Blowing a gale at Plum Pudding Hill

I had forgotten how strongly the southeaster blows as it rounds Devil's Peak and heads for the city, and also how cold our summer wind is, so it was with a chill in my bones that I set off with a well-clad group to scale the heights of Plum Pudding Hill this morning. Home is always mild and sunny (it seems) and misses out on the extremes that pound the Peninsula. I put this down to a strong buffer of milkwood trees to deflect the northwester in winter and a critical precision of angle with the summer southeaster. I was unprepared for the wind that causes mighty trees to bend and grow at strange angles on these slopes; nevertheless, it didn't detract from the enjoyment of both the walk and the company.
There are a number of ways to reach Plum Pudding Hill, starting from Rhodes Memorial, starting with a steep uphill to the jeep track, and we chose to head south through pleasant forest before turning sharply back towards Devil's Peak for the gradual climb to the Hill. At that point the wind reached maximum force and we scurried for shelter under a copse of magnificent silvertrees, a feature of these slopes and a joy to behold. Scattered patches of yellow and salmon Cape Tulips brightened a patch where a recent fire has blackened the earth, and the ever-resilient Cape fynbos is fast recovering, promising a fine show in a few weeks' time.
We gave the Prince of Wales blockhouse a miss today, it being considered a bridge too far, and took the circular lower route back to Rhodes Memorial. The wind was kinder to us, and we took the time to admire the ancient cork oaks with massive trunks that appear to be holding the banks of the track together. Soaring pines, straight and tall on the north side, became stunted and twisted from years of battering. It was obvious why no houses have ever been built up there, and thankfully so, as it is a place to sit and dream of a road from the Cape to Cairo.