Birds for entertainment

One of the great delights in life is observing the interaction between the birds that come to the feeders in my garden. They don't come exclusively for the feeders, but also enjoy a variety of aloes and other indigenous delicacies that I have tried to provide through my gardening efforts over the years. So far the feeders have been the most successful attractors, and bees have also latched on, although I am trying to discourage them. I don't think much tasty honey will be produced from sugar water, but that is something an apiarist could enlighten us on.
The Cape White-eyes are the most comical, chattering and changing positions on the branch in a constant flow of excess energy. Perhaps a little too much sugar in the diet? Their quizzical looks from tilted heads make you want to enter into a conversation with them. This would be easy, as they are happy for you to stand close to the feeder as long as you don't move.
The iridescent flashes of colour from the tiny Southern Double-collared sunbirds make it hard to miss them, and when gathered en masse they make a wonderful display, trilling in the happiest bird call I've ever heard. But even they are eclipsed by the arrival of the magnificent Malachite sunbirds - two and sometimes three adult males in full plumage. We have watched them mature from a blotchy grey and green to the very eligible suitors they have become, and now they are vying for the favours of the females. Intricate hovering displays and fluttering of tails, and supersonic high-speed chases that leave a parting through your hair would be the envy of any fighter pilot. The females must be impressed, because there are always young Malachites appearing in the garden! Long may it continue.
The bulbuls and weavers tend to take over in the middle of the day, when the smaller birds rest in the trees, and the squabbling is reminiscent of toddlers in a pile of toys. Occasionally the Fork-tailed Drongos pitch up, but are still rare visitors, as are the Sombre Greenbuls. If you are out there looking, you won't see anything. Perhaps they are always around and we aren't looking often enough.

Bertie's Balcony and back

Another breathtaking winter's day - not because of the cold, but rather the clearness of the air, the clarity of the colours and the crispness of the early morning shade as we made our way along the familiar route to Bertie's Balcony, Silvermine Nature Reserve. These hills, and indeed mountains, are criss-crossed with easy and moderate trails that meander from the carpark at the top of Ou Kaapse Weg all the way across to the False Bay coastline, for whatever distance you wish to travel.
The plateau is home to fynbos that is found nowhere else in the world (as are most of the species in the famed Cape Floral Kingdom) and it is always a thrill to spot something new. This means many a trip along the trails at different times of year, to ensure that you coincide with the flowering season for the species you wish to see. It would be quite a feat to identify all the flowers up there, and it is highly likely that many will go unseen by me. It requires dedication and perseverance in all weathers to comb the hills as did those early pioneers of botany (TP Stokoe's life in the Cape is a very worthwhile read) and one can barely imagine how small colonies of individual species even came to be discovered in the rough terrain of the Cape mountains. We have much to be grateful for in this regard.
According to the Mountain Club journal, Bertie's Balcony should be Betty's Balcony, named after a lady who formed part of the group that spent many years exploring and documenting the myriad caves that this area is famous for, but it will doubtless continue to be called Bertie's for posterity. The cave itself is just a shallow overhang, but the views are panoramic and spectacular, and are such that a great sense of achievement can be felt in having reached it from the carpark far away in the distance, where only the sunlight reflecting off the cars identifies it as such.
Always a worthwhile walk, with good cardio results, and of course the very best of congenial company.

A sunny morning among the vineyards

We could have been forgiven for thinking it was an early summer's day as we strolled through the grounds of Groot Constantia this morning, except that the deep blue sky was framed by stark branches of ancient oaks and the rich brown soil of the vineyards lay exposed beneath newly pruned vines, devoid of their luscious summer fruits or reds and golds of autumn. Some of the oaks are confused, as oaks can be, and a few still have last summer's faded leaves, while others have already donned pale spring green finery. However, we aren't fooled by all of this and know that more winter lies ahead. All the more reason to be out there breathing in the fresh and unpolluted air of the Constantia hills, freshly washed down by last week's 140mm of life-giving rain.
The workers were busy with the immense task of hand pruning thousands of vines, then taping loose ends in place to ensure maximum efficiency for grape bearing. They must have exceptionally sharp secateurs and strong hands to do that all day!
My son came along for a change of scenery, armed with a long lens, and was happy to capture some of his favourite birds for us to enjoy on our screens. It certainly helps those of us with less than perfect eyesight to enjoy the finer details of birdlife. A spur-winged goose was a first for him on his newly discovered journey, but a pretty little dusky flycatcher was the cherry on the top - such a confiding little bird and always a treat to observe. A jackal buzzard soared high overhead, unobserved until almost too late, but snapped as it made off into the wide blue yonder.
The climb up the hill was great for the heart rate, and I stopped to look at the sweeping views a number of times, just so that I didn't miss a thing! By the time we reached the coffee stop, the shade of the trees was very welcome. We meandered back to the cars via the little museum with the carriages and wagons - relics of times gone by when the farm was owned by the Cape's eminent family - followed by a relaxing cappuccino at the Jonkershuis, the first time since lockdown in March that we could enjoy some civilized socialising. Definitely to be repeated.

Chappies in the old days

In the days before the remodelling of Chapman's Peak Drive and use of catch fences to trap debris falling from this impressive yet crumbly cliff-face, it was not unusual to come across large rockfalls such as the one in the photo - taken by HWCFA on his way to work one morning. A man with a broom swept all the small stones off the road every day, walking from one end to the other, and doubtless tossed the larger rocks over the edge to add to the scree.
For commuters, it was always a matter of getting from Noordhoek to Hout Bay in the quickest time possible to reduce the likelihood of taking a direct hit from anything that fell. No dawdling along at 40km/h, looking at the swells hitting the foot of the Sentinel or seeing if any fishing boats were going to sea. Just pedal to the metal and get out of there. My personal best was 13 minutes (I commuted via that route to Cape Town for many years), and there is a legend that HWCFA overtook a car when he was towing a large trailer - this is in fact true, there are many tales to tell of his driving expertise.
Having the misfortune to go round CPD behind a car full of tourists is known as going by train, as the touring car is the engine and everyone else is bumper to bumper behind it. The only good overtaking place is the straight bit that is now under a canopy, but as cars have become wider and wing mirrors reach gigantic proportions, this is not as easy as it used to be. Sometimes you just have to relax and enjoy the view.
The catch fences don't always stand up to their job. A few years back, enough rocks hurtled down a ravine to take the road down to the sea, and it was months before the road reopened. So really the idea of a 40km speed limit is not something that resonates with me. A car in front of HWCFA once took a boulder through the engine, so I still maintain that speed is of the essence!

Down at the Kom

Although lockdown has been relaxed somewhat and we are allowed to drive about and do a bit of shopping, we are still not allowed to socialise normally. While not much of a social animal, I do like to choose my company and venue, and this is being severely curbed at present. That said, it is indeed a privilege to live in this little seaside village under the beam of the lighthouse, and the beautiful day we enjoyed on Wednesday, prior to a bit of wintry weather, made staying at home impossible. And so two friends and I got ourselves takeaway coffee from the surf shop up the road (excellent brew, friendly barista and good pricing) and strolled down to the Kom lawns, suitably distancing ourselves and with the required masks.
The Kom wall that serves as a breakwater against the incoming waves makes a wonderful place to sit and idle away an hour or two, discussing the woes of the world, watching the tide ebb and birds go about their business unconcerned by the odd passing human. We basked in the warm winter sun, catching up on months of isolation, but also revelling in the peaceful surroundings where the soul can restore itself - the confines of one's home, no matter how comfortable, cannot make up for the loss of freedom to roam so essential to the human spirit. After all, being confined to prison is regarded as the ultimate punishment for crime, is it not? We have been in a virtual prison under the rules of lockdown, almost worldwide with a few exceptions, and it remains to be seen whether the devastating economic results of what has been forced on us were in fact legitimate or part of a devilish plan - it will be interesting to find out whether the conspiracy theorists were right. Question everything!
The time spent on that wall - laughing, conversing, relaxing - cost nothing. The benefit for all of us was immeasurable in terms of a happy heart.

Trappies Kop on a fine day

Having grown up in Clovelly, it should have been no surprise to me that this quiet corner of the Fish Hoek valley was in deep shade when I arrived for the hike around Trappies Kop. Somehow the memory of the looming Clovelly Mountain blocking out the sun until late morning in winter had faded over time, and perhaps the fact that I lived on the western slope of Trappies Kop had helped, as the sun did reach us earlier as it peeped over the nek between Clovelly and Kalk Bay.
It was a good decision to do the clockwise route, as the path from the waterfall corner is well constructed with flat stones and makes for easy footholds, while the descent into Kalk Bay is undefined and steeper, with high bushes on either side.
The views over the Fish Hoek valley to Chapman's Peak and to the left, a glimpse of the Atlantic, are always enjoyable. The golf course, Silvermine River and remains of the sanddunes that made up the character of this valley before settlement began are a familiar scene, as this was my view from home as a child, but development has changed the landscape from trees and white sands to rooftops and school playing fields. The large grounds of the original handful of residents have long since been subdivided and crowded with new homes, and only the roads that we walked every day remain to remind us who lived where.
On the Kalk Bay side, the sun shines most of the day, as the sun rises on the other side of False Bay but goes behind the mountains in the early afternoon in winter, so you will gather that winter can be a chilly place for those that live on the slopes of Trappies Kop. This slight inconvenience is far outweighed by the views across the bay, where colourful fishing boats ply to and from the harbour as they go out of False Bay and into the waters beyond Cape Point, or the grey naval vessels from Simon's Town glide around the bay on exercises from time to time. Whales, sharks and orcas are seen by a lucky few, and large pods of dolphins are frequently seen close to shore.
Today was another windless early winter's day, ideal for this particular hike, and although there are a few scrambles along the way, it must rank quite high on the list of trails to be tackled!

Winter waterfall walk

It is always preferable to hike up to a waterfall when it is in spate, so after the week's rains we set off on a gorgeous sunny winter's day to scale the heights of Cecilia Ravine. In summer there is a barely perceptible trickle of droplets, but the effort of the climb is well worth the sighting of the Disa Uniflora which dots the fern bedecked cliff face.
Today we toiled up alongside a tumbling brook, where blobs of white foam lay trapped against fallen branches and rocky pools, too fresh to have taken on the amber hues of the fallen detritus, and frogs croaked throatily in the deep recesses of moss-covered cascades. A thick carpet of damp leaves covered the steep path and prevented mud from forming, making for a very pleasant climb. We passed many others taking advantage of  the perfect weather to relieve the stresses of the world we find ourselves in, accompanied by dogs from the tiniest Yorkie to the shaggiest German Shepherd, reveling in the opportunity to play in the water then charge about madly to dry off. A group of youngsters shed their shirts to stand under the waterfall. They said it was great but they were really just showing off for the girls! We've all been there, I'm sure.
With no wind, sunshine and an ascent of around 350m, we were soon perspiring and almost shed our shirts, too, but after a pleasant coffee break, it was time to tackle the other side of the ravine (perhaps a little more daunting than the previous stretch, and in deep shade for much of the way. At the top of the uphill, we were treated to another reason for our fondness for this strenuous hike - a panoramic view across the Cape Flats, Tygerberg and the rolling hills of the Cape winelands, with mountain ranges melting away in the distance. Oh, to be out in them thar hills again!
Just over 5km and 3.75 hours later, we were back at the cars, well exercised and ready for a lazy afternoon with a good book. No lunches yet, but that too shall come to pass.