Cape Point: The Krom River and Die Mond ...

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The word krom means curving or bent. In terms of a river, this could be interpreted as meandering, which the Krom does to some extent as it flows gently across the coastal plain. This would seem a satisfactory explanation of the name in terms of the river's anatomy today. Formerly, however, the river took a right-angle turn at the beach and flowed and expanded south to form a long, narrow lagoon behind the dunes as far as The Fishery. On a hike along the reserve's coastline early in 1962, José Burman described the lagoon as being 'separated from the sea by a sandbar about 200 yards wide' and that it 'turns south and enters the sea about a mile lower down the coast'. A lagoon extending north to Dassiesfontein and south past The Fishery is depicted on the Department of Surveys map of the area.

This was the situation, it would seem, until the early 1980s. I can still remember my first visit to Die Mond in early 1984. Feeling suitably exploratory and quivering with the expectation of a bird-thronged wetland, I found instead the Krom River flowing feebly straight across the beach and into the sea, without so much as a puddle on the shore, and not a bird to be seen. Once or twice over the following winters, the outflow would close up and a modest pan result, but for much of the time the area comprised a broad windswept beach with but a trickle of water running over or through it. Any chance that the lagoon would attain once more the expanse indicated on the official map was scuppered by the storm in May 1984. This obliterated the extensive and well-vegetated dune system behind which the lagoon lurked. Over the following decade, we witnessed the irregular expansion and contraction of the lagoon, but only once did it manage to creep more than a few score metres to the south. The gradual re-establishment of the dunes may allow the lagoon to regain something of its former proportions but, if it happens at all, it is likely to take many years.

Between Two Shores Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon New Africa Books 1994

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The lagoon which does come into being every now and then varies not only in size, but in lifespan, its persistence depending upon marine and river conditions. The waves which can unblock the outflow and release water can, conversely, also shore it up. Similarly, increased inflow from the river in winter might, in the first instance, lead to the creation of the lagoon through an accumulation of sediments at the outflow, but would ultimately lead to the dam collapsing under the sheer weight of water. When this happens, to the accompaniment of an unnerving roar, Die Mond Lagoon is transformed from a sheet of tranquil water to an expanse of damp sand within a few minutes.

The sandstones which typify the exposed rock further north in the reserve are, in contrast, generally coarser and comprise relatively large particles, the result of deposition, all those millions of years ago, in turbulent, nearshore waters. Entombed in the rough, shapeless lumps are intricate and beautiful mosaics of quartz grains, milky pebbles in a crystal matrix. Because of its hardness, these quartz grains are often the sole survivors of erosion and transportation, processes which dissolve or disintegrate the softer and more soluble minerals. The shape of the grains indicates how far they have been transported from their source or how long they have been tumbled around in the water. The well-worn, smooth grains have been subjected to aquatic wear and tear for a long time; the coarse, sharply-edged ones have spent less time underwater. Below some of the rocks are perfects pools of these milky pebbles, untouched and unblemished, which have fallen like teardrops from their parent.

The often jagged and chaotic bouldery landscape and rock formations that characterise the reserve are the result of nature's sculpting over millions of years. Although hardly on the scale of the Grand Canyon, and not so much Michaelangelo as Henry Moore with a hangover, some of the sculptures are impressive in their own way. These include the tumbled henges of on Bonteberg and the mysterious standing stones in the Krom River valley. The escarpment above Olifantsbos exhibits some fine monolithic mazes and stark surrealistic carvings. Some could have stepped straight out of science fiction (a bug-eyed monster would not look out of place perched on them); some, with their battlements and machiolations, from medieval fortresses.

Rocks of all sizes are often pocked with hollows and depressions to form so-called monkey stones. This selective erosion of soft stone within hard can result in honeycomb-like formations decorating the rock faces or, when scoured from their tops, the most delightful natural birdbaths. Many attractively weathered stones have, in the past, undergone rapid transportations and subsequent deposition in Cape Town gardens. It has to be said that the monkey stones look much better in their natural surroundings than perched in the middle of a suburban garden supporting an angling gnome.

Between Two Shores Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon New Africa Books 1994

Cape Point: Sirkelsvlei ...

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You'll frequently find me down at Sirkelsvlei, whether at the lake itself or out on the reed flats, having turned inland above Mast Bay. I really "dig" the place and its silence.

One warm, sweat-covered summer's day, I stopped at Blouklipplaat overlooking the flats for some water and a smoke. A flock of ostrich pecked at the dirt out west and a herd of grysbok chewed their way south. On stopping, I heard a weird, inexplicable creaking noise. I turned. Nothing. I looked north. The sound persisted. I realised it emanated from my backpack's straps rubbing against the canvas covering my tripod.

In spaces where the silence is deafening, such small noises can split your eardrums. I sat on the worn rock and bathed in the sun and the absence of noise.

"The often jagged and chaotic bouldery landscape and rock formations that characterise the reserve are the result of nature's sculpting over millions of years. Although hardly on the scale of the Grand Canyon, and not so much Michelangelo as Henry Moore with a hangover, some of the sculptures are impressive in their own way. These include the tumbled henges on Bonteberg and the mysterious standing stones in the Krom River Valley. The escarpment above Olifantsbos exhibits some fine monolithic mazes and stark surrealistic carvings. Some could have stepped straight out of science fiction (a bug-eyed monster would not look out of place perched on them); some, with their battlements and machicolations, from medieval fortresses."

Between Two Shores Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon New Africa Books 1994

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Put simply, Sirkelsvlei is Cape Point's most enjoyable walk. Given two or three hours, you'll not break too much of a sweat — even taking in the so-called "Shipwreck Trail" and, given the day, you'll be free to meander to your heart's content.

You can walk to the vlei from virtually any point on the compass, but the more popular demarcated routes are best adhered to. This means a stroll from either the Krom River side, at the junction of the Olifantsbos road and the service road leading south; from the Olifantsbosbaai parking area up to the WWII submarine lookout, or from the wreck of the Nolloth.

My preferred route is up along Die Kloof and back along the reed flats and lookout. The virtues of the demarcated path are, in this instance, i.e. setting out, overrated so I tend to walk up the floor of the kloof rather than along Mimetes Ridge.

Look, any place with a spot referred to on the maps as Lumbago Alley is bound to be a bad experience and, as far as I'm concerned, it is. It's a boring path at best, twisting — seemingly endlessly, up along the rocky spine of the hill.

"Sirkelsvlei is the largest freshwater body, extending over 6.3 hectares and with a maximum depth of 1.4 metres. It is a paradoxical pond, situated as it is on a plateau which is higher than the surrounding landscape and which offers only the tiniest of catchments. There is no obvious inflow, apart from surface trickle in winter, and yet Sirkelsvlei rarely dries out. The secret, it is thought, lies in underground springs, or in water fed from the adjacent marshes and channelled by the two sandstone ridges between which the vlei lies."

Between Two Shores Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon New Africa Books 1994

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If you're into small things of a fynbos nature, the rocky outcrops, Leucadendron fields, tussock marshes and small beach surrounding Sirkelsvlei can swallow the greater part of your day. The outcrops are, according to Fraser and McMahon — our tour guides, artificial. They were put in place to attract birds but the saline water frustrated every attempt.

To my mind, it was a dumb move. Anybody who's spent a day in the south-easter at Cape Point will tell you the air can get so thick with salt only hardy seabirds and crazed Egyptian geese will survive there. I've seen Peregrine Falcon at the point and crows all over the place, but few are mad enough to nest at Sirkelsvlei.

"The summer southeasters and winter northwesters carry salt-laden sea-spray into and over the reserve. This inevitably finds its way into the groundwater and the vleis. The amount of sodium and chlorine in Sirkelsvlei, in fact, makes it almost indistinguishable from seawater. A high rate of evaporation in the hot and windy summers also serves to concentrate these salts. It is interesting that Sirkelsvlei has a higher salt concentration than the recently constructed artificial vleis, such as Suurdam and Gilli Dam. This presumably is a consequence of its longer exposure to the briny zephyrs."

Between Two Shores Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon New Africa Books 1994

From the Mast Bay turnoff, head towards the Port War Signal Station barracks in the distance. The barracks' visibility is deceptive; the closer you get to the main building, the less likely you are to see it. You'll not regret forsaking the path as the old buildings are well worth visiting and offer a good place to rest, rummage or take a nap.

The observation post and its fellows at Cape Point were manned by naval personnel who should have been the first to see the S.S. Thomas T. Tucker run aground in November 1942.

Whether they were or not is unknown, but the wreck now forms a visible reminder, on the westward point below, to stay awake and remain alert. Being stationed at Olifantsbos must have been something of a "cushy billet" and I'd not be surprised if the lookout was otherwise occupied at the time, e.g. sleeping or pulling crayfish out of the water.

"During the Second World War, for example, Sirkelsvlei was used as a target for bombers, strafing by low-flying aircraft, and by field-guns sited at Klaasjagersberg. In later years, some of the small ponds were laced with copper sulphate and had hundreds of shell-cases dumped into them in an attempt to boost the mineral intake of the introduced buck, which were experiencing acute shortages of trace elements. Truck-loads of military hardware were subsequently removed from Sirkelsvlei, but what effect its addition, and subsequent extraction, had on water chemistry can only be speculated upon."

Between Two Shores Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon New Africa Books 1994

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Cape Point: Olifantsbospunt ...

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When you reach what remains of the wreck of the Nolloth, a 347-ton Dutch coaster carrying booze before it smacked into Albatross Rock off Olifantsbospunt in 1965, you'll know Brightwater — and its virulently vile houses, is behind you. Being what it is, and people being what they are, the authorities decided to salvage the liquor aboard the ship and built a road — the remains of which I've not found — along which to transport it to Cape Town.

Olifantsbospunt is, in many ways, a microcosm of Cape Point in that it offers a bit of everything. You'll not see much of the Nolloth but that's not because it's rusted away — although much has and some continues to be stolen by souvenir hunters. Most of its remaining structure lies beneath tons of sand, a white mass that has obscured its greater bulk for years. What remains visible is interesting enough to leave you surmising the events leading to it being there.


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The sand is an extension of the dunes at Platboom but the point's exposure ensures it's swiftly moved to its next destination, leaving a scoured and blasted stretch of sand and polished rock that reflects the late-aftenoon sun, covering much of its surface. Before reaching the rocky point, the wind has hollowed out a dish-shaped bowl which, when you wander into it, surrounds you in the barren isolation of a Marscape and, like long stretches of Brightwater, is as hot as a blast furnace in summer and as cold as Cape Town in winter.

Behind the sand stretch and under the mountain lie the fynbos-covered flats and marshes that make up the coastal plain and track the shore along the peninsula. Rich in plant, insect, bird and animal life, the dark soil is frequently a black blob of sludge or peat covering one or both of your shoes. In winter, hollows fill with water that break out to the sea in rich brown rivers and dunes lush with growth offer shelter. Most walkers follow the inland track found here but, unless you climb the escarpment, it's far less interesting than the coast.


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What is it that intrigues me about this area? The rest of the Point, with its remarkable geological formations and rock strata, hold me in thrall. But it is here, at Olifantsbosbaai, that you see geology in action — sifting and sorting, mixing and matching — laying down the next layer of the ages. I've countless pictures of rocks but those that fascinate me most are those which, when viewed close up, show the wind and sand at work, shaping a future we'll not be here to see.

So, if ever you're wandering down that way, towards the wrecks or back to Olifantsbos, and you chance across a middle-aged guy sitting on a whalebone in a sandstorm in the middle of nowhere, pay him no heed; he's doing what he enjoys most, i.e. watching time.

All too soon, the sand and rock become broken, rounded stone and, rather than head off towards Olifantsbos, it's time to head back towards the point and the wreck of the SS Thomas T. Tucker, a 14,000-ton (dw), 135m, three-month old U.S. liberty ship produced by the Houston Shipbuilding Corporation. She was one of 2,710 built by 18 shipyards in four years, and ran aground carrying a cargo including tanks and ammunition, on her maiden voyage in November 1942.

As broken and rusted as she is sixty-seven years later, spread in several pieces, including two boilers, across a swath of windswept beach and rock, you can still make out the Webster-Brinkley Co. name stamped into a section of what I assume to be her bow — I further assume the geared mechanism attached to it formed part of the for'ard gun mount.

Though few would think it today, the wreck of the SS Thomas T. Tucker was as large as that of the SA Seafarer, which sank off Sea Point in 1966.


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Two small-but-glorious bays, the first with a steeply sloping shore, separate the point from Olifantsbos. No matter the swell, exquisite wavelets enter these coves to break in perfection on a sandy beach that, at the right time of day, reflects the sun. Fingers of sea-shaped rock allow you to wander out and watch these 'bonsai' waves forming perfect barrels or long, point-break faces in brilliant, shining colour. Relatively sheltered, the beaches — when not covered in kelp, are generally filled with waders, oyster catchers, terns and gulls feeding themselves stupid.

Olifantsbospunt is an extraordinary place. Again, I tend to associate it with too many visitors but, hey, it's large enough to allow ten or twelve people explore it to their hearts' content without damping the spirit of an unspoilt day. I'd recommend it to any visitor with several hours to spare.

And, yes, bar the propensity of rocks to become slippery when wet, it makes for an easy, safe, take-as-long-as-you-like amble.

Cape Point: Brightwater ...

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Make no mistake ... Cape Point is my favourite space but, for some reason, Gifkommetjie and Brightwater don't feature.

I do know why, but it's sort of antithetical to social networking tools to spell it out. There's no getting out of it, I guess, so the reason I don't bound down to Brightwater and its long, pristine stretches of powdery sand, curious rock formations and river mouths whenever I hit the Point is ... Other People. They live there. Well, they have houses there.

I've seen them. I was sleeping on a rock one day, woke up, and stood up to relieve myself. A guy with a large stomach and his wife were pulling their kids through the water in a disposable, inflatable boat of sorts. They were no more than a hundred metres away. I snapped off a couple of shots and got the hell out of there.

These days you never know — they might have been armed.

Besides, it's illegal. These Other People supposedly own the place and a sign to that effect, promising arrest and persecution should one tread their hallowed ground, is allegedly placed in a point of prominence at the point, i.e. the Hoek van Bobbejaan. I wouldn't know ... I studiously avoid such signs. Were I to seek them out, I shudder to think of the multiplicity of crimes and punishments to which I'd subject myself. Were I of such a nature, I'd probably also stick to well-trodden paths and couldn't imagine anything more boring.

Cape Point caters to people like me. There's a lot of land and any number of prohibitive signs would get lost there. Your path is your own and you either make it or you don't.


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It's easy to make a path at Brightwater; the beach stretches to forever on all sides, shading Noordhoek at every turn. Leading to Olifantsbospunt and bay, the endless expanse — painfully cold in winter and furnace-hot in summer, is broken by a series of small outcrops of rock forming inlets of cliched Cerulean calm. And then, dominating all — though you'd not see them until several huudred metres away, the houses in which the Other People reside. When they feel like it.

There are no more than four or five of them supplemented by large, built braai areas and a boatshed but, man, are they an eyesore! Decorated in a blend of Belville-Khayalitsha chic, their names — dutifully plastered to the walls on driftwood or ceramic blobs, are so banal as to be immediately repressed, and their exteriors, evoking the apartheid-era suburban architecture of the mid-70s, mar the landscape.

I imagine the great Tretchikoff came here — for inspiration. It's beautiful; in its own way.

It is a beautiful place; marred by buildings, people and other ugly things. And it's illegal to go there. So let's get out of here and head to Olifantsbosbaai and Cape Point as we know and like it.

Note: In the picture at top, the beach is disturbed by myriad footprints. I assure you they weren't caused by the Other People. Ostriches and other birds, especially Ibis, gulls, assorted waders, and the now-ubiquitous Egyptian geese and crows wander these shores. This particular stretch had seen a convocation of cormorants.

Cape Point: Winter's landfall ...

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Winter makes landfall sometime today when a second front collides with the Cape — accompanied by high winds, seas, and plenty of rain.

Cape Point's good for a visit in such weather; this particular cloud moving in from Gifkommetjie over Smitswinkelvlakte was easily dodged and, from the ring road turn-off, could be photographed heading overland and out towards False Bay. It's that kind of place; shelter is never far away, be it a car, cave, overhang or thicket.


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Sunday might see the swell wrapping around the point and a good 10-15 foot wave might be on the cards. Unless, of course, all's undone by the expected gale-force winds ...

Cape Point: Gifkommetjie ...

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A dead shark, a brooding panorama. A desolate landscape, a baboon's skull. A rusted wreck and a hazy, rock-littered, guano-splattered headland. These are pictures I have of Gifkommetjie, a walk I thoroughly enjoy.

From the parking area, you can head down to the beach or take the path leading along Kleinkommetjie ridge to Die Hoek van Bobbejaan and what remains of the wreck of the Phyllisia. The ridge is the best way to go, delivering awesome views of both the bay and of the pristine stretch of coast leading to Brightwater further north.

Alternatively, you can walk up from Platboom or down from Olifantsbos.

It's a beautiful place, but it's not photogenic. Perhaps the snakes got to me? I don't know. Perhaps the mountains of rotting kelp bulldozed onto the rocks by the remorseless sea put me off it? The thorns, the unfriendly birds, or the brutal barricades of milkwood capable of turning a path to a leopard crawl through hell?

Who knows? Fishermen love the place and so do I. I'm just keen to get past it and Brightwater — a blinding beach supposedly privately owned, and head towards Olifantsbos, a really awesome stretch of coast along which I've walked many, many miles.

And further afield — we've a long way to go. I've been avoiding blogging Gifkommetjie a while now — I've felt my view of it to be jaundiced and haven't wanted to spoil it for others.

Gif translates to poison and a kom, or its diminutive, kommetjie, is a Dutch word meaning bowl. It's use — to describe bays and lagoons around the Cape Peninsula, is notable.

So yes, forget the pics. And the bowl of poison. The image above is of Kommetjie Peak from Die Hoek van Bobbejaan (The Baboon's Corner), a place of sun, sea and solitude.

It's just not photogenic ...

Good Reasons to visit Cape Point ...

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It's not as if I need a reason to spend the day at Cape Point but, having done so yesterday, I thought I'd give others a couple to do so — despite an imperfect horizon.


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Click through each panorama — they're each about 0.5MB — to a sunrise of your own ...

Cape Point: Platboom ...

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A deceptively easy amble along Neptune's Diary and Pegram's Point from the Cape of Good Hope, the first stop on the Western side of Cape Point is an enigma. Renowned for its dunes — visible from the Cape, it offers far more; best captured in slightly surrealistic or impressionistic tones. Facing onto the Atlantic and subject to winter's worst, Platboom is a place of contemplation and solitude best visited when foul weather is matched by a good mood ...


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Across the dunes, which apparently 'feed' those of Hout Bay and are home to ostrich and buck, the coast meanders past a prime surf break, minor inlets and bays to Gifkommetjie. It's one of those few spots you can spend a couple of hours or the whole day and leave satisfied at having visited or experienced it.

An appropriately dissheviled memorial erected at the surf break by Bobcat reads:

Dedicated to those who loved the sea and shared the joy and rhythm of its breaking waves. May you all be swimming with dolphins and mermaids as well as riding epic tubular swells: Keith Cottrell • Reney Rogers • Alex Macum • Simon Dickinson • Deano Pneumatikatos • John Willis • Nic Voster • Kevin Munnik • Schalck Burger • Kevin Dennett • Andrew Grendon • Martin Cornish • Jacque van Heerden • Kenny Liston • John Hawkins • Greg Berzelman • Clinton Bradfield • Patrick Sparg • David Bornman • Glen Haytiead • Tony v/d Heuvel • Justin Thomas • John Whitmore • Greg Wright • Bruce Cordy • Matthew Hough • Jason de Lange • Wallace Smith • Wayne Castle • Mom • Dad • Sister • RIP

Platboom is one of those places; to remember or not forget.

Cape Point: the Farmer's Cliffs ...

From Smitswinkelbaai lookout: click to enlarge ...

I've been avoiding the Farmers Cliffs, a walk running 5 km and three hours from the Smitswnkelbaai lookout across the hills to Bordjiesrif. I've always used the trail as a convenient lookout from which to plot assaults on The Coves 300 meters below.

Having had a damned good walk Friday at Good Hope, I decided to put the cliffs behind me Monday morning. A three-hour, one-way gig, you need the accoutrements of a dedicated hiker to do this one alone, i.e. there's nobody on t'other side to pick you up so you walk there and you walk back.

It's suited to those with jellybean shoes, a pair of pogo sticks and a set of convertible subordinated gym debentures. I've nothing against hikers, by the way. It's just that you tend to find the inappropriately dressed ‘walkers’ — rather than the ruddy, energetic-looking ‘hikers’, poking sticks into interesting places, e.g. snake and spider holes, or trying to see how far they can manage to edge along a ledge.

It’s a cultural thing. Walking, that is …


De Boer: click to enlarge ...

You walk the Farmer's Cliffs along a path very different to those crisscrossing the rest of the reserve. My old Cats are suited to rock hopping, the sea, sand, and slime. The soles have thinned (in fact, the one needs some glue) and, being flat-footed, I've worn arches since my feet collapsed while in the navy some years back.

Running in combat boots was not my idea of good, clean fun twenty ... nay, thirty and then some years ago. It did me little good then and it came back to haunt me Monday.

In one way, the walk reminded me of the military. It lacked any variation but up, down, or straight ahead. The pictures tell the tale, don't they? Also, I was hammering my right sole — subject to a quirky prosthetic bump, into gazillions of bloody stones. On a decent, rock-littered shore, you tend to use the balls of your feet, jumping this way or that.

On this path, it's thump, thump, thump ... Anyway, my foot's now bruised.


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The reward? Precious little if you ask me or, if you ask a bunch of hikers, a serene and mindless doddle through the park.

But not all is lost. If you stick to the beaten track, the Farmer's Cliffs, which traverse Judas Peak, the three hillocks comprising De Boer, and the pointed Paulsberg do offer reward. You merely need to work for it. Past visits tell me there are a couple of interesting detours ...

I knew this before heading out to watch the sun come up on my favoured piece of turf. To spice up the walk somewhat, I decided to visit the beacon atop Paulsberg — the lofty peak with a slightly cleft chin. You can, on Google Earth, make out a path leading up to the peak from the Kanonkop side. But it appears to end halfway.

I thought "To hell with it, I'll find my own way."

Which is easy enough. And which, when summited, offers abundant, rich, bounteous reward for what is a pretty boring stroll. From Paulsberg Peak, Cape Point Nature Reserve, the Cape Peninsula, and the Indian and Atlantic Oceans surround and immerse you.

Moreover, given that few seem to head up there, it's a singularly quiet and unspoilt patch of Heaven. I had things to do later in the day, so any reverie into which I might have slipped was scotched. But I did spend time sucking in the view and the supremely fresh south Atlantic air blowing in on a gale-force breeze.

Most people venturing along the Farmer's Cliffs do so in a group and leave one car at the end of the path, reducing it to a three-hour stroll. If you're hopelessly unfit, make that four.

I headed back the way I'd come. Somehow, spending quality time atop the peak made the return walk extremely pleasurable, an undulating amble along the folds and creases of places, events and spaces before time. Reaching the lookout again, I adjudged the cliff-top stroll an extremely pleasant walk.

There are shorter routes to Paulsberg. And all are safe. You can walk up from Bordjiesrif or the Buffelsfontein Visitors Centre or you can head out over the marshes, a wonderful walk of hidden surprises which, with its mud, flora and fauna, is more to my liking.

Or you can just head for the coast ...

Cape Point: Cape of Good Hope

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When Bartholomew Dias visited the Point on his return from the Eastern Cape in 1488, he ran into a typically blustery Cape Town day. The south-easter was howling. Having failed in his bid to reach India, Cape Point was to Dias the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

"Cabo das Tormentas!" he swore, surveying the roiling sea beneath the towering cliffs. Nevertheless, a consummate sailor, businessman and politician to boot, he landed and erected a padrao at Buffelsfontein proclaiming the land to be forever a Portuguese convenience store on the corner of Africa.

It was this claim to a new corner store with access to low-cost wholesalers in India and grey goods further afield that made Dias's boss, King John II, change the name to Cabo da Boa Esperança, a far more convoluted and difficult-to-pronounce name, now simply and misleadingly translated to Cape of Good Hope.

King John II, like most CEOs and presidents, was out of touch with reality. If he'd followed any of our sporting teams, watched our politicians at play, invested in our economy, bought local property, lived here or taken a bus tour he'd have stuck with Dias's original name which, contrary to popular belief and in keeping with Occam's Razor, means Cape of Torment — the Cape of Storms thing was a National Party cover up.

Ultimately though, Dias was proved correct and, appropriately for Easter, the Cape of Good Hope proved his final torment and he is today only resurrected in blog entries such as this one. Wikipedia tells us that, in 1500, "...Dias was a captain in Pedro Alvarez Cabral's fleet voyaging to India around the Cape. Near the end of May, the fleet encountered a huge storm off the Cape, and four ships, including Dias', were lost with all hands."

Here's a picture taken from the quarterdeck of the NRP Alvares Cabral. It's a frigate and that gun at left can rattle off 4,500 200 mm rounds a minute. You wouldn't think such ships would turn turtle in a hurry or a Cape storm. For that matter, I didn't know they had such ships back then.

For Dias though, Cape Town was indeed the end of the road. Not that our occasionally foul weather is without its rewards, of course ...


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Many visitors to the Cape of Good Hope never reach it. It appears something of a tradition among tourist groups that a race to be the first photographed behind the sign marking the most south-western point of the African continent suffices.

Who the hell wants to climb stairs to a view site anyway?

Some do and the reward is ... erm, rewarding. However, there are more spectacular views even the most enthusiastic explorers are unlikely to see — due mainly to the vagaries of the sea. On entering the dark cove separating Cape of Good Hope from Cape Maclear, the stench of wet cormorant guano covering beds of kelp is likely to deter all but the foolhardy — an adjective I've yet to eschew or deny. The sheer, dank walls dripping with moss and plant life rise more than 200 feet on three sides — surrounding and intimidating you as your eyes clear and make out the caves leading into the far walls. Two enter at the corners at ground level and another about twenty feet up.

This place is awesome. Nobody comes here and, given the tidal nature of its entrance, for good reason. Trapped, there is no way out and drowning is certain. At the narrow side entrance allowed by an extremely low tide, the massive cavern undermining Cape Maclear becomes evident. It roars, booms and bores into the hillside along a narrow wall of rock into which, appropriately, is worn a map of Africa inverted.

I guess Dias, seeing it, knew he had arrived.

The Cape of Good Hope has its history and its geographic significance. The weather can be everything it's purported to be and the view of Cape Point, a short walk away, is particularly stunning before dawn.

But, if you enjoy spending your time with cormorants, it's a place without peer.

Many of the sites visited in this blog are not suited to walking without a guide or local. They are dangerous and should be avoided. However, visiting Cape Point without being aware of the extent of its natural beauty seems pretty pointless to me. And somebody has to do this stuff ...

Cape Point: Batsata Cove

Batsata Cove: Click to enlarge ...

I've not been to Batsata Cove ... I think.

I can say with assurance I've not wandered around Batsata Cove. Perhaps, overlooking it from a guano-covered and gull and cormorant-infested cavern some fifty feet above the large rock guarding it counts as a visit. Perhaps it's as close as I'll get.

So what? The myriad expeditions I've mounted, all focused on exploring the caves and caverns of the area, have been well worth the effort.

Batsata Cove's one of those places other people — usually older people, say they visited thirty years ago. I know the speleological society climbed down there a few years back because they reported it and remain my only source of information on it. Approachable only from the sea or the mountain, it's not a walker's destination.

The path — such as it is or was — which drops down between Judas Peak and De Boer is definitely not a doddle.


Batsata Cove: Click to enlarge ...

The other path — which doesn't exist and should therefore not be tried, drops down as a cleft in the face of De Boer. It might be suited to members of the Mountain Club, but it sure ain't for walking. Wendy and I tried it just over a year ago and she still wakes up at night — screaming.

We got out at 19:00, but it was only the second time I've thought of helicopters. On the first occasion, I was elsewhere.

We'll revisit that little tale of terror and stupidity at some later date ...

The nut of it is that, much as I'd like to walk to Batsata Cove, I can't. And, because I've tried just about every approach, you probably can't either. At least I've got to within spitting distance of it. A beautiful place, it makes for stunning photographs.

But you'll have to make do with these ...

Walk rating: Impossible — and dangerous to boot.

Cape Point: The Coves ...

The Coves: Click to enlarge ...

Redolent of every sea novel you've read, The Coves evoke works as diverse as Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped and William Golding's Rites of Passage. Pirates, poachers, smugglers, mountains, wrecks, coves, peaks, caves and sea conditions conducive to every mood meld to shape an ever-fascinating, devastatingly dangerous coast.

I'm not kidding. Based on a visit yesterday, don't walk north of Venus Pool. Winter and summer have pooled forces to ensure the path is little more than a desperate tragedy awaiting an unsuspecting, solitary walker. I visited the Visitor's Centre, reported the trail's condition and was told I could e-mail my concerns to the ranger in charge of Cape Point.

I left wondering whether a fire is similarly reported.

If you negotiate the rim of the third 'beach' from Venus Pool, your next challenge is Christinasgang — blogged last week. Don't go there. Having worked a decidedly dodgy course around the island, you'll find a hole in a spot you'd least expect it. A bush, grown lush through summer, covers the edge of the cavern roof as effectively as any camouflage. And that'll be the end of you. Broken legs, excrutiating pain, and an incoming tide.

Nobody deserves that ...


The Coves: Click to enlarge ...

I know the place extremely well, but I still get nervous walking there. Everything about it is far larger and immeasurably further than it appears to be. Before reaching two coves that mirror each other and give The Coves its name, i.e. both, split by a peninsula, have a tunnel to the one side and a cave to the other, you'll walk a stretch bearing testimony to the ages. Rocks of every hue, type, shape and size continue to crash like meteorites from the high hills above and their jagged, crystalline remains — immense and minute, if not moulded to smooth contours by the sea, colour the coast as vividly as would any floral profusion.

You'll pass myriad boats being towed to Millers Point and Buffels Bay along the Simonstown road if you set out for the Point before sunrise. And as day breaks with blinding clarity across the silvered sea, an armada of vessels throbs and roars its way towards the Cape and beyond. It takes me ninety minutes to walk to The Coves and the last stop on this particular route, Kelp Cove — about two or three inlets away from Batsata Cove and the brutal cliffs plummeting with seemingly evil intent to the sea from Judas Peak.

Suddenly you're there. The boats have long gone and you're alone. Isolated and unreachable. It's a powerful, awe-inspiring and humbling feeling. It's one which, if lived with for a day, leaves you feeling there's far more and less to all this than we're able to comprehend. And, like a drug, that feeling keeps you coming back for more. There is no time or space or Other out here. But, hey, if you put a foot wrong ...

I've been trying to reach Batsata Cove for two years and have launched several assaults on it to no avail. Yesterday, I figured out the reason. As I turned to leave the impassable Kelp Cove and return to The Coves and their caves, I glimpsed something at the base of the cliffs high on the slopes. Snapping off a shot, I later discovered I'd captured a picture of a doorway into the mountain. That particular hill, a final fold in De Boer, is an alien portal peopled by the Giant Flying Lizards that run our world from their bases beneath our international airports.

I kid you not. Have a look at the evidence and make up your own mind.

This particular gateway — the force field of which has resisted my approaches, must be the entrance to their Cape Town base. I assume a subterranean skyway runs from the Southern Tip to Cape Town International from where they link with their headquarters beneath Denver International. Well, it's Denver or San Diego or one of them. David Icke knows all about it. Read his books.

And all this time I've been taking these strange beings to be tourists. Who woulda thunk otherwise?

As good as it gets, a walk to The Coves is tiring. A return to the insanity of the city is inevitable and, I guess, beneficial. Besides, I know what's out there and it's all good.

Even Visitors are welcome.

Were you to enlarge by three times the picture of Batsata Cove to which I've linked, you'd just be able to discern two people in a rubber duck tied up to the rocks south of the cove. They're invisible at this resolution — showing something of the scale of the place. Quite what they're doing there, I've no idea but, as it's a marine reserve, I doubt they're minding the law.

Walk rating: About ninety minutes from the car park at Booi se Skerm, this walk is extremely dangerous. Please do NOT attempt it.

Cape Point: Christinasgang ...

Christinasgang: Click to enlarge

Moving from Venus Pool to beneath the weathered summits of Paulsberg, De Boer, and Judas Peak, sheer cliffs plummet to impenetrable fynbos covering steep slopes created by time and the ocean's foul moods. It's a harsh and fractured coast marked by jagged, broken coves, boulder-strewn beaches, and ominously deep caves and caverns. Walking its uncharted, wave-lashed shore, the line separating the Devil from the deep blue sea is frequently indiscernible. Hidden drops, loose scree, and tricky rock faces ensure each step is chosen with care.

I love it. In winter, under a dark sky, it's Paradise.

The coastline, which can be traversed in a couple of hours by walking the Farmers Cliffs far above, stretches from Venus Pool to the far edge of Judas Peak, which rears from the sea by way of an unclimbable cliff. Walking beneath Judas Peak's not on this or any other route so, for now, we'll head towards Batsata Cove, a mysterious maze of caverns, cliffs and cormorants gouged from the rock.

We'll do it in two parts. I'm rather partial to this walk, so am loath to share it. Today, we head for Christinasgang — or the cove I know as Christinasgang.


Christinasgang: Click to enlarge

The walk looks deceptively simple, a simplicity exemplified and belied by my picture of it. It was only when resizing the image to upload it to Zoopy that I realised my three walking companions for the day were in the shot. Hell, I still find it difficult to spot them. If you can, remember that the coast behind them is foreshortened by the lens and even Christinasgang is a long way off — 20 minutes or so, if you're walking there for the first time.

Take care when rounding the headlands of the first two coves and, unless you're really into rock hopping, I'd suggest you walk around the second cove — despite there no longer being a path. Walking becomes an exercise in measured steps along the lip of the fynbos-covered rocks circling the immense rounded boulders tossed up by the sea. Use a stick or hold on to the fynbos if you feel the need to do so. Even a ten-foot fall could spell disaster and, should you suffer vertigo, idle the day away at the second cove.

Approaching Christinasgang, you'll notice the path turning sharply towards the cliffs and an immense rock or island of sorts guards the mouth of a cavern.

It's this path that led me to posting only these pictures. When first we walked it, I noticed that were I to put my foot down, it would take me through the grass to the rocks some twenty or thirty feet below. There was nothing there. The bulk of the island wedged into the cove, some ten metres away, provided cold comfort. We considered the route, beat the fynbos flat around the path and took a detour of about a metre.

That's when S. noticed the spider web and just about went over the edge. We calmed her down, continued, and having crossed the roof of the cavern beneath us, rounded the bend before bounding out onto the headland beyond.

I could string superlatives together, but they'd not do justice to the place. Let's just say it's a beautiful spot.

Given a spring low, you can climb down into Christinasgang and up on to the massive rock jealously guarding it. Otherwise, oil and diesel residue and incredibly slippery rocks make it a hazardous and foolhardy exercise. Not many people go there and, listing every piece of plastic or glass junk known to man, the cavern beneath the cliffs is a beachcomber's treasure trove.

Looking out past the island is awesome. The close, humid air of the cave and the sound of the sea merge to an air of timelessness. This is how it was, is, and will remain. It's quintessentially Cape Point and there's no other place like it.

In the snap taken from the Farmers Cliffs — wherein the path disappears under the rock at the bend, you can see the trail heading north towards The Coves.

Next time ...

Walk rating: About 45 minutes from the car park at Booi se Skerm, this walk is dangerous: Do not attempt it without a local or guide to show you the way.

Cape Point: Venus Pool ...

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The gated, tarred road leading from Booi se Skerm to Venus Pool has become increasingly overgrown over the past few years. I like it that way. Fewer people wander down to the inappropriately named natural tidal pool on the rocks under Paulsberg. It's not that I mind families making full use of an ideal picnic spot and natural wonderland at the risk of perhaps a slip on a rock or a dousing by the sea. Venus Pool's easy access worries me because it forms the gateway to the The Coves, a treacherous walk along the coast and one of Cape Point's most compelling attractions. Despite my deeply ambivalent feelings for this stretch, I want it for myself ...

For now though...

...from Booi se Skerm the land climbs to the mountains along a rocky coast covered by marshland, pools, thick grasses and a few remaining thickets of the forest that once covered the area. It's a stunning coast, along which you can easily spend a day exploring nooks, crannies, weird rock formations, anemones, limpet shells, kelp forests, and any number of sealife forms. Towards Venus Pool and deeper beneath the immense shadow cast by Paulsberg's sheer and craggy face, The Cauldron, a small, block-shaped cutaway from the coast roils and thunders, throwing huge plumes of spray high above any onlooker wise enough to be aware of where the spray might fall.

The Cauldron is symptomatic of my frustration with this coast. It's position, rocks, and topography militate against easy point-and-click photography. I've very few pictures of the place and fewer that I like. The Cauldron's impossible to photograph in a manner that does justice to its raw violence. Facing seawards, it's all but invisible and a camera cannot capture the height of the waves flung to the gulls and terns wheeling and cawing overhead. Side on, getting close to it when the swell booms in is nigh on impossible but, if you do, catching the dark coast plays havoc with any light setting. The mountains too, i.e. Paulsberg, De Boer and Judas Peak usually have the sun above or to their right and throw sharp, unyielding contrasts.

I've considered dropping in at the visitor's centre at Buffelsfontein to suggest the place be painted a more camera-friendly colour, but so far I've desisted. And so it remains a challenge.

The tarred road — a ten-minute amble, ends in a parking area hammered by a storm in September 2008. The steps leading down to Venus Pool have broken away and nature's reclaimed her domain. Best during an incoming tide — when aquamarine swells smash the ledges and launch themselves landwards, the dark, constantly washed rock slabs are ideally situated for an experienced eye to assess the coast stretching to Judas Peak and Batsata Rock. They're also ideal for fishing and mark the start of a protected zone.

Any assessment of an extended walk is likely to underestimate its difficulty. Cliffs, coves, crags, boulder-strewn beaches and sheer drops meld and merge to an illusory conformity from Venus Pool to Judas Peak and, while a visit to the former's two neighbouring coves might be feasible, walking any further demands extreme caution and a guide.

We'll head down that way shortly but, for now, Venus Pool. Surely somebody can come up with a better or more descriptive name. "The Slabs"? "Surrender all hope ..."?

Love was surely never as unforgiving.

Cape Point: Local Colour

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I was down at the Point for sunrise this morning and, though the light was lousy, played with colours. More, with a panorama here and an HDR there — they're about 800 KB each, a few hours under the cliffs showed a point-and-click can do pretty much anything normally attributed to a digital SLR.

Not that that makes me feel any better ...

Although only 45 minutes' walk from the top, the caves are usually inaccessible. Do not try to visit them unaccompanied by a local or guide. In all likelihood, you'll find yourself caught between Dias Point, Cape Point and a rising tide, sheer cliffs at your back, and nowhere to hide. The sea is alarmingly powerful and often deadly.

Places Beginning with "B" ...

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From Buffels Bay, we head north across a scrubby, rocky beach littered with dried kelp, a couple of large, featureless dunes, a cross commemorating Vasco Da Gama — the fat cat and sometime sailor who gave the Cape its name, and an abundance of unremarkable undergrowth.

Why my apparent distaste for this particular place? Its delights are documented well enough below, but the main reasons for my lack of enthusiasm are the peaks towering over False Bay. From the sea, they form a vertiginous barrier to any thought of landing but, from experience, I know the coastal strip running along their base as one of the most challenging, rewarding, and dangerous walks in the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve.

But we'll get there. For now, we leave Buffels Bay and the visitors centre at Busffelsfontein, head off to further braai spots at Bordjiesrif, some of the Cape's most amazing surf at Black Rocks, and investigate the lime kiln under Paulsberg at Booi se Skerm. With a detour to Kanonkop to take in the view.

And because we've not many photos to look at, we might as well glance back in time to the original lighthouse at Cape Point — in 1860. Looks kinda different, eh?

Dunes, rocks and sandy beaches in a picturesque setting combine to make Buffels Bay a popular recreational area. ... Reserve management policy demands that recreation which is not strictly compatible with conservation, but allows for an acceptable diversity of utilisation by visitors, should be focused on a small number of appropriate sites. This minimises the need for disturbance and development in the rest of the reserve. Thus we have parking areas, rolling lawns, a tidal swimming pool, braai places and ablution blocks at the bay. Although inevitably detracting from the natural qualities of the reserve, such facilities are essential to cater for a broad spectrum of demands from visitors. Carefully planned and controlled, the infrastructure need not necessarily introduce suburbia into the wilderness. Very busy over the summer holiday season, Buffels Bay is all but deserted for the rest of the year. This is a lovely spot, and it is easy to see why it is so popular with the picnickers and paddlers. Present day visitors are not the first to appreciate the area — it has a long history of human occupation and utilisation, from vegetable farming to whaling. Today's users are, hopefully, more sensitive than their predecessors. As recently as the 1960s a fishing encampment was installed amongst the dunes. The domestic refuse emanating from this informal settlement has been largely removed, but a variety of material still surfaces from time to time. Chop bones and sea shells reflect the preferred diet of these latter-day strandlopers, an abundance of beer bottles their liquid leanings.

A second relatively intensively developed area not far away is Bordjiesrif. Again, the swimming pool and picnic spots are very busy in the summer, particularly over Christmas and New Year. At other times, there is little but the gulls to disturb the tranquillity of the boulder beaches and beckoning beds of kelp.

Further along the False Bay coast, the road runs along the foot of the hills and limestone outcrops to Booi se Skerm. We are told that years ago this was a veritable woodland of coastal shrubs and trees. A few remain, including an important relict patch of kloof forest, but most were chopped down to provide fuel for the local limekiln. Recently restored, this sits with a certain robust dignity under the outcrops which supplied its raison d'etre. The small caves in the cliffs are known as Booi se Skerm, or 'Booi's Shelter'. This stretch of coast loses the sun quite early, being almost oppressively overshadowed by the mountains, but, whoever Booi was, he and previous occupants (who may date back thousands of years) f the caves chose a retreat which affords the finest views of False Bay and the mountains beyond and received the warming sun first thing in the morning.

Michael Fraser and Liz McMahon | Between Two Shores

I'd recommend this book for its content, but not for its writing. The author uses "utilise" twice in the first paragraph, inserts “hopefully”, describes the place as "lovely", and speaks of "beckoning beds of kelp".

Urk! Let's get to the picture show ...

Cape Point: Buffels Bay ...

From Antoniesgat, a short stroll north along the Meadows under Matrooskop brings you to Buffels Bay and the Suikerbrood tidal pool. Cape Point's only easily accessible beach and close to ablution facilities and the Buffelsfontein visitors' centre, Buffels Bay is not my favourite place.

It's full of people and, where you find people and baboons interacting, people generally misbehave.

Tour operators and tourists caught baiting baboons so they can take pictures of them will be criminally charged, the City of Cape Town said on Monday.

"Any tour operator caught doing so can be charged under national conservation legislation," said the city's executive director for the environment Piet van Zyl in a statement.

"We appeal to the public to exercise extreme caution in interacting with baboons. Under no circumstances should they ever feed the animals and should they do so, they can be similarly (sic) charged," he said.

He was responding to newspaper reports according to which tour operators were throwing food onto the roadside to attract baboons for their clients to photograph.

Along with bontebok and ostrich, you'll find a troop of Chacma baboons at Buffels Bay. A sociable and polite bunch (the baboons — ostriches have no social skills), they give the lie to the signs littering Cape Point, i.e. 'Baboons are dangerous'.

Our local primates can be dangerous when indulging habits taught them by humans, e.g. mugging walkers or hijacking cars. A couple of years’ ago I had a bottle of Coke ripped off me from behind and, more recently, watched as two women, enjoying tea on the beach, had their little niceties spread across the South Peninsula.

But I love the buggers, their two-inch canines and bark that separates you from your skin when ambling along some ostensibly deserted ridge or plain. Given due respect — in short, treat them as you'd be treated — baboons make for damned fine company.

If you can get down to Buffels Bay early or on a weekday, you'll probably find it deserted. With braai facilities stretching back to The Meadows, it's an ideal spot to kick back, watch the sea, and burn some meat. Just keep a wary eye on those baboons — or they'll be the ones eating it.

Cape Point: Antoniesgat ...

I've spent much time at Antoniesgat; not because its history is still being written, revised and embellished, but because it's a remarkably beautiful, rugged, and isolated spot. Reached from the Rookrantz parking area (heading north) or Buffels Bay (heading south), it comprises the start of the orange and red sea cliffs leading to Da Gama Peak and Cape Point. Both approaches from the main path are marked as being dangerous, but knowledge of the area makes them less so.

The stories surrounding Antoniesgat originate in Dutch colonial history, eighteenth-century slavery, and the nearby Simon's Town Muslim community. In 2007, Martin Weltz's noseweek turned its investigative reportage to the War of the Red Kitaab.

"She was born Juleigha Anthony, a daughter of what she claims is the oldest Muslim family in Simon's Town. She says her granny used to tell a spook story involving a slave ancestor named Antonie, brought to Simon's Town in chains by the Dutch and locked in a dungeon. According to legend, Antonie escaped, stole a boat and sailed away to Cape Point, where he took refuge in a cave. The Dutch could never catch him, because he was a Sufi mystic who could make himself invisible. As a child, she was taken to his hideout, which the family called Antoniesgat. Powerful spirits seemed to lurk nearby ...”

"Circa 2001, Juleigha met Ebrahiem for the first time. Prior to this, Ebrahiem had never heard of Antonie, but he liked the story, especially the bit about escaping from Dreaded Slave Dungeons. He put two and two together and decided that Antonie and Prince Ismail of Sumbawa were probably the same person. His grounds for this are somewhat shaky. We do not know that Antonie really existed, and Prince Ismail is also shrouded in mystery. Ebrahiem says the oral history of Sumbawa mentions such a man but his name does not appear in the records of the Dutch East India Company, which is odd. The Dutch usually made quite a fuss of royal exiles, providing a stipend that enabled them to maintain a dignified lifestyle.

But Ebrahiem was not concerned about the lack of corroboration, because the oral histories of oppressed people are just as valid as records kept by imperialists, not so?"

more ...

 

No matter how intricately woven the colourful web of suppositions surrounding Antoniesgat may become, nothing can detract from its unspoilt natural beauty and isolation. In this last sense, it is indeed a "spiritual" place.

Rooikrans II

Bowed by the ages and shaped to an amphitheatre facing the sun, the third and lowest ledge at Rooikrans (or Rooikrantz) is all but inaccessible. Aeons are bared in the multicoloured rock strata looming above a stage featuring an age-old rockfall and a lavatory offering an extraordinary view.

One of Cape Point's most visible landmarks, Lavatory Ledge is frequently photographed but seldom visited.


Whereas a walk at Rooikrans generally comprises meandering down through the strata marking time's slow passage across the foot of Africa, the three main sea-level fishing ledges are sheared, separated from each other by steep, tricky rock faces.

The steps to the lowest ledge start at the highest by way of a fifteen-foot wall scaled at the risk of a fall to the unforgiving rock of the middle ledge below. The wall has adequate foot and handholds, but you need to be shown them by an experienced fisherman. If you've no head for heights, don't try it.

A fall will almost certainly mean broken bones, a costly helicopter evacuation, and other people putting their lives in danger to pluck you from the cliff face.

Dropping from the middle to the lower ledge would be more tricky were it not for a handily placed rope that allows you to climb down and under the middle ledge, allowing for an easy drop on to Lavatory ledge.

Deserted, it's an awesome place. Aware of its visibility from further along the coast or across False Bay, its solitude is tangible. At low tide, it’s possible to explore the mussel beds, rocks and pools beneath the shade-giving ledge.

The toilet? I don't know, but I suspect bored fishermen of yesteryear. Bringing it, the piping, and suitable rocks in by boat should have been no problem. The joy — laced with brandy, Coke, fish and much laughter, must have been in its building rather than any relief it afforded.

Fittingly, the lavatory is not visible from any point away from the ledge and, if that proves anything, it's that the devil is always in the detail.