Real winter rains to rid us of moles?

Winter, the real Cape winter of old, has certainly arrived in Cape Town at last. Cyclonic rain from the northwest was the norm; days of gentle rain soaking into the ground. Now it seems to be heavier rain, causing flash flooding and damage to property, as well as chaos on the roads. Of course the number  of incapable drivers on our roads has exploded and so there is generally chaos in dry conditions, but more accidents occur in the wet.
I've spent a few days this week trying to minimise the effects of what is forecast for the weekend - more rain in a day than we have had in years - and we have chopped back the huge trees whose branches beat against the house, cleared the gutters, cut down the bougainvillea whose beautiful cerise bracts adorned half the roof (we could never see them as it's a double storey, but they scattered on the ground like confetti when the wind blew) and disconnected the gutters from the JoJo tanks. The latter is because they are full and we have no use for all this water, believe it or not, despite the dire straits of just a few weeks ago. It can only be used to water the garden, which doesn't need it now, or flush the toilets, and that takes less than 50 litres a day. So what to do with 10 000 litres of rainwater? Let it run straight into the garden like it used to.
A molerat, and presumably its extended family, has destroyed the garden of late. Vast caverns have appeared in the lawn and under the paving, tree roots have become exposed and the lawn, which was starting to look a little respectable, doesn't bear looking at. In the old days, a thunderflash down the hole would have sent it scurrying to quieter climes, but nothing is putting this lot off. Except, maybe, the diversion of the flood that comes down from the road through the garden; this no longer turns it into a lake, as it now channels itself directly down the first molehole under the trees, washing away the bromeliads, and must be contributing substantially to raising the water table! If that doesn't get rid of the moles, nothing will. I'm hoping the coming rain will sort it out once and for all, then I can order a truckload of soil to fill in the sinkholes!

Tygerberg Nature Reserve

Today our foray was into the Tygerberg hills, so called because the early settlers mistakenly thought the leopards that roamed were tigers, but it's a nice name, so we'll keep it. A cold front heading for Cape Town brought low cloud and an icy wind, and a puffy jacket plus a mist jacket was soon donned by me, who prefers to walk in shirt sleeves, but the temperature was about 9 degrees on top.
There are only two tiny areas of renosterveld left here, with three plants endemic, and it is yet another example of man's ability to destroy the planet with what he calls progress. About 24 small mammals live on these hills and 137 bird species, but the wind kept them in the undergrowth and most are too shy or too clever to come out when humans pass by! It was nevertheless a lovely walk and with multiple paths to choose from, it can easily be a full day's outing for the keen hiker.
There are warning signs all along the paths to make us aware of the slipperiness of the terrain, and they aren't joking. In general, the path is covered in a fine green moss on clay, and more than one of the group found themselves on the ground in the blink of an eye. Great care should be taken when walking there in winter.
Three species of tortoise are found in the reserve and we were lucky to spot a pretty but endangered angulate tortoise catching a bit of winter sunshine as we made our way down to the two dams that intrude into the residential area - or is that the residential area intruding into the reserve? Workers were clearing all the reeds from the sides of the dam, and a distressed little coot was frantically gathering new reeds to rebuild her nest which had obviously been simply dragged up the bank with the freshly cut reeds and piled into huge sacks. These were then hauled by two men (and some women) along the path to where the truck waited to remove them. They must have been very pleased to have slippery paths to drag the weight along. Unfortunately there seems to be no regard or perhaps even awareness of the destruction of the breeding habitats for the birds in the area. 😞
By now it was pretty hot in the lee of the hills and jackets were shed for the long slog back up the hill to the cars. A good three hour walk in pleasant (apart from treacherously slippery) surroundings and definitely a place to walk again.

One of breeding pair of jackal buzzards

Subway under the roads

Angulate tortoise catching some rays

Coot trying to rebuild nest

Treacherous path with mossy surface

Happy hikers on a very short bit of tar

Table Mountain in the mist

Winter storms

How easily we are fooled by a clear sky and sunshine! It is definitely winter now and we have to remember that extra jersey or jacket when venturing out for a walk along the seafront or coffee up the road. The air is icy as it sweeps in from the south Atlantic, and the weather forecasts (which are surely accurate in some part of the world, although not necessarily the desired location) are as frequently incorrect as correct. It really is best to just wait for the sun to come up, look at the weather vane on top of the lighthouse, and assess the surface of the sea for what lies ahead!
Recently we enjoyed the epitome of perfect Cape Town weather, and anyone visiting here would surely have been hard pressed to leave. Fortunately, bad weather intermittently spoils paradise, otherwise we would have a shoreline of apartment buildings similar to the Costa del Sol. We never know what winter will bring, and it has been some years since the Cape of Storms took a really bad knock. The odd thing about these storms is that they always seem to occur when the highest tide is in the early hours of the morning, and so we miss all the action and are left only to gasp at the destruction the next day. Two cold fronts have now passed that are reminiscent of what winter used to be in the Cape, except that the rain is heavier over a shorter period.
The sea lice that feed on the washed up kelp along the bay are our best indicator of what is to come, and way back in the 80s we had a hurricane-like gale that threw benches into trees, lifted the tarred path, swept away rocks and tore boats from their moorings, their smashed remains washing up on nearby Long Beach. The indicator of this violent storm was the mass exodus of the sea lice from the danger zone, as they crossed the roads and swarmed up walls of houses to escape the tide. There is nothing you can tell nature. 
Living only about 60 metres from the shoreline, I often wonder how long it will be before the sea laps at our walls. The tide has washed seaweed along the side road once before, many years ago, and the storm surge is held back by a low jumble of rocks, a hillock and a line of milkwoods. Yesterday we found two sea lice seeking refuge in the garage.
Only time will tell.

Rooikrans to Buffels Bay

Funny how the weather differs so vastly within short distances across the Cape Peninsula. It is said that you can experience all four seasons in one day in Cape Town and that is certainly true in winter. I woke to a fresh northwester with a hint of rain in Kommetjie, drove down to the entrance of Cape Point to join the hiking group in cold conditions with low cloud over the mountains and when we got down to Rooikrans (almost at Cape Point), there were sunny skies and little wind. What to wear?!
Rooikrans is famous for its red sandstone ledges where locals jealously guard their fishing spots and spend summers casting for dinner from the shoals of yellowtail that pass below. Many a fishing story has come from these ledges, generally hilarious and occasionally tragic, as the cliffs are treacherous even to those who have climbed them for fifty years.
Our hike didn't take us to the ledges, but rather down a steep and rocky track to the grassy slopes along the shore and I was happy that we were walking the down route rather than starting at Buffels Bay! The whales are starting to arrive for calving in False Bay and we were treated to the sounds of a small pod spouting nearby, tails and fins waving at us. How marvellous to identify a whale by its sound, or a baboon on the hilltop by its bark, and sunbirds trilling on treetops!
The vegetation on the False Bay side of Cape Point is dense and diverse and a small herd of eland stood motionless on the hillside as we passed, blending into the rocks so perfectly that it was a while before they were even noticed. They favour this area which is sheltered from the northwester and provides plenty of grazing, as do the baboons, although for them it may be the picnic site that is the attraction in summer.
Although the sea appeared calm, there must have been a knock-on effect from the immense swells on the Atlantic side (the biggest I have possibly ever seen), and waves crashing on the rocky shore sent up towering plumes of spray, just to show us that nature is still the boss!
The walk up to where we left the cars was a steep and relentless tar road, not my favourite, but along the way we had the privilege of witnessing a male ostrich doing his flamboyant courting dance for two very interested females and watched the entire mating process from a little way off. It was quite spectacular and so much better than seeing it on TV! It seems to be mating season even though midwinter, as soon we saw another male with his two females going through the same elaborate routine. They certainly work for their reward.
By then it was positively hot, almost unbelievable given the cold and windy start to the day, and I think we were all happy to shed jackets and boots and head off for a good lunch!

Farewell, faithful companion

Our faithful companion has left us. Monty was nearly 19 and the toughest dog imaginable.  He was the runt of the litter, but turned out to be the longest survivor – attributable no doubt to the life of luxury and easy living we gave him.

He slept on the bed every night until a few years ago, when weak hind legs prevented him from jumping up, and then had a special cushion and blankets next to it so that he didn’t feel left in the cold. His favourite foods were chicken, cheese and chocolate, in no particular order, and he licked every plate so clean that we could almost have put them straight back in the cupboard, particularly pudding plates.

I called him Houdini, because there was nothing he liked better than to escape from the property and disappear for hours. He always went down to the rocks at the bay, where he could chase rats and birds and have a bit of a swim, while we rushed around like headless chickens looking for our precious dog before someone stole him (always our first thought!) or knocked him over. Being a Maltese terrier type, his adventurous spirit knew no bounds and he definitely knew no discipline. He never once in 19 years came when we called him, and on one classic occasion he ran along the beach from Witsand beach along the rocks to Scarborough, while we drove along the coastal road watching him. Eventually we caught him only because we could drive faster and ran down the cliff to intercept him. He did give us a lot of grief and caused numerous domestic disputes!

He hated all the cats we ever had and chased every one. But his favourite thing to chase was a baboon.  We often had big male baboons in the kitchen and our greatest fear was that he would be disembowelled for barking so fiercely at them and attacking as they ran down the garden. Once I ran after the baboon and the dog, shrieking at Monty to no avail, and the baboon jumped onto the wall, held on with one hand and casually reached down towards Monty snapping at his heels. The decibel level must have changed his mind and he left Monty to bark another day. My nerves were finished!

The last five years have seen him decline into old age, with deafness, partial blindness, a huge hernia operation and dementia taking away his quality of life. But he still loved his food, knew where I was all the time and enjoyed sleeping 20 hours a day, with a few hours bumbling around. So we couldn’t bring ourselves to end his life even though he became like a child, needing to be taken out three times at night (me), fed by hand most of the time, cleaned up after, bathed often, brushed because he couldn’t scratch any more, and constantly rescued from corners of the house and garden when he couldn’t remember why he was there. A monotonous barking was a great source of irritation no doubt to all the neighbours as well, but we still couldn’t say goodbye. He had been at my heel for 19 years and I was his constant carer. It taught me tremendous patience.

The safety barricades have been taken down, the Persian carpets laid down once more. His spirit is now in doggie heaven, with little Susie, who died at 17, and their remains rest under the lemon tree.

Cold day on the mountain

It was up to the Elephant's Eye cave again for yesterday's hike. I belong to two walking groups and sometimes the hikes are similar, but the company is different, as is the weather, and so it matters not. A little over three weeks ago, we were still waiting for substantial rainfall in Cape Town, and the ground had just reached saturation, meaning that new rainfall would become visible in the form of streams and waterfalls. The last two weeks has exceeded our hopes and the streams are now rivers, the cliff faces are running rivulets and the paths have turned into waterways. It is marvellous to behold.
Intermittent rain was forecast and the wind was strong as we trudged up and along the ridge towards Constantiaberg. Scarves, gloves and thick jackets were mostly the order of the day, although I still don't seem to feel the cold and just had a thin mist jacket, as exertion soon warms up the body. A scarf is perfect for protecting the ears from the wind, wrapping round the head as a makeshift balaclava and filtering cold air!
We had three dogs with us and they bounded through the veld like spring hares, chasing after each other through every puddle and stream in canine abandon. No wildlife was around and the only bird out in the wind was a jackal buzzard soaring overhead - the rest were sensibly sheltering in the undergrowth. Still only a few ericas and a pink and white bush provided a splash of colour; the rest is waiting to amaze us in Spring, when the whole mountainside becomes a floral paradise.
We eventually stopped at the firewatcher's hut (long abandoned, it appears) and decided against the final onslaught towards the cave, as the wind was a bit strong. It rained on either side of us, with bright rainbows appearing, but not a drop dripped where we walked. Nicely arranged!

Kalk Bay to Muizenberg and back

Yesterday brought a traditional cold front to Cape Town, with heavy rain falling over an extended period, particularly in the catchment areas, where reports of 170mm have come in. Exciting stuff! Not wanting to be wimps and stay indoors for a few drops of rain, we bravely set off in blustery conditions from Kalk Bay harbour along the seafront path to Muizenberg. Behind us, heavy rain and a bright rainbow completely obscured Simon's Town from view, while ahead lay sunshine and shiny rocks freshly washed clean by a recent shower. The Hottentots Holland mountains on the other side of False Bay were also missing, and a visitor would have been forgiven for thinking he was looking out across an endless ocean. It meant that the rain was still falling from heavy cloud cover in all the right places, although we were caught out a few times and needed the rain gear! No shelter along the shore.
The constantly changing light as clouds passed and blue sky came and went made for picture postcard scenery and I think we were all guilty of taking a shot of the colourful bathing boxes at St James!
Sad to see was the state of the old signal box at Muizenberg station, and the obvious neglect of the fine old station building - regretfully endemic in this country as bureaucracy fails us. On the other side of the road, private commerce is flourishing and old buildings have been upgraded and refurbished in a rejuvenation of a once fashionable seaside resort.
On the return trip, we stopped at the Posthuys, the second oldest building in South Africa, and were given a very articulate and entertaining history of the building, history of the area and the Battle of Muizenberg. Very interesting and well worth a visit. While we were inside, the rain came down in buckets - so quite fortuitous!

 

Autumn idyll

There can be no more peaceful place on a fine autumn day than the shores of the Cape Point Nature Reserve. The season means minimal visitors (those that are there are heading straight for the steep climb up to the lighthouse) and the animals graze peacefully at the picnic spots usually packed out in summer. We walked from Buffels Bay to Venus Pools yesterday, along a grassy path with the sea on our right and caves where ancient people dwelt on the left, and ostriches in the middle. I don't know the population of ostriches in the reserve, but these could be the youngsters that were very small on a previous walk. They fitted the bill and were not at all disturbed as we strolled by.

A warm breeze from inland ensured that short sleeves were perfect, and in fact one of our group shed his clothing and took a dip in one of the clean, cold tidal pools to freshen up after the walk - the rest of us muttered excuses about not having a costume, etc. We were actually quite envious of his chutzpah!

A whale wallowed nearby and boats plied up and down the coastline in ideal fishing conditions. But an unusual visitor was a helicopter ferrying someone apparently important or just super rich from the Waterfront to a Rolls Royce which was in the car park. The chauffeur laughed when we asked if he was our Uber, and said he was waiting for a helicopter to take guests around the reserve and then out to the winelands. We think they were just trying to avoid paying the gate fee. It was an interesting sight, I have to say, especially as the tinted windowed, gun metal grey executive security patrolled the area before it landed and then preceded the Rolls Royce on its way. Lifestyles of the rich and famous, but if they knew what it was like to sit on the rocks at Venus Pools and sip on coffee and a rusk, perhaps they would also have been envious.

Peace and quiet

Sometimes when we are treated to a power cut (stolen cables or a severed cable at the roadworks nearby), I think back to the days of loadshedding, a time when we were all being fooled that there was a problem with electricity supply in this country when in fact it was a plan to loot the coffers. 

Ah! Loadshedding! I wonder whether Eskom realised what a gift we were given in those dark hours? An opportunity to shed the load of mankind’s technology and commune once more with nature as it was intended. A respite from the incessant buzz of daily life and a chance to listen to the voice of the wind, soughing through the boughs of the trees, the night birds calling shrilly down at the shore, the silent stars moving in an eternal dance across the canopy of the night, only the planets shifting position in the firmament as they spin around the star that gives us life.

Our senses seem to heighten in the darkness to compensate for our dimmed vision, and we can hear the silence as peace settles across the land. Only the rhythmic flashing of the lighthouse beam on the treetops as its beacon lights the way for seafarers disturbs the darkness. Inside, a single candle flame illuminates the house, mocking the light bulbs that hang useless from their wires, dependent on man’s technology to provide day by night.

And suddenly the light returns and the spell is broken.

Eagle's Nest test

The test of a repeat climb to Eagle's Nest was passed with flying colours! Not a twinge. But it's not going to be Kilimanjaro next. And probably not the Camino, having seen how it can rain in Spain!
Today we climbed up through the clouds and were treated to a brief patch of sunshine that sparkled on the drops of water hanging from every reed, frond and leaf after a night of gentle rain. Streams tinkled towards rivers and muddy puddles were plentiful. The walk is mostly along a gentle jeep track, apart from a strenuous climb from the car park, and the final stretch is a steep clamber up a rocky path to the beacon on the top of this rockier promontory.
The main reason for doing this walk is to enjoy the incredible scenery and vast vistas from the top, but today the clouds prevented us from even seeing off the edge of the cliff we were sitting on. No doubt we would have been a little less comfortable if we could have seen the sheer drop, although we were all aware of it being there!
Yesterday I cut my hair very short so that I could just towel it back into shape after or during a hike, as it has become abundantly clear that I will never be looking glamorous after a hike, but at least can contain the scarecrow look now. One lives in hope!
Next time perhaps the clouds will cooperate, but the coolness was nonetheless welcome. The company was convivial and there was much laughter, so the day was perfect all round. 

Gorillas in the mist

Rock pools everywhere

A web of jewels

Beneath towering pines

A year up the hills

A year ago, my son and I walked up to Cape Point lighthouse. Along the way, I was overtaken by every other tourist who had travelled thousands of kilometres to visit this natural wonder, the Cape of Good Hope, with two lighthouses on the promontory to its left. The first lighthouse was discovered to be useless because it was built on the highest point and nobody had taken into account the fact that it was covered in mist/cloud very often and couldn't be seen by passing ships. A new lighthouse was built further down and there have been no complaints since.
The reason I was overtaken is that I had to stop every 30 steps to breathe. All my life I have been unable to walk up hills or steps without becoming breathless, and nobody ever suggested to me that the cause might be my aversion to exercise. Some of the girls passing by were in high heels and one appeared to be wearing a cocktail dress, but maybe she always dressed like that. I decided there and then that the situation was pathetic and something drastic needed to be done. I joined a hiking group and the rest is history, as they say. Well, something between history and hysterical.
My very first hike took me up to Eagle's Nest, a not very high rocky hillock on the way over Constantia Nek. I toiled up and down and couldn't walk for four days afterwards. The next hike, three days later, was better and helped loosen the tight muscles. Now, with perhaps 60 hikes under my boots, I barely get a raised heartbeat and am looking to advance to more strenuous hiking some time in the future. The lesson here is that we are so much more capable than we allow ourselves to believe. I almost left it too late to discover a whole new life, meeting wonderful people who love the outdoors and the beauty that is so freely available, with the added benefit of losing weight, getting fit and busting the stresses of daily life! Thank you to our Intrepid Leaders, who take us to places undreamed of!
Tomorrow I will  be climbing up to Eagle's Nest again, and will be able to measure my success!