Sandy Bay and Oudeschip

Mike Lundy wrote in 1997 (Cape Times) "Crossing Sandy Bay on a hot day over a weekend, dressed in mountain boots and backpack, you might feel the need to stare blankly at the sand one metre directly ahead of you as you walk. This way, you’ll avoid feeling awkward about being overdressed.

We didn't do the walk on a weekend, although today was perfect beach weather and roughly a dozen nudists were out and about, so to speak. We did feel inclined to ditch the mountain boots and backpacks as the sea was that incredible turquoise that only the Peninsula's Atlantic Ocean takes on after a good southeaster, and looked so enticing. But we knew it would be icy cold and decided to settle for a beer later. We (I speak for myself) only gave the fellow beach strollers a passing glance out of interest and to confirm various urban legends, and otherwise maintained an air of nonchalance at our overdressed-ness!

The hike from the Sandy Bay carpark to Oudeschip covers 6.5km return and involves a bit of rock scrambling and a very steep climb if you feel so inclined. We hugged the rocky shore, clambering over shapely granite boulders that characterise this coastline and offer shelter from wind and sun, and excellent sunbathing if you have a thick towel to soften the knobbles! Weathering scoops out fascinating shapes and we passed one that had been transformed into a habitable cave, unfortunately with the accompanying human habit of disgusting litter which detracted from the picturesque scenery.

A cooling breeze from the southwest held off the heat of the day for a while, and years of fire damage meant that there were no shady trees along the way, but also a clear view for miles around, something we all have to be very aware of these days. It was a great walk, with stunning views and the freshest air on the planet. You should do it.

Charging up the Channel

The continuing saga of my Crystal Symphony adventure...
After Maputo, our next port of call would be La Reunion, and our course would take us across the Indian Ocean, just passing south of Madagascar. My heart sank to the bottom of my sandals when I opened up Facebook and saw a message from a well-wisher informing us of the tropical cyclone building up off Mauritius, predicted to be the worst since 2002. This scenario had been lurking in the back of my mind for weeks, knowing that it was cyclone season, and I didn't know whether I was ready for such excitement at this stage of my life. I spotted the hapless captain of this fine vessel and scurried over, trying to keep a hysterical squeak out of my voice, and asked if he thought I should jump ship before we left Maputo. He very gravely told me he was monitoring the situation carefully, as if to say, you silly woman, would I endanger my ship? And of course I knew he wouldn't, so I decided to stay aboard. I did suggest to him that I would love it if he went up the Mozambique Channel, and we left it at that. Meanwhile, other passengers were starting to talk about the cyclone and how they had been aboard in 30-foot waves on other occasions and had a marvellous time - it just meant a lot of crockery went flying at dinner.
The ship sailed at sunset and once again slipped silently into the dusk, leaving the lights of Maputo far behind us. On waking the next morning, I looked through the window and could see that our speed had picked up considerably. We were fairly flying over a mirror smooth sea. I flicked on the onboard channel and breathed easily again - we were on our way up the Mozambique Channel and our speed had increased from 11knots to 20knots - flying indeed! So it was time to relax and enjoy the ride.
I think it took us 5 days to La Reunion from Maputo, quite a detour, and the trip up the Channel was smooth and comfortable. Then we rounded the northern end of Madagascar and turned for the islands, meeting the swells emanating from the cyclone, which had by then reached Mauritius, and suddenly it was a floating 6-star hotel with added dipping and diving. The horizon was no longer horizontal and one could feel the juddering as the bow bit deep into an oncoming swell and then the floor would part from the soles of your feet as it rose again. Passengers and crew alike succumbed to seasickness, although my sea legs were steady, and there was plenty of banter about lurching in the lounges and drifting in the dining room. An evening show was cancelled as it would have been impossible for the performers to maintain their balance, and on the dancefloor the dancers lurched from one side to the other, adding a few extra steps to the routine. The waiters did a sterling job balancing trays of drinks, obviously accustomed to adverse conditions, but I'm sure more than one onion rolled off a table in the galley.
It was actually quite uncomfortable proceeding at speed into those swells, and we had to brace ourselves most of the time, which had the advantage of using muscles that possibly wouldn't have had any exercise! The most startling thing was waking up one night and finding that I was barely touching the mattress! The situation wasn't helped by the sudden appearance of new lifejackets in the corridors overnight - we were assured that it was merely a routine replacement of the existing ones and had nothing to do with the weather. Bad timing.
Oh, yes! The captain came over to me a few days after our first conversation and said, "You see, I took your advice!" A true officer and a gentleman.

Another jaunt into the country

This week it was off into the country for an informal gathering of stargazers and other assorted astronomers! Our usual venue for the Southern Star Party was unavailable and so a more relaxed schedule (no schedule) meant that hardened scientific fact gatherers did not attend, but the sociability was as stimulating as ever. Bonnievale is famous for being either blazing hot or cold and windy with a chance of rain. This week brought both. Capetonians have become weather-watchers of note and fiercely defend their choice of weather 'channel'. I favour those Norwegians, as do many others, but each is convinced their forecaster is correct. I scanned the forecast every few hours as departure day neared, sometimes pushing it backwards or bringing it back to Thursday and eventually I was lucky enough to make the right decision and arrive after the rain, book into a caravan rather than my trusty tent, and wait for the clouds to blow away.
What a shock on arrival to see that the beautiful dam, such a feature of the Night Sky caravan farm, was but a puddle in a muddy basin. It is sobering to realise how much we rely on water for Life - obviously totally and completely - but in the sense of how vast expanses of water enhance our enjoyment and appreciation of nature. All the dams are empty and the farm is currently irrigated via Brandvlei.

 The whole area is covered in vineyards and orchards, so farming is intense and looking prosperous. Hopefully winter rain and snow will bring the Breede River back to healthy levels this year.

I was soon settled in and chatting to familiar faces, seen only every six months but the conversations just carry on! In no time I had the finder scope and secondary mirror adjusted and lined up on the 8-inch Orion dobby which I haven't been able to use for about 3 years - a bunch of amateur astronomers just can't resist showing their skills and of course, they are just the nicest people, all with their little quirks from spending hours alone under a dark sky looking for an elusive galaxy.

True to form, Bonnievale was very windy, overcast and chilly in the day, but every night at about 9 the wind dropped, the clouds magically disappeared, and the Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon in a blazing arc of billions of stars. No lights are allowed, nor are they needed. Starlight is brighter than you think, and once your eyes are dark-adapted, it is easy to navigate across a field of telescopes. It also makes for plenty of witty conversation.

Sunset brought the birdlife down to the puddle, and the variety was interesting for an amateur birder like me - a hamerkop (haven't seen one since I was about 4), water thick-knees, 3-banded plovers, hoopoe, yellow-billed duck, egrets, spoonbills, blacksmith plovers, Namaqua doves, wagtails, robins, fiscal flycatcher, weavers, sparrows - but unfortunately not the pair of fish eagles that fed there before. There are still fish in the puddle, but their lifespan looks to be fairly short now.

I would say that the seeing was possibly the best of any Star Party I have been to, and it was well worth the hours of staring upwards, neck at an uncomfortable angle, wondering why nobody had brought a flask of hot chocolate, to see two moons, Ganymede and Io, transit their planet, Jupiter. Truly a sight to behold!

Up to the waterfall again

We hiked up to Cecilia Waterfall about a month ago and did it again yesterday. My fitness has undoubtedly increased as the Fitbit indicated less than half an hour of cardio during the 3.5 hour walk, and yet it felt like the most difficult climb yet. I huffed and puffed the whole way up and sweated buckets of perspiration (although I am told that only horses sweat - women glow), so either we walked too fast (possible) or I am not breathing properly (probable). I was not alone in my labouring, and it was surprising that the general feeling was that of a bit beyond our range. It may have been due to humidity with low cloud and windless conditions, but it goes to show that no two hikes are ever the same.
There were many examples of the exquisite gladiolus montiflora or autumn painted lady to admire along the way, but for reasons known only to itself, my cellphone camera just refused to focus on them and so I cannot share this marvel that occurs only in very specific parts of the Cape Peninsula. You will have to go and look for yourself. It's well worth it. (Blurred photo included)
The waterfall was dripping more substantially than last time, which maybe indicates that even though we think we are not getting rain, something is falling out of the sky! The drops were too heavy to make me want to stand under it again, so I made do with a short video of the tinkling waters as they babbled across the rocks and tumbled downwards on their journey to the sea, crystal clear and hopefully pristine!
This is quite a tough hike, with seemingly interminable upward stretches and the odd scramble, and the downward trail towards Kirstenbosch is daunting for those with bad knees, but anyone with the slightest inclination to enjoy to the beauty that the Peninsula has to offer should put it on their bucket list. I'm looking forward to seeing that waterfall gushing to its full potential this winter. We can only hope!

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.