That summer respite seems to be over. The unseasonally epic waves of early January have left our shores, leaving a sweet aftertaste and a longing for more. Who knows how long the wait may last. Days become weeks. Weeks turn to months. The taste becomes feint, but still lingers.
The Cape has more to her than just waves. If you turn your back to the ocean, you will see mountains - wherever you are in the Cape. Sometimes, when you look at the sea, there will be peaks on the far side of the bay. I've spent many an hour looking back at the shore, using a distant summit as a line-up and at the same time wondering what the view looks like from there. There's a beach break that I enjoy surfing that has strong rips, and very few bearings to line up on. There is a peak in the distance that's available. If you look through the gap on the peninsula, and across the bay on the far side of it, you can line it up with a dune in the foreground. It's high. It's imposing. And being the highest peak around, the view from the top is quite amazing.
We set ourselves the task of getting to the top. We packed gear, decanted water, booted and strapped up and put our toes into the rocky flank. Two nights out in the open under the stars, surrounded by good company and shadows. Two days of sweat and toil, with a few spots of blood to mix.
It was a great trip. We swam in streams. We looked out on the world from great heights. We found beautiful flowers. We revelled in the elements. And cursed their indifference at other occasions.
We were burnt by the sun. We were scratched by the bush. We sweated salt into our wounds. We stumbled on loose rocks. We swore at each other. We are still pulling splinters out of hands and shins.
We appreciated the little things. A shady rock to hide behind. A moment of windlessness. A damp sarong draped over the shoulders. Waking up during a night of discomfort and finding overselves beneath the ceiling of the Milky Way. The suggestion of a cup of tea. In the office, at the desk, an offer of a hot cup of something is taken for granted, or not taken at all. In the mountains, a sweet steamy mug is most amazing prospect.
We cooked for each other and ate ridiculously well. We shared food and jokes. We breathed in good air and each others characters.
It was as pretty much as good a weekend as one could have without getting a wave. I'll just have to get my fix mid week.
The Cape has more to her than just waves. If you turn your back to the ocean, you will see mountains - wherever you are in the Cape. Sometimes, when you look at the sea, there will be peaks on the far side of the bay. I've spent many an hour looking back at the shore, using a distant summit as a line-up and at the same time wondering what the view looks like from there. There's a beach break that I enjoy surfing that has strong rips, and very few bearings to line up on. There is a peak in the distance that's available. If you look through the gap on the peninsula, and across the bay on the far side of it, you can line it up with a dune in the foreground. It's high. It's imposing. And being the highest peak around, the view from the top is quite amazing.
We set ourselves the task of getting to the top. We packed gear, decanted water, booted and strapped up and put our toes into the rocky flank. Two nights out in the open under the stars, surrounded by good company and shadows. Two days of sweat and toil, with a few spots of blood to mix.
It was a great trip. We swam in streams. We looked out on the world from great heights. We found beautiful flowers. We revelled in the elements. And cursed their indifference at other occasions.
We were burnt by the sun. We were scratched by the bush. We sweated salt into our wounds. We stumbled on loose rocks. We swore at each other. We are still pulling splinters out of hands and shins.
We appreciated the little things. A shady rock to hide behind. A moment of windlessness. A damp sarong draped over the shoulders. Waking up during a night of discomfort and finding overselves beneath the ceiling of the Milky Way. The suggestion of a cup of tea. In the office, at the desk, an offer of a hot cup of something is taken for granted, or not taken at all. In the mountains, a sweet steamy mug is most amazing prospect.
We cooked for each other and ate ridiculously well. We shared food and jokes. We breathed in good air and each others characters.
It was as pretty much as good a weekend as one could have without getting a wave. I'll just have to get my fix mid week.
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