Oppelskop, Devil's Peak

If climbing Lion's Head had never been on my bucket list, I can assure you that zigzagging up the steep face of Devil's Peak had never appeared on my radar! The hiking list read "Oppelskop, park end of Tafelberg Road". So off I went to meet a large group of people who had done this before and were apparently looking forward to doing it again. 

The day was another winter gem - windless, sunny skies, mild temperature - so again winter woollies were not required. We set off up towards the contour path on Table Mountain, passing workers repairing fencing in the still blackened area of the last fire to prevent people from taking a short cut between the zigzags, thereby creating a possibility of damaging erosion in wet weather. I certainly appreciated the zigs and zags, and the amazing work done decades ago to lay down flat stones along the path for the thousands of hikers. Great to know that this is being maintained. At a junction we took the path marked Devil's Peak/Oppelskop rather than Platteklip Gorge which we did a few months ago (the contour path, not the Gorge) and thankfully headed into the shade of the looming mountain. The slope is steep and the path narrow and the view is spectacular all the way, but I was constantly aware of the drop off to the left and the height to which we were climbing steadily, steadily. You have to consciously stop to admire the view or the odd flower or bird, as mountains are to be respected and never taken casually. Every footstep needs to be measured in such terrain, even on such a well-trodden path.

We reached Oppelskop (an outcrop of large, flat rocks that were definitely the most comfortable I have ever sat on) after a climb of just over two hours. We had emerged into the sunny side a while before and despite being winter the sun beat down on us and the going got tough as perspiration ran almost as freely as the multitude of mountain streams we crossed. The flask of hot chocolate in my backpack (I had left home before sunrise) seemed like a crazy idea. A half hour's rest was a treat for all, I think.

Usually the rest break means half-way mark, but no, we were going to make this a circular walk and continue up to Breakfast Rock, so named because hikers coming up from the Newlands side would stop there for breakfast. So it was back into the shade of a steep cliff with another narrow path and an almost unobstructed drop of, without exaggeration, 200 or more metres to the road below. Stoically plodding on and reminding myself that I had no fear of heights and was perfectly safe, we rounded a corner and had to negotiate a few metres that caused a little trouble for those with a genuine fear. I focussed on the rock face and was pleased to get past that bit!

At Breakfast Rock, three paths met and we suddenly found ourselves in hiking traffic! Thirty or so other hikers arrived at the same time to enjoy a break next to a strongly flowing, pristine stream, and we exchanged the usual friendly greetings, then continued like trains on a track passing through a junction. I dipped my hiking towel in the stream and wore it draped over my head (felt a bit like Lawrence of Arabia) for the downhill clamber as the sun was still relentless.

A loud bang echoing off the sheer cliffs of Table Mountain on our left indicated that it was midday and we could see the smoke on Signal Hill where the Noon Gun had just been fired. This was a longer walk than usual and pretty strenuous, despite being on the downhill, as the stone steps set at intervals were high and had to be negotiated sideways to prevent knee jarring. The dinky cars way down below eventually grew larger and it was with some relief that we finally reached them after an excellent but tiring morning. 

Looking back to where we had walked, I was amazed by how far and how high it was. No small achievement, I think. And such a privilege to be able to do it.

Aaarrgghh

 

Oppelskop middle distance.

 

Lower path well laid

Oppelskop with Table Bay in background

 

Oppelskop again

Sunday mumblings

Here we are again, sweltering in Cape Town in midwinter. Not unusual though. We go through this pattern of cold fronts and gale force onshore winds, followed by a few days of hot berg winds coming down from the high ground inland. Today was 32 degrees (C) inside my sunny balcony and only slightly cooler at 28 in the rest of the house. In the sunshine outside it was like a hot summer's day and I emptied many bottles of tank water onto the garden to sustain it until the next rain, which is forecast for Thursday but may never happen. While I was watering, the men of the house were fixing the roof to prevent flooding in the event of Thursday's rain happening!
There were other more interesting things going on, despite the current mundaneness of life in general - He Who Can Fix Anything took Cleo down to Witsands near Scarborough to walk on the beach. He got out of the car, as did Cleo, and a pitbull was nearby so he quickly threw her back in and closed the door. She jumped against the window and pushed down the button that locks the door. The keys were still in the ignition. I suppose this teaches us all a lesson. Fortunately for him, I could bring the spare key from home, only 10 minutes away and I have to confess that it was only concern for Cleo in a hot car that made me speed down there, as the lesson needs to be learned. A pleasant beach walk and dip in the sea for Cleo, then home to braai - not something we do often. General gardening and watching the Grand Prix - Sundays :(
The offshore wind made for some spectacular waves as long swells came in from the deep South Atlantic and I managed to snap a few shots on the way back from the dog rescue!

Let's just do it

With 150 000 000 tonnes (in my opinion, a thumb suck) of plastic floating in our oceans, it may be thought that a turnout of 20 people to do a beach clean-up in Kommetjie on Saturday morning would be just a drop in the ocean, but 20 bags of plastic can still make a wave. Our dedicated organiser never waivers in her mission to make a difference and was ready with bags and latex gloves for the volunteers, recording every little victory on camera to keep people informed of the need to rid the oceans of this scourge.
You may think that picking up plastic involves spotting bags and chip packets among the jetsam, but those are the easy bits. The big problem is the micro plastic as it breaks down into smaller and smaller pieces, becoming easily eaten by marine life and resulting in horrendous suffering and death. The islands of kelp that wash up harbour most of the litter, and it is quite revolting to pick your way through mounds of rotting, slippery seaweed to pick out the plastic straws, lollipop sticks, fragments of polystyrene packaging and earbud sticks (if you are lucky - there are more disgusting things!), but one cannot gloss over the problem and pick out the easy areas to clean up. Fishing line tangled in kelp is a challenge and a pair of scissors or knife will come in handy if you are planning on joining the next clean-up.
An hour or two on the beach is no hardship - if we get into the habit of always taking a bag with us when out walking (it will also be recycled!), we can all make a difference. This will never prevent those who throw rubbish into the sea, or leave their picnic litter on the beach, or throw takeaway containers from their cars from being the cause of this mess, and it is unlikely that they will benefit from education campaigns as they have no interest in anything beyond themselves. Oil companies are not going to stop contributing to the destruction of the environment - money is all that matters. Plastic, when recycled, can be the most useful material for turning into outdoor furniture, housing materials, fencing, decking, etc. I'm sure that if scrap plastic merchants paid per kilo, the litterers would be out there every day scouring the beaches and roadsides for every KFC bucket they could find.

Crisp winter walk

A crisp early morning under a cloudless sky saw us heading up through the forest at Newlands yesterday, where it soon warmed up with the drift of warm air from inland and layers of clothing were shed before we came to the upper reaches. On previous walks we have crossed dribbling streams and lamented the lack of rain, but now the rivers are in spate and the sound of waterfalls and tumbling torrents was indeed music to our ears. Enticing pools gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the towering pines, but only the dogs plunged into their icy depths, impervious to the cold in their thick winter coats. Every man, woman and dog was out to enjoy what must be one of the most pleasant of all walks - easy tracks, leafy shade, spectacular autumnal shades (not every tree has shed its leaves yet, although some are already bursting pale green buds in this false spring) and that special echoing quietness that characterises forests.
We didn't hurry, preferring to stop and look and listen for a while, appreciating our surroundings in a way that mountain hiking doesn't allow for, with rocky paths and uncertain footing meaning less time to look at the view, and a very pleasant half hour was spent basking on a rocky bank overlooking the distant snow-capped mountains and chatting idly. A wonderful morning indeed!

Reprieve

As so often happens after a severe cold front, Cape Town basks again in balmy sunshine for a while, enabling us to dry out a little and clean up after the storm. The garden loved the rain and branches are shooting out as if it's Spring, pale green leaves providing joyous contrast to darker vegetation showing signs of drought desperation. The birds are shouting from the shrubbery - bokmakieries not seen here before, my favourite Southern boubou, irrepressible sunbirds in iridescent finery, a lone butcher bird feasting on unwary worms. The suet ball always brings the robin hopping hopefully below to peck up the fallen scraps - you won't find him hanging by a claw from the feeder! An olive thrush has started to visit - another exciting event on the deck.
All this beneath a vast blue canopy of sky, edged by snow-capped mountains on one horizon and heaving swells of the endless Atlantic Ocean on the other. It seems hard to believe that a mere month ago we were on the brink of drought disaster and now it is hard to remember the dust as we struggle to cope with the mud. But then again, o ye of little faith, did we really think Day Zero would come?

Elsie's Peak to Brakkloof on a sunny winter's day

After a weekend of winter weather that refreshed not only the landscape but our dams, and culminated in heavy, widespread snowfalls not seen since the beginning of this century, the hiking group gathered in Glencairn for a climb up to Elsie's Peak and Brakkloof dressed for Everest. The first surprise was how many actually turned up, considering that the clouds had not quite shed their last tears and loomed dark in all directions, and the second was how quickly it warmed up once we reached the sunshine. The clouds cleared and it turned into a beautiful sunny winter's day, with views across False Bay to the snow-clad mountains above Somerset West.

While the track along the ridge above Fish Hoek is not arduous, one still needs to watch every step, as roots, rocks and stony steps provide hazards for the unwary, and thick vegetation covers the way, particularly after the heavy rains. Alien trees are abundant and the area is sorely in need of human intervention by way of bush clearing to reduce the ever-present fire hazard and also to allow the fynbos to re-establish itself. There is little to see at this time of the year, but a sudden sighting of a single flower caused a small excitement (for me anyway!). There are a few isolated ericas and some unseasonal gladioli, but we will have to wait for spring to see the magnificent species that abound on these slopes.

When we ask ourselves why we get up in the dark to go walking in winter, it is quickly apparent that the benefits so far outweigh any slight discomfort - fresh air, exercise, good company, wellbeing, stress release, appreciation of our natural surroundings and all for free! We would never do it alone. 

Toasters and tomatoes

My toaster popped its last piece of toast the other day, and despite He Who Can Fix Anything's most valiant efforts, it was declared beyond salvation, particularly as a new one only costs R129. I scratched around in the pot drawer, where I knew we had one of those toasters you use on the gas, and we used that for a few days, but the time it took and the amount of gas used made the exercise fairly pointless.
So I hied me off to Clicks and bought a lovely new toaster, which came with a 3-page manual on how to use it - admittedly most of it was the usual warnings on not to use it in the bath or pull the plug out by the cord, but please, can there really be anybody in the world who needs instructions on a toaster? I can only imagine this is to cover themselves again lawsuits from the relatives of people who have electrocuted themselves.
While I was at the mall, I decided to have an early lunch of scrambled egg and rye, which came with cherry tomatoes. You will be familiar with the difficulty involved in piercing the skin of a tomato with anything less than a surgeon's scalpel, and I stabbed ineffectually at one with the prongs of a fork. Of course, the pressure caused the slightly cooked tomato to explode and send a projectile of juice and seeds a considerable distance. I managed to mop up the mess on the bench seat next to me, but couldn't bring myself to lean over and wipe the sleeve of the old lady at the table next door. I was barely able to control my laughter as she mopped at the splatter on the table in front of her, seemingly unaware of what it was or where it came from. The reason she seemed a bit out of it was because her companion, a woman somewhat younger than her, had not stopped talking since they sat down, and it was all about tigers. She had read somewhere that a man had kept a tiger in his flat for 5 years without anyone knowing and she said: "Now tell me that nobody heard the tiger roar?" Have you ever heard a tiger roar? I was already sniggering into my scrambled eggs, so the tomato juice story just made everything worse. By then I had had enough of the tiger saga and her droning, so I paid the bill and scuttled off before anything else untoward happened.
I'm pleased to say I successfully made 3 slices of toast without any incident!