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Published: October 15th 2007
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False Bay
LOOKING NORTH TOWARD FISH HOEK CAPE OF GOOD HOPE
HARD OUT OF THE SOU’WEST
“Recorded history credits the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope to Bartholomew Diaz and his crew in 1488. However, artifacts from middens found in the area show that the region was known to and utilized by man intermittently since the Early Stone Age period some 600, 000 years ago.” Pocket Guide To The Cape of Good Hope, South African National Parks.
Thankfully the wind is blowing onshore.
Could I guess its velocity? OK. Maybe steady at 40 knots, with gusts to 60? But what’s in a number. What counts is that it is knocking us off the trail, off the stretches of boardwalk that line the cliff edges. We are pushed away from the precipitous drop into the sea, which is, in no small measure, very comforting.
The Cape of Good Hope is the most southwestern point on the continent of Africa. The southern most point, Cape Agulhas, is actually about 150 kilometers east of here, and where, technically, the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic. I suspect the Cape of Good Hope gets all the attention because of what we are witnessing
Cape Of Good Hope
A MOMENT OF GRACE AT GOOD HOPE - a savage pattern of weather combined with offshore rocks that could open the hull of a ship as if it were made of foil.
Turn a tempting corner and a mariner enters the protected waters of False Bay, where southern right whales spout just off the coast of Simon’s Town, Fish Hoek and Muisenberg. In a storm this would not only be a tempting tack, but a life-saving one. “Rounding the Cape of Good Hope” takes on a new meaning as our knees buckle in the wind. And this on a relatively nice day! I’m sure there are calmer ones, and I know for certain there are stormier ones. In the past, I suppose ships often arrived here when the wind told them to, not sooner and not later.
On the horizon, huge freighters line up, pounding north and south. Closer in, maybe a mile offshore, we see sudden geysers of white spray shooting in slow motion twenty, thirty feet into the air where swells strike submerged rock formations. We stand perhaps three hundred feet up on the cliffs, the prominent features of the Cape of Good Hope, and also Cape Point, the ones that sailors
Northward in the Atlantic
FROM THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE see from the decks of those freighters. Directly below us huge waves roll in, dazzlingly white and blue under the sun. The smell is unmistakable, the air infused with sea spray and salt ions.
The hike is short but incredibly exhilarating. To the north dark stripes of rain are being held at bay by the southwesterly wind. Above us clouds move fast, the sun making startling appearances, lighting the landscape, then disappearing. It rains for a brief time. Then comes the hail, hammering loudly on the hood of my raincoat. At one point there are wooden stairs, two hundred of them we read, which take you down to a sandy cove. It would be wonderful on a calmer day, but the sting of wind-driven sand is a familiar memory, and it goes on the To Do list. On the northern side of the Cape, down on the beach, busses stop and tourists snap the obligatory pictures next to the sign: “THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE, THE MOST SOUTH-WESTERLY POINT OF THE AFRICAN CONTINENT.”
In one sense we are no strangers to the geographic concept of a “Cape,” or to walking on trails perched on the edge of
cliffs, or to surf that rolls white and feverish for hundreds of yards toward the horizon. We are Cape Codders, after all, who live in the middle of a National Park like this one.
What we are strangers to are signs that state, “DO NOT FEED THE BABOONS,” or the sightings of ostriches and antelope out in the desolate and wild landscape that comprises the edge of the earth here. It is rolling, heathed and weathered. Imagine the Provincelands on Cape Cod bred with the American Southwest, or Crete. The offspring would be this desert-like expanse of bleached outcroppings of rock, scattered white boulders, and tight remarkable groundcover. Over 1,080 species of plants have been recorded here, 14 found nowhere else.
Among a gathering of small battered trees we spot a group of antelope, maybe eland or grey rhebok. Then farther down the road, ostrich, moving in long strides, their necks bent and poking at the ground. We don’t see caracal or mongoose or polecat or otter, but they are out there, along with 25 species of smaller mammals, and 250 species of birds.
Later, we drive the side roads. They are empty at this time of year and this time of day. I imagine this place in the heat and thrall of mid-summer, the roads packed, the trails full.
This is another vision that would be familiar to us, coming as we do from Cape Cod. We are glad to be here now, as we are in Wellfleet in May, September and October. We have not seen a baboon, but maybe that’s a good sign.
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