Snaking over Slangkop
It’s back into the mountains for me, with my hamstring seemingly behaving and no other ailments, and not a moment too soon! Lockdown restrictions appear to be fading into a bad memory and the fynbos is calling! It was a large group of 19 who set off from the Kom in a fresh southeaster which abated in the shelter of the milkwoods along the bay on the way to the lighthouse. Here the wind whipped our hair and hats as expected, and set the bright spring flowers bobbing as we enjoyed the last of the late blooms. The cloud that had cloaked the mountain earlier had vanished into thin air and it promised to be an invigorating morning with sunshine aplenty.
By the time we had struggled to clamber up the last tricky section of path onto the Slangkop road, the group was truly strung out, and we snaked our way up the, thankfully, easy zig-zag that takes you up to the old Cobra wireless station where enemy shipping was tracked so long ago. You will notice that snakes form a large part of the nomenclature of the area, but none were to be seen and were certainly not missed. There are plenty out there, so it is always wise to hike in boots and long pants once they come out of winter’s sleep and starting looking for food.
Our coffee break allowed us to rest against the sandstone ledges with expansive views down to Olifantsbos in Cape Point Nature Reserve, and as far as Table Mountain to the north. The winding coastline with its white sandy beaches, jagged peaks and rocky shores pounded by relentless surf was as beautiful as ever, and I doubt anyone could ever grow tired of these views. Around us, the fynbos is thriving, with old and very healthy pincushions and mimetes breaking out into their summer colours of yellow, red and orange, attracting innumerable birds, bees, ants, mice and other poliinators to ensure survival of the species.
The track across the plateau and down towards the Rubbi Chapel on the slopes of Slangkop above the village is one of the most pleasant, being soft weathered quartz that crunches underfoot and few rocky places. A chuckling stream crossed the path, tinged golden brown by the tannins in the fynbos, reminding us of the wet winter just passed that gave such a welcome boost to our dams and aquifers. We may grumble when the sun doesn’t shine, but there is a reason for the season.
Our hike finished with a stroll through the wetland of Skilpadvlei, no longer the stretch of water from 100 years ago, but still having a small pond and a boardwalk where local residents planted hundreds of restios and other water-loving fynbos some years back to restore the ecosystem and provide a place to rest and contemplate nature for those who are no longer able to undertake more strenuous exercise. Along the main road, further development is happening that will take away another patch of spring flowers for which the village is famous, so whatever conservation measures can be taken are vital and so far we are lucky to have large areas still designated public open space.
The wind returned as we neared the Kom again. Such are the vagaries of the southeaster in Kommetjie – it differs almost from street to street, and I count myself extremely fortunate to live in Old Kom, which is virtually wind-free. A very special place to live.
