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 …


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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 ...