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A taste of the west coast |
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Thursday, 24 July 2008 |
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 The mist has been hanging for days now, a twilight zone. One can hardly make out any land mark as the mist seems to wrap everything in a fine gauze film. Every now and then the sun manages to burn a hole in the haze and the beauty of the coast unfolds before you. Ahead lay the Veldrift harbour and the swollen brede river mouth, the wind gusting , now and then we would catch a glimpse of a large fishing ship bobbing on the muddy water swirling with debris , logs and piles of reeds with birds perched , squawking as the passed by and out into the channel to the ocean.
 Reaching the harbour wall we could now see the small boat and the skipper who was to ferry us over the river. Wet slippery and smelling well fished we boarded the boat. A splutter and the outboard roared into life as we lurched out into the river and mist, buzzing left and right we rounded the stern of and old wooden trawler and onward we putted. Black ribbons of seabirds wound around us as they majestically wove a line into the mist ahead and out to their feeding grounds at sea .
Firm ground finally under foot we plodded on down the coast towards the more well known Paternoster and Shelly point. All going well and a good 12km per hour plod we pushed on, rounding St Helena bay we picked up a gravel path just above the high water mark and onward to Shelly point ,relating stories to Braam about the years as a child I had spent here with my grand parents.
Running, pointing out a factory suddenly it all happened. For 10km in each direction there was nothing, but just here, at this point where my mind was somewhere else, a mole hill. Of all the places the mole decided to push his mound right here in front of me. My left foot hooked into the mound of sand, just long enough to get my upper body to go past that tipping point. My leg seemed pegged to the ground as my upper body picked up speed racing towards mother earth, I managed to get my hands out in front as I crashed shoulder first into the best shale and gravel the west coast could offer. My foot came loose and seemed to shoot my legs skywards as I impaled myself like spear into the ground. My body now contracted like a spring recoiling, I could feel my ribs touching each other and then the spring shot open again, my body extended all the force going forward, grinding and sliding my face along the path as every drop of air was expelled from my lungs, finally impaled everything came to a halt, my left eye studying the coastal path in fine detail. Groaning I rolled over, cautiously eying out the area like a chameleon to see if any one had witnessed my coastal frolic as I bounced to my feet and trundled on as if nothing had happened.
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An inspiration and a pillar of hope |
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Monday, 21 July 2008 |
 It was just after 5 am in the morning as we slowly slid out of Cape Town harbour aboard Eve, a beautiful power yacht. The full moon hanging over the glass like ocean, hardly a swell as we majestically cut a line through the gun mettle sea, slowly the massive turbo diesel motors turned from a low growl into a high pitch purr as the boat lifted out of the water and lurched forward into the direction of Robben Island.
It wasn’t long and I could feel the boat being throttled back and did a wide turn into the approach to the island harbour. A strange sensation came over me, a feeling of tension and then the stark realisation of how the prisoners must have felt as the ferry made its last turn into the island harbour, their last few hundred meters of freedom until eternal incarceration.
I climbed off the boat and stood on the land, thoughts and sounds of shouting raced trough my mind, thinking of what must have gone through the prisoners minds as they stood in absolute terror, knowing all that lay ahead now, was the final short walk to the prison- It was dark, all you could see was the outline of buildings and the harbour walls and a nauseating acidic uric stench from the guano of hundreds of birds, nesting on the harbour wall.
 The magnitude of this symbolic event began to hit me, the privilege of being given the opportunity to pay tribute to Nelson Mandela by running a joint 90 km around the island on his 90th birthday – I will never forget this day.
Arriving at the prison we were led to the famous cell where Madiba had spent so much of his life. Our whole group was silent, walking down the grey painted corridor, sparsely lit and out into the courtyard, we then turned right and then into another passage with a row of cells backing onto the courtyard. There was hardly a sound, everyone encapsulated in their own thoughts.
Ahead I heard a clang of a steel door and the group stopped. I do not know how to put words to my feelings over the next minute as I stepped forward and entered Madiba’s cell. I just stared at this small 7 foot by 7 foot concrete box with massive steel bars; two blankets on the floor a small wooden table and a tin bucket with a lid. I am not going to try and explain the feeling of guilt and sorrow that overcame me even though I was no part of it. To think after all the years that Madiba spent in that cell and what he had to endure. When finally, he was granted his freedom, he walked out with no feelings of hatred or revenge, but only of forgiveness and hope for a better future.
 Our run began at the cell and we headed back down the passage, now in total darkness and out of the prison door, into the cold crisp morning air towards the shoreline and the road around the island. I could hear my feet crunching along the road, as it was deadly silent, hardly a breath of wind, the only sounds were of rabbits scurrying in the grass and the odd penguin waddling out of the way. This was punctuated with the odd plop, of waves lazily hitting the rocks as we ran on into the darkness, the full moon seemed to throw a beam of light ahead of us showing us the way .
As the beads of sweat began to build on my brow and slowly trickle down my face, I thought of all the tears of pain, grief , despair, hardship and finally joy that were shed by so many over the decades for this country. My only wish is that these tears are now the life giving water to all the seeds of hope that have been planted by so many who have suffered through the years of pain. We owe this future to our children.
After our run on Robben Island I heard this beautiful tribute to Madiba from 2 children, one black and one white with their arms lovingly around each other.
“Madiba, if it was not for what you did for this country we would not be allowed to have each other as friends today”. “Thank you”
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Monday, 21 July 2008 |
 I spent much of the day running on my own at the base of the cliffs along the beach. The NW wind , howling down my back, gently pushing me down the beach. Gulls and Cormorant effortlessly gliding into the wind, hanging as if the were puppets on a mobile. The low tide was slowly pushing back, the waves swishing up the sand releasing huge blobs of storm foam which is quickly blown across my path like powder snow.
I love the coast, and the ever changing and evolving landscape, where nothing is a constant. Stopping I look back at my tracks marking my route along the base of the cliff. As the sea surges a wave spews forward, within seconds every trace of mine is erased and the beach returns to its original pristine state. Change is such an important ingredient in ones life, enabling you to keep evolving and enhancing your life – so often one fights change , its sometimes more difficult to go through the thought of having to change than accept change itself.
As I journey along our coast , I am staring change in the face, but with positively, looking at how things have changed over the years , aware that there are problems and not everything one sees and hears is what I would like to see, but there is so much good going on around me , it gives me such hope in the future of this country
Hope - is the belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in ones life, believing that a better and more positive outcome is possible even though there is some evidence to the contrary
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“The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty” – Winston Churchill
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Sunday, 13 July 2008 |
 It had been a good morning session, the rain now a thing of the past and we were running a fairly firm sand track. The warm afternoon sun baking nicely on our backs, but a cold southerly wind was picking up from the front. There is game in abundance, every km we see steenbok, the odd bat eared fox and even sighted a cape wild cat. The bird life is unbelievable. Ahead on the road were a group of ostrich slowly sauntering into the late afternoon sun. On the dune ahead we could pick out the solitary figure of John looking out for us, as the day was coming to a close, he was signalling the camp to us.
We were now quite close to the ostrich being down wind of them they had not picked us up yet. Finally they did. The one peeled off to the left running the dune line, a weird sight as its body stayed at the same height it sped through the veldt as if it was on rails, but the legs working frantically like two steam locomotive pistons propelling it forward. This long neck and fluffy blob just shot off into the distance with minimal effort. The other ostriches sauntered up the road with real urgency in their stride. The final one headed straight up the dune at pace, sand flying as it sped up , but unbeknown to it, straight ahead just over the crest stood John surveying the country side.
As the ostrich got more and more into its stride its wings seemed to come into action helping it along. Nearing the top all shit broke loose, the ostrich suddenly spotted John, but it was now in overdrive, turbo mode, its wings flapping madly propelling it forward. In mid stride it dropped its left wing as it squawked with fright , leaning over, It’s right leg seemed to cavitate in the sand as it clawed the surface of sand ,just hooking the bushes for traction- swivelling on its left leg it managed to do a 90 degree turn, back flapping its wings, creating reverse thrust too keep balance as it skidded sideways . Feathers sand shrubs and the rest flying in all directions it managed to zoom past John like a Boeing aborting a landing and head on back down the dune in a state of total shock. Landing, its undercarriage seemed to buckle under the manoeuvre, ploughing chest first into the shrubbery. In a second it regained its posture and sauntered off along the dune, occasionally looking back at John who was totally oblivious to all the commotion that had gone on behind him.
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