Monday, 2 February 2009
After a way too big breakfast by Maryann, Yzelle and I returned to Pearly Beach where I was to start a new week's walk. Before I set off, some pictures had to be taken of my new Herbalife t-shirt. Yzelle had registered as a Herbalife distributor in order to bring in some funds, seeing as the big corporate companies were not exactly banging down the door to sponsor my walk. I am using various Herbalife products, sponsored by Hansie and Anita Louw, to supplement my diet and prevent me from melting away completely (Thank you, Hansie and Anita!). This range of health products are suitable for just about everybody, whether you want to lose weight, build mass, maintain a good healthy lifestyle or just to have the neccessary energy to cope with a hectic schedule. Any Herbalife orders placed with Yzelle, will help to fund this walk.
With the photo session done, we said our good byes and I tackled the walk with new determination. It is wonderful what a weekend's rest can do. From pearly Beach, the beach stretches eastwards for kilometres, where I could just enjoy my surrounds without having to concentrate on where I was treading. Cape cormorants, white breasted cormorants, hartlaub's gulls, kelp gulls, various species of terns and black oyster catchers were plentiful and I only missed the whales, which had already started their migration southward a few weeks ago. The first half of the day was very easy and I did about sixteen kilometres before stopping for lunch at a mysteriously deserted and dilapidated holiday resort. The buildings seemed to be of relatively modern design but the windows and doors were broken (some altogether missing), the lawns unkempt and rubbish blowing in the wind. It was almost spooky. And then, to top it all, a neat young man in a formal suit and tie (minus the jacket) walked down the road, past the complex and on towards the tidal swimming pool. He barely turned to greet me before disappearing around the bend. I had not heard a vehicle approaching, I did not see any signs of a house anywhere around and I never saw him return. But at least I know he was real, because he had left clear footprints. I do not believe in goasts but I know goasts do not leave tracks. OK, maybe that sounds contradictory. Anyway, I know he was just a normal man. But what he was doing there will remain a mystery to me and it was time for me to move on, so I packed up and made some tracks of my own.
Within a few hundred metres, the flat beach disappeared as suddenly as my enigmatic visitor and was replaced by rough, rocky terrain which slowed me down considerably. Not much later, I reached the first houses of the Buffeljags fishing village. Because the dim footpath lead through the fence and across the yard of the first home, I approached the owner to ask permission to enter his property. My parents did teach me some manners, at least. He was more than accommodating, smiling and telling me that he had seen me in Gansbaai a few days earlier. His huge black dog og dudious parentage, however, took it upon himself to defend his territory against this intruder and very nearly got a piece of shin (mine!) for lunch. To anyone watching from a distance, my high steps and staff-swinging moves might have looked like a strange pagan dance. I could already see the movie, Kevin Kostner playing me, "Dances with Dogs".
After Buffeljags, I left the gravel road and followed a short footpath to the beack. Another beautifully deserted, unspoilt, wide stretch of firm sand, all the way to Quinn Point lighthouse. As I reached the beach, I saw my first poacher! Around this part of the world, poachers are after only one thing... ABILONE! In recent times, this once abundent shellfish has become all the rave in Oriental restaurants and is in such demand that it sells for up to ZAR 1000,00 per kilogram on the black market. With a relatively high unemployment rate in this part of the Western Cape, poaching has become a way of life for many. And with up to ZAR 200,00 per kilogram being paid to the diver himself, I guess we who have food on the table cannot blame them. But abilone has become threatened! Locally, abilone is known as "perlemoen" and poachers as "perlies". Just about everyone knows who the perlies are, but the police cannot do anything to them unless they catch them with the abilone actually on their person, making law enforcement very difficult. I have lived around here long enough to know that these poacher will not hesitate to even shoot if they feel threatened and the best way to stay safe, is just to pretend not to have seen them. So I walked past without a glance in his direction. I was here to walk and spread the Gospel, not to play vigilante.
The going got tough from the lighthouse, where I had to make my way through a densely overgrown dune field, just to reach the coastline again. At high tide, these last seven kilometres to Die Dam (The Dam) where I was to spend the night, was an agonizing crawl over rocks and boulders, between the sea and steeply sloping dunes. To add to my frustration, What seemed like one bay, with the houses of Die Dam just a few hundred metres away, turned out to be a series of small bays. Everytime I got to what I thought must now surely be "the point", there was another "point" up ahead. And so on, and so on, until I finally reached the little cluster of holiday homes. I knew of a small hidden cave above the coast, so I slithered into its shelter moments before the sun disappeared over the horizon, tired and glad to be able to take off my pack.
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