I went walking in the Silvermine River valley with my two sisters last week. It was the first time we had been back there in 43 years. It seems like yesterday.
We used to go there as teenagers when it was the Sunbird Nature Reserve. Our 'crowd' of kids from Clovelly would walk across the valley from the Fish Hoek side along the track which ran behind Clovelly Golf Club to Noordhoek and spend the day at Sunbird. There was a swimming pool fed by the Silvermine River and horses to ride if you were brave enough, but I think the main attraction, for the girls anyway, was the company of the handsome young rangers who looked after the reserve. They lived in old-fashioned gypsy caravans amongst huge old gum trees. It was their private paradise and we were privileged to join them.
As I write this, the hit song of that long ago summer, He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother, is on the radio.
It brings back those memories so vividly that I can feel the sun on our backs as we walk down that track, hear the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet, smell the warmth of the horses grazing in the field, see the cold clear water of the pristine Silvermine River gushing down the valley in eddying pools and tinkling falls.
Today the caravans are gone, the trees burned down by wildfires, the horses are grazing in the Elysian fields and the swimming pool has been reclaimed by the river. The valley is part of Table Mountain National Park and the public may freely roam across the grassy meadows along the riverbanks.
But I think I preferred it when it was 'ours'.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Saturday, 23 July 2011
The Beemer #1
I once had a BMW 7-series automatic.
I had never thought about owning one. I was driving a Toyota Conquest at the time. One day my husband says: "We're taking a drive up the West Coast." Who am I to argue - I love a drive in the country and we are seldom in the same car.
We get to a small town about 200km from Cape Town and he pulls into a car dealership, goes into the office and comes out with a bunch of keys. "Let's take this car (a large red BMW) round the block." Well, ok. So we go round the block and back into the yard. He gets out of the car, says "I've bought it for you. See you at home." (This may seem a trifle odd, but he is not big on discussing things and works on a "need to know" basis.) He gets into his car and leaves.
So there I am in this huge car, never driven an automatic and his dust has already settled. After figuring out how to adjust the seat in 4 directions so that I can see over the steering wheel, I start the engine, lever the gearshift into Drive and ease out into the street. I nearly find myself back in the yard thanks to power steering and drive with my fingertips after that. Thank goodness for a Saturday afternoon in a small town - not another car in sight! The onboard computer tells me all kinds of things that I've never needed to know in the Conquest - I've hit the big time now!
It doesn't take long to get used to my new posh car, after all, BMW drivers aren't rocket scientists (well, some may be) and anyway the car drives itself. It surges forward at the slightest pressure from my foot and it isn't long before we are bowling down the West Coast road at an easy 160km/h. Ah, the recklessness of it all! (In my defence, there were no other cars on the road and it was only due to the extremely comfortable and quiet ride that I was unaware of my speed.)
My relaxed journey comes to an abrupt end as I approach the first hurdle, a traffic light, after about 150km. I have to start thinking about how to stop, where's the clutch, there is no clutch, which foot should I use, what do I do with the gearshift? It is no small panic, I can tell you. By the time I get home I am exhausted but well able to handle the animal.
My husband was home long before me. "What took you so long?" How fast did he drive?
I had never thought about owning one. I was driving a Toyota Conquest at the time. One day my husband says: "We're taking a drive up the West Coast." Who am I to argue - I love a drive in the country and we are seldom in the same car.
We get to a small town about 200km from Cape Town and he pulls into a car dealership, goes into the office and comes out with a bunch of keys. "Let's take this car (a large red BMW) round the block." Well, ok. So we go round the block and back into the yard. He gets out of the car, says "I've bought it for you. See you at home." (This may seem a trifle odd, but he is not big on discussing things and works on a "need to know" basis.) He gets into his car and leaves.
So there I am in this huge car, never driven an automatic and his dust has already settled. After figuring out how to adjust the seat in 4 directions so that I can see over the steering wheel, I start the engine, lever the gearshift into Drive and ease out into the street. I nearly find myself back in the yard thanks to power steering and drive with my fingertips after that. Thank goodness for a Saturday afternoon in a small town - not another car in sight! The onboard computer tells me all kinds of things that I've never needed to know in the Conquest - I've hit the big time now!
It doesn't take long to get used to my new posh car, after all, BMW drivers aren't rocket scientists (well, some may be) and anyway the car drives itself. It surges forward at the slightest pressure from my foot and it isn't long before we are bowling down the West Coast road at an easy 160km/h. Ah, the recklessness of it all! (In my defence, there were no other cars on the road and it was only due to the extremely comfortable and quiet ride that I was unaware of my speed.)
My relaxed journey comes to an abrupt end as I approach the first hurdle, a traffic light, after about 150km. I have to start thinking about how to stop, where's the clutch, there is no clutch, which foot should I use, what do I do with the gearshift? It is no small panic, I can tell you. By the time I get home I am exhausted but well able to handle the animal.
My husband was home long before me. "What took you so long?" How fast did he drive?
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Before dawn
This morning we took our dogs for their Sunday walk along the boardwalk in front of Kommetjie lighthouse. It was not quite sunrise and the air was a balmy 16 degrees. A waning moon hung over the sea, its bright whiteness dappling the unruffled surface, smooth as a silken sheet.
Behind us, our flock of sacred ibis, 200-strong, snaked across the dawn sky, the leader far in front, two straggling pelathons behind and a lonely back-marker bringing up the rear. Their flight followed the contours of the Slangkop headland, taking advantage of the lifting air currents.
Two early surfers bobbed on their boards at the Outer Kom, which was promising some big surf on the rising tide. The reef breaks made no sound as the offshore drift of air took it out to sea. It was like watching a silent movie, with Table Mountain as a backdrop.
A little way out to sea, a whale sounded, treating us to a lazy wave of a tail before sinking below the surface.
Sound too good to be true? No, if anything, it was better - words don't do it justice.
As I write this, the sun has replaced the moon, the wind has lifted the sea into little white horses and people are going about their business. It's just another day, but I didn't miss the best part.
Behind us, our flock of sacred ibis, 200-strong, snaked across the dawn sky, the leader far in front, two straggling pelathons behind and a lonely back-marker bringing up the rear. Their flight followed the contours of the Slangkop headland, taking advantage of the lifting air currents.
Two early surfers bobbed on their boards at the Outer Kom, which was promising some big surf on the rising tide. The reef breaks made no sound as the offshore drift of air took it out to sea. It was like watching a silent movie, with Table Mountain as a backdrop.
A little way out to sea, a whale sounded, treating us to a lazy wave of a tail before sinking below the surface.
Sound too good to be true? No, if anything, it was better - words don't do it justice.
As I write this, the sun has replaced the moon, the wind has lifted the sea into little white horses and people are going about their business. It's just another day, but I didn't miss the best part.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Life's too short to stuff a sardine
I'm busy sorting out my recipe books. Some I have never tried and some I have never even opened. Before putting them on the charity pile, I had a recce for old times' sake and opened one that must be 30 years old - "Hot and Cold Hors d"Oevre" or as they are better known, horse divorce.
Did you know that you could be served "Fried Eggs on Toast with Wine Sauce" at a dinner party? Or even "Egg and Potato Puree - serve cold"? Perhaps my tastes are not very sophisticated, but I'm afraid that if I was served that as a starter, there would be a good chance that I would be too nervous to stay for mains.
Of course, if I was given "Avocado with Crab" then I would know I was at the right kind of dinner party and it would probably be safe to stay until the coffee. Perhaps that is where the saying "stay the course" originates, although I always thought it had to do with steeplechasing for some reason.
"Brain and Lettuce" seems like a good reason to excuse yourself with a stomach bug, guaranteed to clear a room. I put that on a par with mopani worms.
"Eel Pate" sounds a little too like smooth snake. Ssshudder!
"Stuffed Sardines": Take 6 fresh sardines, de-head, de-bone, de-tail, clean and scrape. Then stuff. Stuff what? How big is a sardine. In today's hectic lifestyle, when few people have time to stuff a mushroom, who would stuff a sardine?
So it's onto the charity pile. Although maybe I'll just try the "Chicken in Aspic" before tossing it. I do have a free afternoon next week, and it may be my only chance of ever eating an hors d'oevre.
Did you know that you could be served "Fried Eggs on Toast with Wine Sauce" at a dinner party? Or even "Egg and Potato Puree - serve cold"? Perhaps my tastes are not very sophisticated, but I'm afraid that if I was served that as a starter, there would be a good chance that I would be too nervous to stay for mains.
Of course, if I was given "Avocado with Crab" then I would know I was at the right kind of dinner party and it would probably be safe to stay until the coffee. Perhaps that is where the saying "stay the course" originates, although I always thought it had to do with steeplechasing for some reason.
"Brain and Lettuce" seems like a good reason to excuse yourself with a stomach bug, guaranteed to clear a room. I put that on a par with mopani worms.
"Eel Pate" sounds a little too like smooth snake. Ssshudder!
"Stuffed Sardines": Take 6 fresh sardines, de-head, de-bone, de-tail, clean and scrape. Then stuff. Stuff what? How big is a sardine. In today's hectic lifestyle, when few people have time to stuff a mushroom, who would stuff a sardine?
So it's onto the charity pile. Although maybe I'll just try the "Chicken in Aspic" before tossing it. I do have a free afternoon next week, and it may be my only chance of ever eating an hors d'oevre.
Sunday, 3 July 2011
Fish Tale #1
Years ago, as keen crayfishers but not having our own boat, we went out to sea in a friend's rubber duck. Not the ideal boat for fishing from. The ring-nets were set and we pottered up and down the Kommetjie coastline while waiting for the crayfish to start feeding on the bait. There was a gentle breeze and the sun glittered off the azure sea. Life was good.
Time came to pull the nets up. Everyone leaned over the side in anticipation. It's heavy, must be a jackpot! One last heave and a net full of tail-flapping, water-gushing crayfish was dumped into the tiny space in the rubber duck, accompanied by a 3-foot shark.
Panic ensued as the shark thrashed about. Nowhere to go except overboard! Not even a gunwale to stand on. Instead of grabbing the shark by the tail and giving it its first taste of space flight, somehow an oar got involved and smacked the shark's head against the air compartment of the rubber duck.
"Phhhhhhttt! as the air gushed out. The shark's teeth had ripped the rubber!
Within seconds it was overboard, laughing airbubbles at us as it disappeared into the depths, leaving us with a rapidly deflating side of a small boat. Strong hands held the side up to prevent us from taking on too much water as the skipper revved the engine and we headed back to shore at the rate of knots before we slid unceremoniously into Davy Jones' locker! Much bailing of water took place on the way.
In a manner of speaking, we had had the wind taken out of the sails of our complacency, and we were once again reminded that the sea should be respected at all times, as the slightest incident can turn into a possible disaster when we are out of our element.
Although we have laughed about it ever since, we have never fished from a rubber duck again, and any future fish tales will be told from the deck of a sturdy 19-foot GRP skiboat with 2 engines and full safety equipment!!
Time came to pull the nets up. Everyone leaned over the side in anticipation. It's heavy, must be a jackpot! One last heave and a net full of tail-flapping, water-gushing crayfish was dumped into the tiny space in the rubber duck, accompanied by a 3-foot shark.
Panic ensued as the shark thrashed about. Nowhere to go except overboard! Not even a gunwale to stand on. Instead of grabbing the shark by the tail and giving it its first taste of space flight, somehow an oar got involved and smacked the shark's head against the air compartment of the rubber duck.
"Phhhhhhttt! as the air gushed out. The shark's teeth had ripped the rubber!
Within seconds it was overboard, laughing airbubbles at us as it disappeared into the depths, leaving us with a rapidly deflating side of a small boat. Strong hands held the side up to prevent us from taking on too much water as the skipper revved the engine and we headed back to shore at the rate of knots before we slid unceremoniously into Davy Jones' locker! Much bailing of water took place on the way.
In a manner of speaking, we had had the wind taken out of the sails of our complacency, and we were once again reminded that the sea should be respected at all times, as the slightest incident can turn into a possible disaster when we are out of our element.
Although we have laughed about it ever since, we have never fished from a rubber duck again, and any future fish tales will be told from the deck of a sturdy 19-foot GRP skiboat with 2 engines and full safety equipment!!
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