Up and up

We hiked up to the contour path above Kirstenbosch today, but there was a printing mistake in the programme and the elevation we reached was not 100m but 315m (quite a difference when the average age of the hikers is around 77, although they are very fit!). The real concern was one member of the group who wears a heart monitor and cannot allow it to go over 140 - at one stage the measurement was 146 - and so we declined to trek up to the upper contour at 450m in deference to her continuing good health.
Kirstenbosch was just magnificent in the crisp early morning air, with the sunlight streaming through the branches of the trees as we made our way through the gardens to the beginning of the trail. A few wisps of mist draped the peaks, a sign of the northwester ahead of a promise of rain tomorrow, but this soon disappeared as it warmed up, and the shade of the forest would be a blessing later.
The ascent was steep and as we reached each fork in the road, we continued on the upward trail. It soon became apparent that we were climbing more than anticipated and most of us indulged ourselves in the usual meaningless grumbling - although it was necessary to stop to catch my breath very often because I favour the short spurt of speed and then a rest over the slow and steady pace - but in reality recovery time was quick and the pleasantness of our surroundings far outweighed the thought of staying at home. It was good to hear so many different birds twittering in the treetops, as sometimes there is no sign of life and the forest can be eerily silent as if holding its breath.
We came upon a very old tree that was literally a-buzz with life! A swarm of bees had made a hive inside and we could smell the honey, but nobody was going to disturb them. Such a privilege to see nature in action. Fungi grew abundantly on fallen logs and pink plectranthus brightened the forest floor. An ancient rockfall is a feature of the trail, evidence of the ceaseless weathering of the mountains over millenia and a sobering thought that there is unlikely to be forewarning of another such event - I have personal experience of seeing a car-sized boulder separate from a cliff face near my home. The small boulders are almost completely covered in thick moss, as this side of the mountain receives by far the highest annual rainfall recorded across the Peninsula.
The exertion of the climb saw us all shedding the outer layers that the early morning chill had necessitated, and if it weren't for the constant shade, we might have enjoyed our climb a little less!
No fynbos was seen in the forest which is the some of the last remaining indigenous Afro-temperate forest on the Peninsula. (Here is an extract from Wikipedia for interest: Mature examples of this forest are dominated by several species of massive tree which compose the tallest canopy; smaller trees which form lower layers of foliage; and a variety of ferns, herbs, bushes, bulbs, vines and lianas (e.g. Asparagus scandens, Rhoicissus tomentosa). Though not as rich in biodiversity as the various types of Cape Fynbos, these woodlands still contain a wide variety of plants and animals, some of which occur nowhere else in the world. The Newlands Forest Nursery is engaged in a project to grow indigenous trees and plant them out, with the aim of eventually rehabilitating the original forests.)