Artful arachnids

I wandered down to a far corner of the garden this afternoon, where the kitties' graves are under the lemon tree, and by chance a ray of sunlight peeped through the branches and revealed the most incredible spider's web stretching between the bushes. The two owners of the web, a pair of golden orb spiders, were busy repairing the web, which seems to be very effective. Plenty of food was wrapped up for later consumption; the vain struggling of the little bugs merely caused a few snaps of the web strands - there was no escape. I watched in fascination as the spiders drew the sticky thread from whichever orifice it is that emits it, and worked away at filling the gaps that had appeared.

The golden orb spider doesn't  spin the beautiful flat, symmetrical web which we all associate with spiders, but rather makes a haphazard crisscrossing over a wide and deep area, guaranteeing that something must meet a sticky end. Rather like the laser beams that are used for alarm systems - or at least the ones we see in the movies. (Oops! I stand corrected! On a further inspection later on, I realised that there are in fact two flat symmetrical webs in the middle of the laser web! Even more skill than I gave them credit for!)

I haven't seen these before in my garden, and it seems that there is a proliferation of them at the moment, with a huge web with about 50 or so arachnid inhabitants attracting attention on a wall down near the beach. I hope no one thinks to harm these creatures, who are only going about their business, and don't seek to destroy such a monumental effort to catch a few bugs, which incidentally keeps them away from us. There is a purpose for the existence of every living thing.

Bromeliads - a must for any garden

The most successful plant that I grow in my garden is the bromeliad, which exactly suits the type of gardening I am good at - not much digging, feeding at long intervals, occasional watering and general neglect. In other words, if it can grow without me, it can stay! The best thing about these plants is that they don't actually need soil and exist on air and the moisture they gather in the base of their attractive leaves. These tropical plants are as happy in the fork of a tree as on a hook in your bathroom and their stunning inflorescences sometimes last for months without fading.
The bromeliads are native to Latin and South America and were first introduced to Europe in 1690 by way of the pineapple - one of the few utilitarian examples of a bromeliad. It was some time before people began to grow interested in the plant rather than the fruit although the non-fruiting varieties were spectacular in their colours and bizarre forms. There are about 2 000 species of bromeliad and it is a very rewarding plant to make a hobby of collecting, due to the aforegoing and the fact that they flower at different times, ensuring that there is always something exciting to look at!

In the wild there are varieties that are 1m in diameter and 7m tall, and these are obviously not suitable for suburban gardens - they also grow high up in the Andes at around 4 000m. Many varieties are home to large colonies of ants, which the early botanists who collected specimens found out to their cost! Although they are described as tropical plants, this relates to their geographical situation, as the climate in Central and South America ranges from the driest desert to rainforest and between altitudes of 0m - 6 700m above sea level. So not every bromeliad requires the same conditions to flourish.
One of the ways in which the bromeliad propagates itself is through 'pupping', which is the growth of a side shoot after flowering. This pup takes over as the new plant and the old one dies, and in this way a relatively sparse patch of bromeliads can soon become overcrowded. It is then time to separate them and give a few away to your friends, or start a new patch elsewhere in the garden. (This information comes from The Bromeliad Lexicon by Werner Rauh)
The propagation and growth of these plants is very easy and you will be richly rewarded with fascinating and colourful inflorescences at almost no cost. I can highly recommend it. A word of warning - some have leaves with viciously serrated edges and chainmail should be worn when removing snails and dead vegetation, otherwise you will look like this:

Still no rain despite being Easter

Last night's spectacular light show over Cape Town was regrettably not accompanied by much rain - we need a good strong northwesterly bringing rain up from the South Atlantic for that, and the persistent high pressure over the interior continues to keep rain away from the very southwestern tip of southern Africa. The rest of the country is being flooded, and we are limited to 50 litres of water a day. Something is not working out here.
Easter is traditionally when we get the first rains of autumn, and last year it didn't happen, setting the tone for a dry and mild winter. Snow was a major source of replenishment of the dams in the past, but the last real snow on the mountains of the Western Cape was in the 1960s - a time when one could ski near Cape Town - something few people even know about these days. We are told by a certain pastor that we are being punished for our evil ways, but if that were so, the entire world should have been a desert years ago, so we will have to go with solar cycle and El Nino.
After days of frantic feasting on fruit and suet balls, the birds have totally disappeared from the garden today. Perhaps they have indigestion - I can picture them lying groaning in the fork of a branch thinking they had overindulged - or maybe they are back in the relative wilds after a few millimetres of rain where they can forage further from the cats, who lie in wait with hunting eyes in the undergrowth.
Once again today's forecast for good rains have come to naught, but we will continue to live in hope of something really unexpected.

The dratted mole

The fight against the dratted mole continues. What could be more depressing than a depression in your lawn? A molehill next to it!
Drilling for a borehole next door sent said mole scurrying to quieter tunnels, and as I live on one of the least rocky plots in Kommetjie, I believe, this is the ideal place for myriad deep, dark and dank tunnelling. Forty years ago, the vacant plot was used by the owner as a potato field - he was a farmer on the Cape Flats - and so all the round boulders just under the surface were probably dug out and taken back to the farm to build a wall, leaving a mole's paradise in Kommetjie.
A while back, the mole tunnelled out in another area of the garden, and I fell through the surface layer up to my knees, such was the magnitude of the excavation. A similar situation is now unfolding under the lawn, as sinkholes are dotting the area and only a thin layer of grass and roots is covering them. It won't be long before I am up to my knees again.
It doesn't help that Cleo is digging from the top as well, sniffing along the tunnel lines as she senses the mole's movements, and the gardener has dug out spadefuls to set the trap. This mole is far too clever to be caught in a trap. He just kicks sand over it and digs another tunnel. In the old days, before the drought, I would blast water down the hole and wash it away, but we can't do that now. I am seriously considering carbon monoxide, but the lawn is too far away for a pipe to reach from the garage.
Maybe I should just plant trees in the holes?

Paarl, Bretagne and Gordon's Rocks

The hiking schedule said Paarl Mountain, followed by a little picnic, then Paarl Rocks. Anyone who has ever been to Paarl knows that it can be one of the hottest places in the Western Cape, and despite it being the end of March, today was scheduled for a hefty 35 degrees (in the shade). I pondered briefly on whether to go or not, but quickly decided that 'fair weather' hiking would soon lead to the slippery slope of non-attendance (in my case, anyway) and the benefits far outweigh any slight discomfort at the time.
So I set the alarm for 5.30, woke up at 3.30 and lay awake waiting for the alarm. I reached the mutual meeting point in Constantia at 7am with minutes to spare and we set off for Paarl in heavy morning traffic, taking an hour and a half to get there, still before the heat set in. Incredible views stretched before us - an endless row of dragon's teeth from north to south, enticing adventure beyond, and the entire Cape Peninsula from Cape Point to Table Mountain to the west. That in itself made the trip worthwhile.
After a quick snack in the shade of unidentified but impressively spreading trees at the strangely named Krismis Kamp, we set off along the gravel road to do a circular walk that would bring us past the gigantic granite outcrops. A very light breeze at the top of the mountain brought slight relief, and apart from a lizard or two and some distant birds, no other life stirred on that warm hillside. We eventually descended a very steep path - meaning that a very steep climb lay ahead - down to a babbling stream. A number of dams in the hills are fairly full, so either they are not being drawn from, or there has been sufficient moisture over the area to keep them filled.
The very steep climb back up the hill helped with the cardio and calorie burn, and we sat down to a very welcome picnic lunch under the same spreading tree, feeling fully justified in enjoying Scotch egg, pork pies, sandwiches, fruit, coffee and beer after our strenuous 5km walk. It was then off to climb the Rock!
We drove up the winding road to the very foot of the exposed granite - there was no way we could have hiked up from the picnic area - and set off to climb what is basically a round rock, with the aid of a fixed chain rail at the steepest part. It is unlikely that many people would make it up there without the chain as support, and I must confess that I trailed in the rear as the rest of the party tramped unconcernedly to the summit. I paused for breath and to admire the view many times on the way up and the group photo shows just how I felt when I got there!

However, recovery was quick due to increasing fitness as the weeks go by, and the trip down was a doddle. We passed a man clinging to a cliff face - it was quite frightening to imagine ourselves in a similar position, but he was doing it for fun.
That's another one off the bucket list. I must say I didn't enjoy being on the side of a round rock as vertigo is never far away, and I may not do it again. But never say never.

Autumn of this life?

Autumn is upon us here in the seaside village of Kommetjie. The air drifting in from the Atlantic has a distinct nip, yet the sun is still warm enough to allow summer clothes. The freshness is so welcome after the long, dry summer, when the sun beat down on threadbare lawns, burning and withering what little greenery remained, and heating the paving beyond barefoot comfort. Now even a few millimetres of rain make a difference, and trees and shrubs that seemed doomed have new shoots, as a reminder to us not to dig them out just yet.
The birds are stocking up on the last food of summer, and they are jostling and squabbling over the pomegranate arils that I split up for them, having finished the last of the grapes. Truly a feast for them in a garden that ordinarily only provides coprosma berries! That tree is fast becoming a casualty of the drought despite my having watered it every single day, and perhaps it is just old age that it has succumbed to, but as a replacement for the fruit eaters, I have been putting out all the fruit that the family doesn't eat - which is everything. We are not fruit eaters, and lemons and apples have finally been established as the only fruits they eat, and then only in a hot pudding!
Today I stood quietly under the trees, just observing the birds coming and going, and thought how sad it was that Dad was no longer here to chat to about his favourite hobby, birding. It is only recently that I began to take an interest, particularly in photographing birds, while both these hobbies occupied about 70 years of his long life. I'm sure he is thrilled that I am following in his footsteps at last, but there are still so many questions I would like to ask him.
Yes, autumn indeed.

Crystal Cruises culinary delights

The final few days of the Crystal Symphony cruise were regrettably washed out due to the recent tropical cyclone that caused mudslides on the islands, so no sightseeing, mountains clouded over and extreme humidity meant that it was just more comfortable on board. Here are a few reminders of the outstanding cuisine offered on board, with some of the dishes being only half portions as I didn't have the capacity to consume any more! They were truly memorable, as was the entire Crystal Cruises experience, and I would highly recommend this ship to anyone seeking genteel living on the ocean wave.
Parting was such sad, sweet sorrow!

Duck w/fruits

Caviar 

Sublime pate

Angus fillet and prawns

Lobster

Crème brulee

Chinese lamb chops - succulent and tender

Hand-painted china and silver

Ravioli - half portion - should have had full!

Veal schnitzel

Duck w/berries - another half portion mistake!

A little decadence

Cheese?

Not your average fish cake

Angus Beef Wellington

More food!

Enough already!

Plant your fields with the future you want

Oh, woe is the world! If ever there was compelling evidence for more intelligent life in all parts of the universe, this must be it. With social media giving voices to trolls, morons, hate-spreaders, bigots and other forms of low life, it is inconceivable that we could be considered an intelligent life form or even civilised. With electioneering and governments around the world demonstrating just how low we can go, it is without doubt time to give serious thought to how we got into this situation and how we can get out of it. There is more than enough literature on solutions, but how to persuade the sheep to stop going 'baaaa' and look for a new field?

A field of all possibilities, which is what the universe is. Pure potential waiting to be turned into a reality of your choosing!

The reality I am currently choosing is to sit outside in the warm autumn sunshine, where blue skies stretch endlessly overhead and birds float by on thermals, taking them silently home to roost. The sea ebbs and flows nearby in ceaseless motion, constantly lapping at the shores of this great continent, where land first emerged from the seas to establish the environment for life, culminating in our current species, which must surely be a work in progress. A short way up the coastline, a huge excavation of dinosaur and other animal bones may be seen, the result of a massive and catastrophic wash-away in the distant past that swept them down to the coast and dumped them in a delta in a tangled mass of bodies. In the Karoo we can see scrapes from a glacier on the rocks, evidence of a once much colder climate in this now barren and extreme land.

This should surely be enough evidence that everything changes and nothing stays the same. What are the chances that we, the human race, are also just part of the cycle of life on this planet and we, too, will cease to exist? Pretty good, I would say. So why not take advantage of the natural beauty, herbs and plants and animal produce we have been given for our very survival and enjoy our time here, living in peace with each other and sharing Nature's bounty rather than joining the bandwagon of the power-hungry who rule by fear and loathing? Let them also reap what they sow.

Plant your fields with the future that you want.

Magnificent morning in the vineyards

The vernal vineyards of Groot Constantia were the setting for yesterday's walk. That had a nice ring to it, didn't it? Unfortunately it is not spring, and so they are the autumnal vineyards, and very beautiful they are, with the vine leaves just starting to turn yellow, orange and deep rust. It was a fairly gentle stroll, with an initial very steep incline to get us to the highest point of the vineyards to enjoy the stunning views across to the distant mountains and False Bay.
Although there is no shade along the way, the vines are mature enough to provide the height of a small tree and so there was ample opportunity to sit by the wayside and enjoy a grape or two. The bulk of the harvest appears to have been picked, as only the lower parts of the vines still bear

grapes, and these dark purple, tiny, tightly packed bunches must be destined for something very sweet if the sugar content is anything to go by. The pips are disproportionately large in relation to the grape, which was quite surprising. Rather like the avocado variety that only has 1cm of flesh around its pip - you feel cheated.
We passed others in the vineyards - a group of young students, perhaps of viticulture, listening to a lecture on the cultivars - three people sampling the grapes very studiously, perhaps winemakers - and a man in a newly dug over field taking GPS readings, perhaps for a building? There were no other walkers, but I would highly recommend the farm for this activity, being safe and accessible, but mostly because of the opportunity for an excellent meal and a glass or two of their finest wine after your exercise, in the pleasant shade of ancient oaks planted possibly 333 years ago!

Sandy Bay and Oudeschip

Mike Lundy wrote in 1997 (Cape Times) "Crossing Sandy Bay on a hot day over a weekend, dressed in mountain boots and backpack, you might feel the need to stare blankly at the sand one metre directly ahead of you as you walk. This way, you’ll avoid feeling awkward about being overdressed.

We didn't do the walk on a weekend, although today was perfect beach weather and roughly a dozen nudists were out and about, so to speak. We did feel inclined to ditch the mountain boots and backpacks as the sea was that incredible turquoise that only the Peninsula's Atlantic Ocean takes on after a good southeaster, and looked so enticing. But we knew it would be icy cold and decided to settle for a beer later. We (I speak for myself) only gave the fellow beach strollers a passing glance out of interest and to confirm various urban legends, and otherwise maintained an air of nonchalance at our overdressed-ness!

The hike from the Sandy Bay carpark to Oudeschip covers 6.5km return and involves a bit of rock scrambling and a very steep climb if you feel so inclined. We hugged the rocky shore, clambering over shapely granite boulders that characterise this coastline and offer shelter from wind and sun, and excellent sunbathing if you have a thick towel to soften the knobbles! Weathering scoops out fascinating shapes and we passed one that had been transformed into a habitable cave, unfortunately with the accompanying human habit of disgusting litter which detracted from the picturesque scenery.

A cooling breeze from the southwest held off the heat of the day for a while, and years of fire damage meant that there were no shady trees along the way, but also a clear view for miles around, something we all have to be very aware of these days. It was a great walk, with stunning views and the freshest air on the planet. You should do it.

Charging up the Channel

The continuing saga of my Crystal Symphony adventure...
After Maputo, our next port of call would be La Reunion, and our course would take us across the Indian Ocean, just passing south of Madagascar. My heart sank to the bottom of my sandals when I opened up Facebook and saw a message from a well-wisher informing us of the tropical cyclone building up off Mauritius, predicted to be the worst since 2002. This scenario had been lurking in the back of my mind for weeks, knowing that it was cyclone season, and I didn't know whether I was ready for such excitement at this stage of my life. I spotted the hapless captain of this fine vessel and scurried over, trying to keep a hysterical squeak out of my voice, and asked if he thought I should jump ship before we left Maputo. He very gravely told me he was monitoring the situation carefully, as if to say, you silly woman, would I endanger my ship? And of course I knew he wouldn't, so I decided to stay aboard. I did suggest to him that I would love it if he went up the Mozambique Channel, and we left it at that. Meanwhile, other passengers were starting to talk about the cyclone and how they had been aboard in 30-foot waves on other occasions and had a marvellous time - it just meant a lot of crockery went flying at dinner.
The ship sailed at sunset and once again slipped silently into the dusk, leaving the lights of Maputo far behind us. On waking the next morning, I looked through the window and could see that our speed had picked up considerably. We were fairly flying over a mirror smooth sea. I flicked on the onboard channel and breathed easily again - we were on our way up the Mozambique Channel and our speed had increased from 11knots to 20knots - flying indeed! So it was time to relax and enjoy the ride.
I think it took us 5 days to La Reunion from Maputo, quite a detour, and the trip up the Channel was smooth and comfortable. Then we rounded the northern end of Madagascar and turned for the islands, meeting the swells emanating from the cyclone, which had by then reached Mauritius, and suddenly it was a floating 6-star hotel with added dipping and diving. The horizon was no longer horizontal and one could feel the juddering as the bow bit deep into an oncoming swell and then the floor would part from the soles of your feet as it rose again. Passengers and crew alike succumbed to seasickness, although my sea legs were steady, and there was plenty of banter about lurching in the lounges and drifting in the dining room. An evening show was cancelled as it would have been impossible for the performers to maintain their balance, and on the dancefloor the dancers lurched from one side to the other, adding a few extra steps to the routine. The waiters did a sterling job balancing trays of drinks, obviously accustomed to adverse conditions, but I'm sure more than one onion rolled off a table in the galley.
It was actually quite uncomfortable proceeding at speed into those swells, and we had to brace ourselves most of the time, which had the advantage of using muscles that possibly wouldn't have had any exercise! The most startling thing was waking up one night and finding that I was barely touching the mattress! The situation wasn't helped by the sudden appearance of new lifejackets in the corridors overnight - we were assured that it was merely a routine replacement of the existing ones and had nothing to do with the weather. Bad timing.
Oh, yes! The captain came over to me a few days after our first conversation and said, "You see, I took your advice!" A true officer and a gentleman.