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Chainsaw Massacre

The perfect peace of the riverbank is today shattered. There’s a man up my tree wielding a chainsaw. It’s very noisy.

Going...

I had grown rather attached to the willow, beneath which I moor, despite it shedding its leaves onto Hobo’s roof making an almighty mess for me to clean up (and destroying the paintwork if I don’t). Like a whomping willow, it took pleasure in attacking me whenever I moved the boat but I forgave it that too.

Its branches used to dangle down outside my bedroom, like a sort of hanging garden beyond the porthole; my first view of the outside world each morning when I popped out the cushion. It’s was a pretty tree and I like trees. Mr. Kingfisher used to perch on its branch – the one I used to be able to see from my chair in the lounge. Now where’s he going to sit?

...going

But I accept it is old and unstable (hence my affinity with it no doubt) and needs a trim. It is being pollarded as I type. I learned today that it once fell over during a storm but was pulled back up again – there’s a scary thought – so perhaps it is a necessary evil to ensure it remains rooted in the bank. I would hate Hobo to be squashed….

Naturally this activity has necessitated a move. Hobo has been hauled downstream, barely a boat’s length, so my view is changed – just a little. I shall pretend I am on holiday while I am adrift – I am tied up of course but unable to get ashore – and make the most of it. I’m not sure how long this haircut will take but I will hopefully be back “home” again before long.

In the meantime I am planning a thorough roof cleaning session, safe in the knowledge that it, for once, might last for more than a day. I have a sneaky feeling though that the ducks might move in, spotting a nice clear runway for the use of, and leaving even nastier and more corrosive deposits. Not to mention how noisy this will be – imagine a herd of ducks running about on a metal roof – believe me, it’s quite something.

And now, some three and a half hours down the line, the job is done, the massacre over. I am re-installed in my usual spot and peace is restored. But it’s going to take a bit of getting used to…..

Looks like rape to me.

Gone

Tags: perfect peace, whomping willow

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Trainspotting

15 Mar

I love de trenz!

There’s another one..

..and another one..and another one

Sorry if I’ve conjured up the crazy mexican in yellow and green off the tele but I can’t help drawing comparisons with Bot River where they were heard but never seen. I remember approaching the tracks, time after time, hoping that today would be the day. But it never was. Narthing!

Yet we’d sit on the bus and hear them chugging away, several times every day and I was at the point where I was almost ready to jump in the car and see if I could get to the crossing in time. If it was hauling uphill I might have made it and have to admit to being able to tell the difference between up and down by the engine note. Sad eh? It’s just that I thought they might be a bit different – in a wild west sort of way. I’m not that much of a trainspotter – really.

Not the case in Sawbo, that’s for sure, they’re everywhere. Daytime, nightime, all the time. Very visible. I don’t even have to get off the boat and, bugger me, there’s another one slicing through the landscape. In town you are guaranteed to be held up at the level crossing and they always seem to come in pairs too – one from either direction – so can be a long wait. It is a main line into the city – Liverpool Street I think.

I think the only time I saw trains I saw in SA was in Uitenhage. And they were splendid – real old fashioned style. And in a museum.

And the photos are on John’s craptop in South Africa, which does rather spoil my plan for the end of this post………

So instead, here’s a look at the new foal over the way..

..with guess what in the backround.

Tags: lova de trenz, trainspotter

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Home again, home again!

4 Mar

Once more installed into my cosy cocoon that is Hobo and all is well with the world. Two weeks have gone in the blink of an eye and my life resumes the rhythm of the river. Effortlessly. It’s almost like I was never away as I seamlessly slip back into the familiar routine and all that goes with living on the water.

But that doesn’t mean it’s not still special. Some things will always lift my spirit and make my heart sing: opening the blinds in the morning to reveal the river right there outside my kitchen; the morning mist on the water; sun streaming in through the windows, reflecting pretty pools of light on the ceiling and bouncing rainbows all around the boat; my fabulous Morso Squirrel wood burning stove belting out heat to the point I have to fling open doors and hatches so as not to spontaneously combust;

My Squirrel stove

and, like last night, the rain pitter-pattering on the metal roof as I drift off to dreamland. I shall never tire of these things.

I could go on but this is the real world and it hasn’t all been plain sailing since I returned. For starters, my all singing all dancing Victron inverter has been playing up, (that which converts 12v to 240v and runs the fridge, tele, washing machine and so on). It also charges the batteries when running on shore power (as opposed to running the engine) and that seems to be where the problem lies. It’s overcharging. There was a hiccup with the supply while I was away and, to cut a long story short, I think this has upset the electronics. After conversations with its supplier, much help from my friend Reg involving trial and error diagnostics and endless paranoia about battery acid smells on my part, I think we’ve finally cracked it: seems two of the four batteries are cooked. I don’t understand why this is but running on the other two seems to be working fine. But not before I developed a nervous twitch by constantly checking the monitoring panel.

Then the round hatch fell off the back of the stove, potentially releasing carbon monoxide into the boat. My part-time neighbour, Pete, soon fixed this for me though by way of making and attaching a new lug. And the car battery was dead, but as I’d nursed it through much of last year, this was no surprise.

But the weather has been kind to me and I’ve enjoyed walking into town along the road and back along the towpath

A nearby lock

while the car was out of action. I might just make it a regular thing.

Checked out some of my rare breed neighbours as I walked up the lane and noticed new life in the field opposite. I know there’s turkeys too (I hear them), chickens, donkeys (occasionally trot past the boat), Shetland ponies and a pack of yappy terriers and jack russells that attempt to terrorise we humans. Not to mention the boaters and campers…

My rare breed neighbours..

New life opposite

My resident kingfisher has returned to the willow tree that overhangs the boat; first spotted in 2010 but not seen since. He is magnificent, so colourful, but sadly very shy. Every time I so much as think about reaching for the camera he’s gone.

Dog dirt alley is sporting a new feature too, currently being sculpted by a neighbour. The snowdrops are out and the gate has been fixed.

I found my treasured Zippo, thought lost in transit, and John thinks he’ll be back by the end of the month.

How good is that?

Tags: bouncing rainbows, cosy cocoon, mist on the water, morso squirrel, pools of light, rare breeds

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The Sausage Machine

23 Feb

When I wasn’t packing or thinking about packing, my last few days in South Africa were spent playing a game. The soundtrack in my head was permanently tuned to that old Rolling Stones number and I couldn’t switch it off.

Down the pub – This could be the last time.. In the hammock – This could be the last time.. Driving the back road from Hermanus – Maybe the last time.. In the outdoor shower – I don’t know-ow. And on and on. Nothing escaped it. Annoyingly so.

Leaving the bus, Bot Rivier, and South Africa was proving to be every bit as much a wrench as it was leaving Hobo, the waterways and the UK. It has become home – another home – complete with friends and routines and rituals. It won’t be the last time though, only for now, I will be back.

But I was well and truly in the sausage machine, on my way and nothing could halt its progress. That moment when you just want to say “Beam me up Scottie” and magically appear at your destination. You know that it will spit you out in the end but not before you’ve endured the bit inbetween.

John is staying on a while, which didn’t help, but he was brilliant. He temporarily abandoned his projects so we could just chill and do whatever; this was my time. It was good to hang around the bus, make our plans and generally do nothing. It helped no end. Thanks for that John. x

The one thing I did want to see this time was The Waterfront and John duly obliged. On my last day we set off for Cape Town earlyish so we could do lunch there and have a look around. It isn’t John’s cup of tea really and, having been there now, nor mine. But it had to be done. It’s massive and there’s loads of shops and a craft market but, to be honest, I’d rather wander round looking at the boats and do the Aquarium. So that’s what we did.

You do get that nice view of Table Mountain though.

It had been a pleasant day but it was time to head for the airport. I remembered to take pics of the huge townships this time but they don’t show the scale. The best view is from the air.

Neither of us like goodbyes so I was tipped out in the drop off zone. (Or was it tipped off in the drop out zone?) To be fair he did have quite a drive ahead of him, parts of which you definitely don’t want to do in the dark, so best he pushed off sooner rather than later. Anyway, why prolong the agony?

I’d checked in online and decided not to carry hand luggage. Just check the bag in then, go through and head for the smokers’ lounge (you don’t get that at Heathrow) relax and await the inevitable. Overweight! Must be all the books John’s Dad had given me. Bugger. Re-packing drama of note and wound up with a bag to carry after all.

Eleven and a half hours in the air (same old same old), ages queing at UK border control (some sort of a go slow but the ranting Brits proved excellent entertainment and I did my level best to wind them up further), two hours instead of one on the shuttle bus to Stansted (went all round Hatfield), mega expensive taxi (by this time I would have sold my soul to get home) before the machine finally delivered me.

But the taxi driver was brilliant, carrying my very heavy bag across a very muddy field that I call dog dirt alley (obvious reasons). Right onto the boat. What a star.

Hobo. The river. Home.

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Owner finally admits defeat…

22 Feb

Interesting loading technique

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Arniston camp

22 Feb

Considering I’d never set foot in a tent before I met John, I’m sure as hell making up for it now. Not that I’m complaining.

With one night only on the bus, post PE, we were off again. To the beach – where else? We’d promised Quentin some weeks earlier that we’d camp at Arniston one weekend (briefly visited before on Agulhas trip) and set a date. He was still ultra keen, grossly overworked and desperate for a break so no going back.

It’s an easy drive to Arniston, less than two hours, and the Municipal camp site there is good. Inexpensive, almost deserted (though I might give it a miss at Christmas, peak of their summer holidays) and hot showers to die for. The beauty of spontaneous camping is that you go when the weather is good. This was of course planned so it wasn’t. We pitched the tent in a minor hurricane and crawled inside for shelter as the rain came down. And then spotted that the bit that fits on top of the tent to keep it watertight was missing. We discussed possible items we may have that would do the same job but drew a blank. Eventually I went and grabbed a dustbin lid, which was just the ticket. Never let it be said I am not resourceful..

Saturday morning was sunny, dry and windless. To the beach then.

We found the caves that John wanted to see, no doubt hoping to find more bones and, when we discovered the secret way through to the main event, it was a beauty.

See the surfers?

John sees the light

Truth be told we followed a little girl who spotted it.

We just followed, Alice in Wonderland-like, through the hole

Splendid fishing boats

Then the hike along the beach and around the rocky headlands in the general direction of the hotel, seemingly the only commercial outlet in Arniston, and a much needed cup of coffee. This is a working fishing village, with authentic fisherman’s cottages and some splendid fishing boats.

All very unspoilt – they even managed to squash plans for a shopping centre development there. Well done, it would have totally ruined the feel of the place.

We rested along the way – beer and ciggie break – and when I requested a photo moment was told to…well the second word was off. Charming. Mind you, with sunglasses like that I might be camera shy too. Should have gone to Specsavers Q !

Bad shades Q

It was another great camp but I was looking forward to being back at the bus for my last few days in South Africa. We headed off on Sunday, taking the dirt road back. Not as thrilling as some we have done but we did see a strange phenomenum on the way…

Never seen anything like it....

Can you see what they are yet?

Snails!

And only on one side of the road. Most odd.

Tags: Arniston, cave, fishing boats, fishing village, minor hurricane, rocky headlands, unspoilt

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Alternative Route

21 Feb

Who was it that was boasting about knowing her way to and from PE? “Becoming and old hand at this journey” I think it went…

We were in the clouds as we climbed up and away from Knysna, headed back for Bot Rivier and the bus. Visibilty was atrocious, making the pass feel more scary than normal, and John said he would find us some sunshine. Once over the mountain and able to see again we took a detour off onto a dirt road, which led to the Rooiberg Pass, one that John knew of but had never driven. He said it would be a long stretch but spectacular and hopefully the road would be in good condition. Conditions of these roads vary greatly, some can be horribly corrugated or potholed, and you never really know what you’re in for till it’s too late.

We were in luck; smooth and well maintained. And very spectacular. And it was sunny as promised. Astonishing. It’s roads like these that make me enjoy driving all over again.

Hello Mr. Tortoise

This could be home

We didn’t see another vehicle, which is just as well because God knows how you’d pass. We did come across some creatures on the way though and stopped to say hello. I found a place I could maybe call home too – a bit of a project. We saw phone lines so presumably the internet would be available – miles from anywhere. Staggering. You could do a damn good job of being a recluse in these parts.

The Karoo

And then we are in the Karoo – a vast bush/desert area that stretches for miles and miles and miles and – you get the picture.

And just when you think you’ll never see civilisation ever again….up pops Ronnie’s Sex Shop. Really.

OK so it’s a bar actually; someone added the word sex as a joke and it just sort of stuck! I Like it there; super place, super people that have travelled from all over and of course it is a little quirky..

Johnnie and Ronnie share a joke in the underwear dept

Spot the dog?

Admiring my handiwork..

A couple of beers, a change of driver and off we go again. Me in the hot seat now as we negotiate another mountain pass, this time tarred, the Tradouw Pass. Stunning.

All this exploring takes longer than taking the freeway but well worth it.

Thank you John for making a liar of me.

I still have much to learn…..

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Woody Cape

19 Feb

It all started three years ago when John and I were brand new. He was over here for the summer, me freezing in the UK, and flying long bits of the coastline while I followed his progress on Google Earth from Hobo. As he flew over this beautiful beach he spotted a giant staircase over the dune fields – which stretched for miles and miles – and surmised this was probably the only access point. This vision stuck with him and he has wanted to go there ever since.

Last summer (our winter 2010/11) we took a ride out there with John’s Dad to see what we could see land-side. It’s only a couple of hours, tops, from PE and throw in a lunch and you have a marvellous day out. Which we did. We drove through the Woody Cape National Park which is gorgeous green grassland and very much cow country. You can see Bird Island on a clear day as you climb up through the hills. We saw a sign for the Ocean View camp site and made a mental note to give it a whirl at some point.

Which brings us to this year’s PE trip. We’d chilled around the house while the wind howled and rain did stair rods for a couple of days and then John spotted a weather window. One really good day coming up – Wednesday. On the spur of the moment we decided to drive out there on Tuesday, camp for the night and explore the next day.

It worked well. We arrived in time to find the place proper, for the wind to die, pay for the night and pitch the tent before dark. Just. A super place with only three spots, all sheltered and shady with braai area and facilities and a shower and loo just a short walk away through the trees. It was a great find and someone had put in a lot of hard work but had also had lots of fun creating it.

Braai area

View down to the sea

We woke to a perfect morning and before I was properly conscious, John had done the first recce and was back making my morning cuppa, excitedly showing me his fossil finds. He’s a bit of a closet archaeologist I reckon. The thought of That Wonderful Beach spurred me on and we were soon descending the giant wooden steps over the dunes.

Top of the steps

Perfect and Pristine

What a fabulous sight. The beach was perfect and pristine, unmarred by detritus of any sort and totally deserted. As we left our footprints in the sand we were flanked by the warm Indian Ocean on one side and massive dune fields the other.

Footprints in the sand

You cannot see the end of it, let alone walk it all. We dipped our toes and splashed along the shoreline until we came to the site of what John thought was evidence of pre-historic life. There were indeed early stone tools, hand axes and hammer stones, loads of fossilised bones (we thought human) literally appearing out of the rocks as well as giant land snails and shell midden. It was everywhere you looked.

Giant Land Snail

Some of John's find

He collected up more specimens, intending to take them to the museum at PE, while I chose a few prime shells, which I thought would adorn Hobo’s bathroom quite nicely. We spent a lovely time down there, taking advantage of the wonderful weather that we were so fortunate to have. It wasn’t blisteringly hot, thank goodness as no shade whatsoever and we’d have been in for a right sand-blasting if the wind was up to it’s usual tricks. But there wasn’t a puff.

Turns out the museum at PE is no more, so John spoke with the ranger at the WC National Park re his finds. Much interest was shown and we were invited back to show and discuss, so trip 2 was planned for the following Monday; another reason for our elongated stay in the Eastern Cape.

Apparently they are aware of the existence of these relics – indeed the whole area is quite a hotspot – but this site was new to them and they wanted to be shown the exact location. After giving us a bit of a ticking off for removing anything in the first place and then a thank you for taking it back, off we all went in the back of their 4×4. All consisted of the ranger, his assistant, a worker to unlock gates and suchlike and a professional photographer and writer. Check out www.yearinthewild.com where you will see more info and pics (including one of us).

We drove through private bits of the park until we came to a steep sandy road which led us on to the dunes. The driver, who was very competent, gunned the Toyota but didn’t quite make it over the top. We all jumped out, he rolled back and, after getting stuck and being dug out, tried again without the load and a good run up. This time he made it no bother. Everybody back on the bus for the ride of your life; through the dune fields then fast along the shore till we reached the right place, then into dune city once more. Exciting doesn’t cover it.

Digging out the 4x4

It was surprisingly hard to spot. The wind was blowing and the sands had shifted (and were still on the move) but we got there eventually after the one bum steer from me. John pointed out all his other finds, neatly laid out on the rocks, official pictures were taken and, after a good look round the area, it was pronounced indeed another new site of interest to be logged and properly looked into. Result. The ranger took us to another midden on the way back to his office and invited John for a further visit when he could be taken to other sites of interest. Quite a privilege as they don’t promote these areas for fear of folk removing the artefacts and, needless to say, John is very keen. A very interesting visit and the people were super. I wish there was time for me to go back there again – I could shuffle around that place till the cows come home.

It’s funny, on my last trip to SA we did very little coast but travelled huge swathes of the interior, which was mind-blowing. This time we have done beach upon beach and they have all been marvellous. You really can’t do it all, even in three months, and there’s still much I’ve not yet seen.

Next time eh…

Tags: dune fields, giant staircase, woody cape

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PE revisited

14 Feb

My fourth trip to Port Elizabeth to visit John’s Dad.

I just love these crazy roads..

The freeway into town

I’m becoming an old hand at this journey and now recognise the landmarks and know which town/coffee shop/loo stop is coming next. But it is nonetheless exciting for that and the scenery still stuns and grabs my spirit.

We break the journey at Knysna, roughly halfway, where we stay with Rudi and make witblitz (moonshine) from a batch of wine that Rudi had made and rejected.

Still in situ at Rudi's

Despite having worked well on previous batches, this lot produced pure acetone – not to be taken internally. Still – pardon the pun – I got to see the illicit machinery in action; a first for me and most intriguing. It’s a home-made set up, manufactured by John, and very much a prize possession so, whilst we left this with Rudi to play with while we were at PE, we would be collecting it again on our way back.

Have still will travel

John’s Dad was as accommodating as ever. It’s always a treat to stay there and not only because he has a bath. There was added interest this time as Uncle David (John’s godfather) and wife were also on a visit, breaking their cruising adventures, so I get to meet more of the family and hear more stories. We visited the Yacht Club where I almost got a sail. Sadly the weather was not quite suitable but we did get a nice lunch.

We tootled about the town and the beach, generally relaxed, tormented the dog, read lots and John and I visited the Swartskop Hotel. Therein lies a tale. Very atmospheric shall we say in purple and lime green, with loud music and even louder South African males. For every lewd comment they made (in Afrikaans so I can only surmise) about the barmaid they chucked money in a pot on the bar. It was all very jolly and she must have gone home considerably richer – we reckon to the tune of at least R200. And that’s 20 quid ish!

Swartkops Hotel

Before we knew it, our stay of one week had turned into two. A major reason for going there was to sure up the rear of John’s dad’s property as he had been broken into twice. Only the workshop and studio above (our treehouse in SA) but nevertheless a concern. This involved filling the gaps that had been opened up in the undergrowth with razor wire. Nasty stuff, as John’s scars will attest to, but hopefully would keep out the local baddies and prevent any serious security breaches. Progress was held up for a couple of days when it rained, bigtime, like nothing normally seen here at this time of year. But as a water scarce area, everyone was well pleased.

We took a couple of days out to go camping at Woody Cape, which is another story to be featured here very soon. Also the journey home was pretty epic as we strayed from the main roads in favour of the dirt roads and mountain passes – also to be blogged about soon.

The one bad thing about PE this time was poor signal, which initially made using the computer a nightmare, Internet constantly dropping out, and eventually a must to avoid if you valued your sanity. Hence lack of blog to date but that’s not to say it will end here; stay tuned for river-flavoured tales to come.

Be patient with me, I will try to catch up but time is running out on me. This evening we are attending my farewell braai and tomorrow will be my last day at the bus as we head off for Cape Town early on Thursday morning so that I can get a glimpse of The Waterfront before I have to fly north to the UK, where it will certainly be colder but at least I have Hobo’s stove to look forward to. A kind friend has stocked me up with wood and coal and some shopping.

It’s a strange time, feeling neither here nor there, but soon England will be the reality and this will become a fond memory. For now.

New bird feeder at the bus in action

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Bot Rivier

24 Jan

Hibiscus

It would be very wrong of me to leave here without first giving you the tour. Or at least a bit of a look around.

As you approach from Cape Town on the N2, a major national road running west/east, it would be so easy to hurtle by and miss it altogether. And that would be a shame.

It’s essentially a small town, hardly a holiday destination, but not without a certain charm. It lies at the foot of the mountains and is surrounded by the most stunning landscape, which opens up as you come through Sir Lowry’s Pass and Houw Hoek Pass, known locally as simply “over the mountain”.

Shop - didn't know I had a business here did you?

Most of the action goes on in the square, where there is a shop, cash machine, bottle store, estate agency, hardware store, filling station and of course the Bot Rivier Hotel, the local pub. It’s also a stop for the Baz bus – a kind of hop on hop off anywhere arrangement that serves backpackers in South Africa. And of course they do the wine thing here.

Hotel stoep

From the stoep of the hotel you can watch the comings and goings, (people-watching here is second to none), banter with the regulars or simply gaze into the distant hills as you unwind with a cold beer. It’s long been a favourite haunt of the John and has become so for me too; a place to chill or catch up with the gossip – everyone knows everyone here – amid pleasant surroundings.

There’s a huge tree that overhangs; its yellow flowers making a colourful carpet as they fall on the breeze, a water feature that acts as watering hole for the many pets that are every bit as much characters as their owners, a bird bath and, occasionally, a foot-bath for John. It’s a comfy kind of place. Friday evenings and Sunday afternoons are favourite times, the latter often bringing live music which, in my experience, is usually very good. And the free snacks aren’t bad either.

There’s a supermarket and a Chinese cheapie shop up the way, known amusingly as The Mall, where there’s a slightly larger selection of provisions on offer. Serious shoppers though need to go further afield.

Railroad crossing

Train - what train?

John makes himself at home at the Shuntin Shed

A train line bisects the town, where you have to stop and look to make sure nothing is coming, though I’ve never once seen the train. I hear it though, several times a day, as its engines labour to carry goods to and from the coast and its sexy air horn cuts through the air. Apparently, the nearby Shuntin’ Shed, now a restaurant, shakes like hell when a train goes by. I’d love to be there then but my visits so far have proved fruitless. Still, it’s a pleasant place to be, lounging on giant sofas on the wooden deck that also has – you guessed it – magnificent views.

We also hear the ghostly whistle of a steam train in the mountain behind the bus…wooo wooo it goes. Turns out someone left the door open on the Vodacom tower on John’s top boundary and the wind whipping round this is the source. But I prefer the ghost train theory – romance over science every time.

Close-up shanty

Hi-rise

There’s the obligatory shanty – everywhere has one, big or small. They fascinate me and I want to paint these ramshackle dwellings. I must try and get shots of the ones around Cape Town before I leave. Remarkable structures and the townships there are massive.