SOME MOUNTAINS OF THE CAPE PROVINCE
By N. P. Elliott.
The kindly providence which looks after the life of poor Jack must have smiled to itself when, at the end of 1943, it decided that the R.N. Air Station at Wingfield, six miles from Table Mountain should be my abiding place for the next two years. I was, indeed, so fortunate as to know my destination, but my ignorance of the terrain of the Cape Province was so complete that I blush for it to this day. My mind retained its childish impression of a photograph of Table Mountain sent home by an uncle, a mountain with a long flat top not unlike, but surely not as interesting, as Ingleborough ; and the veld had kopjies on it, but these were only little flat-topped hills !
The Drakensberg ? Yes, but that was a long way off, nor did I, in fact, do more than see its great peaks from a distance. That the majority of my fellow members are probably little more enlightened is the reason for this endeavour to convey some impression of the magnificent country in which I found myself. Their ears, at least, will not burn when this con fession is read by my friends of the Mountain Club of South Africa ; I can assure them that mine will.
What sort of country I had come to first dawned on me when, coming by train from Simonstown, I saw the eastern side of Table Mountain and Devil’s Peak, great crags, scarred with gullies and, from this view, at once apprehended the nature of the peaks seen from the other side of the train across False Bay, peaks which were to form my familiar skyline.
Table Mountain itself is faced with an upper wall of rock, for the most part well over a thousand feet in height and broken by the great cleft of the Plattsklip Gorge. The western side, flanked by the sea, is formed by the buttresses called the Twelve Apostles. The Table itself is relatively narrow, widening towards the eastern end. There are on the mountain over 150 routes, some no more than a walk, but many of them of great severity, particularly on the exposed face overlooking Cape Town. Access is easy and the foot of most of the climbs can be reached within an hour from Cape Town. The rock is a hard, reliable and rough sandstone, usually terraced, some times by a narrow ledge, sometimes by a steep slope which may have minor steps upon it. The major steps are commonly very steep, say 80°, and the general formation has led to the practice of the leader taking out all the rope and the end being thrown down to the third man, a practice which seems odd at first but which appears to be the best under the conditions. Very little scree is apparent, partly, I presume, due to the infrequency of frosts and partly to the vegetation ; of the latter, t may remark that bush is far superior to scree as a delaying agent. To these attractions is added an almost perfect climate whose daily weather is easily predictable, a long summer in’which rain is rare but whose heat is usually tempered by a cool wind, a short spring and autumn and a winter wet, particularly at weekends. Therein lies the imperfection ; rain by all means, a most necessary thing, but why at weekends ? If I were to add a dissertation on the pleasures of climbing on warm, clean rock, I might at some time be held responsible for the formation of a Society of Yorkshiremen within the Mountain Club.
In the space between the breakdown of the veld and the coast are mountain ranges too numerous to mention, and so prolific of peaks are they that twins are common and there is at least one case of triplets. In the Western Province they vary in height between the Helderberg (3,750 ft.) and the Klein Zwartbergen, the highest of which is 7,880 ft. They vary in accessibility too, but with leave and motor transport available I could have climbed a fresh peak every weekend. There is an added attraction in that no detailed maps are available ; we frequently had to make our own routes, and many of these mountains are very well defended. I think I am quite safe in saying that there are still some first ascents to be made, certainly many fresh routes.
My opportunities were, of course, limited but an account of six days at the end of September, 1944, which Heath of the Sheffield Climbing Club and I spent in the Waaihoek area may serve as an illustration of the country. Neither of us had been in the district before, though Heath had seen some of the peaks from a neighbouring group. We were fortunate enough to get a rough sketch map from the Mountain Club, but it was lacking in detail and, indeed, one peak which we climbed was omitted altogether and it was not until several months afterwards that we were able to get it identified.
It was our intention to use a hut on the slopes of the Waaihoek Peak and we took with us enough food to last six days (mostly such stuff as bacon, biltong and dried fruit, eschewing tins in order to save weight. In spite of that I remember that when we started I thought my sack was rather more than I could carry any distance. We arrived at Bree Rivier Station at 1.40 a.m. and as it had been raining recently, slept the rest of the night on the floor of the waiting room.
The bottom of the valley there is almost flat, about six miles wide, with scattered farms and coloured labourers’ dwellings. Not anticipating that we had anything but an easy day in front of us, we made no haste, but collected wood from the roadside and cooked breakfast just outside the station. We trudged along a long flat road, calling at a store to complete our provisions. We knew no Afrikaans but the storekeeper was very friendly and concluded our transactions by giving us a cup of tea.
Our loads now made up we went on through several farms until we reached the foot of the hills. Here, the farmer gave us directions, as to how our path started. These were very necessary. Heath had a very rough sketch of our route drawn on the back of the usual envelope, but it only gave the track and very little clue as to how it fitted into its surround ings. By this time I was experiencing an uneasiness of the interior which, combined with my heavy sack, made progress even on the level very trying and so we halted a little beyond the farm and made a fire and a meal and finally started, at 2.20 p.m., the uphill part of our journey. It was about this time that I learnt that the hut for which we were making was on the other side of the ridge. As I doubted if I could get myself, let alone my sack, up to the ridge that day, the addition of the crossing seemed quite immaterial. However, we fitted together the farmer’s instructions, the sketch map and what appeared to be the most feasible route and pushed off through the bush towards our first land mark, a solitary pine tree towards the head of a long ridge covered in low scrub.
By the time I reached this I was at my worst, having to halt every few hundred yards to get my wind back and let my heart steady down. After this I was to improve until I finally reached the top of the 5,400 ft. ridge in as good condition as I could normally expect. From beyond the tree we looked across a little valley to our right and above the stream saw, for the first time, our path well defined. Following this we traversed upwards, and still to our right, until we came to a waterfall in a large shallow gully. Here Heath, who had gone on ahead, had made coffee and we sat over a meal for nearly an hour. At six o’clock we decided that our chance of getting across in daylight was quite good enough and I went on, crossing above the waterfall and then straight up the gully over broken rock and sodden turf, the latter very steep in places, until the gully widened out into a triangular grassy slope, half covered with snow. Here Heath caught me up and we flogged our way up this unpleasant stretch together. At the head of this the cairns which marked the track, itself hidden by snow, petered out. The daylight, too, had gone and we scrambled up the last few hundred feet, a shallow rocky groove, by the light of a half moon. This brought us to the most welcome sight of the day, the hut, a small dark object outlined against the snow. Tired as we were we could still appreciate the gleam of the snow slopes below us, and the snow streaked peaks beyond, looking almost incredibly beautiful in the moonlight.
We plunged down the few hundred feet into the little valley, crossed a snow covered beck, hidden until I put one leg into it, and up the spur on which the hut stands. We had been fortunate with the weather, for the tops, which had been touched with cloud all day, had cleared and we had seen the sun set beyond a valley filled with mist. Thereafter I sat feeling the utter irresponsibility which comes with fatigue while Heath made coffee. The hut is a small one but well equipped with blankets and we laid some of these out and changed our clothes, caked with snow and sweat. I lay and drank hot sweet coffee and I have a dim recollection of Heath solacing himself with bread and honey.
We woke to a brilliant morning and realised that our lofty valley was filled with snow of the sort on which one might ski. I pottered about while Heath in the intervals of cooking breakfast, the sort which will be served in heaven (may I be there to eat it !) got skis down from the loft and examined them with loving care. So, while I washed up, I persuaded him to go outside, where he slithered about joyfully on the slopes near by. We didn’t hurry over anything, went up a few hundred feet on ski and walked across to a ridge whence we could admire the Buffels Hoek group and then up to try to catch a sight of the Waaihoek Peak and prospect a route suitable for skis. This we found, and, after lunch, set off and, climbing a subsidiary peak on the way, reached the top (6,408 ft.). The snow was hard and the strong sun had made it into the large crystals which are not easy to run on. Never theless we came down through rocks and across little becks with few falls and great enjoyment. This ski-ing was an altogether uncovenanted blessing and so the more appreciated. The evening in the dimly lit hut passed quickly, as time does in good company. It was prolonged by bad in the shape of a rat or so, but the relative importance of sleep became paramount and, having made all as secure as we could, we just slept, rats or no rats.
In the morning we had hoped to climb Mount Superior (6,400 ft.) on skis but a little inspection put this out of consideration ; the hot sun had done its work too well and we returned to our practice slopes above the hut. Knowing that it would probably be our last chance for a few years we made the most of it and flattered ourselves that we had regained some part of our former skill. The hut was a pleasant place that evening, with the sun going down behind the ridge, its light remaining on the top of Mount Superior and Tuesday Peak, and a little cold wind blowing down from our pass and later with the moon to show the surrounding peaks in all their alpine austerity. Probably I know more beautiful places but this is one where like John Splendid, ” Many a time the ghost of me will be standing here, remembering.”
The following day Heath found some snow still left to ski on while I spent the morning collecting firewood and trying to sort out the tangle of mountains from a ridge to the east of the but. It was very hot and neither of us was inclined to do a great deal, but in the afternoon we set off towards Mount Superior to extend our knowledge of the country. We traversed a ridge which forms a connecting link between Zebasberg and Superior. It has three peaks at a height approaching 6,000 ft., apparently unnamed, although there is a cairn on the highest. They are composed of light grey rock, very rough, and have a large number of small fantastically shaped pinnacles. It was quite an interesting scramble and we had views down into the Waaihoek Kloof and Wit Els Kloof and of the ridge running down to the Roodeberg from Zebasberg. This also has a number of pinnacles on it, some of which would have to be turned if the ridge were to be traversed. We did consider it as a return route but I doubt if it would have been worth taking. If we had allowed two days for it, one might have been wasted, and if we had left one and, as was quite possible, taken two, I should have been in the rattle for overstaying my leave. The kloofs are a remarkable feature of these mountains, many of them of tremendous depth, as much as 4,000 ft. and quite impassable, with huge waterfalls and thick bush.
We were repaid for our laziness the next day by finding ourselves wrapped in thick cloud but in the afternoon, tired of waiting for it to clear, we climbed Zebasberg (5,660 ft.). It was about 11 miles from us and by the time we had traversed several minor peaks and reached the top we were of the opinion that its height was underestimated. We had some wonderful views on the way down, on our left overlooking Bree Rivier and on our right seeing over the Ridge Pinnacles to Horseshoe Peak with Cleft Peak behind it, Horseshoe Ridge Peak, and Mount Brodie, all these light grey, with the sun on them, except for the dark streak of an enormous gully on Horseshoe. Some way beyond these was Trident with red crags, and blue sky above them. The nearer peaks had over them a long level of grey cloud. This remained on the top of Buffels Hoek Peak and Sentinel, but beyond them we could see over the Ceres Plain, in the sun, big patches of bright green and brown fields with white farm houses, very small in the distance. The sun just caught the upper rocks of Bertsberg, which appeared golden against the dark shadows below. In that direction the deep cut gap of the kloof running down into the Waaihoek Basin made an impressive foreground.
On the Bree Rivier side we saw down the gullies, between the lower peaks, the rock walls which face that way, some of them well over a thousand feet high, with wicked-looking overhangs in places. The rock itself is dark-coloured, rough and usually quite sound. We saw two hares on the peak and there is evidently quite a lot of vegetation there in the spring.
The weather cleared that night and Monday came fine with hardly more than enough wind to make it decently cool for climbing. We traversed the side of the ridge which forms a connecting link between Zebasberg and Superior, crossed a small kloof and came on the ridge between Superior and Tuesday Peak. From this, we had our first view over into Jan du Toit’s Kloof. We traversed over the top of Mount Superior, until we came to the branch leading to the summit of Windsor Peak which projects into the kloof in an easterly direction. A descent of a few hundred feet and a short scramble brought us to the top of Windsor.
Here we had our lunch, identifying the while, partly from Heath’s recollection and partly from the map, the peaks around us. Apart from this we hardly exchanged a word, having far too much to look at., Opposite us was Horseshoe Peak with the great pile of the Woolworth Building on its west side, not more than two miles away and looking much less in the clear air. How deep the gap which separated us is I don’t know ; the sides of the mountains disappear into apparently bottomless depths but it is probably 3-4,000 ft. After this we retreated to a more sheltered place in which to smoke a pipe, and again in silence.
We had intended to climb Tuesday Peak, but having returned on the western side of the main ridge to avoid the difficulty of picking our way among the broken rocks on the crest, we found ourselves cut off from it by a kloof and having already been nearly to the top we left it. Perhaps we ought to have gone back just to say that we had climbed another peak but we still had the tremendous views of Waaihoek Kloof and the ridge coming down from Zebasberg to occupy our minds and it did not seem important. Thereafter in the face of a wind increasing in strength and decreasing the temperature we came to the pleasant green vlakte on the watershed between the Waaihoek Kloof and the Waaihoek Basin and once more traversed the slopes of the ridge back to the hut.
Our return was made on a rather doubtful morning with occasional small rain squalls. We tidied up the hut for the last time and cleaned ourselves for civilisation. I sacrificed the makings of a good beard but without much regret. There was no particular hurry and we did not leave until 10.40. My rucksack still seemed fairly heavy though it compared favourably with the load I had carried up. Looking back from the ridge the hut had disappeared in mist. We travelled quite well going down and had made about 1,000 ft. before the rain came. However, we reached the farm at 12.20 and set off down the road, our heels sinking into the soft sandy surface as we walked. The rain stopped just before we reached the station and we had just time to change into dry clothes. (It was a memorable leave in magnificent country and had as well provided a welcome relief from living in a crowd, as we saw no one else for six days.)
We had a number of weekends climbing in somewhat similar country nearer to Cape Town and, with Penrose, I had a few days in the Klein Swartberge. In general we were somewhat hampered by lack of equipment, for instance the only nails obtainable were round steel hobs, and our time was usually limited, but the climbing was always interesting and enjoyable, and the friends with whom I climbed good company, so that my recollections of South Africa are of a kind that I shall treasure for many years to come.