul, but nonetheless the approaching clouds were closely watched. The sea was like a pond, with appropriate reflections from the mountains across the bay, and the breeze was imperceptible, but still the curtain of rain crept closer.
The walk across the plateau is one of my favourites. Roaming these upper mountain areas of the Peninsula is one of the simple joys of life - sandy quartz paths, low-growing fynbos dotted with big mimetes and pincushions, their trunks gnarled with age, miraculous survivors of many fires over the years, gentle sea breezes and views for miles in all directions. It is easy to identify the cut-off levels for many species, some growing only on certain slopes, others above 100m or below - definite preferences. And as you walk there over the seasons, you remember where you saw a certain plant and look out for it to see if it has survived another year. Always exciting to meet an old friend again.
A little sunshine would have warmed the air sufficiently to encourage the jewel-like vygies to open, but a few patches that were sheltered under bushes made breathtaking splashes of pink among the yellows and blues. Positive thinking held off the rain until the minute we finished another delightful morning in the mountains.

A revived garden

An unusually long winter and abundant rain has transformed my once parched and sparse garden into a veritable jungle! Where once bare sand made up the majority of the lawn, we now have lush daisy lawn that continues to creep in all directions, making it easy to fill in the gaps at the outer edges and between paving stones. Indigenous pelargoniums have grown into large shrubs that can be pruned quite severely with no ill effects, and the aloe collection multiplies as new plants shoot out from the main stem.
The granadilla planted last year has literally gone wild, climbing visibly each day and almost covering the netting put over the now abandoned vegetable patch. This will provide natural shade which is essential to prevent the more delicate vegetables from scorching in the sun, and also reduce the amount of watering required. The sandy, oily soil is not a gardener's delight, but is ideal for growing onions, so perhaps that should be my crop of choice. This plan can only come to fruition if the baboons remain out of Kommetjie, which may well be the case, and vegetable patches and fruit trees can return to supplement our small efforts at self-sufficiency. Onions may not be attractive to them, anyway.
The area under the milkwood tree, which I have been eyeing nervously for the last few years as it loses more and more of its canopy, has surged back with a vengeance, and one almost needs a panga to cut a way through to my peaceful haven under this beautiful tree. The potato bush with white flowers has always suffered from heat and drought and been bare twigs in the main, but it too has revived to such an extent that it has covered half the area. When taking photos today, I noticed that the end of one branch has suddenly produced dark purple flowers (a throwback to its origins, I would think) and then my eye caught a bi-coloured specimen with more buds to open. Exciting times in the garden!
I only hope I will be able to keep them alive in summer. The water table has risen by a good 70cm on last year's level, so prospects look good.