Klapperbos

I brought it back from Gamkaskloof.

Die Hel is a mystical place deep in the heart of the Klein Karoo, where we once laid down to sleep under the stars. We heard many interesting stories of isolated families, dodgy communities and their questionable relationships. The lady we encountered at the gatehouse shared many intriguing stories of how the original families arrived in this ‘hel’ hole. A true South African folklore was developing in this hidden, lush green valley. Traversing mountainous terrain, creating industry, selling their goods which they painstakingly produced and carried on their backs to the rest of the country, was the essence of the people we learned of. An isolated people with a rich history which goes 'untold', existed here for generations.

This small shrub has now finally revealed its fruits to me. For the first time since 2007, when I planted it in my courtyard garden, it produced a beautiful bell shaped flower. Pinkish, with bright yellow stamen discreetly appeared towards the beginning of February this year. There are now two capsules, resembling chinese lanterns, hanging from one branch. A glimmer of red shining through a delicate, thin greenish white wall. A fruit inside is waiting to be enjoyed by the first visiting bird.
In my garden grows a Chinese lantern, also known as the Klapperbos.

It is heart warming to finally see a fruit on this tree because even though I was told its name, I was never really sure because the information we received from that lady was always taken with a pinch of salt. Now I am convinced. She knew what she was talking about. If you’ve never seen the Klapperbos, come have a look. It’s truly amazing to know that my little garden can provide the necessary climate and soil conditions needed for this tree which we’ve carted to the Western Cape all the way from the Karoo.

Balckie

The lure and the lore of fishing

Fishing is one of those things, a kind of nothing activity which can absorb one and in which one can get totally immersed, a kind of dream world where one can really relax and be a child again, like that intro to the movies, what is it, 'Dreamworks?', where this boy sits on a sickle moon and flips a hook into this dreamy pool of water - I think they got it exactly right. Like the movies, fishing is a dream. It can be boring a lot of the time, but, like a wet dream, it has its moments!

Once, during the winter, I went down to the 'Krantz, not to fish, just to take a walk for old times sake, there are no fish there in the winter (except snoek once in a while). I spent some time there just reminiscing, and when I eventually decided to leave, it was like in one of those movies, I mean as I was walking away I heard all this laughter and all these voices from all those guys I used to fish with who are no longer with us, no longer in the land of the living. There's Richard Britow, who died the first week I went to work up north in Lime Acres, Michael Hart, the tunny boat skipper, Mike Stott (there's a photograph of Mike in that book, 'Strike', with an 800 lb bluefin tuna caught inside False Bay, when Mike was still young and strong), Dennis McSweeny, Rudi Raath, Professor Jeff Hansford, Julius Marshall senior (I believe he once-upon-a-time was in the starting lineup for the Hungarian international football team!), Marshall junior, I hear, like Humpty Dumpty, had a great fall from the slope at the 'Krantz and was dead on impact when he hit the rocks below, head first, and various other guys whose names I thought I had forgotten but which Steve Champion reminded me of when he mentioned them.

Now I got myself all tackled up again, although, I must say, this time it's mostly for Joshua's sake. I have been down to the 'Krantz six times, three times with Joshua (he has  apparently been temporarily grounded for some teenage misdemeanour). Down at the 'Krantz nothing has changed, as I said to Carl Nortje, the game ranger, this weekend past, it's not the place that is changing, it is us. We are changing - hopefully for the better!

To the uninitiated, in order to go fishing, all one needs is a rod and reel, right? Wrong! One needs a rod and reel and then some. There's a myriad little things to acquire that are absolutely essential to be a succesful angler - it's all coming back to me in dribs and  drabs. And shopping - for fishing tackle -  is SO much fun! I found three lekker tackle shops so far, Fred Tucker, Suburban and that place in Maitland, what's it called, The Fishing Specialist. In a tackle shop I'm as happy as a pig in...anyway, I'm at least as happy as a woman in a clothing shop! Even if I don't buy anything, just looking at tackle makes me get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside....because, as I said before, it's a dream, just a dreamy dream.

Fred Tucker, years ago, left Tent & Tarpaulin in Salt River, where he was a fishing tackle salesman, to go it alone, he started selling tackle from his garage in Plumstead, now he has a shop in Main Road, Diep River, wat skrik vir niks! The first thing you see as you enter Diep River from Plumstead side, is a sign on the sidewalk with a picture of BIG marlin jumping. Then you park and go inside and your eye immediately falls on this super-duper range of machined aluminium big-game reels, some of us can only dream about the tunny and marlin and broadbill swordfish, but there's all kinds of tackle, bass, trout, yellowtail, you name it.

Of the Lord Jesus's disciples, the 'twelve', four were professional fishermen. Some might say the four the Lord was closest to. Peter, the fishing boat skipper (I presume), He chose as the first Bishop of Rome, or Pope, or the earthly head of the Church. The other three were Andrew, John and James, a.k.a. Santiago of El Camino de Compostela fame, the very same! In those days, the days when Jesus went preaching in and around the Galilee, they fished,as they do today, from boats with a purse-seine net, as in that famous gospel story. I have often wondered if they ever fished for sport, for fun, like us, and, of course, the answer is they probably did, because fishermen generally don't fish just because it's their job, they fish because they love it (think about Michael Hart, owned two tunny boats operating out of Hout Bay, but was down at the 'Krantz, spinning for yellowtail, most days while he lived).

The house of St. Peter, the fisherman, in Capernaum, has been excavated by archaeologists in recent years.

'Among the objects found on the floor of the house church I mention two fishhooks.....' to quote from 'The Search for the Twelve Apostles' by William Steuart McBirnie. According to me, this suggests sport or recreational fishing! I bet they had a 'gooi' from time to time!

According to the Lonely Planet guide to Israel & the Palestinian territories, there are over twenty species of fish in Lake Galilee, some of which I reckon have gotta be angling species. The most famous fish is a species of Tilapia, dubbed locally the 'St. Peter's fish', which, apparently is proudly served in Israeli restaurants. Since the lake is fed by the river Jordan, I would guess flyfishing ought to work there as well. But, as we speak, there is a two year ban on fishing imposed by the Israeli government because of overfishing, which is a worldwide trend.

Down at the 'Krantz, the fishermen have invented a word. 'Gullik' or 'Gullak', pronounced 'Gull-' as in seagull and '-luck'. An adjective, it refers to a fish's keenness to chase or hit a lure. Everybody knows that around December / January the fish go off the bite, and everyone has a theory, or hypothesis for this, from 'the fish are spawning' to who knows what, but nobody knows for sure, not even the okes at the Oceanographic Research Institute, what the reason is. Personally, I think they are feeding on a species of marine life of which white metal spoons are not an imitation. Anyway, as we move away from the summer solstice, the fish are getting more gullak week by week, and on Sunday I had a good couple of chases. Any day now the fish will get turned on; the sardine run - yes, the same one that hits the Natal coastline every year, comes past Cape Point sometime in March or April, and that's what our white metal spoons (incorrectly called 'spinners' by Cape fishermen) imitate.

Pikkewyn.

There ought to be a law

On a day like this, with mercury reaching the scorching thirties in these windless streets, what happens when you wonder off into the nearby park, up the worn-out brick steps? Remnants of a previously well kept coated wire fence, sweet wrappings, rusty old padlock, cigarette butts. A giant of a tree, showing signs of wear and abuse from the weather, graffiti artist, dogs...

What is more obvious and naturally inviting is the welcoming canopy of tiny leaves that spreads it’s arms , I guess , at least eight metres from its origin, which I can only describe as a caricature of a tree trunk. One would never be able to imagine the shape, overall or specific if one were asked to create a tree trunk of this nature. It is truly a sight to behold; if you are into this kind of thing. Either way, the tree is serving as a giant umbrella and suddenly I feel a gentle breeze. This fascination of canopy providing refuge from the sun, at the same time, mesmerising, with amazing detail of branch shapes, intertwined to create even more confusion in the structures of the mind. As if this one woody protector was not enough, there are four more equally impressive canopies interconnected by the branches, like fingers from both hands, forming a solid connection overhead.
There is room enough for two bus-loads of boxing-day folks from the suburbs, to happily lounge around without having to move that picnic blanket once, through the entire day. Right now, however, it’s just me and my two rand koeksisters which is about all I need for lunch today - That washed down with a guava juice from dairy belle.

There ought to be a law against trees standing around nameless. I have a real concern, and maybe you do too, when something gives you such comfort and you can’t call it by its true name. A generic name like tree will hardly do. Yes, its bark is greyish and the leaves are small and ovate, with a singular green fruit at the end of the drooping branch. But how does that help me? There ought to be a button one can push to light up an LCD screen, scrolling off names, statistics and what-not. In this day and age do you not also expect technology attached?

On a hot day when, sitting in backed-up traffic on the N2 out of Cape Town, take a short left at Searle Street. Stop and venture into Trafalgar Park and enjoy an escape into nature right in the middle of the bustling cosmopolitan streets. Too often we wish we were somewhere else. Too often we overlook the small treasures, available and open to the public.

Balckie

Haai!

Come, bursting with energy.

The year twenty eleven is young and begging: What , where, when, why? How?
Join your fellow hiking friends and family for our first general meeting at Alexander's Universe.

Thursday, 24 February 2011.

Bring some ideas on
What to do,
Where to go,
When to rest,
why the rush?

How's that?

balckie