Bird tour through the daisies

Filled with enthusiasm at the prospect of fields of flowers and particularly an escape into the country after being restricted for so long, my son and I set off for the West Coast National Park early yesterday morning. I had eyed the weather forecast for days, and anticipated that anyone who could go during the week would choose Wednesday, and I was not wrong. The drive up was bumper to bumper and the queue to get in the gate was the kind I don't normally join. The gates had just opened a few minutes before, and we were already about 50 cars from the front. Given that each person was supposed to write down their contact details and have their temperature recorded, a quick calculation meant we would be in by 11.30.  The up side was that there were a few birds to watch from the side of the road and a pair of Black-winged Kites mating on a tree not too far away was captured on camera, as well as a Karoo Scrub Robin and various sightings of LBJs.
It wasn't long before the temperature details appeared to be scrapped for practical purposes, as we inched forward (doesn't sound right to say centimetred) and in fact reached the gate just within the time expected (3.5 hours since leaving home), where only money was taken before we took to the long road through the park. A few cars came in from the Langebaan direction and were subjected to loud hooting from those who had queued for hours - a traffic cop arrived and from then all queue jumpers were sent down Cape Town way to join up at the back - fascinating implementation of fairness.
Our first destination was the view site on top of the boulder near the Langebaan gate. Due to multiple sudden stops and lengthy reversing to identify birds along the way, it took a while to get there, but as one of us was there for the flowers and the other for birds, a compromise had to be made. We saw Southern Black Korhaans, a Black Harrier, rock kestrels, dassies, a Grey-backed Cisticola perched perfectly against a blue backdrop, and a tiny tortoise next to the spoor of a small buck. Amongst this plethora of wildlife were masses of white daisies and the odd patch of orange, all bobbing their heads in the considerable breeze that always sweeps across the granite dome. The only shelter was inside the tiny whitewashed hut that has now been converted into a museum with only enough space for 4 people, so we didn't linger. It was nearly lunchtime and we still had to visit the bird hide at the edge of the lagoon near Geelbek, and most importantly, travel the 30 or so kilometres in the traffic train to Postberg on the far side of the lagoon.
More exciting finds were along the boardwalk - Kittlitz's plover with three fluffy babies, Bar-Tailed Godwits, a Whimbrel, Common Greenshanks and Black-winged Stilts, Greater Flamingos, etc. And then a Yellow-billed Kite with a huge wingspan - it seemed to follow us for the rest of the day, but maybe there was more than one!
The drive to Postberg took a while, and we got there at around 2pm with all the other people who had queued so patiently - some were still arriving at closing time (3.30 they closed the incoming gate) and they must have been mad as snakes for not having doing the research. The mass displays were a delight for the eye, and certainly worth the drive, but for awe-inspiring fields of colour and greater variety, a few days further up into Namaqualand would have been ideal. Interestingly, the man at the gate into Postberg asked for my entrance receipt to the park - of course it had got lost in the general chaos of the car - and I asked him if he thought I had got there by any other means. He waved me through.
We passed a Hamerkop on the way out (posted the first recording on eBird!) and had an encounter with a Jackal Buzzard on the drive down to Cape Town. Home after 10 hours driving, wonderful weather, birding, and flower viewing. Highly recommended but get an early start as lots more time is needed in this lovely reserve. Best to visit out of flower season if you are bird-watching.

Fynbos treasures

An early spring beckons after good rains here in Cape Town, and traditional cold fronts of a day or two with heavy rains in the catchment area are followed by stunning sunshine and gentle breezes. How easily we are lulled into a false sense of passing winter - we are assured that more rains are to come and dam levels will increase to long unknown levels. Good news, indeed.
The slopes of Swartkopsberg soaring behind Simon's Town are always a challenge for hikers, young and old. Somehow the sun seems warmer and the trail longer than on any other hike, and that is because it's true - there is always someone who falls by the wayside (literally and figuratively) on this hike, and so it was with some trepidation that we started out from the top road overlooking Seaforth. The initial climb is straight up the jeep track, which has been concreted to give easier access to the emergency vehicles that are frequently called out - be it fire or accident - and so a welcome rest break was taken after only 5 minutes. It was an ideal opportunity to begin scouring the area for signs of flowers, and we were not disappointed. These slopes bear fynbos that occurs nowhere else, and it is always exciting to see a plant that you know you haven't seen before. About halfway up to the blockhouse, the path goes through a largeish patch of serruria, currently in full and spectacular bloom and I thought they were only half open, but later learned that this species occurs only in that patch and is named after the mountain - Swartkops serruria or serruria hirsuta. It is possibly the most attractive of the serrurias and the wonder is that the path dissects it. If not, we might never have had the privilege of seeing it.
We stopped often to rest, admire the expansive views from Table Mountain to Danger Point and photograph the fynbos. A low drone of engines carried from far off, and two old Dakotas with a helicopter flying alongside flew slowly across False Bay below our level, disappearing round Cape Point and continuing back up the other side of the Peninsula, past Slangkop lighthouse (I know this because they flew past my house). A single Dakota often goes by, so slowly and so low that if someone looked out of a window, I could probably see them. It's always nice to see and hear it - a far cry from the black supersonic jet that screams by from time to time, also at the same low level.
We never did get to the blockhouse, but the magnificence of the weather and the very fact that we could be up there to appreciate it made that irrelevant in the long run..
On the way down, a barrage of gunfire from the gun battery at Glencairn shattered the silence, causing me to leap about a foot off the ground and the dog to bolt in panic. A warning would have been nice, but later I saw signs along the road advising of gun practice for the navy. I suppose they have to do something.

Erica pulchella

Serruria hirsuta - Swartkops serruria

Hikers enjoying the views

Ericoid amphithalea

Zaluzianskya divaricata - very small and easily overlooked beauty

Spotted blister beetle in moraea collina

The changing coastline

Today is one of those special winter days in the Cape, where the wind has died down, a low pressure system has brought cloud cover and a few gentle rain showers and the air is so clear you can see the beaches on the other side of False Bay. Soft clouds drift and drape themselves across the peaks and valleys of the Table Mountain chain, separating the valleys in an ever receding array.
From my office window at home I can see the waves crashing and splashing against the granite boulders at the foot of the Sentinel in Hout Bay some kilometres away. Through the same gap between the houses, a crane is loading tons and tons of freshly cut kelp taken from the shallows along this coastline for conversion into plant food. The sea is a murky brown from the churning it received over the last few days. It will be churned again with the approach of another cold front over the weekend, and more sand will be scoured from the beaches as the coastline is subjected to the forces of nature that reshape it over what has become a noticeable time frame. Since I first started coming to Kommetjie some 50 years ago, the sand has eroded and revealed the rocky shore stretching far out at low tide, while high tide laps at the fast-receding dunes.
Much of the sand appears to have been deposited in Hout Bay, and strong southeasters have moved it far inland, devouring one building and scuttling up the main shopping area in an annoying and painful sandblasting of vehicles and legs. Earth-moving machinery has been used to rescue a house destined for burial and rehabilitation of the dune vegetation undertaken to try and hold the dunes in place. In the old days (whenever they were!) the sand would blow up over the nek and down into Sandy Bay, where it would be replenished in a constant cycle from season to season. Housing developments on the dunes have altered this landscape forever. But will Nature reclaim its own? Time will tell.
In the meantime, we will watch the ebb and flow of the tide with interest.

A break in the clouds

Things looked bleak this morning, as 'if it's Tuesday it must be raining' dawned. The late winter has meant quite a few hike cancellations due to inclement weather, and the various forecasts are hotly debated on the off-chance that the most favourable will be correct. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. At present the southern Peninsula is getting less rain than the northern suburbs, so I set off for the Glencairn forts via Scarborough to do a recce of the clouds and wind direction for an educated guess. Sheets of rain were falling out to sea, with accompanying magnificent rainbows, and as I crossed Red Hill and approached our start point at the top of Da Gama Park, a cloudburst gave my car a thorough wash down. It was going to be difficult to part those clouds. But Moses parted the Red Sea, so this should be a doddle.
Brian and I stared steadfastly into the wind, with dark clouds to either side, and felt convinced that the patch of blue sky in the direction we would be headed was going to last. A decision was made to take a series of short walks, which might turn into a long walk, depending on what lay over the next ridge.
What a sensible decision! If we had been too cautious of the possibility of a scattered shower, we would have missed a most delightful - and dry - walk across fields of fynbos, with bright sunshine tempered by an icy wind. Rain fell to the east and to the west, but blue skies opened up before us. We all had about 4 layers of clothing, so we were under no illusions about the chill that late winter brings in from the South Atlantic, when it feels as though icebergs are floating off Cape Point and the tip of your nose glows like a beacon, yet the crispness of the air brings an exhilaration to our steps that is lacking in the heat of summer.
The walk to the forts (dating back to the 1700s and really just crenellated stone walls built on top of two fine boulders) is a fairly gentle undulation across the plateau, with the Lewis Gay dam a little way off across the valley, and offers sweeping views across False Bay that it would be hard to tire of. A large thicket of invasive aliens has thankfully been cleared away, although some attention to removal of plastic bags and other litter from the site would be a good thing. As Spring approaches, more flowers will bring their magic to the mountain and will make for another worthwhile visit.

A pleasant walk on the Pipe Track

A cool and cloudy day greeted us as we headed for Kloofnek Corner yesterday, bound for the Pipe Track. Without tourists streaming to Cape Town's biggest attraction, traffic was light and the parking lot empty. Our preferred hike was on the other side of the road - the path around the base of Lion's Head, but for some inexplicable reason, a person behind a desk told us we were not even allowed to get out of our cars on Signal Hill (there is a serious lack of logic at the moment) and so we turned to the trail that takes you below the craggy cliffs of Table Mountain and the Twelve Apostles. This is never a disappointment, as the views are wonderful, the path not too bad in most places and no particularly steep climbs.  Without a breeze, hiking conditions were comfortable in deep shade, and the mist swirling around the mountain top hinted at a change in the weather expected later.
Despite recent heavy rains, the path is standing up well and doesn't seem to have deteriorated over the last few years, although a large pine tree had fallen across a ravine and was now a pile of neatly sawn rings, rather like a sliced up sausage. If only we could have taken a few back with us, we could all have some nice outdoor tables, but they must have been tremendously heavy. Large puddles necessitated evasive action, but the wonderful rains we are having this winter are certainly nothing to complain about, and every gushing stream is greeted with exclamations of delight.
Apart from the sugarbirds feasting on the sugarbushes and robins chattering in the undergrowth, there were only pied crows and a pair of white-necked ravens. We searched in vain for the Verreaux's eagle nest said to be on the cliff face to the right of Fountain Ravine, as the light was poor and a movement would be the only way to spot them. Hopefully they will remain in the area and breed successfully.
More signs of imminent spring were everywhere, with plenty to please the eye. A nearly 6km walk, with no strenuous exercise, although the track provides access to various ravines leading up to Table Mountain and is a popular alternative to Platteklip Gorge. I can't see me doing it, though.

 

Looking for eagles' nest on cliff near my hand

A virtual farewell

Yesterday we bade farewell to my beloved last remaining uncle, Brian Gaven, who left us suddenly last week in a place dear to his heart - Edinburgh, near where his father was born - as if on a last pilgrimage. He and my aunt had just arrived with my cousins, enjoyed a dinner and were returning to their accommodation when he suffered a heart attack and passed away. Although a terrible shock to the family, we are thankful for a swift passing without lingering discomfort or pain.
The funeral was in the small Yorkshire town of Bedale, where they have lived for the past 9 years, and it was impossible for any of us to attend due to the worldwide lockdowns over Covid-19.  Technology came to the rescue and we were able to attend virtually via Google Meet, a strange experience and yet adequate enough to make us feel that we were there. We couldn't feel the heat of the afternoon as the mourners gathered around the open grave, but we could see our family members as they each gave their final words and thoughts on the life being celebrated. The unusual warmth of the day meant that the contributions from cousins, nieces and grandchildren around the world were shared at the tea afterwards, and the laptop didn't follow from the graveyard due to battery problems, but what event ever runs smoothly when technology is involved? We were just grateful to be there to remember the man who made such an impact on so many peoples' lives with his huge sense of humour, magnificent singing voice, acting prowess, devotion to his family, fairness in dealings with all he came across in business, and a devout Christian who led many to a place of peace and solace.
Rest peacefully and joyfully, dear Uncle Brian. We'll meet again

 

.

Greenbelts of life

A wander through the forested greenbelts of Constantia is always the greatest pleasure, and even more so on a still, sunny late winter's day, with stretches of trail under deep shade and sudden clearings of bright, warm sunlight. Clear blue skies formed a backdrop for the majestic pines and yellowwoods that line the streams tumbling clear and strong from the sponge that is Table Mountain, and dense undergrowth of acanthus, bracken and the most striking tree ferns delighted the senses. Horses passed from time to time, their riders among the lucky few who have easy access to these trails, although not too many opportunities for a flat-out gallop, I would think.
An abundance of birdlife flitted among the trees, their calls music to the ears, and helping to identify what was hiding secretively - a Burchell's coucal, sedge warbler, dusky flycatchers, swee waxbills, jackal buzzard, African harrier hawk, pintailed whydahs, bronze mannikin, Cape batis, Levaillant's cisticola, Karoo prinia - some first sightings for us - and many more; a paradise for birds and birdwatchers alike.
Signs of Spring are lurking everywhere - an unblemished babiana ambigua, dozens of Cape tulips and the usual bursting green buds of the oak trees that seem to ignore seasons and do their own thing according to how many days of sunshine we have recently had. If winter brings another cold snap, they may have to regrow their Spring clothing.
Colourful fungi decorate the many fallen logs that criss-cross the streams, and damp logs steamed gently as the sun reached down to snatch away the early morning chill. Some are in advanced states of decay, while others may have fallen in the last gale, with leaves still clinging to the branches as if unwilling to let go of life. These green belts offer a glimpse into the constant cycle of life in the plant world, with rich mulch from the departed giving sustenance to new growth, and we should wander there often.

Rained out

Sometimes I forget that rainfall over the Cape Peninsula is area-specific, and today I completely misread the weather forecast by using Kommetjie as the location, when in fact I should have used Llandudno, a mere 5 or so kilometres as the crow flies, but with the advantage of a large mountain to facilitate rainfall. Thus it was that, expecting the weather to clear from overnight rain of 2mm by 8am, I arrived at the Sandy Bay carpark to be met by a backdrop of grey sea and steely black cloud. The rest of the group were in earnest discussion as to whether the hike to Oudeschip should take place. In a matter of minutes the decision was made as the rain arrived and pelted down while we scurried back into the shelter of the cars.
After about 15 minutes, the squall passed, but the outlook was grim. More discussion, and a stroll around the streets of Llandudno ensued. This once unspoilt enclave with milkwoods cladding the slopes and a tinkling stream flowing down to the beach bears no resemblance to the place I used to visit as a small child. In the 50s and 60s my mother's best friend lived there in a modest wood and iron cottage, an absolute gem of a place with character and homeliness, set way above the beach in the shade of the original forest. It must be long gone, replaced by a monstrous concrete edifice to match the rest that now blot the landscape. There are few houses that catch the eye as aesthetically pleasing, and many are, surprisingly, run down and poorly maintained considering this is prime real estate in Cape Town. Perhaps no one lives in them.
We ended up on the beach, without respite from frequent showers, and it was soon becoming too cold for comfort, with snow not far off! After around two hours of light exercise, we went off to Suikerbossie at the top of the ridge into Hout Bay (by car) and enjoyed coffee and scones - the closest we could come to a beer and burger in these trying times. A lovely venue for special occasions, hopefully returning soon.