80s flashback

Most memories of my life are triggered by music, a scent in the air, or a certain way the light falls on the mountains (I know, that's a strange one!)
I'm having an 80's flashback, sitting here watching VH1 Top 40 80's.  Stevie Wonder brings back memories of sailing along the Atlantic coast between Hout Bay and Cape Town on a variety of yachts, fishing boats and pleasure cruisers. For everything there is a season, and it was our season for sailing!
The tang of the sea air as you leave the protection of the harbour wall and head out into the open sea invigorates like nothing else.  It must be the sudden access to large quantities of ozone, combined with the swishing of the waves as the bow cuts through the swells. My favourite place to be on a boat is in the bow (I did it before TItanic!), with my face to the wind and the rise and fall of the bow as it surges forwards.  In big seas the adrenalin sure can pump, but that is the point of standing there - to put yourself in a controlled life-threatening situation for the thrill of it.  It doesn't take long to get into the rhythm of anticipating the next wave and flexing your knees to cushion the jarring.  (That's probably why I have dicky knees today!)  After a few hours of this, it is really weird to walk on dry land again. You feel as if gravity has increased 5 times.
A fishing friend tells me that he never had to worry about fitness on long sea trips, as every muscle gets exercised just to keep standing in rough seas!
Time to go sailing again.  I need something to blow my hair back.

Have we lost our minds?

I recently heard of a woman in England who, through infirmity, desperately needed to sit down for a while when out shopping. The shop assistant told her they couldn't let her sit on a chair, and that chairs were not allowed in the shop, in case she fell off it and hurt herself. This 'rule' formed part of the health and safety regulations which these days prevent anyone from doing anything that might cause them to hurt themselves. The reasoning behind these regulations has little to do with concern for safety, but rather concern for the amount of money the injured party could sue for. There are a number of questions that can be raised here.

Since when has the human race become so afraid of being responsible for their own actions that laws have been passed to ensure that someone else becomes financially ruined through those actions?

Since when has compassion been replaced by mindless obedience to someone else's rules, thus robbing the enforcer of free will, the one thing that sets humans apart from all other beings?

What are the statistics relating to people who sit in chairs and don't fall off them, as against people who sit in chairs and fall off them (this would have to be broken down into the myriad reasons for falling off)?

If the shop assistant stood all day and was on the point of collapse, would she be too frightened to sit on a chair in case she fell off?

How is it that a world population of billions has managed to relinquish control of their everyday lives to so few?

If you were the shop assistant, would you ignore the 'rules' in favour of good sense, compassion and empathy?

A chill in the air for a Star Party

It's been a while since I have had anything interesting to blog about, apart from my hikes, as I have been tied to the computer for weeks doing years of catching up on financial matters, and if anything dulls the mind, it's that! But today something changed that I thought of note and worthy of a quick scribble. Autumn is upon us.
The air took on a chill that has not been present for a long, long hot summer, and everyone at the coffee shop had jackets on. High clouds covered the Peninsula for much of the day and they have returned this evening - the remnants of a cold front that developed in an unexpected place over the Atlantic, dumping heavy rain over the sea and dissipating on reaching the land. The forecast is that this phenomenon could become the norm for winter, but with the rain actually reaching us then, and it is certainly something to look forward to.
On the home front, I knew that autumn has arrived as the men of the house (?) took to couch and bed to watch sport, huddled under blankets. They are the first to dig out the winter woollies and mention was made of electric blankets. I, of course, wore light summer clothes and watered the garden. It wasn't long before I was back inside digging out the winter woollies too! And that really means a chill in the air if I feel it.
Another reason for the change of season is that next week is the astronomical Star Party in Bonnievale, complete with tent and blow-up mattress, and the forecast as usual is rain.  So I am going to fool the weather and go a day later. Let's see if that works.

On top of the world

Today was the epitome of an early autumn day in Cape Town. Light breeze from the Antarctic to keep us cool, ice clouds overhead to fool us into thinking rain is on the way, and a vast expanse of mountain to climb to rejuvenate the soul.
We set off from Silvermine Dam parking area en route to the Noordhoek Peak bench according to Google Maps (more about that later). This is another walk that I have not yet had the pleasure of undertaking, and I knew that hard times were ahead as we were going to a height of 680m (the parking lot is at about 400m which did help, and the gradient was steep. I huffed and puffed all the way up, with frequent stops to admire the view, photograph a flower and swig my electrolytes, and it was gratifying to be the recipient of the concern of fellow hikers who were all somewhat older than me. I must have looked exhausted. In all fairness, the previous day I probably lost a kilogram due to the dreaded lurgy, so perhaps I was feeling a bit weak. However, very little will get in the way of my hikes and, having established that there was no necessity to carry a spade with me, I got up and showed up.
And how worthwhile the effort was! The jeep track eventually evens out into a very comfortable stone paved pathway - a wonderful bit of construction work from way back - and after about an hour and a half, we descended slightly on the other side of the mountain, just below the mast on Constantiaberg and suddenly! - we had come to the edge of the world and below us lay a magical bay with a little harbour, a crescent-shaped white beach and a white-sailed yacht cruising quietly by. If one pretends all the housing developments and scarred mountains are still in their pristine original state, one can see the paradise it must once have been.
The cliff fell away steeply at our feet, down, down to the winding contours of Chapman's Peak Drive far below. A young man suddenly appeared from a gully - he had come straight up from below; not a route I would choose, but he looked extremely fit and was not even sweating! He went on his way, and we spent a pleasant half hour drinking coffee and admiring the view. Regarding the reference to Noordhoek Peak bench - there were some burnt stumps of poles in the undergrowth, so presumably it succumbed to one of the last devastating fires in the area. There were seats aplenty provided by the quaintly weathered monkey rocks, and even two rock pools filled with water, which can only have been filled by the cloud cover overnight. No wonder the mountains remain so green!
It was our Intrepid Leader's intention to take a different route back across the Noordhoek ridge and down the back of the dam. That would have taken another 2 hours, so perhaps in winter!

 

 

Platboom - there and back

One of the reasons I joined a hiking group was to walk in Cape Point reserve. I have always longed to be able to amble across the veld looking at plants and tortoises, but the opportunity has never presented itself. This is the ideal way to get back to nature - a group of like-minded people who don't mind too many exclamations along the way.
Today we had a beach walk from Platboom to there and back. No particular destination, just the time restraint to keep it within 3 to 4 hours. It was unspoilt shoreline at its best. Pristine dunes where no man had walked before us - due to their constant reshaping in the relentless southeaster at our backs! In fact, the footprints of the leader had all but been blown away by the time the last of us passed the same way. Cloud cover kept us cool and I was the only one who found the air temperature to be quite ambient - the rest donned lightweight jackets, but I hate the constriction of synthetic fibres and never seem to feel the cold anyway.
There was plenty of jetsam to interest us along the way - thick ropes that could moor a small vessel, assorted pallets in various states of deconstruction, a bundle of thinner ropes that looked like the result of a tidy up on board a fishing boat, a toilet seat (didn't go too close) and old crayfish traps with ragged netting. Birdlife kept me busy with the camera and I found myself jogging slightly to catch up with the rest, which helped with the cardio exercise and calorie burning.
The area between the flat rocky shoreline and the dunes is almost like a lawn, with tough buffalo grass and tiny vegetation that loves sand and salt spreading across the expanse. Lovely to walk on and no sand stinging our legs on the way back.
A male ostrich was grazing ahead of us with his harem and youngsters in tow. They were all hustled away as we approached in case anyone had designs on his women. He made it very obvious that he was a breeding male!
Altogether an outstanding place to get away from it all!

Growing the right things

We are now into March, meteorological autumn, and although there is sometimes a whiff of autumn in the air, we are still sweltering with high temperatures, being blown away with unseasonal southeasters and scanning the blue, blue skies for signs of a cloud, any cloud. I think we are fed up with this drought now. More in anticipation of possible further restrictions than any real hardship. Those who took great pride in lush gardens are taking the hardest knock, perhaps. It is sad to see years of hard work in your garden wilt under the unforgiving sun and wither as the wind whips through the branches. I find it particularly sad to see my mother's garden in the worst state in 60 years and must confess that I am in a way pleased that she is not here to endure its demise. I'm hoping that some hardy seeds and tough roots will find a way to revive one day when the rainfall cycle returns to former levels.
My own gardening efforts over the last 35 years have certainly not resulted in a botanical paradise, as I have to contend with soil that is almost pure beach sand and has an oily texture that doesn't allow water to soak in easily. Vast sums of money spent on compost, together with home compost systems, have yielded absolutely nothing in the way of soil enrichment, as the wind just blows it away. I suspect it has all landed up in the neighbour's yard, which is thickly treed with invasive aliens flourishing off the fruits of my wallet.
Having said this, the plants that have established themselves, such as clivias, bromeliads, coprosma, milkwood, aloes, proteas and gazanias, have proven to be able to withstand this drought admirably, with a sprinkling from the wellpoint twice a week and a few bottles from the rainwater tanks, and so the appearance of my garden has changed very little over the last year, with just the lawn become more sandy than before. It has never really lived up to the name 'lawn'. I am busy digging up said lawn and replacing it with indigenous shrubs - proteas, agapanthus and Pride of De Kaap, which I am absolutely delighted to say seems to thrive in sandy soil. All going well, the whole garden will eventually just be a mass of shrubbery, and hopefully attract a jubilation of birdlife!

Sillery trail

Today we walked through the leafy trail from Sillery up to what used to be the Silverhurst farm, now an exclusive gated estate with mansions and manicured lawns where previously stretched farmland. In my extreme youth, we used to go to the Christmas parties at Silverhurst, where straw lay strewn around the barn, and Father Christmas arrived on a tractor with a huge sack over his shoulder with the simplest, but so appreciated gifts for us wide-eyed children. Fireworks would be lit and an enchanting fairy would magically appear through the sparklers. Something never to be forgotten.
We started at Sillery and wound our way up the flat trail leading up towards the oldest dam in the Cape. A sign of the severity of the drought is that it is completely dried up, with the smallest of muddy puddles where two large dogs were frolicking. Nobody recalled ever having seen it empty, so a sobering sight.
This is definitely the flattest walk I have done with the group and it was very leisurely on a warm day, with no wind in the Constantia valley, but a fierce southeaster blasting the rest of the Peninsula, as happens in Cape Town! The shade was provided by ancient oaks, which are currently shedding their acorns, and the ground was littered with them - a few pigs wouldn't have gone amiss! Huge fig trees have established themselves along the banks of the water courses that are currently dry, and pear trees also abound. Doubtless they were seeded by bird droppings. There are thickets of small bamboo and other foreign vegetation, but none of it ugly and probably providing shelter for a multitude of small mammals, snakes, etc. They have to live somewhere!
After about an hour we came to the end of the trail, where a fence boldly proclaimed Private Property, etc. And so we parked ourselves against the railings of Silverhurst Estate on one side, facing a jungle of unkempt grounds on which converted stables now housed the staff of some nearby property. Deep in this jungle, the satellite signal is poor, and a plan has been made with a long cord from tree to tree, with a large dish fixed to the trunk of the one that apparently got the best signal! Necessity is the mother of invention.
A nice gentle walk, with fresh figs for sale along the way, and a stall of Constantia hanepoot grapes. What more could one ask after a morning's exercise?