Janine Stephen leaves the selfie-taking tourists behind on the southern tip of the Peninsula
Most trips to the cape of good hope involve a run to the lighthouse and back. but what’s the point of that when there’s so Much else to see and enjoy? alternative views of this iconic tip of the continent abound
Olifantsbos Cottage was wrapped in twilight, the moon’s rays already stroking the rocky outcrop behind it, and the silence was tactile. There were no lights on the horizon, no footsteps on the tide-swept beach, no smells other than salt, fynbos and the sulphurous twang of rotting kelp.
Not far away, the lighthouse at Cape Point burned with 10-million candlepower at the spot that lures tourists like moths. Every year, an incredible million or so visitors charge through the Cape of Good Hope reserve gates; most head straight to the tip to snap selfies and gaze at the waves that mix up oceans and currents below. It’s the psychological tip of the continent (never mind Cape Agulhas, 160 kilometres further east). It has almost mythical status. And yes, traffic.
Not here, though. Olifantsbos felt as far away from the city as a Kruger bush camp. The sunset was entirely my own, all pink-gin skies and champagne air. That’s the thing about this marvellous reserve: go anywhere other than the Point or the Cape of Good Hope promontory, and you find wonders, plus space to explore them. On a hunt for different views of the reserve, I struck gold again and again.
‘I reckon Cape of Good Hope is one of the most underrated small reserves in the world,’ Dominic Chadbon said to me as we gazed at the Atlantic from Gifkommetjie Ridge. Better known as The Fynbos Guy, he guided in Botswana before being captured by the Cape’s astounding biodiversity. ‘You’ve got Africa’s biggest antelope, Southern Africa’s rarest antelope and rarest zebra [eland, bontebok
and Cape mountain zebra respectively], the world’s most venomous sea anemone [the false plum], more plant species than the whole of Sweden…’
Dominic and I took an easy five-kilometre walk to the Phyllisia wreck and back from Gifkommetjie, one of a choice selection of routes scattered about the reserve. As we walked, I asked him for a bit of time travel – a view into the past. With ample excursions into plant lore (silky puffs and golden spiderheads), we imagined long-gone humans on this windswept finger of land: strandlopers would have scaled the ridge in search of medicinal plants and herbs, hunted game and fallen back on their staple, watsonia corms, when needed, he said. But their prime larder was the rocky coast below, packed with shellfish. We delved into the proclivities of limpets (herbivores, like antelope) and whelks (the carnivores of the rocky shore), overlooked by the forlorn hull of the Phyllisia.
The steam trawler smashed into the rocks in 1968, a relatively recent casualty of the fearsome Cape of Storms. Shipwreck carnage has a long history here, and continued even after the first lighthouse went up at Cape Point in 1860 – it was constructed too high up and cloud often obscured the beam. (Pity the lighthouse keepers, who lived in near isolation; in 1898 one complained of almost starving to death.) Things improved after a new lighthouse was built in 1919, but accidents still happen (my map shows the Honey, wrecked off Black Rocks in 2000). At least 11 wrecks litter the coast on the brief stretch from Olifantsbos to Gifkommetjie alone – the five-kilometre Shipwreck Trail takes in some of these.
Human history at Cape Point is traced into the landscape and survives in wisps of breath and ink: stories, legends and colonial bureaucracy. Artefacts dating back 40000 to 200000 years have been found near to where we stood at Gifkommetjie; in one depression near the Cape of Good Hope, early Stone Age remnants go back 600000 years. Much later, after the Khoi and strandlopers, pioneering settlers such as those at Buffelsfontein (the site of the visitors’ centre) tried to farm livestock – with limited success thanks to the poor soil. But the remaining pasture makes it possible for the bontebok and mountain zebra now in the park to survive. There were few trees; Dominic imagined early settlers looking at this odd landscape without useful timber or pasture and describing it as ‘fynbos’ – not for the delicacy of its leaves but because it was scanty. ‘Thin bush, as in not very productive, rather useless bush!’
As evidence of past strandlopers, Dominic pointed out shells high on a rocky ridge. Later, as I pored over a map, I saw ‘Khoi-San middens’ inscribed on the coast opposite the Phyllisia. The deposits of shells in rubbish heaps were treasure for later inhabitants: shells and stone were burnt to make lime for whitewash and mortar. A restored lime kiln dating back to about 1890 still stands on the False Bay coast, on the Black Rocks road to the enticing natural bath called Venus Pool.
Another view of Cape Point, worth shelling out for, is the maritime perspective. We raced over glassy seas in an 11-seater inflatable called Awesome, skirting Boulders and Smitswinkel Bay and heading south, until the cliffs of Cape Point towered beside us.
Simon’s Town Boat Company founder Dave Hurwitz is an appropriately bearded individual with a brain full of facts about whales and dolphins, and has spent much of his life on the ocean. He told us how this largely uninhabited peninsula was once a refuge for runaways (Booi se Skerm is one name that may refer to this fact – or to the forest that once grew on the spot). One was a holy man or ‘Tuan’ captured in Indonesia by the Dutch in the 1700s, who escaped the cells in Simon’s Town and holed up at Cape Point in a cave known as Antoniesgat.
There are caves punched into the cliffs all along this coastline. Near a prime, but dangerous, fishing spot called Rooikrans was a shadowy example (beware the path down from the viewsite in bad weather – and it’s a tough climb back up with your brace of yellowtail).
‘WE IMAGINED LONG-GONE HUMANS ON THIS WINDSWEPT FINGER OF LAND’
The seas are only calm enough to enter this sea cave on one in every four visits, Dave said, inching Awesome closer. We slipped under a sandstone overhang into a beautifully lit cavern, cutting out the sound of the waves. Polished walls seemed to shift and gleam in the dapples; green-lit water shone magically below.
At Cape Point itself, in the ‘washing machine’ where the ocean currents meet, we gawped at the two lighthouses on the edge of the continent, cliffs unfurling in either direction. The Russian tourist on board combed his windswept hair before embarking on a marathon selfie session. Soon after, the humpback whales we’d seen cruising south earlier caught up with us. They spouted water vapour with the Point as iconic backdrop. It was just perfect.
In search of another, lesser-known view, I asked Peter and Maggie Slingsby (of Slingsby Maps fame) for their favourite Cape Point trail. ‘If we have to choose one, then it’s Sirkelsvlei from Olifantsbos,’ said Peter. ‘A wonderful sense of the wilderness that the whole Peninsula once was, with varied scenery, great flowers and easy walking.’
I set off at dawn from Olifantsbos Cottage. The initial leg wound up through weathered landscape, all stark monochromes following a fire. Rocky fingers pointed skywards; the elements had sculpted windows and twisted stone (the Koggelman Arch is a lovely example). I ambled along Mimetes Ridge and onto the flats. Bontebok gave themselves away with alarmed snorts, and the place was peppered with plump bunting birds. After a while, ghostly Sirkelsvlei came into view, a body of water fed by a fountain. Sacred ibis, looking all preachy, turned their leathery faces my way. Further on, a red hartebeest stood silhouetted against the sky and a herd of eland with calves pretended they were invisible. The path curved over the ridge above Olifantsbos Cottage; with binos I saw a wink of water – the small pan in front of the veranda where eland enjoy a drink. Interpreting paw prints kept me occupied for the remainder of the walk and I arrived back at the car not having seen another soul.
Yes, I was drawn briefly to the magnet of the Point itself, and yes, it was beautiful. And busy. I also popped by the most southwestern tip of Africa (the Cape of Good Hope promontory is a bit west of the Point; visitors can hike between the two sites). It offered excellent peoplewatching: tourists dipped and whirled into position behind the sign declaring their whereabouts, as guides snapped the proof. Make no mistake, these are worthy sites – once-in-a-lifetime experiences. But having ticked them off, save some time to go off point and explore.