Boland Hike 19 to 20 March 2011

FINALLY! The day arrived when I would test myself both physically and mentally, my only constraints being the setting sun and my own willpower! (I havn’t hiked in almost 10 years!!!!)

The day started off hot! Who the heck wants or is crazy enough to hike in 39C heat! Apparently the 9 of us were. The Group of Six, one of whom I knew was nursing a serious hangover,  left at the crack of dawn, eager and ready to tackle the hike and finish before the hot sun turned them into uitgedroegde pruime. 

They completed the hike in 5 ½ hours including 2 hours of stops. Thank goodness I was getting a running commentary of their progress, while I was waiting to leave. It took away most of the apprehension and replaced it with excitement and the resolve that if they could do it, so could I!

Laden with all the maps and information which I got off the internet and could carry, our little party of 3 finally arrived at the start of the trail and set off at 15h10, which in hindsight, was an ideal time to hike in summer, if you’re reasonably fit. The first 4km of the hike was in the forest so we did not have to suffer, amongst other things, the harsh late summer sun.

Before we set off we decided to set targets for ourselves, as we had limited time in which to complete the 12km hike to Shamrock Hut.

1^st target: to be out of the forest within an hour. Thanks to Keith’s easy pace (die man het laaaannngbene) and Tania, who decided to rather watch my behind than Keith’s, we made it out of the forest in 50 minutes.

2^nd target: to hike for another hour, then rest for 5 minutes. We stopped just shy of the top of Nuweberg for our 5 minute break which became 7 minutes…Tania, still complaining about the pace and Keith, calmly selecting more music to play on his headphones (which he wore the entire time, probably to mask the sounds of Tania’s scoldings and my heavy breathing)…lol.

3^rd target: to pick up the pace once we cleared the top of the mountain, cover as much ground as possible before our next break in an hour. We were so energized that when it was time to take our next break, we unanimously decided not to, as the sun was setting behind the mountain range and soon we would be walking in darkness. We were escorted by the 3 musketeers, Justin, Wally and Stephen the last km to Shamrock Hut. The hike took us 3 ½ hours to complete, which included our short breaks. Whoooohoooooo!!!!

Introductions were made as Keith and Desiree were the new faces and we all settled in, finding an open bunk bed, watching the sunset, washing and preparing supper. 

At the end of the long first day, after watching the Super Moon, slowly but surely make its way across the night sky , we all drifted off to our beds for the night. But alas! None of us could sleep, least of all me. Lucky me had the pleasure of ‘sleeping’ on the middle bunk. Below me was Justin, softly snoring his way to dawn. Above me was Keith, kicking up a racket, that could only be described as a catatonic episode at times…LOL! Like Carol said the next morning, “jy het gesnork soes jy betaal word”. To cut a long story short, I slept outside in the lapa and I am glad I did. What a beautiful night, under the glow of the Super Moon. Tranquility and peace knew no bounds. The near perfect silence barely disturbed by the little nocturnal animals. Oh yes! Then Keith came outside…en toe begin die stront van ooraf…hahahaaaa!!

Far too soon the sun rose over Theewaterskloof Dam and we were preparing for the short hike down. 2 hours and we were at the cars, taking a break before the long drive home.

We had farewell drinks in Gordons Bay...a perfect ending to a perfect overnight hiking experience.

Arangieskop is the next overnight hike. It’s happening in June and I hope to be fit enough to tackle the trail in my hiking boots and not on the back of the “Tractor”. See you guys there!!!

FOOTNOTE: JA! JA! EK IS AMPER KLAAR:

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the following people:

Carol and Nikki: for trusting and believing that I could do this hike without having to call emergency services.

Justin, Wally and Stephen: for showing us what great people you are by coming to look for us.

Desiree: For being such a lovely lady and such a sport.

Tania: for the new swear words you taught me on the way up the mountain and for the extra laugh lines I now have.

Keith:  for being so patient with us on that 1^st day, for encouraging me, for looking out for me and making sure I was OK, from start to end.  

Posted on behalf of Melanie Le Grange

Bestandele vir 'n lekker blues tune.

Dis mos nou alreeds 'n jaar en 'n paar uur later. En die klein Laatjie het 'n naam langer as sy ma se swangerskap.

Gister het ons hom vir 'n heerlike yskoue Valsbaai seedoop geneem. Taamlik gewillig solank hy net styf aan sy pa kon vasklou. Hy hou nie te veel van die ysige water hier duskant Vishoek nie maar tolerate darem die simboliek van die uitstappie. Later, terug by die huis, sukkel ek om hom uit die warm badwater te kry. Die mannetjie lyk na 'n avontuurlustige klein mens. Seker maar omdat sy ma so lekker op en af teen die bulte van Salmonsdam uitgeklim het net een slapie voordat hy besluit het om die wereld aan te durf.

Dit was so skuins voor middernag op die 21ste Maart laas jaar, toe Jamie skielik begin pyne kry. Ons albei was mos maar gras groen in die besigheid en het heeltemal die ooglopende tekens misgekyk. Noudat ons terugkyk was dit jou wragtie kraam pyne.

In elkgeval, ek vryf toe maar heel nag deur, rug. Omtrent soortgelyk aan al die rubbings van die blare en teksture tydens ons uitstappie vroeer die dag. 'n Bietjie tee, 'n stukkie gebotterde brood, 'n warm lappie. Alles om te help met die pyn. Man dit was 'n storie. Toe my vrou later aan begin pleit om huis toe te gaan, was ons mede campers ook al onrustig.

Nietemin, om 'n korterige storie nog korter te maak , haas ons na die naaste hospitaal oor strelende vroe-oggend grondpad. Eerste stop is petrol en 'n bietjie useless information by die petroljoggie. Ons besluit toe maar om aan te kap na Hermanus. Uiteindelik, na bietjie gesoek stoot Carol vir Jamie deur die deure van Hermanus Provincial se Kraameenheid.

En om 'n korterige storie nog korter te knip, knip suster Engelbrecht daai naelstring so teen half agt, kort af.

Dit was so 'n hittete of...

Gelukkige verjaardag Alexander Salmon

En gelukkige herinneringe aan julle ouens wat dit saam met hom beleef het.

Dit was 'n lekker uitstappie.

Balckie

2011 03 22 14h42

Refrain in 5/4 time

Joe Morello died on Saturday 12 March 2011. Joe Morello, the drummer for the classic Dave Brubeck quartet. Joe Morello, for whom the most popular jazz tune ever, 'Take Five', was written (by Paul Desmond) specifically to provide him with a platform for playing a drum solo. Joe Morello, to whom I have been listening all my life since 'Mr. Broadway' came out in the early sixties! At 82 years of age, Joe Morello has gone the way of all flesh.

I didn't start out in life being a jazz fan, I always loved music, and I have 'fallen in love' with various musicians over the years, my all-time favourite being Dave Brubeck. But you can't listen to Dave Brubeck without hearing all the other members of his band, it used to be Dave, Paul Desmond (alto sax), Eugene Wright (bass violin, or double bass) and Joe Morello (drums) in the old days, way back in the sixties. Then there was Gerry Mulligan (baritone sax) to replace Paul when HE died, and various other guys over the years. One of my all-time favourite LP's (or digitally remastered cd's) has gotta be 'The Real Ambassadors', featuring Louis Armstrong and Carmen McRae. Music by Dave Brubeck, lyrics by Dave Brubeck's wife, Iola!

My favourite saxophone player of all time, and I have heard all the best ones, is the guy who is currently in the Dave Brubeck quartet, his name is Bobby Militello. Man, when this guy plays, it's like Namaqualand in early spring! 'Trane was good, Miles was good, but guys like Winton Marsalis and Bobby Militello are right up there with the best of them, the golden era of jazz is NOT in the past.

As I was saying, of late I have taken to attending Sunday morning Masses at Holy Cross Church, in District Six. I don't know why, searching for my roots, or something. Firstly, I feel so at home in that church; it's not a big church, it is small and intimate and has a great atmosphere and ambience. But, as you can well imagine, there's a whole lotta history there. District Six was created after the abolition of slavery in 1838, to house freed slaves, the so-called 'Coloured' people. Us, actually. Or, more specifically, our grandparents and parents.

So I sit in that church thirty minutes before Mass begins, and I can't help thinking about the history. Look, there's no percentage in thinking about what the Boere did to us, what varke they were and so on. But I get kinda nostalgic or something, and, for some reason I can't quite figure out, my thoughts go out to those other former slaves, Black America. I think about the blues boy from Beale Street, Riley B. King, better known as B.B. King, I think about Mackinley Morganfield, better know an 'Muddy Waters' because, as a child, he used to like to play in the mud ( he was mos a vlakkie, just like me and Caitlin!), and I think of all my other favourite blues players, like Buddy Guy and a whole host of others. And I get it; I can see where they're coming from. And I get a lump in my throat, and I wish I still had my B.B. King guitar so that I can express myself. Or that the harmonicas wouldn't keep on giving me a sore throat, because, with a blues harp you can REALLY express yourself, once you get past the infernal difficulty of trying to play that instrument.

 I don't think you'll ever 'get' jazz if you don't like the blues; the blues is its very foundation. That's why European or UK jazz sounds so like flou tea - there's no blues foundation in it!

Lots of Love

The New

Ek begin die stuk met Ek. Dit is nou een van die min kere waar dit moontlik en veilig is om die woord openlik te gebruik. Nie lank gelede nie, was dit neusie verby met die singular expression. Vir my eie gesondheid is die woord ons meer aanvaarbaar. Maar dit is nie waaroor ons vandag wil praat nie.



Die storie loop so. Daar was 'n dag. Nou bykans 'n jaar gelede, toe die wonderlikse ding my oorkom. Ek erken dat ek nie met mees oorweldigende sekerheid kan sê dat dit die absolute wonderlikse dag is wat ek al ooit beleef het nie. Wat ek wel met oorweldigende sekerheid en beslissende, hartlike waarheid kan meëdeel, is dat dit die absolute wonderlikse herinneringe in my wese opwek.

Die begin van 'n heel nuwe lewe as menswees was besig om te gebeur. Natuurlik was daar ooglopende tekens dat daar 'n ding aan die kom was, maar vooruitbeplanning beteken niks as jy nie die een in beheer is nie. Heel naweek lank skêrts en maak ons stories op oor wie die baarmoeder gaan speel, wie water op die stoof gaan sit, wie gaan fot's neem, en so aan en so aan. Min weet ons wat in in die kop van ons ongebore aan die broei is.


Op die Oggend van Mense Regte Dag, eet ons van die heel beste. My liefling vrou berei heerlike spek en eier voor. Heerlike dik snye brood word voorgesit, vet geplak met botter. Ons geniet dit met kraakvars spinasie en almal gryp in met gesonde eetlus. Die oorskiet kos van die vorige aand word eenkant geskuif asof dit nou skielik hondekos is. Ja, die dag het op goeie noot begin. Na die heerlike ete , gryp 'n paar van ons koppies koffie en gaan sit ons om die smeulende vuurmaakplek wat nog warm gloei met die vorige aand se kole. Die kleintjies krap krap in die as rond en nie lank nie, begin ons weer nuwe lewe in die vuur in blaas. Hier en daar kom nog 'n paar laatslapers uit die wit, platdak huisies, met tandeborsel en handdoek.

Onder teen die skuinste is 'n wydverspreide grasperk. Dit is gevul met 'n heel verskeidenheid tente en voertuie. Hier en daar is nog 'n rokie wat die oggendlug daai mistieke gevoel gee. 'n Handjie vol kinders, seuns en meisies, speel krieket. Ons groep krap 'n frisbee uit en begin die litte los maak. Dit is nie lank nie, of 'n paar van die ouens begin spierstuipe kry. Die res van ons die hards druk aan en doen nou en dan die nodige strek oefeninge.

So gaan ons aan vir die res van die oggend. Ons stap nou en dan af na die klein reserwe toe om bietjie voetjies nat te maak. Ek gryp my boek en vetkryt wat ek langs die pad gekoop het en wandel saam, kaalvoet af onder om 'n ogie oor die kinders te hou. Dis is 'n heerlike cozy atmosfeer, aan drie kante toe gegroei met digte bos en interesante bome. Die water word in die reserwe ingevoer deur 'n one ten pvc pyp en die kinders geniet hulself in die donker water.

tbc

Kalk Bay Fish Fare 2011

The Kalk Bay Fish Fare went down well, although it was slightly marred by events that happened afterwards, viz., back in Grassy Park, Leon's car was broken into and his battery stolen, and Wally's car was stolen outright, all while they were parked outside Carol & Roger's house.

But back to the main story:

As usual, Uncle Cedric was the first to arrive (Uitgevrietjie???). The traffic was horrendous, so he parked way down the road, even before St. James station. He took this picture while walking down the main road on the way to the fair:

It must have been about midday when I arrived at the fair, and I went straight to the food stalls and got a helping of stir-fried prawns on a bed of rice, and sat down on the grass in the church's graveyard to have my breakfast, along with a crowd of other people with similar ideas! Justin, Carla and Emily arrived while I was into my second helping, and joined me amongst the gravestones. The ambience was nogal quite cool. And from then on, as the song goes, 'The rest of the crowd shuffled in'. Wally and Joe, Paul, Michelle and Lauren, Carol and Caitlin, Debbie and her mother and Nettie, Nicky and Jamie, Lorraine & Mario popped in briefly with some friends and left again quite quickly. 

We all sat on the grass, had a couple of beers (man, there was really great food, there was a beer tent - what more can a man want?), had a good yakkity yak, yakkity yak session in the warm summer sun, it was one of those idyllic days when the southeaster, which had been howling at gale force all week, suddenly changed on Saturday morning to 4 knots from the north without a drop in the barometer (i.e. it was not going to rain anytime soon!). 

After I had washed down my two helpings of prawns with a coupla beers, it was time for a braaied yellowtail steak......

Uncle Cedric's yellowtail steak

On the way back from getting the yellowtail steak, I ran into two LEKKER goose, check out the picture below:

Judy Scheepers (right) and friend

I wandered around after that, last year the church had been locked, but this year the book sale was inside it, so we got to see the inside of the church; it's beautiful. Outside the church, there was a marimba band playing. All I can say is they gotta lotta rhythm.......

 Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

I believe these pictures tell a story of a leisurely-spent afternoon.

There were slight differences from last year's function. The stage and live band were replaced by the small marimba band. This year there was even a sushi stall, complete with a Japanese sushi chef, checkitout:

But, after all, this IS South Africa. we have our own tradition of preparing fish the South African way, as in this next picture:

 We eventually packed up and left at around 4 p.m., another walk down the main road since everybody had parked way upstream:

Pikkewyn 

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.