None so deaf

There are none so deaf as those who will not hear, nor blind that will not see. No matter how much you want to help people with their problems, there comes a time when you finally realise that the complaining and lack of motivation is part of the victim mentality and is the security blanket - without something being wrong, they have no other conversation that will draw the focus to them. Eventually even good friends will drift away, seeking more congenial company, or less needy friends.
This shouldn't make us feel guilty in any way, as everyone has their own journey in life, and it is not our responsibility to ensure that everyone we come across is helped along the way, just as we cannot always expect our problems to be solved by others. We all grow (not just physically!) as we mature, have all made mistakes and learned from them, some quicker than others, and many of us have had light bulb moments when the meaning of life becomes a little clearer, but there is no way of making anyone else see things from our perspective.
To walk away is not to have given up, either on them or yourself. It is to have grown a little wiser with the allotment of time.

A windy walk

I was mightily relieved that today's hike was far down the Peninsula in the Cape Point reserve, as temperatures in greater Cape Town were set to soar into the 30s. I don't think Cape Point gets to that level much, and so we looked forward to a pleasant morning. Of course, the reason for cooler climes down there is the wind, and today was no exception. We started the descent from the ridge at Gifkommetjie, and the lighter ladies among us had to really brace themselves against the gale to prevent themselves being blown into the bushes. Poses reminiscent of the Titanic bow scene were numerous, and it was a relief to reach the foot of the steep and rocky cliff path where the wind was fractionally lighter.

The walk towards Platboom winds through a flood plain, of which the river was a little stream, and the stepping stones unnecessary at this time of year, but the vegetation was thick and healthy so the water can't be too far below the surface. The boulder-strewn upper reaches of the coastline were easy to negotiate due to a very well-made path of flat rocks across the uneven surface, and occasionally we trudged through sandy patches. Otherwise a very easy walk, once the tricky descent was over and, as everything that goes down always goes up again, the steep climb back up from the other side of the promontory.

The wind kept any birds that may have been in the area down in the undergrowth, and we didn't see any animals at all. Perhaps they are grazing closer to the waterholes. We didn't even see the usual crows on the cliff tops. A few flowers were blooming in an otherwise barren but green landscape, and it will be nice to see more as the heat of summer fades. The beautiful serruria villosa, found only in the southern Peninsula on sandstone slopes and flats, were abundant, soft to the touch and pleasing to the eye. I saw a lone sea rose, shiny pink among the dark greenery. The only seabirds in evidence were adult and juvenile black-backed gulls, a couple of Egyptian geese and a lone oystercatcher shouting at me as I approached. 

As we left the reserve, the wind dropped and in no time it was hot and humid again. We should never complain about the wind!

A VERY INTERESTING VESSEL MOVING AT SPEED

TYLECODON GRANDIFLORUS (Lion's Head to Cape Point)

THE VIEW DOWN TO GIFKOMMETJIE

STEEP CLIMB UP

ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL SEAS AT SCARBOROUGH

Birds on the wires

With the southeaster pumping down the valley intermittently, we are confused by the season - is it November with gale force winds, or February with dead calm days of blazing heat - it changes every few hours! At the moment we are being turned inside out again, but earlier I took a stroll along the beach front and was enchanted to see these swallows lined up on the telephone wires. What will they do without these wires when everything goes wireless one day? Where would will they all sit, and where do they sleep at night?
I wonder what this tune sounds like?

They look rather as though they are gathering for the return flight to either Angola or Europe - they had dark blue heads for those who can identify the species - but it is still too hot so that is unlikely. Maybe they just like to sit on the wires!
If it weren't for these birds, and the bats that live under my eaves, I'm sure the mosquito and other bug population would be ten times what it is at present, and they will probably be going home well fattened for the long trip. I wonder if they eat flies - does anything or are they just too revolting to contemplate even in nature?

Flat walk through the pine trees

A completely flat walk through Tokai forest followed Tuesday's rather more adventurous and hazardous climb up to Oppelskop, and fortunately we were once again led by our intrepid Brian, stitched up outside and inside and looking a little worse for wear, but unbowed in spirit and cheerfulness as always. It was set to be a hot day around 30 degrees, but being Cape Town, temperatures varied vastly from suburb to suburb and occasionally a little breeze blew. Being mostly a forest walk, with a wide track (shared with mountain bikers), we were able to catch up conversationally with fellow hikers who can no longer do the hill climbs, and it was a morning full of banter and laughs. I always say we exercise our stomach muscles as well as our legs, and today was no exception.
The downside of the forest is that everyone walks their dogs there and no effort is made to clean up after them, which makes it necessary to keep a close eye on the way ahead, as the mounds of poop make it a place where angels would fear to tread! Sadly, the evidence of human disregard for the environment is everywhere, even along the track parallel to the road where Table Mountain National Parks' office is. In their property, beneath a sign saying: No Dumping, was a mass dumping of plastic bags filled with builders rubble and other refuse, doubtless done under cover of darkness - or maybe not, as the culprits have no conscience. Plastic bottles, tissues and fast food containers simply thrown out of car windows makes the blood boil, and it will take a miracle to engender any kind of care for the planet in the minds of people who are unconscious of their very surroundings.
But back to the lovely walk. The people living in the bushes near lone tree hill have moved on and it makes for a more secure feeling as you pass the area, and the lone tree makes such a lovely place to relax with coffee and a snack, admiring the panorama from this man-made hillock.
I didn't spot any owls in the towering pines, but that was because I couldn't look up while walking! So carrying my large camera was largely pointless, except for the nice close-up of the coral tree flower along the way.
When we got back to the cars, a street hawker had set up a stall selling the local Constantia Hanepoot grapes, the sweet and much-favoured variety that I grew up with. R45 a box. One of our group asked for R10's worth and got a real bargain! That's the way to go. I noticed that the grapes were smaller than I remember, and wondered if it was due to the prolonged drought. Or perhaps they were the leftovers after harvesting the prime bunches.

85 years young

 

A river runs through it in winter

Summer heat

Another unbearably hot day in Cape Town. Here in Kommetjie the sea air is cool and soothing tonight, but inside the house it is still 29 degrees, with no wind to slam doors and suck curtains through windows. It makes one want to take a sledgehammer and knock out a few walls. But soon enough it will be autumn.
A half moon lights the sky and dims the Milky Way. Orion is directly overhead and soon will make way for the more exciting constellations of Scorpius and Sagittarius, with their multitude of star clusters, nebulae and fascinating asterisms. Cooler air will make for clearer skies and better views of what the universe has to offer our mortal eyes. Outside on the deck I am subjected to mosquito attacks (a by-product of storing water in tanks) and a cricket is making a deafening sound in the tree, no doubt hoping to attract a mate with his Valentine's song.
The sea is particularly noisy, with a shore break coming in on the high tide and a slight onshore drift as the land cools in the darkness.
A plane disturbs the pattern of the stars, its flashing lights mimicking theirs, and it disappears, Europe-bound, with diminishing decibels. In a few weeks I will be on that flight, and comparing the northern skies with those of home. I fear I will find them lacking, possibly because the bright lights of Western Europe obliterate what Eskom's loadshedding reveals. If only they could schedule it for after 10pm so that amateur astronomers could enjoy perfect dark skies, without intrusive security lights and unshielded street lights spoiling the view. At least it would then serve a purpose.
And so to bed, perchance to dream.

Accidents do happen

Van Hunks and the devil were smoking up a storm over Devil's Peak early this morning when we arrived at the start of our hike up to Oppelskop. The strong southeaster swept the mountain mist over the peak and saddle almost down to the road and it was a chilly start up the zigzag to the contour path on the lower slopes of Table Mountain.  The watsonias that gave such a breathtaking mass display were now brown and dry, dying back to await a new season. The steep ascent is always daunting at first, but we soon warm up and things get easier - or we just concentrate more on maintaining our footing!
The path around Devil's Peak is very narrow and there is a sharp drop that to my mind is actually potentially fatal to a faller, and caution is needed, as on all mountains. The views across the city and up the West Coast, with rows of mountain ranges fading into blues and greys, makes the hike very worthwhile, even if only enjoyed from the lookout at Oppelskop, and today's wind nearly blew us from our teatime perches. The cloud advanced and receded continually and we were comfortably cool for February.
We unanimously decided not to continue up to the saddle and took the trail down to the closed section of Tafelberg Road. This turned out to be treacherously narrow and overhung with grasses that obscured the path in places and it was here that it was brought home how things can change in an instant. Our back marker, there to see that the group is kept together, suddenly fell off the path and rolled down until blocked by a rock. There was nothing to grab onto and without the rock he would probably have continued over the edge, something that doesn't bear contemplation. There was an awful lot of blood, shock and a heroic rescue by members of the group, and he managed to climb back up, wash off in a stream and walk down to the road without complaint or obvious discomfort. A man with grit and determination, a fantastic sense of humour and inspiring example to us all. It can happen so suddenly and to each one of us. A medical check has seen him on the road to recovery for which we are very thankful.
It must be mentioned that we are tracked on our hikes by a group of dedicated volunteers and can request assistance at any time in an emergency.

Magic moments

Although loadshedding is not something we want to encourage, it is here to stay until the miraculous happens and some semblance of civilisation is restored. So in the meantime we should work our schedules around it to minimise inconvenience and enjoy the blessed silence that comes along once or even twice a day. Like today. Our second leashed was between 18h00 and 20h30, a time of day when the home is at its noisiest - people coming back from work, lots of traffic, TV on to catch a sitcom or music playing while I'm clattering away in the kitchen. There is something very satisfying about clashing of pots  and pans - lets off a little steam if the day has had some irritating moments!
But in the silence, I can hear the tumbling of the waves at the Outer Kom, just on the other side of the milkwoods. I go out onto the balcony and breathe in the cool sea air as it becomes an onshore drift with the setting of the sun. Surfers give warning shouts as they jostle for position on the small but clean break in the bay. Children's voices carry up from the Kom where a last game is being played on the lawns before supper.
Close by, a robin chatters softly in the branches as it settles down for the night, hopefully far from the reach of my marauding cats. The flock of sacred ibis swish by in their perfect V on their way back to roost in Hout Bay, a firm and steady beat of a hundred wings. Overhead, the sky darkens and the crescent moon gets a chance to illuminate without competition from street lights. The first stars flicker into view. And then loadshedding is over and the magic is gone.