The Koa Dunes

 I wonder who else hasn't heard of this place, apart from us! There is a special place in the Northern Cape where the first evidence of the red dunes of the Kalahari hides down a gravel road outside Aggenys. These are the Koa Dunes, and if you obscure the surrounding landscape, you will think you are in the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park with its distinctive iron-rich red sands and sparse grass. The Kalahari stretches from Namibia all the way across the Northern Cape as far as Kimberley and surrounds and is the largest continuous stretch of sand in the world. The dunes run in the same direction and a scan of the area on Google Earth will reveal the fascinating topography.

Our target in these dunes was the Red Lark, and we spent a very pleasant few hours out in the wide open spaces observing a multitude of birds in their habitat. It was clear that nesting time approached, as the males were doing their best to attract the females, or had already paired off and aerial activity was lively. A great treat was a sighting of the vulnerable (ecologically) Tent Tortoise, so called because each of its scales eventually forms a raised point as it matures. This one was young and very shy and scuttled off as soon as we moved away. Such a privilege to see, as we only have an opportunity if they happen to be in the road.  

A particularly special experience was the appearance of a Black-eared Sparrow-lark - my bogey bird, as I have never seen it even though everyone else did! They are nomadic and not territorial, and can arrive unannounced in an instant. We were treated to the special attention of a male who repeatedly flew overhead, rising into the air and flapping its wings butterfly-like as it descended to land on the ground and shuffle around before repeating the display. He kept returning to where we were, and it was almost as though he was performing for us. There were no females nearby. So another one on my list, which is now 468 species - not bad for not being a birder and merely travelling in the slipstream of the Frazzled Birder. As a willing slipstreamer, I am able to study geology, botany, meteorology, astronomy and geography along the way, so the benefits are enormous!

The sight of the red dunes made me long for the quiet of the Kalahari, a place where the silence feeds the soul and all those who have experienced long to return to. One day.

The Koa Dunes offered so much in the way of birding that we were lured back the next day, despite the distance from Springbok, and I am sure future visits are on the cards.

A grim fairytale

 

Once upon a time, a family took a Sunday drive around the Cape Peninsula. A picnic basket with sandwiches, fruit and a flask of tea was packed. Near Smitswinkel Bay, a troop of baboons foraged, groomed and sunned themselves on the warm roadway. Father pulled over so the kids could see the wildlife in its natural habitat. He rolled down the window and held out a banana to see if he could get the big baboon to come closer.

Decades later, a cage is being built to keep the descendants of the troop away from the bananas on the table in the house of the great-grandchildren of those Sunday drivers.

In the intervening years, I have spent 45 on the urban fringe, observing the changing behaviour of the baboons from mostly disinterested passers-by to sometimes an aggressive and generally traumatised, fragmented and lost troop.

No more the squealing and scampering of young baboons in the evening light as the sinking sun warms their cliff-top sleeping site, with the disciplinary bark of the alpha male calling his family to order before nightfall.

No more the recumbent baboon on the neighbour’s roof enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation as he watches the breath-taking sunset of late summer.

No more the lightning raid through the front door, eyes fixed with intent on the fruit bowl before snatching a handful and escaping through the side door to enjoy the booty while I doze on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The change came when they found they were not threatened by the presence of people and were actively receiving overtures of friendship. In particular, it seemed that the males would no longer react to attempts by women to chase them from a home raid, but still regarded men as figures of authority. Baboons are exceptionally intelligent and pass on all the knowledge they acquire, but unlike humans, are unable to unlearn or distinguish between right and wrong (my observation). Having learned where to find high-calorie food with minimal effort, they have chosen fast food over foraging – something we can all identify with.

The problem is that they remain wild animals, and our interactions should therefore remain respectful of the limitations of their ability to understand the terms ‘ownership’, ‘right of admission reserved’, ‘do not steal’ and ‘do not show any aggression when confronted’. Food remains food and a baboon who is separated from his meal becomes defensive, which surely applies to us as well.

Man’s propensity to harm anything that infringes on his right to a comfortable existence has led to despicably cruel acts towards animals by people who possess no emotional intelligence. The use of bear bangers, firecrackers, pellet guns and even bullets are all intended to frighten and disperse. Add to that the hysterical screams and barking dogs and chaos ensues. Again, in the belief that Man is higher in the chain of importance, it is decided that the baboons are the problem and must be dealt with in human terms. Removal from society is recognised as the punishment for criminals. A cage for animals is a prison for them. Because Man cannot be trained to be responsible for his own actions, to clean up his waste, close doors and windows at appropriate times and learn a little about nature and interaction with wild animals, the solution is always to deal with the results and not the symptoms.

The clock can never be turned back. The banana cannot be put back in the picnic basket. Man’s obsession with feeding wild animals cannot be cured. The result will always be detrimental to the animals.

A cage is no solution. There is no solution except what Man wants.

 

It's a long, long road

The small town of Springbok has long featured on a map of the Northern Cape, but I have no recollection of ever visiting there, although when we travelled to Namibia in 1969, we probably passed through it. As a 13-year-old, it's unlikely that my enquiring mind had kicked in yet to include rural towns. So our arrival there at the end of a long day's driving (more on that just now) allowed for only a cursory assessment: a narrow valley with one main road carrying all the traffic between the Cape and Namibia (a railway line would be preferable) and a couple of parallel side roads on the lower slopes where a variety of architectural styles housed the residents. Familiar shops revealed that all mod cons could be obtained if desired and indeed are probably the only source of retail therapy for the farming communities in the surrounding few hundred kilometres or so.

With no early memories, I was stunned by the topography - massive granite domes rose like bubbles across the landscape, which I always thought would be flat and arid semi-desert. This is the part of South Africa where minerals such as copper and zinc have been extensively mined, the lifeblood of the economy in the north. It was also the scene of clashes in the Second Boer War, with remains of stone walls still visible, should you care to clamber a kopje. We in fact stayed at the foot of the granite dome where they are found but resisted the call of history as we have seen many a relic of past conflicts in more accessible places. 

The main purpose of the trip, apart from a break from the daily grind, was to do a recce of the area for background knowledge on where to find birds, the condition of the roads and a general satisfying of curiosity for new places. Having left Kommetjie at 5am and not exceeding 100km/h but with no stops except for the thirsty fuel tank, we actually arrived in Springbok around 1pm. A quick stop at the local Engen to refill again allowed us to also refuel with the ubiquitous Wimpy road trip burger. Google Maps took us to our comfortable accommodation (not totally reliable, the GM) and then of course we were back on the road to cover as much ground as possible in the few days we would be there. The much-vaunted displays of carpets of orange and yellow had faded from their early glory and had little more than a week left as no more rain had fallen for weeks, so only small patches remained.

Our destination that afternoon was a dirt road leading off the N7 at Aggenys, some 150km away. Yes, the mind boggles. The target was the Red Lark. I once took a photo of one on a far distant bush somewhere near Sak Rivier; such a bad photo that only the stance and colouring identified it. The Frazzled Birder needed it for his life list, so distance was no object. I take a much more relaxed view of birding and try to combine every conceivable experience of nature into every trip. This involves flowers (much easier to photograph), fascinating geological features (of which South Africa has an abundance), clouds, the way light reveals folds in the mountains, the smell of the veld on a warm summer's evening, etc.

The road was long. The road was straight. Cars overtook us as though we were standing still. We left the granite domes behind and entered flatter territory with low hills and vast windfarms and solar arrays. The Northern Cape has fully embraced the power of nature. Soon a pair of Greater Kestrels with a nest were sighted on a telephone pole. Great excitement, stopped for innumerable photos. There were pairs on every third pole. There is no shortage of breeding pairs in that area. Another target for the FB was a Sociable Weaver, preferably with nest. Lo and behold! We stopped again for further photos. If we still used film that needed to be developed at CNA where we waited for two weeks to see if they were any good, I am sure no more than three or four photos would have been taken. The difference now with digital photography and multiple bursts is that two weeks is what it takes to sort, choose and delete the photos when you get home.

At last we approached Aggenys, where a colossal mine dump has grown over the last 10 or more years as zinc is mined from inside a mountain. The mountain is now a deep hole in the ground with the mine dump concealing Man's destruction. It has doubled in size since I was last there in 2019 and Google Earth will give you a bird's eye view.

We had reached our first dirt road since leaving home. Adventure time!

Heading north to explore more

A road trip invariably has led us along now familiar routes through the Tankwa, Little Karoo, Great Karoo or Garden Route. After months seemingly velcroed to my computer, the call of wide open spaces and new horizons could no longer be ignored. Reports of spectacular displays of flowers in the Northern Cape due to exceptional rains followed by unseasonably warm weather planted the seed. Head north to Springbok, perhaps take a left to Port Nolloth and a right to the mines of Aggenys - even (gasp) the bustling metropolis of Pofadder? A quick search on accommodation websites secured a home from home within minutes, and payment at the tap of a finger meant the trip was on! Time from first thought to confirmation of pending adventure - maybe an hour. I love spur-of-the-moment plans. And the weather would be perfect. 

With birding being high on the agenda, I knew this would be four days of early starts, long hours on lonely roads, lots of reversing, gazing across distant landscapes for a fluttering of wings and craning the neck to scan blue skies for the soaring speck of a raptor. For my part, I would be also scanning the ground for new plants to add to my iNaturalist citizen science observations and unusual rocks to feed my appetite as an amateur, very amateur, geologist. I have no regrets in life, but if I did, it would be that I didn't become a geologist. Stargazing would be out of the question due to the full moon, but that interest is fully covered by annual star parties at Leeuwenboschfontein and long days require early nights.

Although a road trip begins as soon as you leave your driveway, the process of actually leaving Cape Town means that you are technically an hour away from home before the city lights fade behind you and the lush farmlands of the Swartland unfold on either side of the road ahead. Rather like opening a zip. 

Rolling hills adorned with verdant pastures soon gave way to the mountainous Cederberg, where the road follows the meanderings of the Olifants River, its waters enabling the thriving citrus industry with orchards lining the banks and farmstalls urging us to stock up on the season's bounty. Our destination lay far ahead, and we pushed on without exploring side roads as we kept well below the speed limit and allowed the cowboys who suddenly appeared in our rearview mirrors in twos and threes to overtake and disappear into the distance. Apart from the odd 'train' appearing behind us, the road was surprisingly devoid of traffic and even trucks, for the main route to Namibia. A pleasant drive overall and in exceptionally good condition.

Arriving at the 'knersvlakte', a word which aptly described the crunching of wagon wheels in the pioneering days as they crossed this quartz plain, meant we were truly heading for the Northern Cape, and despite the early morning coolness, patches of purple and yellow and orange could be spied among the low scrub. My last visit to the region was about 14 years ago, and I had forgotten how spectacular and mountainous the geology would become as Namaqualand drew nearer. Vast granite boulders became granite kopjes, a landscape of veritable bubbles from millions of years ago, and the fields between were far from the desert I had imagined - excellent rains a while before has made this a sheep's paradise. 

Every kilometre brought new and awe-inspiring vistas and it became necessary to pull in at a lay-by to breathe in the pollution-free air and appreciate the scent of the vegetation, together with the absolute silence that comes with the absence of tyres on tar. It soon became apparent that the veld was alive with birdlife, calls coming from all over, and as we scanned with our binoculars, a 4x4 pulled up and the most personable young farmer who owned the land we were gazing at so intently asked: "Are you alright? Do you need any help?" On hearing we were just looking at birds, he unhesitatingly invited us onto his farm, to wander at will, and just to make sure the gate was closed when we left. He would unlock any gates for us. This is the spirit that drives the soul of the farming community. We took him up on his generosity and enjoyed a short time among his sheep at the windpomp, while he drove off into the distance to check on his livestock. Salt of the earth.

Then it was back on the road - Garies, Kamieskroon, Springbok. What would the next few days bring?

STILLNESS OF THE NIGHT

The Karoo can be unnervingly quiet for city dwellers, particularly the hours of darkness, when unfamiliar calls carry across the kloof in the stillness. Was that a baboon calling from the crags, a nocturnal insect, or maybe even a leopard? 

A quick trip to the Ceres Karoo/Tankwa found us lodged in a secluded kloof at the very edge of the Cederberg mountains,

with no other visitors in the well-spaced cottages. We were entirely alone - something to be sought eagerly during daylight hours, yet strangely fearsome once darkness descended. This is one of the truly dark sky areas of the country, with a Bortle 1 rating, even better than Sutherland, and as a result the Milky Way lives up to its name - a milky white splash across the firmament, unbroken by individual star patches as the billions that make up our home galaxy become accessible to our eyes. We should have spent hours gazing up and outwards in wonderment at the vastness of our insignificance, but those unfamiliar sounds with no way of knowing any distance kept us inside after a pathetically short time.

How marvellous it must have been for the original inhabitants of these mountains, who were intimately acquainted with every living creature, many of which were recorded for posterity in the thousands of rock paintings scattered throughout the range. They would have known which should be feared and which were merely coexisting in that harsh environment. The very fact that they stayed in the area must be evidence that water was always available, although in limited amounts, and the thick salt deposits in the waterways reveal the ancient history of this once seabed. Today's inhabitants filter the borehole water up to four times before drinking.

We scoffed when the farmer told us guests from Europe were frightened at night. Perhaps we were too quick to judge, or were just a little too far out of the comfort zone. I am sure that a longer stay would have soothed our nerves, but there are indeed leopards.

Returning to my original blog - stressless and less stress

 Having learned from harsh experience that not everybody cares as much as one had hoped, I have abandoned my Eye on Life website and returned to my first writing platform: Pamela - A day in the life. Back in 2011, my nephew said, 'Why don't you write a blog?' and ever one to take good advice, I immediately set about same. With no thought about a title for the blog, and as always having music on in the background, what would be playing but Abbey Road ... I read the news today, oh boy ...  You know the one: A day in the life. And there I had it. Over the years it grew from musings on a weekly basis to an almost daily scribble, which gave me such pleasure in relating and was originally intended to keep my parents informed of my activities when I couldn't find enough time to visit them - only 14km away. They loved my wordsmithing and encouraged it always.

 And so here I am again, not hoping to gain followers or monetary compensation (those ghastly adverts blotting my copy), but merely indulging myself in the love of the written word without disappointment or dejection. Looking back over the years, I can see a different me in different stages of life, and this new journalling journey will surely reveal a new zest for life! You can join me if you like.

An expanded view.

After almost 10 years of blogging under this site, I have now expanded into an online magazine. This will initially consist of my own articles on a broad range of subjects, with the intention of expanding to select guest contributors who can offer content that is unfamiliar to me. For the moment, I can draw on many interests for inspiration, inculcated in me as a child by parents who participated in many activities right into their late 80s and who gave me a childhood grounding that has enabled me to find joy in the simple pleasures of life as well as appreciate the finer things, such as art, photography, birding and the natural world.
From the first time I learned to write, it has been my passion. That is not a phrase I use lightly or even readily, as I do in fact find Life is my passion, and cannot single out a particular aspect as being the most important. But somehow writing has enabled me to share the experiences I have enjoyed most with others, usually unknown and from far-flung places, and knowing that someone, somewhere, has taken the trouble to read my scratchings and appreciate them in the brief time needed to do so has made the effort so worthwhile. It is my small effort to bring a little light into the world.
So thank you for your readership. This blog will continue, but should you wish to share my world of travel, trips and trails with some food and drink thrown in, you can find me at https://eyeonlifeonline.com
It's all about fun!

Floral fantasy on Slangkop

Despite a dreary day, those irrepressibly cheerful yellow daisies bloomed undeterred on top of Slangkop yesterday! We slogged our way up the zigzag path from the lighthouse (only the beginning really, as the upper path is very easy on the legs) with one thing in mind - to see the fabulous array of spring fynbos currently adorning our mountain. I say 'our' because I live near the lighthouse and have been privileged to see the changing seasons and flowers for nearly 40 years now. The verges become a snowy white carpet of rain daisies, followed by the lovely dark yellow daisies, and beware anyone who mows the lawns in Spring! There are places in Kommetjie that rival the West Coast displays for coverage, if not size, and it seems that nobody ever tires of exclaiming about the flowers, year after year.
It's such a pleasure to hike in cool conditions, where you don't have to bother yourself with how hot you are and can concentrate on the restoration of the soul, but nonetheless the approaching clouds were closely watched. The sea was like a pond, with appropriate reflections from the mountains across the bay, and the breeze was imperceptible, but still the curtain of rain crept closer.
The walk across the plateau is one of my favourites. Roaming these upper mountain areas of the Peninsula is one of the simple joys of life - sandy quartz paths, low-growing fynbos dotted with big mimetes and pincushions, their trunks gnarled with age, miraculous survivors of many fires over the years, gentle sea breezes and views for miles in all directions. It is easy to identify the cut-off levels for many species, some growing only on certain slopes, others above 100m or below - definite preferences. And as you walk there over the seasons, you remember where you saw a certain plant and look out for it to see if it has survived another year. Always exciting to meet an old friend again.
A little sunshine would have warmed the air sufficiently to encourage the jewel-like vygies to open, but a few patches that were sheltered under bushes made breathtaking splashes of pink among the yellows and blues. Positive thinking held off the rain until the minute we finished another delightful morning in the mountains.

A revived garden

An unusually long winter and abundant rain has transformed my once parched and sparse garden into a veritable jungle! Where once bare sand made up the majority of the lawn, we now have lush daisy lawn that continues to creep in all directions, making it easy to fill in the gaps at the outer edges and between paving stones. Indigenous pelargoniums have grown into large shrubs that can be pruned quite severely with no ill effects, and the aloe collection multiplies as new plants shoot out from the main stem.
The granadilla planted last year has literally gone wild, climbing visibly each day and almost covering the netting put over the now abandoned vegetable patch. This will provide natural shade which is essential to prevent the more delicate vegetables from scorching in the sun, and also reduce the amount of watering required. The sandy, oily soil is not a gardener's delight, but is ideal for growing onions, so perhaps that should be my crop of choice. This plan can only come to fruition if the baboons remain out of Kommetjie, which may well be the case, and vegetable patches and fruit trees can return to supplement our small efforts at self-sufficiency. Onions may not be attractive to them, anyway.
The area under the milkwood tree, which I have been eyeing nervously for the last few years as it loses more and more of its canopy, has surged back with a vengeance, and one almost needs a panga to cut a way through to my peaceful haven under this beautiful tree. The potato bush with white flowers has always suffered from heat and drought and been bare twigs in the main, but it too has revived to such an extent that it has covered half the area. When taking photos today, I noticed that the end of one branch has suddenly produced dark purple flowers (a throwback to its origins, I would think) and then my eye caught a bi-coloured specimen with more buds to open. Exciting times in the garden!
I only hope I will be able to keep them alive in summer. The water table has risen by a good 70cm on last year's level, so prospects look good.

Spring flowers and greenery

A walk around the base of Lion's Head, or any part of Signal Hill, is a must in Spring, as there is a huge variety of flowers to be seen at this time. The fire earlier this year devastated (from the Latin, vasto, to lay waste) much of the area, which sadly destroyed many of the old proteas and silver trees, but also promoted regeneration of the fynbos which can be very dependent on fire. The watsonias pop out in such an orderly fashion, nicely spaced and looking as though a horticulturist has been hard at work, and will make for a magnificent display later in the year.
The burning away of the bushes now allows for an unobstructed view of the majestic Twelve Apostles, all the way down the coast to the Oudeschip promontory where we walked last week. There is also no place to hide for any would-be criminals, which is always a good thing on the mountains. New growth is everywhere, fed by the abundant rains of winter, although on the down side there is evidence of erosion and landslips as the mountain has shed the rainfall too quickly. One section in particular has narrowed the path somewhat.
With a gap in the rain between the weekend and tomorrow's cold front, the sun was warm but the air a little chilly, which made for perfect hiking conditions. We passed many people enjoying the fresh air, or rather, they passed us. It was like old times.
There is much I would like to comment on relating to the restrictions, but will forbear in view of this being a blog that is intended to uplift and be enjoyed. And for that there is no room for current affairs.
A delightful day in the sunshine, fresh air, bountiful Nature and congenial company.

Tiny spaces

When I was a child, one of my favourite pastimes was making an indoor tent with a sheet draped over chairs and pretending I was living in a very small house. I have always lived in a medium-sized house and doubt that there is any deep-seated trauma to be delved into by a psychologist! I think it was just a forerunner of my great love of caravans! Family holidays were usually camping in a tent, so I am used to the outdoor life, but a caravan was always my ultimate dream. In fact, my only item on a bucket list is to travel somewhere, anywhere in the world, in a Winnebago. Or even live in one, although that carries a slight hint of trailer parks with the accompanying stigma. What I really need is the latest design where you press buttons and rooms slide out from the body of the bus, a small car is stowed under the sleeping area at the back, and a little speedboat is on a trailer behind. This whole contraption would be impossible to take shopping, hence the need for the little car. Of course, the cost of one of these dream vehicles is prohibitive, but I am putting this out there, just in case there is a patron out there who would like me to finish the books I am writing.
It is possible that my yearning for a small space is in direct proportion to my dislike of housework. I cannot see why I should spend my latter years polishing the brass (haven't touched it for years), washing windows inside and out only to cover them with blinds to keep out the damaging sun, or dusting daily when the southeaster blows. Shelves of ornaments have no place in my home. I keep the minimum of mementoes behind glass doors, and even they are being considered for re-homing, As for shelves and shelves of books that haven't been looked at in decades, nor are likely to be, I am sure there are many charity shops that would be glad to shake off their dust.
Both my grandmothers ended their days quite happily in homes for the aged where they just had a single room. I remember visiting them a long time ago now, in the 1960s and 1980s, and despite being a small child and then a young adult, I couldn't help thinking that it would be nice to have just one room.

Sandy Bay to Oudeschip

An overcast and fairly humid day dawned, with a forecast of temperatures in the 20s for Cape Town, and we hoped that our walk from Sunset Rocks at Llandudno to the promontory at Oudeschip would be cool, and to start off it was. This walk can be a killer in the heat of summer, with no shade and a relentless reflection off the water, but today I would say was pretty much perfect. The huge seas of the last week had subsided and a glossy sea spread out before us, grey in the reflection of the clouds.
We were early enough to reach Sandy Bay before the arrival of any nudists, but it would be a different story on the way back - some interesting sights for both parties, I'm sure. I think we are all old enough to take absolutely no offence and in fact enjoy some lively conversation.
Although not bursting with colour, the steep slope of the mountainside had some lovely spring flowers to admire along the way, with the occasional Cape Robin-chat, Malachite Sunbird and Karoo Prinia perfectly perched, and seabirds aplenty down on the rocks. Strings of cormorants sped southwards far out to sea, and on the shore we spotted a pair of African Black Oystercatchers mating. These attractive birds mate for life, and I often wonder what happens if one of them dies. Do they pine away or just look for another mate?
Our refreshment break on the promontory afforded us a good view of the biggest shipwreck currently on the Cape coast - the remains of the floating barge Bos 400, wedged ashore in a winter storm of 1994. Not having its own engine, when the tow rope broke there was nothing to prevent the wreck, and it has joined the Maori in making this bay a dive destination.
The path is not too arduous for the fit, but is not really recommended for those who are unsteady as it is very easy to turn an ankle on the many loose rocks, and it is a bit up and down in places. That said, for the firm of foot it is a most delightful walk, providing wonderful views up and down the coast as far as Langebaan on a very clear day, with a good cardio workout if you keep up the pace. And best done on a cool day. We felt the heat a bit on the way back, but it was worth it.

Our destination is the far promontory

Sandy Bay to Saldanha, almost

Ferraria crispa

Gladiolus with heady scent

Brian's seaside cottage

A Raptorous (sic) Time

Over the last year, my son has become a keen birder, particularly with the Nikon D500 in his steady grip, and having started off in the usual place (Kirstenbosch), he has now become enraptured with raptors. Living within a little more than a stone's throw of Wildevoelvlei on the way to Kommetjie, we have started making regular visits to look at the waterbirds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Fish Eagles that frequent the area.
To say that it is a birder's paradise may be a slight exaggeration, but it isn't far off. We start with observing the Levaillant's Cisticola (making a nest at present) and a few weavers, common fiscals and lovely warblers - Little Rush and Lesser Swamp. Common waxbills whizz around in a little flock, while African Darters fly up and down the channel in the company of Caspian and Swift Terns.
Black crakes with bright beaks and long legs poke around at the edge of the reeds, and a dashing African Swamphen (more excitingly known as a Purple Gallinule) provides a splash of colour against the beige background. Yellow-billed ducks, Cape Teal and Cape Shovellers paddle up and down the channel, their offspring sadly diminishing (see below). The presence of food is what brings the raptors, and although it is never a happy sight, it is always an incredible experience to see them in action.
I haven't accompanied him for a while, and this seems to have brought him incredible luck with sightings.
In the last few days, his observations have been: African Fish Eagles catching fish, African Harrier Hawk with possibly duckling in talons, Peregrine Falcon catching a starling, African Marsh Harrier, Black Harrier (positively identified), Rock Kestrel with lizard, Rufous-breasted Sparrowhawk, Black Sparrowhawk, Jackal Buzzard. Quite astounding and some very special sightings with prey.
Almost all of the action was captured on camera and here I share a few.
This will teach me to say, No, I don't feel like going to sit among the mosquitoes! I'll have to slather myself with Tabard and head down there!

Äfrican Harrier Hawk with duckling

Seconds to go for the big fish

Peregrine falcon with starling

Tools of the trade

Blog from a log

At last, a return to the wild! The first hike in Cape Point Nature Reserve since lockdown began so many months ago it is hard to remember our previous lives. And just in time for Spring, with the veld lush after a good rainy season and bare earth from old fires now covered in new growth. Nothing else has changed - the paths are just as rocky and steep no matter which route you take, and the midges as abundant as a swarm of locusts in patches along the shoreline shrubs. At last a good reason to wear a mask, as it kept them out of our noses and mouths. It must be something to do with the vegetation that brings these annoying little flying insects to life en masse, although nothing obvious springs to mind.
Apart from a large group of male ostriches, no other wildlife was seen. After checking that they didn't have red legs (a sign of breeding readiness and aggression), I lowered my walking stick that I was using to make myself look like a taller ostrich than them, and proceeded through the field of babianas that are currently gracing the world with their presence down at Gifkommetjie. These lovely flowers, from pale pink to deep purple, are among my favourites in the fynbos kingdom, and it is difficult to walk past them without wanting to bend down and look deep into their centres to see every variation. But there are just so many photos you can take along the way, and in no time I was trailing in the rear, with the rest of the hikers marching into the distance. I have to say that I enjoyed the time pretending that I was totally alone, with only the sound of the crashing waves and an occasional birdsong.
We reached Hoek van Bobbejaan after a fairly energetic hike and were glad of the chance to sit on one of two huge logs that washed up years ago, lost overboard from a passing ship. A number of similar logs litter the beaches up and down the Peninsula, surviving their stranding only because of their size and impossibility of removal by would-be salvors. Many a happy hiking group have doubtless recorded an outing with a photo of themselves sitting on the logs, with unobstructed view of the mountains all the way up the Peninsula including Table Mountain in the centre of the view.
Heavy seas continue to batter the coast and are always a spectacular addition to enjoyment of the surroundings. In front of us, the paltry remains of a once proud vessel lay rusting on the rocks, a victim of the Cape of Storms, or maybe just poor captaincy. Many a ship has foundered on this coastline through human error, even up to modern times. But those are stories for another time.

Otter