Elephant's Eye cave

A moderate southwest breeze threatened to put a patch of cloud over the Elephant's Eye cave on Constantiaberg as we set off from the upper Silvermine car park, but it hovered overhead and obligingly kept the sun off us for most of the hike. We took the easy route today, not climbing up onto the ridge, but rather taking the jeep track - a long and winding but steady ascent to the trail leading up to the lookout and then the cave higher up.
Parts of the reserve were sheltered from the wind, and the dam cast a mirror-smooth reflection before the surface was shattered by two dogs leaping into the water after a stick. The path round the dam is the only part of Silvermine where dogs are not allowed, but evidently some dogs are more equal than others, or their owners are. I have no idea why the restriction, but perhaps it has something to do with what they leave behind!
The fynbos is still at its quietest time of year, with a few protea cynaroides providing splashes of grandeur on the cooler slopes, in shades of pink and green, but the beautiful pink ericas (which I can never identify but will find out) are in profusion and in more than one variety, together with minute versions in white. My photography was poor as I didn't take enough time with focusing and had to concentrate on my footing due to numerous hazards on the rocky path. One of our group had a bad fall and was accompanied back to the cars - it can happen to anyone, as I well know, and particular care has to be taken with roots and long grasses that lie in the path to trip the unwary.
The stream that we crossed at the lowest point was little more than that, a reminder that winter rains have been slow in coming and how desperately we need them. Hopefully it will be a torrent next time we pass that way. A strange sight on the path - a pair of shorts draped on a rock. We looked for the owner, who would no doubt have been easy to identify, but the only other person we saw ran past us in a similar pair, so it was unlikely to have been his. It did cause a great deal of laughter as we speculated on various aspects of the pant-less person.
A further group stayed at the lookout point to enjoy the view which was no less splendid than that from the Elephant's Eye cave, but the majority soldiered on up the only section that I would call strenuous and were rewarded with a panorama that made it all so  worthwhile. Looking down on the Southern Suburbs from Wynberg to Muizenberg, with shiny dots of traffic snaking along the roads like Dinky cars on a play mat, we marvelled once again at the extreme beauty of the Peninsula and how privileged we are to be able to hike in the reserve where only the rustle of the wind in the leaves and the occasional call of a bird interrupts the silence.

The old days

No matter what generation you belong to, your youth will always be 'the good old days'. It was a time that was divided between the tedium of school and the freedom of your leisure, before we had to join the rat race of careers and employment.

Back in the 60s, the Muizenberg beachfront was the place to go for roller skating and kite flying. My first pair of roller skates had, unbelievably, metal wheels. Presumably the person who invented them had never tried them out, but nevertheless, it didn't hold me back. My sisters had rubber wheels on their skates, but they were too big for me to try. The skates were held in place with clips that hooked onto the soles of my shoes - Bata Toughees! - and were tightened with a special key - woe betide she who lost that key! Sometimes they would come off your foot while skating - not very elegant. It would be years before the advent of the fully booted skates, by which time I was way past roller skating age.

You can only imagine what it was like to skate on metal, with nothing to cushion the vibration from the rather coarse tar surface we had on the roads in Clovelly. Skating along the promenade at Muizenberg had its own hazards, as it was laid with slabs with the accompanying cracks and the motion was more like hopping than the graceful gliding which was a figment of my imagination. How I never ended up with a broken leg remains a mystery to this day. And yet it was always a fun outing, particularly if we could get a granadilla sorbet frozen sucker from the infrequently open shop at the pavilion.

Kite flying and associated activities took place on the windswept and rather bleak lawns of Zandvlei, an area that would have been shunned were it not for the expansive open space which couldn't be found anywhere else. It was long before the Marina da Gama was developed and the vlei was the domain of dabchicks, coot and the odd yacht and canoe. I had a model aeroplane with wings that revolved as I pulled it behind me like a kite and its altitude depended on how fast I could run. I don't have it any more, so I suppose it must have had a fatal crash somewhere along the way.

The only feature that remains from those days is the putt-putt course which has remained open for what must be 50 years now - makes me feel quite old to even write that! Perhaps that is some kind of record, for businesses come and go as often as the weather changes in a place that hasn't quite regained its former glory.

A day with ups and downs

A challenging day started off with the espresso machine not working correctly, the washing machine restarting itself at the end of a programme and then completely freezing up, the lens of my camera jamming in the open position after shooting Jupiter and the moon before dawn and then not operating at all, and of course the dratted mole threw up a volcano in the middle of the lawn, leaving a cavernous excavation for me to fall into at a later date.
The molehill caused me to remember that I had fed the washing machine outlet pipe (which has always gone straight into the garden, even before the Great Drought) into the last molehill, hoping to chase it away with an overdose of sludgy detergent water. Lightbulb moment - the water can't drain from the machine! Solved that problem.
The espresso machine - no coffee coming out and build up of pressure causing small coffee explosion when removing from dispensing position. I cleaned the filter cup with a pin and ran through the troubleshooting checklist, but nothing helped. I then put the double espresso filter cup in place and that did work, but there is no explanation for why the single shot is blocking. Important part of my day! Will have to give it more thought.
Moaned to my daughter about the camera not working. She told me to take the battery out. Instant success! Like rebooting a computer, I suppose. So very, very happy about being behind the lens again.
And then the day brightened considerably - hairdo day with the inimitable Reto - and after three hours of pampering and being made to feel like the most important client of the day, I felt like a whole new person! Thank you - you are a light in the world!
Back home, it was time to tackle another challenge - cleaning and filleting three fish that were given to us, fresh from the sea. So fresh that the flesh was soft and pliable, not the easiest to fillet - and after an hour and a half I picked the last of the scales off my hands and checked my Fitbit - almost as much exercise as a hike in the hills. Plus a delicious dinner. What a bonus!
A few other challenges remained, but what is life but a bumpy ride for us to enjoy. Tomorrow is another day, and today was also filled with blessings.

Noordhoek Lookout in a fresh breeze

Having missed Friday's hike due to the sniffles, I wasn't going to let today's unseasonal and icy cold strong southeaster put me off again. I googled all the pros and cons and there were no cons (i.e. a cold shouldn't prevent you from taking a little exercise; spreading germs is probably less likely when on top of a mountain than walking past someone in the street; cold air doesn't exacerbate a cold), so I arrived in the car park at Silvermine with a selection of three levels of hiking jacket and a hat. I popped the boot (as one does when the little lever is on the floor) and immediately the wind caught it and whipped it wide open, almost distributing the boot's considerable contents far and wide into the fynbos. It was only through some snappy action that I gathered everything together and stuffed it back in before it took off. (Hint: always park with the bonnet of your car pointing into the wind in Cape Town to prevent doors coming off hinges or denting the car next to you.)

We didn't have a particular route in mind today, but the consensus was to keep climbing to the minimum and enjoy the view, and so we set off past the dam wall up the jeep track and round the Noordhoek side, up to the Noordhoek Lookout. The wind was fierce and we didn't linger on the cliff edge after admiring the stunning views through the gap, stretching from Chapman's Peak to Kommetjie. A little higher up, we managed to find a rocky outcrop where we could shelter from the wind and pour our coffee in a steady stream from our flasks. 

There were very limited examples of ericas and proteas along the route, and no chance of a photo due to the wind, so sweeping landscapes were the order of the day, and although a few birds twittered in the near distance, they were also sheltering in the shrubbery.

Although you may think the constant reference to the windy conditions made the walk unpleasant, it did keep us cool and allowed us to enjoy a very pleasant walk among some of the more accessible paths around the kopjes - definitely well worth it and not at all detrimental to the sniffles.

Never boring birds

Bird photography is challenging at the best of times. As a newcomer to this hobby, I still have to develop the patience and planning required, and most of my photos are taken at home, where I have a variety of bird feeders and indigenous plants to attract birds to the garden. I started off with a suet ball and leftover rice, as well as various fruits (nobody eats fruit in my family, so it's nice to find an outlet for that which I do buy!), which attracted up to 8 species, and the sunbirds were always at the aloes. Despite having a hunting cat that has made a small dent in the bird population, I mostly have been able to save the victims, and they have become used to Mango and Biggles lying in the pot plants, thinking they are well camouflaged.
I have resisted those ugly bottles of red liquid for as long as possible, but with a proliferation of these in neighbouring gardens, I have been forced to include this in the feeding array simply to attract the sugarbirds, sunbirds and even the odd starling. I'm pleased to report that they still prefer the aloes.
This week the sunbirds, which have always been very much in evidence, have apparently found more exciting fare at the neighbours and although they perch briefly in the upper twigs of the dead tree between us, they swoop up and down at such speed that it's hard to focus the camera before they're gone. Today there were four brightly iridescent Southern Double-Collared sunbirds playing a game of tag - that's all I can describe it as - as they twittered incessantly, flying in and out of the garden and swooping down out of sight and then suddenly reappearing, for at least an hour. With a cloudy, darkish day, the light was very poor for good photos of these delightful birds, and most of my photos had to be taken through a very dirty upper floor window, but I did what I could. The fact that I already have about 400 pics of these birds didn't stop me. You can never have too many sunbird pics (or waves, for that matter).
A pair of sugarbirds alighted briefly on the dead tree but disappeared as soon as they saw the camera and I had to make do with some long-distance shots. Similarly a pair of malachite sunbirds made a brief appearance in the gloom. And even more exciting was the sudden appearance of two Cape Robin Chats. It was a day for pairs, as a Southern Boubou called from the top of the gum tree and was immediately answered by another lurking in the hedge.
Further complications arose with twig interference in focusing, with the bird being fuzzy and the twig sharp enough to win a competition. The fact that I was sorting my photos on the computer and kept having to grab the memory card and reinsert it in the camera before rushing to the window and focusing on the boisterous activity in the treetops didn't help, but it did give me a little exercise, which I have been lacking as I languish indoors trying to cure the common cold.

Here is some of what I managed to capture in the chaos.

Throwback Thursday - Tuscan treat

Siena. August 17. Just missed the Palio - run the day before. Poor planning. Temperature 34 deg. Humidity 70%. We move from gelateria to gelateria. Thoughts turn to something more substantial. Hard work tramping up and down hilltop town. Man passes on electric wheels - sensible.
  Spot deli - dive inside to escape sun. Festooned with huge fake hams. Why?  Usual ham and cheese pannini - 6 euros.  But wait! Delectable aroma from kitchen.  Enter chef bearing half a pig.  Crisp, glistening golden skin. Succulent herb-laden porchetta.  One of those, please!

  Mmmm. Sit at side of road, feet in gutter.  Mmmm. Bus goes by our faces.  Too hot to care.  Mmmm. Food of the gods. Envious glances from ham-and-cheesers.  Mmmm.  Share crumbs with family.  Mmmm.
 Still dream about it.  Will go back one day for more.

Flights of fancy

On our hikes we see many fantastically shaped rocks, weathered from both sides by the northwesterlies of the Cape's winter storms and the summer's sometimes gale force southeasters. Your imagination can run riot as you find names for these sandstone artworks, often covered in lichens and fuzzy growth, in a range of colours from deep orange to palest grey.
Growing up on the slopes of Trappies Kop, we spent hours as children playing among the rocks, some of them ships, or houses, or just My Rock. Many a time we came across snakes lying on ledges or in the gaps between split boulders and we would run as fast as we could back down the mountain, through the garden (no fence) and into the house shouting,
"Mom, Mom! We saw a puffadder!", then rush back up the mountain to finish our game.
A resident cobra (still there, although probably many generations later) has lived under a sun-warmed stretch of concrete at the edge of our garden since I was a child, visiting the fish pond outside the back door to snatch a frog, or sometimes nestlings in a nearby tree, and he is spotted at least once a year on his jaunts in the garden. The greatest concern is that they also move around at night.
I look at the ledges as we walk by them and wonder if we have passed a puffadder, and definitely don't put my hand into any places where one could be lying. A lifetime of living in proximity to snakes has made me very aware of where they like to lie, and I would hate to disturb one and possibly expose it to the danger of being harmed. I also hesitate to take my dogs on walks in case they come across a snake, which might have an unhappy ending for one or the other. There's no knowing what reactions will be forthcoming and our time in nature is for pleasure, not drama.
Here are some photos of what we have seen, including our closest encounter with a puffadder - a very recently shed skin!

Manganese mine, Hout Bay

Another first for me today as we set off from the East Fort on Chapman's Peak to scale the heights of the Hout Bay side of Constantiaberg - our mission: the old manganese mine. Although ore was discovered in the 19th century, it was only mined between May 1910 and May 1911, with just over 5000 tons of ore being sent down a chute to the jetty below (the pillars remain as a monument to Man's folly) for shipping to Britain and Belgium. As we clambered higher and higher up the slope on the way to the mine, it was incredible to imagine how they even went about hacking the ore from the mountainside and getting it to the chute - I wonder how much ore is lying at the foot of the mountain on the seabed? The narrow path, slippery after yesterday's abundant rain, had a sheer drop both up and down, and I thought it might be a mule track for transporting the ore, but I suspect that the Indian miners who toiled up there would have carried the ore themselves. We crossed heaps of ore dumps and it was interesting to see how different the manganese is from the surrounding geology. It runs in a narrow vertical seam and must have been a physical nightmare for those involved. Today you can go in a little way (it's not extensive) and look up at the old beams overhead, but otherwise it could just be a tall, narrow cave. If it had been gold, you can be sure that mountain would have been excavated to sea level by now, so we'll be thankful for small mercies. Of course, the property values in the area have made up for the lack of gold!
After the rain, a cold northwester and heavy cloud cover ensured that we didn't work up a sweat on our strenuous climb. We went further up to the ridge overlooking Baviaanskloof on the other side of the mountain, at about 350m, where the upper shaft exits, and it was not a walk for the faint-hearted, particularly as a large part of the trail consists of loose rocks, and walking with two sticks is not a sign of old age or infirmity, but rather a sensible hiker! I couldn't have managed without them, and there is also the added benefit of an upper body and arm workout, so a fine morning on the mountain!

Clearing the kitchen

I have been rejuvenating my kitchen by sorting and repacking the cupboards and fridge. Maybe it's just me, but I find that anything that is above eye level tends to never be used, as it is out of sight and therefore out of mind. This applies equally to crockery and foodstuffs. The items at the back of the shelves also don't see the light of day too often.
Some of the more interesting things that were delved from the depths of the fridge were: a bottle of Amarula cream that has been in the fridge for maybe 10 years (I did know about that, but could never decide what to do with it - yes, I know, you're supposed to drink it!), a piece of gorgonzola cheese so old that it had mould growing on the mould (it was an ingredient of a sauce that was never made), half a cup of drippings from last winter's roast lamb, various jars of exotic ingredients from which only a teaspoon had been used and long expired, two dehydrated sticks of lemon grass (another recipe never made) and the dregs of salad dressings of days gone by.
On the top shelf of the pantry we found an opened tin of cocoa that expired in 2003. It was in perfect condition, and only a tablespoon or two had been used. Can cocoa go off? I asked this question on Facebook and was immediately told that an unfortunate expired cocoa event had occurred in a family in Italy, where they all became violently ill - one can only think that they must have stirred it with an oleander twig. What the discovery of the expired cocoa revealed is that the last time I made a chocolate cake was in 2003! Very little baking goes on in this house, so I suppose that's not unreasonable.
My conclusion from this exercise is that cupboards should line the kitchen walls from floor to ceiling, with a maximum depth of, say, two tins. There will then be no excuse for not seeing what you have in stock. Similarly, a cupboard of crockery three plates deep is just asking for trouble, with chipped edges and cracked cups as you manhandle the back plates over the front plates. The centre of the kitchen can be an island with all the working space around the appliances to make up for the extra floor space not taken up by cupboards. Do you think I'll start a kitchen revolution?

Memories

This is the second birthday without Dad and the day is suitably grey, and yet I do not feel sad that he is no longer on this earth, but rather grateful that he enjoyed his time here so much, seeing every new day as an opportunity to do something interesting and find out new things, or just to watch the birds in his garden, or record the weather and rainfall (something he did since the early 70s. He could tell us how much rain we had on the 6th of June 1983 and which way the wind was blowing, what birds he saw and how much the telephone bill was. Methodical and a master mathematician to the very end, he unfortunately was unable to share the secrets of algebra with me, but he did ensure that I took an interest in life - never just accepting what was fed to us through the media, but questioning and investigating for ourselves. He didn't enter into arguments about anything that I can remember, simply stating his opinion and leaving the listeners to make up their own minds, and never being in any doubt that he was right. I think he lived his life entirely happy with his place in it.
He would have been looking forward to today's approaching cold front, while wondering how strong the wind would be and whether any tiles would blow off the roof. The northwester always hit our home in Clovelly particularly hard (doubtless some kind of punishment for living in a place entirely devoid of the bothersome summer southeaster) and sometimes the roof rattled so loudly in a gale that he and Mom would have to move down a storey to get some sleep in a back room, trusting that the roof would remain in place! There was seldom more than a tile or three missing and once a fascia board disappeared, but otherwise a cold front was always something to look forward to, as the large garden extending far up the mountain slope needed plenty of watering, despite the indigenous nature of Mom's pride and joy.
While there are many aspects of today's life that I am pleased they are not exposed to any more, being left behind - no longer being someone's child - has been difficult and I doubt it will get any easier.

With Alison in England, 1965

Somewhere freezing in the UK, 1966

A warm morning on Wolfkop

Today's warm berg wind blowing down from the interior, though almost imperceptible, raised temperatures sufficiently to cause discomfort on our hike up to Wolfkop and Steenberg Peak. In fact, the hike itself caused discomfort as we followed our intrepid 85-year-old leader up the steepest part of the mountain, instead of taking the anticipated gentler route along the jeep track with a steady climb to the back of the peak before descending the rather rocky front slope. We should have expected it, of course, as he loves nothing more than a stiff climb without a water break at a cracking pace, rather than a more sedate hike as envisaged by the group, inaptly named Slowly Up The Hills. To be fair, we always achieve much more than we thought possible and can be proud of the heights we scale, particularly those will into their three score years and ten! And the flowers, birds and views make it all worthwhile. It was just the heat that got to us today.

The lack of wind brought out the birdlife and we were really treated to close up views of a fluffy neddicky, a sickle-winged chat and numerous orange-breasted sunbirds. Despite over-excitement at these sightings and having my camera set to 'moon' instead of 'birdwatching', I managed some acceptable shots as they sat quite contentedly on rocks and the tips of sturdy grasses while I pressed all sorts of inappropriate buttons, and for that I thank them. Bird photography requires lots of patience and preparation, and I was trying to squeeze it in between micro photography of myriad flowers, interspersed with landscapes. You have to pack in a lot of activity on these walks.

This very exposed section of Table Mountain sandstone has been weathered into fantastic shapes that capture the imagination - there seem to be many views as to what each battered boulder represents!

The hike up to the ridge and along to Wolfkop involves quite a bit of rock scrambling, and should be undertaken with circumspection if you are not confident of your fitness. We were unable to do the extra bit up to Steenberg Peak as the walk would have extended to around 5 hours, and our Intrepid Leader was seen gazing wistfully at the upward trail where it forked off towards the peak. I know he would have gone on if it weren't for mutiny in the ranks - a little sad, but we had definitely bitten off more than we could chew for one morning!

My favourite view

Now that was a hike! On a warm but overcast day, Noordhoek Peak is the ideal place to be, with plenty of uphill for the serious hikers, views to make you gasp stretching forever in all directions and the Cape's abundance of fynbos making its winter presence felt. At over 6 kilometres and an ascension of around 500m to a peak of 783m, it was no surprise that we took just over 4 hours to cover the distance. This is the highest climb the group undertakes, and two hours of cardio is a suitable reward for our efforts. 

The view down into Hout Bay from Noordhoek Peak is the cause of my hiking career - I saw a photograph and decided on the spot to abandon my sedentary lifestyle (housework and gardening not really qualifying as exercise) and headed for the hills. It was definitely one of my better decisions. Along with the health benefits, I get to see so many beautiful flowers and as an avid photographer, I have to suffer many grumbles about holding things up as I take a diversion into the veld to investigate items of interest or take too long to focus on a particularly wayward bloom on the end of a fragile stem. Here are the results of today's forays - I hope you will enjoy them as much as I do.