Impossible to assimilate

It's been an otherwise kind of a day. Strange weather and stranger people.
I am trying to sort out a telephone problem with Telkom (who else) for a friend who is unable to grasp the situation and is basically housebound. In October last year, Telkom phoned him to say he was getting a new wi-fi phone. He just accepted that and they duly installed it. It has a tiny leaflet on how to operate it and has a SIM card which was put in for him. He says he had a few phone calls, but I can't be sure of that, and then nothing - no ringtone or incoming calls. Also no phone bill. I studied the leaflet and couldn't get it to turn on, except for a brief lighting up of the screen showing a fully charged battery. I checked the SIM card, which was in place. I said I would take his information and try to sort it out with Telkom. He just wants his old landline phone back.
I approached the woman at the desk - there was nobody else in the shop - and told her the story. She said I should have turned the phone on - you know, press the red button like they have on cellphones - and I should also check that the SIM card is put in correctly. I assured her that the basics had been dealt with but it didn't work. She then said that I should report it. I said that was what I was doing, and could she check that he was connected as he hadn't paid a bill since October and definitely didn't know how to get airtime. I asked her how it worked on airtime but she wasn't able to explain anything. I again suggested someone check the line and she told me they were offline, but that I could phone someone and ask them to. I cheekily suggested that maybe as I was there at the Telkom office talking to her, she might make the call. No, they were offline and nobody could do anything. But I must bring the phone in so they can look at it.
By this time, I was so befuddled by our interaction that I couldn't make head or tail of what had been said or accomplished. I left with severe reservations about everything and could barely pick out a pear from the fruit section at Pick n Pay, such was my utter flabbergastedness. And I fear this is just the tip of the iceberg. I have attempted to contact several important government institutions with even less success in communication. And loadshedding looms. And I haven't even touched on the response to an email I sent.

A stressful day, not without some humour

Having successfully obtained a UK visa for my fast-approaching sortie to that soggy island, the next step is the Schengen visa for a quick stopover in The Netherlands. It was fortuitous that I got the UK visa first, as this is a requirement for the Schengen application. The waiting list for appointments is stretching to three weeks now, and I was lucky to get one with four weeks to go before departure. They are very emphatic about your being on time for your appointment and if you miss it, you have to make another. From this lengthy preamble, you will perhaps note that I wouldn't have time for that.
The traffic being what it is, I gave myself an hour and a half to do a 40-minute drive, and assumed (never do that) that the early morning rush hour(s) would be over. Google Maps told me that a 39-minute delay could be expected so I was already cutting it fine, and when the queue of cars leaving Kommetjie ground to a halt just past the Ocean View traffic lights, I did a U-turn and took the long road down through Scarborough and over Red Hill. Waste of time, as the cars travelling in that direction apparently had nowhere to go in a hurry and overtaking was impossible.
I passed Sun Valley without knowing whether I had gained any advantage and was informed by Google Maps that today the traffic in the Claremont/UCT area was 'heavier than usual' and at the current rate I would get to my destination with 5 minutes to spare. This wouldn't allow for parking. With the need for speed topmost in my mind, I was more aware than ever of the inability of motorists to pull away in unison from a traffic light and the 5-car gaps between them, of the inevitable lorry that can't quite achieve the speed limit, the overheated car parked on Hospital Hill for rubberneckers to enjoy, and the Average Speed monitoring along the way.  Google Maps was accurate all the way, but didn't know about taxis getting a wash from a source on the opposite side of a major intersection of Adderley Street, where they effectively and uncaringly obstructed the free flow of traffic, and so I had made a plan for parking to take into account the need for prompt arrival. I would take whatever was available in front of the building. It was a bus stop.
I pulled right to the front of the clearly marked red lines, leapt from the car clutching my folder of documents and dashed into the building. I told the security guard I only had 3 minutes before my appointment on the 5th floor and I wasn't allowed to miss it, so he waved me through. I suspect it was because he didn't have a pen for me to fill in the form. The lift was waiting. I arrived at my destination with 2 minutes to spare. The relief!
I then sat (next in the queue) while a family at the counter took a little over 50 minutes to complete their application. So much for being on time for your appointment.
I asked the officials if I could go downstairs and move the car. No, you'll be next, it won't take long. So now the stress was about whether the car would be clamped or towed. Nothing to be done about it, so I just went through various scenarios while I sat there - whether I would walk to the Traffic Dept in Green Point to retrieve my car or take a bus (the irony), whether it would be clamped and I would have to phone to have it released, or whether I would be lucky. I hoped for lucky.
As luck would have it, the only traffic cop I have ever seen in Cape Town was writing out a ticket as I dashed back out of the building (the security guard waved me out). If I had been attended to at my appointment time, I could have parked illegally for a further 45 minutes without a ticket. I explained my reason for parking there and he said that although he sympathised (as he handed me the pink slip with an amount which I will not disclose here), I would have to take my case to the Traffic Dept to seek a reduction. I will do that. I mean, were the buses even running today?

Quite a hike, with great rewards

Having been delayed in the usual South Peninsula traffic chaos between Kommetjie and Capri, I was definitely going to be late for the start of our hike up to Cecilia Waterfall, and so I told the group to go ahead and I would catch them up. Anticipating a short distance between us, I took the opportunity to swing into the parking lot at Constantia Nek for a fill up of coffee in my empty flask from the little coffee truck (always friendly and quick service, plus excellent coffee). An open road from there to the Cecilia Forest ensured that as I parked, I could see the group a few hundred metres up the jeep track. But then I had to put on my ankle brace and hiking boots, and as a very slight drizzle had muddified the red gravel, it was more difficult than anticipated. By the time I was ready to hike, they had long since disappeared, but I thought I would take a gentle jog up the first uphill and soon catch up.
There is no way a steady pace can be caught up with after a 10 minute delay, and I soon gave up with the jogging! I toiled up the track as fast as I could, stopping to breathe more often than expected, and still saw and heard nothing. A few hikers passed me on the way and said, yes, they had seen my group further up. I became more and more aware of the silence of the forest and the feeling of aloneness - we are always warned not to hike alone, but I plodded onward and upward, starting to perspire profusely and soon as soaked as if it had rained on me. The earlier showers brought the scent of eucalyptus wafting down from the huge trees and a strong earthy aroma oozed from the thick carpet of ancient, decomposed vegetation of the forest floor. A far worse smell assaulted my nostrils as I passed a veritable mound of fresh dog poop, left carelessly by the owner of the dog for unwary hikers to pick up in the deep treads of their hiking boots. There must have been more than one mound, as I soon found myself accompanied as aforesaid, and the smell was so offensive that it galvanised me into redoubling my efforts to catch up.
It must have been a good 20 minutes before I finally appeared before them, looking bedraggled, exhausted and no doubt many other things that they were too kind to mention, and then we set off up the next steep section to the waterfall. My quick start took its toll and I probably struggled more than usual, but the beauty of our surroundings and the many examples of our proud floral heritage made it all worthwhile. If it weren't for the hiking group and our encouragement to each other to just keep putting one foot in front of another, we would miss out on life's greatest moments.
Protea cynaroides was prolific, the huge bracts in impeccable condition without a single blemish, were just magnificent, we saw a few disa uniflora (past their prime) and many of the not seen before and even more spectacular blue disa, and cluster disa. Always exciting to see something new on a hike.
We toiled through a number of ravines before heading back down to the jeep track via a steep, stepped (for a giant) path close to Kirstenbosch, and I have to confess to being absolutely finished after the hike, with aching hips and knees, rather like a bit of a crock. A liberal spray of arnica ice around the knees soon took care of that, and then it was off to a well-earned lunch. A wonderful hike despite the moaning along the way!

Protea cynaroides in perfection

Looking towards Muizenberg

Cluster disa - cellphone pic

Blue disa - cellphone pic

Taking in some culture

I have at last ventured through the doors of the mysterious construction that took place over the last few years on the site of the old Barnyard farmstall in Tokai, which turned out to be the magnificently architectured Norval Foundation art and sculpture centre, set in a protected wetland and designed to allow the visitor to not only enjoy the exhibitions inside, but also the sweeping mountain views outside. There is no doubt, as you enter the quiet and cool space, that attention to detail in design was foremost, and it is indeed a most welcoming space.
There are currently three major exhibitions, Nudes in the Sanlam Art Collection, Labour of Many by Ibrahim Maham and On the Mines by David Goldblatt. This is not a review of the exhibitions but rather an overview of my experience. I am a bit of an art philistine despite being an artist myself, in that I do not always appreciate all art forms nor enjoy the sometimes pretentiousness that goes with it, but I know what I do like and that is beauty and something that resonates with the soul. Fortunately everybody has different tastes and ideas of what appeals to them, otherwise there would be millions of starving artists out there.
The photographs of David Goldblatt are astounding. The black and white images of mines, mining and miners in South Africa in the 1960s are a revelation that might have changed the course of our history if we had been exposed to them from a young age and had any concept of the realities of the exploitation of mineral wealth. You can feel the heat, the sweat, the danger, the darkness. The appalling conditions. There is a full length documentary continuously running in a screening room, with short interviews with the late Nadine Gordimer and Goldblatt - these were excellent and gave real meaning to what we had seen, and although time did not allow us to watch the documentary, I will definitely be going back to see it and look at the photographs again. I don't think any exhibition has grabbed my attention like this one.
The gallery is not a cheap visit, but I signed up as a member (pensioner's rate!) plus 1 guest for a year and the benefits make it so worthwhile that it would be foolish not to take up this excellent option. The Skotnes Restaurant has set the bar very high for ambience, service, food and general desire to visit many more times, and I look forward to spending many pleasurable hours in this most cultured corner of Cape Town.

Another scorching day in February

What a scorcher today! The steep climb up to Eagle's Nest from the shady carpark at Constantia Nek soon reminded us that February hikes should preferably be in full shade (not all that easy to find!), as the promised breeze from the south west did not materialise until we eventually reached the beacon on top of this relatively small hillock. It's difficult to judge whether I struggled with a hike in such hot weather, as the same hike on a cold winter's day would be a doddle after the hills I have climbed in the last 18 months, and a far cry from when it was my very first hike and I couldn't walk for 4 days afterwards!
The breeze that cooled us as we enjoyed our coffee break made the effort so worthwhile, as the views from the Atlantic in the gap at Llandudno to the mountains in the west are different every time, with the vines below in the Constantia valley either verdant or severely pruned, depending on the season. Unfortunately the smoky haze from yet another wildfire, this time in the mountains of Franschhoek, obscured a large area and made photographs a waste of time. But on a cool, windy day in early spring I would recommend this hike to anyone who is able to clamber up and down quite a few rocky stretches.
Despite the heat, the area is very popular with hikers, bikers and dog walkers of all ages, not to mention runners who pass effortlessly and seem to take the highest road. Good luck to them; we are there to enjoy the view, the fair exercise and some jolly good company.

None so deaf

There are none so deaf as those who will not hear, nor blind that will not see. No matter how much you want to help people with their problems, there comes a time when you finally realise that the complaining and lack of motivation is part of the victim mentality and is the security blanket - without something being wrong, they have no other conversation that will draw the focus to them. Eventually even good friends will drift away, seeking more congenial company, or less needy friends.
This shouldn't make us feel guilty in any way, as everyone has their own journey in life, and it is not our responsibility to ensure that everyone we come across is helped along the way, just as we cannot always expect our problems to be solved by others. We all grow (not just physically!) as we mature, have all made mistakes and learned from them, some quicker than others, and many of us have had light bulb moments when the meaning of life becomes a little clearer, but there is no way of making anyone else see things from our perspective.
To walk away is not to have given up, either on them or yourself. It is to have grown a little wiser with the allotment of time.

A windy walk

I was mightily relieved that today's hike was far down the Peninsula in the Cape Point reserve, as temperatures in greater Cape Town were set to soar into the 30s. I don't think Cape Point gets to that level much, and so we looked forward to a pleasant morning. Of course, the reason for cooler climes down there is the wind, and today was no exception. We started the descent from the ridge at Gifkommetjie, and the lighter ladies among us had to really brace themselves against the gale to prevent themselves being blown into the bushes. Poses reminiscent of the Titanic bow scene were numerous, and it was a relief to reach the foot of the steep and rocky cliff path where the wind was fractionally lighter.

The walk towards Platboom winds through a flood plain, of which the river was a little stream, and the stepping stones unnecessary at this time of year, but the vegetation was thick and healthy so the water can't be too far below the surface. The boulder-strewn upper reaches of the coastline were easy to negotiate due to a very well-made path of flat rocks across the uneven surface, and occasionally we trudged through sandy patches. Otherwise a very easy walk, once the tricky descent was over and, as everything that goes down always goes up again, the steep climb back up from the other side of the promontory.

The wind kept any birds that may have been in the area down in the undergrowth, and we didn't see any animals at all. Perhaps they are grazing closer to the waterholes. We didn't even see the usual crows on the cliff tops. A few flowers were blooming in an otherwise barren but green landscape, and it will be nice to see more as the heat of summer fades. The beautiful serruria villosa, found only in the southern Peninsula on sandstone slopes and flats, were abundant, soft to the touch and pleasing to the eye. I saw a lone sea rose, shiny pink among the dark greenery. The only seabirds in evidence were adult and juvenile black-backed gulls, a couple of Egyptian geese and a lone oystercatcher shouting at me as I approached. 

As we left the reserve, the wind dropped and in no time it was hot and humid again. We should never complain about the wind!

A VERY INTERESTING VESSEL MOVING AT SPEED

TYLECODON GRANDIFLORUS (Lion's Head to Cape Point)

THE VIEW DOWN TO GIFKOMMETJIE

STEEP CLIMB UP

ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL SEAS AT SCARBOROUGH

Birds on the wires

With the southeaster pumping down the valley intermittently, we are confused by the season - is it November with gale force winds, or February with dead calm days of blazing heat - it changes every few hours! At the moment we are being turned inside out again, but earlier I took a stroll along the beach front and was enchanted to see these swallows lined up on the telephone wires. What will they do without these wires when everything goes wireless one day? Where would will they all sit, and where do they sleep at night?
I wonder what this tune sounds like?

They look rather as though they are gathering for the return flight to either Angola or Europe - they had dark blue heads for those who can identify the species - but it is still too hot so that is unlikely. Maybe they just like to sit on the wires!
If it weren't for these birds, and the bats that live under my eaves, I'm sure the mosquito and other bug population would be ten times what it is at present, and they will probably be going home well fattened for the long trip. I wonder if they eat flies - does anything or are they just too revolting to contemplate even in nature?

Flat walk through the pine trees

A completely flat walk through Tokai forest followed Tuesday's rather more adventurous and hazardous climb up to Oppelskop, and fortunately we were once again led by our intrepid Brian, stitched up outside and inside and looking a little worse for wear, but unbowed in spirit and cheerfulness as always. It was set to be a hot day around 30 degrees, but being Cape Town, temperatures varied vastly from suburb to suburb and occasionally a little breeze blew. Being mostly a forest walk, with a wide track (shared with mountain bikers), we were able to catch up conversationally with fellow hikers who can no longer do the hill climbs, and it was a morning full of banter and laughs. I always say we exercise our stomach muscles as well as our legs, and today was no exception.
The downside of the forest is that everyone walks their dogs there and no effort is made to clean up after them, which makes it necessary to keep a close eye on the way ahead, as the mounds of poop make it a place where angels would fear to tread! Sadly, the evidence of human disregard for the environment is everywhere, even along the track parallel to the road where Table Mountain National Parks' office is. In their property, beneath a sign saying: No Dumping, was a mass dumping of plastic bags filled with builders rubble and other refuse, doubtless done under cover of darkness - or maybe not, as the culprits have no conscience. Plastic bottles, tissues and fast food containers simply thrown out of car windows makes the blood boil, and it will take a miracle to engender any kind of care for the planet in the minds of people who are unconscious of their very surroundings.
But back to the lovely walk. The people living in the bushes near lone tree hill have moved on and it makes for a more secure feeling as you pass the area, and the lone tree makes such a lovely place to relax with coffee and a snack, admiring the panorama from this man-made hillock.
I didn't spot any owls in the towering pines, but that was because I couldn't look up while walking! So carrying my large camera was largely pointless, except for the nice close-up of the coral tree flower along the way.
When we got back to the cars, a street hawker had set up a stall selling the local Constantia Hanepoot grapes, the sweet and much-favoured variety that I grew up with. R45 a box. One of our group asked for R10's worth and got a real bargain! That's the way to go. I noticed that the grapes were smaller than I remember, and wondered if it was due to the prolonged drought. Or perhaps they were the leftovers after harvesting the prime bunches.

85 years young

 

A river runs through it in winter

Summer heat

Another unbearably hot day in Cape Town. Here in Kommetjie the sea air is cool and soothing tonight, but inside the house it is still 29 degrees, with no wind to slam doors and suck curtains through windows. It makes one want to take a sledgehammer and knock out a few walls. But soon enough it will be autumn.
A half moon lights the sky and dims the Milky Way. Orion is directly overhead and soon will make way for the more exciting constellations of Scorpius and Sagittarius, with their multitude of star clusters, nebulae and fascinating asterisms. Cooler air will make for clearer skies and better views of what the universe has to offer our mortal eyes. Outside on the deck I am subjected to mosquito attacks (a by-product of storing water in tanks) and a cricket is making a deafening sound in the tree, no doubt hoping to attract a mate with his Valentine's song.
The sea is particularly noisy, with a shore break coming in on the high tide and a slight onshore drift as the land cools in the darkness.
A plane disturbs the pattern of the stars, its flashing lights mimicking theirs, and it disappears, Europe-bound, with diminishing decibels. In a few weeks I will be on that flight, and comparing the northern skies with those of home. I fear I will find them lacking, possibly because the bright lights of Western Europe obliterate what Eskom's loadshedding reveals. If only they could schedule it for after 10pm so that amateur astronomers could enjoy perfect dark skies, without intrusive security lights and unshielded street lights spoiling the view. At least it would then serve a purpose.
And so to bed, perchance to dream.

Accidents do happen

Van Hunks and the devil were smoking up a storm over Devil's Peak early this morning when we arrived at the start of our hike up to Oppelskop. The strong southeaster swept the mountain mist over the peak and saddle almost down to the road and it was a chilly start up the zigzag to the contour path on the lower slopes of Table Mountain.  The watsonias that gave such a breathtaking mass display were now brown and dry, dying back to await a new season. The steep ascent is always daunting at first, but we soon warm up and things get easier - or we just concentrate more on maintaining our footing!
The path around Devil's Peak is very narrow and there is a sharp drop that to my mind is actually potentially fatal to a faller, and caution is needed, as on all mountains. The views across the city and up the West Coast, with rows of mountain ranges fading into blues and greys, makes the hike very worthwhile, even if only enjoyed from the lookout at Oppelskop, and today's wind nearly blew us from our teatime perches. The cloud advanced and receded continually and we were comfortably cool for February.
We unanimously decided not to continue up to the saddle and took the trail down to the closed section of Tafelberg Road. This turned out to be treacherously narrow and overhung with grasses that obscured the path in places and it was here that it was brought home how things can change in an instant. Our back marker, there to see that the group is kept together, suddenly fell off the path and rolled down until blocked by a rock. There was nothing to grab onto and without the rock he would probably have continued over the edge, something that doesn't bear contemplation. There was an awful lot of blood, shock and a heroic rescue by members of the group, and he managed to climb back up, wash off in a stream and walk down to the road without complaint or obvious discomfort. A man with grit and determination, a fantastic sense of humour and inspiring example to us all. It can happen so suddenly and to each one of us. A medical check has seen him on the road to recovery for which we are very thankful.
It must be mentioned that we are tracked on our hikes by a group of dedicated volunteers and can request assistance at any time in an emergency.

Magic moments

Although loadshedding is not something we want to encourage, it is here to stay until the miraculous happens and some semblance of civilisation is restored. So in the meantime we should work our schedules around it to minimise inconvenience and enjoy the blessed silence that comes along once or even twice a day. Like today. Our second leashed was between 18h00 and 20h30, a time of day when the home is at its noisiest - people coming back from work, lots of traffic, TV on to catch a sitcom or music playing while I'm clattering away in the kitchen. There is something very satisfying about clashing of pots  and pans - lets off a little steam if the day has had some irritating moments!
But in the silence, I can hear the tumbling of the waves at the Outer Kom, just on the other side of the milkwoods. I go out onto the balcony and breathe in the cool sea air as it becomes an onshore drift with the setting of the sun. Surfers give warning shouts as they jostle for position on the small but clean break in the bay. Children's voices carry up from the Kom where a last game is being played on the lawns before supper.
Close by, a robin chatters softly in the branches as it settles down for the night, hopefully far from the reach of my marauding cats. The flock of sacred ibis swish by in their perfect V on their way back to roost in Hout Bay, a firm and steady beat of a hundred wings. Overhead, the sky darkens and the crescent moon gets a chance to illuminate without competition from street lights. The first stars flicker into view. And then loadshedding is over and the magic is gone.

Memories of long ago

Spent an afternoon of nostalgia listening to songs of the 60s on YouTube - a wonderful resource for calling back the past. So many memories of days long gone, when the sun always shone and we had not a care in the world except whether the boy we fancied would fancy us. Some of them are still around and I often wonder if they ever shared the same thoughts! Songs that I haven't thought of for decades popped up and in no time I had a long playlist ready for future longings for yesterday.

One such song was These Eyes by The Guess Who. Wasn't it a relief when pop groups dropped The from their names? I was instantly transported back to 1969, to one of the most memorable and soul-searing holidays dear Dad took us on. We drove up to South West Africa (now Namibia) with two other families for a three week tour of the country including the Etosha Game Reserve. The roads were still gravel, although excellent, and we met up with a family from Windhoek who showed us everything their beloved country had to offer. The fact that the eldest son was a student at Stellenbosch and all us teenagers immediately transferred from our parents' cars to his Kombi for the entire trip greatly enhanced our enjoyment, I can tell you! It was a road trip of note. But I'm getting sidetracked. 

Back in the late 60s we had just entered the era of cassettes and portable cassette players that plugged into the cigarette lighter in a car. Dad made a place in between the front seats of our spacious and very comfortable Morris Oxford for the cassette player and made his very own playlist. I remember one was the Beatles, but the two songs that have remained burned in my memory in association with that trip are These Eyes and More Today Than Yesterday by Spiral Staircase.

Compiling my playlist yesterday, I was struck by the thought that, no matter what generation you belong to, somehow we all manage to carry our music with us, in whatever mode that technology allows.

Staring into a starry sky

It's been too hot for sleep, or even to be inside on nights such as these - summer in Cape Town on the nights after of a new moon. From my balcony in the relative darkness of the seaside village of Kommetjie, the seeing is excellent and the Milky Way arches overhead in a brilliant display of billions of stars arrayed in clusters, in strings like pearl necklaces and singly, like diamonds in the sky, with here and there a fuzzy spot denoting nebulae, massive, immeasurably expansive clouds of gas and dust where stars are born and die.

Without the familiar patterns formed by the stars as seen from our solar system, Man would have had no means of exploring this planet on which we exist. Adventurers might never have returned from distant lands without stars to guide them, unless an inerasible trail could have been left on the way. Small ships may never have set sail without stars to navigate by, for it was long ago discovered by Man that the canopy of stars at night provided a constant source of reference to establish where he was in relation to where he wanted to be.

Close by the familiar and possibly most well-known constellation of Orion, the Hunter, with his belt of three bright stars and sword represented by the breathtaking Great Nebula, lies Jupiter. A small telescope will reveal the positions of the four moons, Io, Callisto, Europa and Ganymede, which can be observed changing their positions during the course of a few hours viewing, something quite remarkable to see in a universe where the distances are unimaginable to our fairly feeble brains. One can only imagine the excitement felt by Galileo as he noted these movements through his primitive telescope hundreds of years ago, wondering how he was going to explain these marvels to a world not receptive to a new concept of existence.

Rather like trying to convince people today that the chances of our being the only form of intelligent life in this vast universe is nil.  

Humid hike in search of disa uniflora

Our hike today was a repeat of January's, when we trekked to the Myburgh Waterfall along the contour path from Suikerbossie in search of disa uniflora. On the previous walk, we only saw three in bud, and today we were hoping to not be too late. Cloud cover and patches of mist made for a sunless but nevertheless humid hike and perspiration proliferated. It was a day without wind and the sea from Hout Bay across to Kommetjie was mirror-like, with not a swell breaking against the granite boulders of Chapman's Peak or even on the beaches. A large school of dolphins was frolicking out to sea and I stopped a few times on the way over Chapman's Peak Drive to take photos and chat to others who had stopped. A cluster of ski boats and one very large one were motoring around the bay in a kind of oceanic ballet - not sure what they were doing, but perhaps it was a send-off for a departed friend.
As always, the initial climb up to the contour path left me puffing and panting, but once we levelled off it was easy going, although the tall vegetation makes it one of the less scenic hikes.
We reached the ravine at tea time, and only a few of us braved the steep scramble and occasional crawl up to the waterfall, which still had a trickle coming down the cliff face, although more in the form of a rain shower than a waterfall. And there they were! Little clumps of disas - much smaller than you would expect and too far away for a good photo as they cling to the upper reaches of wet cliffs - one of the idiosyncracies of our marvellous fynbos, to have very, very specific habitats.
We were also treated to a sight of another very beautiful flower, perhaps of the amaryllis family - I am still identifying.
It was a very worthwhile hike just to see these flowers in real life. Perhaps next time we will go in winter just to see the waterfall!

Predicting the future

THE POST BELOW WAS WRITTEN EXACTLY TWO YEARS AGO. 

I read today that the average humidity in Cape Town is 73% and Durban 77%. Silly me, I thought Cape Town wasn't humid, but somehow the excessive heat we are experiencing each summer and particularly this one is making life quite uncomfortable for those who don't enjoy humidity. An advert for turning air into water sparked enough interest for me to investigate what it was about, and it seems like a great idea in the current drought conditions, but nobody wants to publicise the price of the machine. This leads me to believe that it is beyond the reach of the common man. So I won't be getting one of those right now.
In the meantime, the dam levels are down to 44% with restrictions in place that will result in many suburban gardens losing their bloom, so to speak; for most homeowners, the garden is a source of joy and beauty, a place where they can engage their creative instincts, and certainly a place that can devour a large amount of cash to keep it looking its best. But without water, no amount of money can ensure the plants' survival. So only the wealthy will be able to have gardens as they can buy the water-from-air machines while the ordinary man will dig up the lawn and plant drought resistant vegetation to keep the sand down when the wind blows.
All of this is simply my version of a worst-case scenario if the weather patterns continue this way, but word has it in meteorological circles that we can expect floods next winter, and so none of this will be come to pass in the near future. But it's food for thought on future planning of our water usage. I predict a jump in sales of water tanks and drilling of boreholes. Alternatively, an awful lot of brick paving. 

THE FLOODS DIDN'T COME TO PASS, WE SURVIVED 12% WATER LEVEL IN THEEWATERSKLOOF AND MY LAWN HAS BEEN REPLACED BY DROUGHT RESISTANT PLANTS. I THINK NEARLY EVERYBODY HAS WATER TANKS NOW, WE CAN ALL LIVE WELL ON LESS THAN 100 LITRES OF WATER A DAY, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, WE HAVE REGAINED OUR ABILITY TO THINK OUT OF THE BOX AND LIVE UP TO THAT FAMOUS SOUTH AFRICAN ADAGE: 'n boer maak 'n plan!

Alphen and Diep River Trails in the shade

Yesterday we walked the Alphen and Diep River Trails, taking advantage of the leafy shade of the forest to lessen the heat of high summer. There was a large turnout as people returned from holidays, Summer School and possibly because it didn't involve a steep mountain climb. These trails are very popular as they are dog friendly, generally safe, horses can be ridden there, the forest is just lovely and streams run through them. Paths criss-cross the streams and the sunny patches are few, so I could discard my hat most of the time and enjoy the gentle breeze.
The Alphen Trail winds gradually up from Constantia Main Road to Rhodes Drive and Cecilia Forest, where we followed the mountain bike track through an avenue of cork trees, their bark fascinatingly convoluted and very photogenic. A short stroll up into the forest took us to a pine clearing with a soft bed of pine needles. I took advantage of the cushioning to lie on my back and watch the birds in the branches above me and enjoy the play of sunlight on the branches high above. I tried to take photos of the birds but they were too fast and I would only have got their legs and bellies anyway.
We walked on as far as Southern Cross Drive and then cut across into the downhill Diep River Trail. The stream was flowing quite strongly and the dogs had a wonderful time running up and down in it, then climbing up the muddy banks to shake off on our legs! Not many birds or flowers were seen, but we were walking steadily so perhaps didn't stop to look often enough. The circular route is just over 9km and took around 3.5 hours, but there were no strenuous bits and it was really enjoyable. The nice thing was that you could leave the normal single file format of a hike and walk in groups, having a bit of a chat at times, which adds an extra dimension to hiking.
When I got back to the car, I found that I didn't have my glasses - I can see well enough without them to not really notice when I'm not wearing them - and of course I had left them under the pine trees in Cecilia Forest! I was really annoyed with myself, as I had to go back to fetch them. Fortunately, my fitbit recorded the entire hike and I was able to pinpoint the exact place where we had tea. Even better, I was able to drive up there and park only 50 metres away. I ran up through the forest, aware of being alone and of the absolute silence around me. It took a while to find them, but there they lay, in a patch of sunlight on a bed of pine needles. It occurred to me afterwards that it could very well have been the cause of a fire if the lenses had concentrated the sunlight too precisely. Imagine that!

Not a corpse. Enjoying the birds and sunlight in the branches.