The Waters of Table Mountain - Part 3

Streams and ravines 

It is one of the many joys of hiking Table Mountain to chance upon a burbling stream, a secluded pool or a cascade pattering down on solid rock from up high. The atmosphere that these features create acts as an effective medium through which we connect with nature. Few sounds instil as much serenity as the trickle of water on a mountainside or the clicking of frogs beside a backwater pool. Add to that the geological drama and floral extravaganza on display on Table Mountain, and you understand something of the mountain’s appeal.

Table Mountain’s waterways are in a constant state of fluctuation. Parched streambeds in summer transform into gushing torrents in winter. Few perennial streams occur on the mountain. Some of the ravines that carry water throughout the year include Platteklip Gorge (lower reaches only), Disa Gorge, Window Gorge and Skeleton Gorge. Even these often end up half-dry by late summer (February / March), their water reduced to an underground seep, only to burst into life again in June at the onset of winter. Some hiking routes leading up ravines become treacherous and nigh on impassable during the winter months, when sections are transformed into foaming streams.  Skeleton Gorge is such a route; graded A (technically the easiest grade), it feels more like a C-grade after a winter storm.

Mountains are known to be the birthplace of rivers. Table Mountain with its flat summit catches a lot of rain that drains down the many ravines dissecting the mountain. The mountain’s proximity to the sea barely allows its streams to grow into fully-fledged rivers. During the winter months, a single deluge can transform a placid stream into a raging torrent. Runoff is fast and furious due to the steep terrain, and there is little water retention; less so in summer, when the mountain is parched and acts as a sponge. Hiking Table Mountain in winter, one has the privilege of tracing streams right to their source, where they start their journey to the sea as seeps near the summit. Hundreds of seeps merge to form a stream, in turn joining other streams and swelling into torrents that thunder down the mountain. 

I often get asked about waterfalls on Table Mountain. These only really come into being during winter, when Table Mountain receives 70% of its annual rainfall. Well-known and conspicuous waterfalls include Hell’s Gates in Disa Gorge, the cataract in Skeleton Gorge at its junction with the Contour Path, Blinkwater waterfall, Grassy waterfall and Fountain waterfall, taking the names of the ravines in which they occur. Grassy waterfall must rank as one of the longest and strongest on the mountain, as it can easily be seen from a kilometer away, appearing as a white ribbon on the eastern slopes. Located high up the mountain in an inaccessible area, no one bothers to make the arduous trek to its base. (Watch this space: I plan to make the trek this winter and get some pictures)

A detail often remarked on about Table Mountain’s water is its amber color. Streams in the Western Cape are often referred to as blackwater streams, as the amber color takes on a black appearance in deep pools. The color is caused by chemical compounds, called polyphenols, leaching out from dead leaves. Plants on Table Mountain produce polyphenols as defense against herbivores, as it makes the leaves unpalatable. The presence of polyphenols only affects the water’s color, not the taste. And it’s perfectly safe to drink. Some streams on Table Mountain filters through clay soils, allowing the polyphenols to bond chemically with the surfaces of the clay granules, ridding the water of its amber hue. A good example is the Platteklip Stream, whose water emerges crystal-clear at a point just above the Contour Path in Platteklip Gorge.

Which brings us to the existence of subterranean streams on Table Mountain. I know of three places on the mountain where water mysteriously emerges or disappears; and no doubt more such places exist. One is the Platteklip Stream, mentioned above, lifeblood of Cape Town up until the 1880s. Obvious along the gorge’s lower reaches, the stream disappears a short distance above the Contour Path, never to be seen again. Even in high winter, with water flowing down all the ravines on the mountain, the middle and upper reaches of Platteklip Gorge remain virtually waterless. In the Valley of Isolation on the Twelve Apostles, a small cave allows one to see water flowing through the mountain – east to west – its outflow still a mystery. 

Another unique aspect of Table Mountain’s water is its presence on the upper plateau (the actual tabletop). For much of the year, large parts of the summit plateau are waterlogged. The eastern table is known for its bogs, and even features a lakelet, or small natural pool. About a meter deep during winter, it gets topped up by the moisture-laden Tablecloth cloud-formation during the long, dry summer months, when at times it dwindles to barely more than a marsh pit. As for swimming possibilities, it’s too cold to enjoy in winter and too shallow in summer, but fun and invigorating to wallow in on sultry spring days, when the water level is fairly high.

Last but not least are the springs of Table Mountain – those rare places where a seep or drip can be found even in summer, when the mountain bakes under a torrid sun and the heat shimmers off dust-dry watercourses. Several springs exist on Table Mountain – and no one can profess to know the whereabouts of them all. Back in the early days of mountaineering, hikers and climbers relied on springs for their water supply. In the 1940s and 1950s, some were graced with small ponds to pool the water for convenient drinking. Nowadays, hikers and climbers carry their own water, only resorting to springs when their own supply run dry. 

The history of Cape Town and its people is entwined in the streams that flow off Table Mountain. The city has the mountain to thank for its existence. As hikers and climbers, we continue to draw sustenance from Table Mountain’s streams, sometimes to quench a thirst or revive the body, but more often to drink in the vitality and peace it brings to the surroundings.

The Waters of Table Mountain - Part 2

Table Mountain’s reservoirs

Up until the mid 1880s, Cape Town relied on a single Table Mountain stream for its water supply: the Varsche River, a confluence of three smaller streams that drained the northern slopes and the Saddle (the neck linking Devil’s Peak with Table Mountain). The drought of 1880 drove home to the town-planners the stark reality that the city needed more water, and fast. John Gamble, incumbent Colonial Hydraulic Engineer, revived an earlier idea that a tunnel be driven through the Twelve Apostles to capture the water of the Disa River, a strong perennial stream that drained much of the Table Mountain massif. 

Work on the 700-meter tunnel started in 1887, as did the construction of a pipeline several kilometres long, stretching from the tunnel exit in Slangolie Ravine on the Twelve Apostles to the Molteno Reservoir in the city center. But even before the tunnel’s completion, it became clear that more should be done to secure a steady supply of water. That’s when they decided to dam the Disa River.

Work on the Woodhead Reservoir began in 1890. Located on the Back Table – also known as the lower plateau, an extensive and undulating area behind (south of) the tabletop summit of Table Mountain, or upper plateau, and about 300 meters (1000 feet) lower down – the reservoir spanned the Disa Gorge along its middle stretches. The construction was a major undertaking: long lines of porters toiled up Kasteelspoort, a ravine on the Twelve Apostles that offered easy access, laden with building material. To assist in the task, a small open-skip, steam-driven cable car was strung up in 1893, with its lower terminus above Camps Bay and its upper terminus 650 meters higher on the northern edge of Postern Buttress. From here a small locomotive – carried piecemeal up the mountain – conveyed material to the construction site about two kilometers away. A small town sprung up on the summit, complete with its own bank, post office and shop. The dam wall, constructed from sandstone blocks quarried on the mountain, measured 252 meters across and 44 meters high, with a base thickness of 19 meters tapering to 3 meters at the top. But in 1898, only a year after its completion, it became apparent that the city’s water demand had outstripped supply – again. 

A second reservoir was promptly built a little upstream from the first, completed in 1904. Named the Hely-Hutchinson, its masonry wall measured 528 meters, while its water surface covered an area of 16 hectares. During all this time, the Wynberg municipality (a suburb of Cape Town and a separate municipality) had been labouring away at its own reservoirs on the mountain, three in total (Victoria, Alexandra and De Villiers), located further south on the Back Table, tapping a tributary of the Disa River. 

But Cape Town’s water woes did not end there. In 1905, the city became aware that demand yet again threatened to outstrip supply. After considering several alternatives and ideas, the city decided that Table Mountain’s water was utilized to the hilt and that more dam-building would not solve the problem. Instead, it undertook to obtain water from the Steenbras Dam, situated about 80 kilometers outside Cape Town. 

This set the tone for future efforts to increase Cape Town’s water supply. The chain of mountain ranges northeast of Cape Town stretching from Somerset West in the south to Ceres in the north offered extensive catchment areas that awaited exploitation.

Currently, Cape Town has six supply dams, the most recent addition being the Berg River Dam, opened in March 2009 and boosting the city’s water supply by a whopping 20%.

Table Mountain’s reservoirs are still in use, contributing around 5% of the overall supply. In the 1950s, the Woodhead Tunnel began to cave in and a new tunnel was built a few hundred meters to the north, exiting on Woody Buttress on the Twelve Apostles. This enabled the Woodhead and Hely-Hutchinson reservoirs to remain in use. 

Nowadays, all that remain of the construction site are bits and pieces of the upper cable car station, a few concrete floors where the village once stood and a few huts, one of which belongs to the Mountain Club of South Africa and another to the Cape Province Mountain Club. A third hut serves as a museum – the Waterworks Museum – where the old locomotive is on display along with various artifacts used during the construction. The museum and old cable car station makes for interesting asides when hiking in the vicinity.

(Part 3 of The Waters of Table Mountain takes a closer look at the streams on Table Mountain from a hiker’s perspective.)

The Waters of Table Mountain - Part 1

In my next three blogs I will briefly trace the story of Table Mountain’s water, from the role it played in the establishment of Cape Town to its coming of age as a city. The final instalment will deal with the occurrence of streams on Table Mountain, their significance to hikers and the part they play in shaping the mountain. 

Part 1: Early Days

To the Cape’s indigenous people – the Khoi-Khoi pastoralists and the San hunter-gatherers – the area now occupied by central Cape Town was known as Camissa, Place of Sweet Water, as anyone who has drunk from Table Mountain’s streams would attest to. When Portuguese explorer, Antonio de Saldanha, climbed Table Mountain in 1503 (the first European to do so) to get his bearings, he was delighted to find a strong stream flowing down the ravine (now known as Platteklip Gorge) by which he had gained the summit, more than enough to water his fleet. The bay at the foot of the mountain, present-day Table Bay, became known as Aguada de Saldanha, Watering Place of De Saldanha. Dutchman Wouter Schouten, who tasted the water on the mountain in 1665, had this to say about it: “We found it quite sweet and exceptionally pleasant in taste... Our heavenly liquid now tasted better than ordinarily does the most exquisite drink in the world.”

It was the water running down Platteklip Gorge that induced the Dutch to settle at the foot of the mountain in 1652, building the first structures of an outpost that became the bustling metropolis of Cape Town, Mother City to South Africa. Table Mountain gave rise to five streams, known by the Dutch as the Varsche (Fresh) River, draining the north face (front); the Liesbeek River, rising on the eastern slopes; the Diep and Spaanschemat Rivers, both flowing southeast; and the Disa River, emptying in Hout Bay south of the mountain. It was the Varsche River that sustained the Dutch settlement. Carrying the waters of the Platteklip Stream – and bolstered by two tributary streams, the Silver Stream and Capel Sluyt – the Varsche was soon channelled by the Dutch to water their fruit and vegetable gardens. 

As the settlement grew, so did its water needs. By 1849, water was so scarce that Cape Town’s street services ground to a standstill. Three reservoirs were built – in 1851, 1860 and 1881 respectively; the latter still in use – to solve the city’s water problems, but they failed to quench the thirst of the ever-increasing population. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and in the early 1880s the decision was reached to drive a tunnel through the Twelve Apostles to tap the waters of the Disa River, whose huge catchment ensured a perennial and substantial supply. 

As can be seen from the above, the streams flowing off Table Mountain, especially the Varsche River, played a central role in the birth and development of Cape Town. Sadly, the city has shunned its erstwhile lifeblood. The last remaining Dutch canal, the Heerengracht, was covered in the late 1850s; and the outbreak of the Bubonic Plague in 1901 saw the last stretch of open watercourse go underground, never to be seen again. the Varsche River now flows beneath the city, confined to stormwater tunnels and drains, its sweet water going to waste in the sea. A new initiative is currently underway to put the water to use. 

The Varsche’s main source, the Platteklip Stream, still cascades down the lower stretches of Platteklip Gorge (it being subterranean higher up) above the city center and makes for an impressive sight when in full spate. It is one of only a handful perennial streams on the mountain, swelling to a torrent after winter rains and dwindling to a seep in late summer, when its crystalline waters serves as a welcome refreshment to many an overheated hiker.

(Part 2 deals with the building of the reservoirs on top of the mountain in the 1890s.)

'The one who is afraid of the sun'

I’m not really into frogs. I love their croaking – especially in misty conditions on the mountain, when it lends an air of mystery to the landscape – but otherwise I am not particularly impressed by them. That all changes when it comes to Heleophryne rosei, commonly known as the Table Mountain ghost frog, one of 19 frog and toad species on the mountain.

So what makes the ghost frog so special? Primarily, its distribution: it lives only in the swift-flowing sections of seven perennial streams on Table Mountain (all on the south and east side), nowhere else on earth. That’s an area of about eight square kilometres. One of only two vertebrates endemic to the Cape Peninsula (the other also a frog), the ghost frog can truly be called a child of Table Mountain.

Heleophryne (Latin for ‘the one who is afraid of the sun’) rosei is one of the most ancient frog species, having split off from its closest ancestors more than 160 million years ago. Its solitary evolution on Table Mountain spans millions of years and gave it the niche habitat of swift-flowing streams by endowing it with suction pads on their toes, tiny skin projections that grip like Velcro, flattened bodies and highly webbed feet. Even the tadpoles are adapted to life in the fast lane, possessing sucker-like mouthparts that prevent them from being swept away by the current.

One of the coolest things about ghost frogs is their translucent belly through which the innards can be seen. This together with its scarcity and secretive nature accounts for its name. In fact, you’re almost more likely to come across a real ghost on Table Mountain than one of these guys. Two decades of hiking the mountain and I’ve only ever chanced upon one. They spend much of the day underwater, ensconced in crevices, only emerging at night to feed on insects.

So how will you recognize one? If you find yourself along a fast-flowing stream on the south or east side of Table Mountain at dusk – or at night with a headlamp – and you come across a frog five to six centimeters long with enlarged toes and a striking skin coloration (pale green with purple spots) perched streamside on a mossy rock, then you’re most likely looking at a ghost frog. Congratulations. However, non-breeding adults occasionally do stray from streams and venture into bogs and caves.

Sadly, the ghost frog is set to become even more elusive, and might even face total extinction. Tadpole numbers in Skeleton Gorge (one of its habitats) have dropped by an estimated 50% since 1980. Not surprising that it’s listed as Critically Endangered. With an area occupancy of less than 10 square kilometers and a continuing decline in the extent and quality of its habitat, extinction is a very real possibility. In fact, it has already become extinct in some parts of the mountain. The main threats are the spread of invasive alien (non-indigenous) vegetation, frequent fires and reservoirs (affect the consistency of stream-flow). Furthermore, poor forestry practices also contribute to the clogging of streams.

On a brighter note, Table Mountain National Parks is committed to the eradication of alien plants on the mountain – an ongoing programme that will benefit not only the ghost frog, but many other native plant and animal species.

We at Hike Table Mountain actively involve ourselves in the fight against aliens (of the terrestrial kind!) through the cutting down of cluster-pines (saplings), one of the most invasive aliens on the mountain. Please feel free to contact us should you wish to join our next outing.

Mountains are not forever

All around the globe, the erosive forces of nature – wind, rain, rivers, oceans, glaciers, earthquakes – are at work on mountains, whittling them down grain by grain, reducing them to the very sediment they were created from. Dust to dust, and mountains are not exempt. Like humans, they also have a lifespan.

Table Mountain has stood up well against the ravages of time. Seven times older than the mighty Himalayas (8 times older than the Alps and Andes; 4 times older than the Rockies), it still stands proud in its 3.6 millionth human lifetime. At the current rate of erosion, Table Mountain has another 10 million years left before it will have been reduced to beach sand.  But the latest geological research on the mountain has revealed a decreased rate of erosion. Scientists used a new dating technique that relies on cosmic particles to calculate the erosion rate. It’s complicated, so I won’t go there, but what it comes down to is that Table Mountain will be in existence a lot longer than previously believed. About 10 times longer. Based on the latest calculations, the mountain erodes 1 centimeter every 1000 years. So Table Mountain is about 5 millimeters slimmer than in 1503, when the first European climbed to the summit. At this rate, Table Mountain should still be here after the Himalayas have disappeared.

Most erosion takes place over time and on a near microscopic level. We know it's happening, but can't see it. Every trickle of water, every flurry of wind contributes, wearing away innumerable rock particles day after day, week in and week out. Rivers draining Table Mountain, an area of 57 square kliometers, remove around 30 tons of sediment per year from each square kilometer of mountain.

But sometimes erosion is less subtle. Landslides and rockfalls do accur on the mountain, mostly during winter, when cliffs are battered by storms and streams gush in full spate down the ravines. Thunder also plays a role in erosion, usually as the final agent in a series of erosive forces. In April 2009, during a heavy thunderstorm, a huge chunk of rock broke off from a cliff overlooking Woody Ravine (a popular route up the 12 Apostles), razing a patch of indigenous forest and destroying a section of the path. I was climbing on the adjacent buttress earlier that day (dodging lightning bolts!) and came upon the devastation only hours after it had happened. The acrid smell generated from rock gnashed against rock, reminiscent of cordite, still lingered, and sap was still oozing from the trunks of small trees, snapped like matchwood. This is a rare occurrence; in all the years of hiking on Table Mountain, I have never witnessed a rockfall or landslide - but I have occasionally come across fresh ones, like the one in Woody Ravine. Ironically, the piece of cliff that broke away formed part of a climbing route opened in the early 1900s. To think climbers once scaled those cliffs, trusting the rock with their lives - rock now scattered and shattered in the ravine bed far below.

On the subject of erosion, I recall an amusing incident a few years ago while descending Dark Gorge, a ravine leading up to the Saddle from the east. A friend and I were seated on a rock, resting our weary legs while savoring the setting: the ravine's beetling sidewalls, the stillness, the mysterious gloom of the forest further down. So when a pebble dropped a short distance higher up, seemingly of its own volition, we could clearly hear it clatter down the rocky slope. My friend, lost in thought and staring into space, remarked in a reverential voice, "Wow, it's so quiet, you can even hear the mountain eroding," only to have his remark rudely refuted by a lagging friend who had    snuck up on us: "It was me, you damn fool."

So, with all the erosion taking place, whether from wind, water, lightning or the foot of man, it makes sense to hike Table Mountain while it’s still around. But no need to rush up. Like a German put it when I told him about it while hiking up the mountain: “Gutt, zen wie hav time enough!”

Skeleton Gorge: To do or not to do

I’m often amazed at how many people, even non-hikers, know about the existence of Skeleton Gorge. In some ways, it has achieved brand status when it comes to hiking on Table Mountain. Certainly, most literature and websites featuring an article remotely related to Table Mountain hasten to sing its praises. This might explain why the words ‘Skeleton Gorge’ would ring a bell to even the most inveterate mall-rat or sofa-slug; and who then claims to have done it at some point in the distant past.  

Let me first qualify what exactly constitutes the Skeleton Gorge route: Skeleton Gorge is a ravine on Table Mountain, the top of which is far from the actual tabletop summit of Table Mountain. From the head of this ravine / gorge, one latches onto a path known as the Smuts Track that leads to Maclear’s Beacon, the highest point on the mountain. And from there, one traverses the entire summit plateau to the upper cable station (by which time you readily opt to ride down in the cablecar as opposed to walking down). For the purposes of this article, ‘Skeleton Gorge’ includes all three segments mentioned above: the actual ravine known as Skeleton Gorge, the Smuts Track and the traverse across the summit. Many people assume the route name ‘Skeleton Gorge’ to include all three segments, as they are often strung together to form a single route. Nothing wrong with that; one just need to be aware of the distinction.

Rivalled only by Platteklip Gorge in renown, Skeleton Gorge ranks as one of the main routes up Table Mountain. In this article, which I intend to be definitive in its assessment of the route, I will cut through all the clutter and noise surrounding the route, from rose-tinted reviews to slapdash articles written by hiking neophytes and those professing to know Table Mountain.

Skeleton Gorge is like a good book in that you’ll find those who wax lyrical about it, while others dismiss it as so-so. But overall it’s a ‘good book’. Not for everyone, but a good read – a readable tale. The route has merit, no doubt about that, but it still might not be the best route for you. To gain some objectivity, let’s take a closer look at some aspects of the route and how they can be a determining factor in your overall enjoyment of it.

Length: Skeleton Gorge is a strenuous route. Starting out on the southeast slopes of the mountain and meandering across to the northwest corner, it covers a distance of about 6.2 km (3,8 miles) and gains around 930 meters (3100 feet) in elevation. If your fitness is below average, you will take some degree of strain. Even so, if you’re out to push yourself, then no problem. But if you have a leisurely walk in mind without breaking much of a sweat, then you’re in for a rude awakening.

Vegetation: The first half of the route (more or less) follows a forested ravine. If you’re not a forest person, or you live in a forested area back home and don’t care much for them while on holiday, or you want views on the way to the top, then half the route will be disappointing. But if you enjoy forests, or perhaps want to experience Table Mountain’s unique Afro-montane forest (reminiscent of some types of jungle in the Amazon rainforest), you will enjoy the first half of the route. Some people love forests, others find them claustrophobic, sinister and boring. If you’re the latter type, then the route is not for you.

Character: Skeleton Gorge takes in all the floral zones on the mountain. And by the time you reach the upper cable station, you will have had views in all directions. It also leads through some of the less-visited parts of the mountain and offers interesting asides like the Table Mountain reservoirs. If you’re a peak-bagger (someone whose principal goal is the attainment of a summit), or you don’t want to walk more than 3 hours, or you couldn’t care much about nature and solitude, then Skeleton Gorge will fail to impress. Furthermore, the route offers little in the way of scrambling and exposure to heights (low adventure factor), so if you’re an adrenalin-junky or something of an Indiana Jones, then Skeleton Gorge is bound to leave you disenchanted and dissatisfied.

But like Dan Brown’s best-selling novel, The Da Vinci Code (not everyone’s definition of a good read), Skeleton Gorge has mass appeal. It ticks most boxes of what the majority of hikers want out of a route. It’s a deservedly popular route that does justice to the beauty and diversity of Table Mountain. And the route’s positives (full range of views, all floral zones, relative solitude) measures up well against the negatives (no views along first half, strenuous and verging on monotonous along the middle stretches).

Not sure this route is for you? Allow the professionals at Hike Table Mountain to match you with the right route. We realize the importance of route-selection in the overall experience of Table Mountain and therefore take the time to learn more about you – your fitness level, experience, preferences, interests, sense of adventure, expectations, principal reason for wanting to hike Table Mountain, etc. – before suggesting a route.  Different strokes for different folks, as the saying goes, and we subscribe to that.

One question that begs to be answered is how Skeleton Gorge got its name. The anti-climactic answer is, no one knows for sure. Whereas we know the origin of almost all the route names on Table Mountain, this one remains shrouded in mystery. It’s a very old route and has been known by its present name since the late 1800s; so one can only assume that a skeleton was found somewhere in the gorge around that time. A German with a strong accent on a hike with me some time ago thought he knew the answer when he asked me if the skeleton of a man called George was discovered in Skeleton Gorge. Maybe we should just go along with that.

The highest point on Table Mountain

Despite its flat summit, Table Mountain does have a high point. Not exactly a peak or lofty spire, but a humble outcrop elevated 20-odd meters above the surrounding landscape. Marking the spot is a 3-meter-high stone cairn known as Maclear’s Beacon.

With most of Table Mountain’s summit plateau located at around 1065 meters (3500 ft) above sea level, the terrain at Maclear’s Beacon ticks up to 1088 m (not including the cairn), making it the official summit of Table Mountain as well as the highest point on the Cape Peninsula. Its location near the eastern edge of the ‘Table’ – about 40 minutes’ walk from the upper cable station – means that very few visitors to Table Mountain actually get round to it.

Despite the unremarkable topography around Maclear’s Beacon, the place offers exceptional views not seen from the upper cable station. The view across the tabletop reveals the lie of the summit and gives one an appreciation of how flat it really is.

So who was Maclear? In 1834, Irish astronomer Sir Thomas Maclear (1794 – 1879) was appointed Astronomer Royal at the Cape. In 1844, as part of his measurement of the Meridian Arc, he supervised the construction of a rock beacon at the highest point on Table Mountain. It formed one of his three major survey points and was painted lamp-black to make it more visible.  

In subsequent years, the conical beacon crumbled into a shapeless heap, but was restored in 1979 (using the original stones) to commemorate the centenary of Maclear’s death and has since been declared a National Monument. Nearby is a brass toposcope as well as the Mountain Club of South Africa War Memorial that commemorates the nine Club members who died in the First World War.

Maclear’s Beacon serves as a fitting climax to a hike up Table Mountain. Most routes on the mountain can be altered or extended (by less than an hour) to include this superb vantage point. Views aside, it symbolizes a sense of achievement – a point of reference to our efforts at scaling a mountain. Then there is the spiritual dimension of beacons, as the following passage from the 1938 Journal of the Mountain Club of South Africa reminds us:

“If weather and other circumstances permit, time must be spent at a beacon. The outstanding days are those when we have eaten, and lazed, and sunbathed at the beacon itself for two or three hours. A vivid memory is associated with three and a half hours spent on a high summit on a calm, silent, perfect day. The summit beacon is a special place with a special atmosphere, and to understand that atmosphere we must be still and take time to receive what the mountains have to give us. There, in a special way, our beings become saturated with what has so often been described as the Spirit of the Mountains.”

Hike Table Mountain offers hikes to the summits of all the peaks on the Table Mountain massif, and there are many. Whether you’re in it for the views, the challenge or the ambience, setting foot on some of Table Mountain’s summits is an experience not to be missed.

Table Mountain's most common mammal

Mammals used to be a common sight on Table Mountain back in the day, but man’s encroachment reduced them in numbers and species. Except for one: the ubiquitous Rock Hyrax, locally known as the Dassie (from Old Dutch dasje, meaning ‘badger’) – a brown, furry creature resembling an earless rabbit, and therefore also referred to as a Rock Rabbit.

Despite their nondescript appearance, these squat little mammals should not be dismissed as a mere mutant rodent or feral guinea-pig. For starters, they’re the closest living relative to the modern-day elephant and sea cow. All three animal groups – elephants, sea cows and Dassies – descended from a common ancestor millions of years ago and therefore share physiological similarities in teeth, leg and foot bones. Not surprising then that the Dassie was awarded its own order (Hyracoidea).

Rock Hyraxes occur in rocky habitats across Southern Africa, North Africa and the Middle East. The nooks and crannies of Table Mountain provide the perfect habitat, offering easy escape from their arch-enemy, the Black Eagle. They live in colonies of up to 80 individuals, divided into several families (harems) comprising 3 to 15 adult females, a single dominant male and several young. Several colonies inhabit the rock ledges around the upper cable station, where they are often seen basking in the morning sun. Older individuals have become tame from long exposure to humans and human feeding. It is not allowed to feed the Dassies; their habitat contains ample food sources (flowers, bulbs, roots, grass, sometimes insects and grubs) and they don’t need the likes of crisps, sweets and bread for sustenance. They can survive for weeks without water in that their fluid requirements are largely met by their diet.

The Rock Hyrax’s plump appearance belies its agility. Sure-footed and endowed with a good head for heights, they can often be seen scurrying up near-vertical terrain and across exposed ledges with consummate ease, seemingly insensible to the risk of falling. The soles of their feet consist of soft pads kept moist with a sticky secretion that facilitates heat loss and provides traction on rock surfaces, aiding in their agility.

Dassies love to bask in the morning sun due to poor heat-regulation and a low metabolism. They rely on sentries, posted on vantage points, to warn them against danger. A sentry’s high-pitched bark sends the colony scurrying for safety among nooks and crannies. Black-eagles pose the greatest threat and usually attack from the direction of the sun, making use of the blinding light to avoid detection. Evolution has provided Dassies with a unique membrane over the eye that shields the pupil against the sun, enabling them to spot attacking eagles. The Hyrax’s unusually long gestation period (230 days; compared to the much larger Impala’s 196 days) suggests that Hyraxes the size of oxen once roamed the earth – hardly prey for an eagle.

Rock Hyraxes produce large amounts of hyraceum, a sticky mass made up of dung and urine. This petrifies over thousands of years into a rock-like material known as Africa Stone, used in traditional South African medicine for treating epilepsy and seizures. It is also used in perfumery for its complex, fermented scent combining elements of musk, civet, tobacco and agarwood.

Rock of ages

Mountains are often thought of as timeless; unchanged by the passage of time, impervious to the ravages of the elements. But the reality is they age as much as we do, just on a much slower scale.

Table Mountain is no exception. Time is fast running out for this crumbling relic of a mountain. Composed largely of sandstone deposited 540 million years ago by large rivers and inland seas, the mountain first came into being when the supercontinent of Pangaea scrunched into an unknown continent about 360 million years ago, uplifting the sedimentary rock around the Cape in a concertina-like formation that reached heights of about 3000 meters. Back then, Table Mountain formed part of a much larger mountain range, and it would take 300 million years of erosion to reduce it to its current shape and size. So the mountain as we see it today, with its distinctive tabletop, is only about 60 million years old – still a venerable age compared to that of the Alps (32 million years) and the Himalayas (40 million years), and bearing in mind the age of the rock itself (540 million years).

Table Mountain is actively eroding. Proof of this can be found on any hike up the mountain, where boulders the size of houses can be seen perched precariously on cliffside ledges. Another 10 million years or so will see Table Mountain reduced to an inconspicuous hillock. Wind and rain combine to wear away the sandstone layers. Expansion cracks form as the mountain sheds weight, aiding the erosive action of the elements. On a human scale, with 70 taken as the average life-expectancy, Table Mountain (in its current shape and size) has attained the ripe age of 60. Still 142 857 human lifetimes to go.

There is no better way to acquaint yourself with the geology of Table Mountain than on foot. Join Hike Table Mountain on a hike to discover some of the mountain’s weird rock-formations, caves and striking topographical features.

Forthcoming blog: ‘Why is Table Mountain flat?’

Happy 2012 to all. Make it count. Make it happen. Make time to connect with nature.

So what's the hardest hiking route on Table Mountain?

A contentious question. In my humble opinion, and drawing on the experience and knowledge I have gained ascending all the routes on Table Mountain many times over, I have the following to say on the subject:

For an accurate answer, we need to define “hard”, “route” and “Table Mountain”.

“Hard”

What defines a hard route? Four things: length, terrain, technicality and exposure to heights.

-          Length: the component least likely to lead to drama if you get it wrong, but still impacts on a route’s severity.

-          Terrain: while the average hiker might not despair when a route turns out to be a bit longer than anticipated, rough terrain could bring him to his knees as well as tears. Dense vegetation and loose rock are the two main ingredients that complicates terrain; others include cliffs (dealt with separately under Technicality) and wet watercourses.

-          Technicality: this refers to the degree of climbing skill required to negotiate vertical sections. Getting it wrong on technical difficulty is not cool and carries considerable drama-potential. Routes on Table Mountain are graded according to the most difficult climbing encountered along the way. An ‘A’ route involves walking only, with perhaps the occasional use of hands to negotiate steeper sections; a ‘B’ route calls for some elementary climbing (scrambling), sometimes necessitating the use of a rope; a ‘C’ route involves more serious scrambling, often requiring a rope. Upwards from ‘C’ is regarded as proper rock-climbing.

-          Exposure to heights: although only a mental strain, it should not be discounted, as it can sap your energy as much as an uphill slog. And if you don’t have a head for heights, an exposed ‘B’ route can feel more like a ‘C’ or even a ‘D’.  Incompetence or negligence on an exposed route – especially ‘B’ and ‘C’ grades – could spell disaster.

Does a route’s gradient affect its overall difficulty? Not as much as you might think. To gain a 1000 meters in elevation along a straight route with a 45 degrees gradient, you would cover a distance of 1400 meters. To gain the same elevation along a route with a 22.5 degrees gradient, you would cover a distance of 2400 meters. That’s a full kilometer further. Many variables come into play when putting this into practice: the gentler route might be bushy, while the steeper route follows an open path – which one you gonna take? Or the steeper one gets summertime shade most of the day, while the gentler one is in full sun the whole way. In my opinion, it’s best not to fret too much about a route’s gradient; there are other more important factors to take into account.

“Route”

What qualifies as a route on Table Mountain?

For the purposes of this exercise, we will only consider current routes – routes that are still in existence. There is quite a number of hiking routes on Table Mountain that has fallen into oblivion and obscurity; trails long since overgrown and faded from memory, with only a few lone, moss-covered cairns as evidence to their erstwhile existence. A route like Slangolie Face (C-grade) on the north side of Slangolie Buttress, one of the Twelve Apostles, has probably not seen any hikers in decades. Opened in 1922 by A.G.S. Black and party, you’d be lucky to even find a crumbling cairn on it, let alone a hint of a path. So we’re not going to count Slangolie Face as a route, apologies to Mr. Black.

“Table Mountain”

For many people, Table Mountain comprises only the tabletop you see from the city center. But there’s much more mountain hidden behind its iconic facade: the Twelve Apostles, the undulations and mounds of the Back Table and the forested buttresses on the Suburban side. All these areas are considered to be part of the Table Mountain massif. Lion’s Head and Devil’s Peak are not included. So we will consider routes leading up all sides of the Table Mountain massif, not only those terminating on the tabletop summit.  Bear in mind that some routes do not lead all the way to the summit, but latches onto another route for the remainder of the way. An example would be Kloof Corner (C) – a route in its own right; not a sub-route or variation – which terminates about 150 meters below the summit, from where hikers use the India Venster route to gain the summit.

It’s tempting to assume that a C-grade route would take the honors as the hardest route on Table Mountain. But the reality is that an exposed B-grade route leading up bushy and brittle rock feels much harder than a C-grade route involving clean and short C-grade pitches on sound rock.

So let’s line up the candidates. Starting on the east side of the mountain, the first candidate is Hiddingh-Ascension incorporating its Ferny Dell variation. Weighing in at a B+ grade, it is technical, bushy in places, long and exposed with some loose slope thrown in for good measure. Bonus points given for the fact that it involves complex route-finding.

Our second contender is Silverstream Ravine, a C-grade that leads up the north (front) face of Table Mountain. Although fairly tame for three-quarters of the way, it makes up for it with a steep top-section that involves tricky and exposed climbing.

Third up is Kloof Corner Pinnacle, a souped-up variation to the Kloof Corner route. Both are C-grade, but the Pinnacle route involves more scrambling, and if strictly adhering to the original route, more exposure. Awkward scrambling over considerable drops makes it hard, rather than bush and loose rock.

On the western side of the mountain, we have the Grotto-Fountain-Cairn Traverse, a sensational route with ample exposure, bushy stretches and tricky route-finding.

Victoria Gully, along with its non-official approach, Pimple Traverse, makes for a worthy addition to the above candidates. Long and bushy, it involves tricky and exposed scrambling in its latter stages. Graded B, but not to be sneered at.

So which one deserves the distinction of being the hardest hiking route on Table Mountain? It’s a tough call, but I have to give it to Hiddingh-Ascension via Ferny Dell. This route ticks all the boxes of what makes a route hard, and grand. Hats off to the pioneers, G.F. Travers-Jackson and G.T. Amphlett, who way back in 1899 blazed a trail up this forbidding part of the mountain.

Hiddingh-Ascension is such a superb route, it deserves its own blog post, which it will get in the near future. Best is to experience it first-hand. Hike Table Mountain offers guided hikes up this sensational route. If you’re adventurous, in good shape and have a good head for heights, then this route will blow you away. We’re ready when you are.

PS: Second place goes to Kloof Corner Pinnacle, by a short head.

Table Mountain: New Wonder of Nature

Table Mountain has been elected as one of the New 7 Wonders of Nature in the first tally of global votes (along with the Amazon jungle, Halong Bay in Vietnam, Iguaçu Falls on Brazil-Argentina border, Jeju Island in South Korea, Komodo in Indonesia, Puerto Princesa Underground River in the Philippines). Not that I ever thought of the mountain as anything less than a wonder of nature, but it’s nice to know there are many out there, from all over the world, who feel the same.

The results are provisional and all votes will now be validated and independently verified. Once this process is completed (early 2012), the New7Wonders campaign will work with the confirmed winners to organise the inauguration events. It may happen that one or more of the provisional winners announced on the 11 November drop out from the list during the validation process. Chances of Table Mountain dropping out? Around 1%, according to an informed source. “It’s pretty much confirmed that we’ll stay in,” says the source.

The man behind the New7Wonders campaign is adventurer and filmmaker, Bernard Weber. The New 7 Wonders of Nature is the group’s second campaign. It began in 2007 when more than 440 locations were nominated in more than 220 countries through a global voting process. The top 77 choices were short-listed, and with the help of a panel of experts, further narrowed to 28 candidates and announced in July 2009, when the voting for finalists began.

Says Weber, "So many breathtakingly beautiful, natural places are still quite unknown to many, from waterfalls to fjords, rainforests to mountain peaks, freshwater lakes to volcanoes. We are discovering together the incredible beauty and variety of our planet."

In a statement announcing the provisional results, Weber says: "When the New 7 Wonders of Nature are confirmed they will join the man-made New 7 Wonders of the World in becoming part of global memory for humankind forever."

The movement began when Weber had an idea to revive the Seven Wonders of the World, much like Pierre de Coubertin revived another ancient Greek concept, the Olympic Games, in 1896 with the introduction of the modern Olympic Games.

The Seven Wonders of the World, selected by Philon of Byzantium in about 200 B.C., included the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the Pyramids of Giza, and served as a travel guide for fellow Athenians. The key difference, noted on the N7W website, is that the New 7 Wonders of the World were not chosen by one man, but by millions of people all over the world.

Weber’s next campaign? The New 7 Wonder Cities, where we’ll have the chance of voting for our 7 favourite cities.  Now how cheeky it would be if Cape Town makes it to the top 7 in that campaign.

Table Mountain’s new status as one of the 7 wonders of nature is no doubt a boon to the depressed tourism industry, as it will bring thousands of additional tourists to our shores. The downside is the increased environmental impact on the mountain. South African National Parks sure have their work cut out for them. To all trail-runners, hikers, dog-walkers, mountain-bikers and climbers on Table Mountain, let’s help where we can by respecting the mountain more than ever and picking up any litter we come across.

With its new triple status as a World natural Wonder, World Heritage Site and National Park, hiking Table Mountain is now more exciting than ever.

Singular sightings on Sugarloaf

One hardly expects to come across animals on the well-trodden slopes of Sugarloaf (Lion's Head circa early 1600s). Scarab beetles, girdled lizards and red-winged starlings are the usual suspects, with a rock kestrel putting in an occasional appearance. Great was my surprise then when, on a recent climbing foray with my favorite miscreant and fellow climber, I startled a 1,20-meter rhombic skaapsteker (snake). Sleek and patterned, it packs about as much venom as your garden-variety bee. Then, 3 hours later on the descent, trudging down the main path at dusk, having done justice to a route called Sunset Crag by topping out at sunset, we watched in mute wonder as a spotted eagle owl swooped down on an unidentified prey in the path a few meters ahead of us. It peered at us for a full 5 seconds before flying off. What a privilege. You never know what you might find when hiking Table Mountain, but one thing is sure: you never come away disappointed.

Snakes and Ladders

No, not the board game – real snakes and ladders.

I came across a Berg Adder the other day meters after negotiating one of the steel ladders on Table Mountain, making me feel like I was playing a game of real-life snakes and ladders. So, with no common ground other than their significance with regards to foot placement – the one you want to step on, the other you don’t – let’s take a closer look at what a hiker on Table Mountain can expect in the way of Adders and ladders.

First, Adders. (Snakes on Table Mountain in general will be dealt with at length in a future blog – watch this space). Two Adder species occur on Table Mountain: the Berg Adder and the Puff Adder. Both have scaly, plump and boldly-patterned bodies with flat, triangular heads. And both are sluggish and strikes readily. Berg Adders reach lengths of between 30 and 45 cm, while Puff Adders grow to 90 cm.

So what venom do they pack? Berg Adders are considered mildly venomous, but no anti-venom exists, so a bite might confine you to a hospital bed for months. Also, the venom is both cytotoxic (cell-destroying, attacking tissue and blood cells) and neurotoxic (attacking central nervous system, causing respiratory failure), but fortunately lacks the potency to kill a human.

The venom of the Puff Adder is mostly cytotoxic and apart from causing excruciating pain, can lead to the loss of a digit or limb. Fatalities from a Puff Adder bite are rare, but do occasionally occur. Colloquially referred to as a “Puffy”, it thoroughly deserves its notoriety in that it is responsible for more fatalities than any other African snake. This can be ascribed to a combination of factors: prevalence, wide distribution, aggression, potent venom, long fangs, habit of basking in footpaths and its sluggishness (most snakes slither away when sensing danger; the indolent Puffy holds its ground).  

So what are your chances of coming across an Adder while hiking Table Mountain? Slim. I spend a lot of time on the mountain, often in remote locations, and haven’t seen a Puff Adder in years. As for Berg Adders, I chance upon one perhaps once a year. Puff Adders seem to be more prevalent around Cape Point, as I have come across them twice in the last eight visits to the area. Both times they were coiled up in the path, basking in the sun and in no hurry to get out of the way. Mean-looking and with a face only a mother can love, I steered a wide berth around them.

From Adders to ladders. A few routes on Table Mountain feature artificial aids at some point along the way, whether it be steel ladders, staples (U-shaped steel bars fixed to the rock) or chains. One of the most well-known ladders are those found in Skeleton Gorge, where they help hikers to negotiate a steep and treacherous section in the ravine bed.

Another route that has benefited from artificial aids is India Venster, notorious after it saw a spate of fatalities in 2009. Since Table Mountain is a national park and a World Heritage Site, authorities are usually loath to pin ironmongery to the mountain, but in this case it was justified. On other routes, the use of aids is questionable, like the chains on Kloof Corner and the staples on the Llandudno Ravine route.

The newly-installed chains and staples on Lion’s Head (formerly only chains) sparked off an impassioned debate among regular hikers and climbers. Some pundits are of the opinion that the existence of an easier and safer way to the summit renders them superfluous and only defaces the mountain, while others maintain that they enhance the route and makes it more accessible and safer to novice hikers. Then there are those who feel that too much ironmongery has been affixed; that it constitutes an overkill in the use of aids.

This is a contentious issue and will always be, with opinions surfacing on forums and articulated on the mountain being as virulent as an Adder’s venom.



(c) Riaan Vorster

The first European to climb Table Mountain

At first thought I wanted to head this blog with ‘The first man to climb Table Mountain’, but that distinction belongs to a traceless individual whose name we shall never know – probably a young herdsman or hunter from the Khoi-khoi tribe, indigenous people who settled around Table Mountain hundreds of years before the arrival of the white man. However, we do know the first European to climb the mountain: a Portuguese explorer by the name of Antonio de Saldanha. The year was 1503, and Saldanha found himself separated from his fleet and unsure as to whether they had rounded the Cape of Storms (present-day Cape Point). He needed a vantage point from which to get his bearings and the lie of the land. So when they espied a flat-topped mountain overlooking a sheltered bay, he made a beeline for the coast and proceeded to climb the mountain along a deep ravine running diagonally up the front face. Lucky for him the summit was free of cloud, for he got clear views of False Bay to the southeast, confirming their position: they had not yet rounded the Cape of Storms. The climb proved helpful in more than one way, for they discovered a stream of fresh water flowing down the ravine, enough to water his fleet.

Saldanha named the mountain Taboa do Cabo, meaning Table of the Cape. The ravine by which he gained the summit is now known as Platteklip Gorge (Flat-rock Gorge), and it is the shortest and most direct way to the top. It is interesting to note that, according to historical records, Saldanha reluctantly climbed the mountain. He did it in the line of duty, for he had bigger fish to fry (establishing a trade route to India) and could ill-afford the time and energy it took to slog up. Also, it involved a certain measure of risk, since dangerous animals (lions, leopards and hippos) as well as potentially hostile tribes inhabited the area.

So exactly how difficult was Saldanha’s climb to the top? Unfortunately, he didn’t leave us with details of the climb, but we can still form a pretty good picture of what it must’ve been like. Let us contrast it with what the hike is nowadays. It takes the average hiker about an hour and a half to reach the summit of Table Mountain up Platteklip Gorge, along a well-constructed path made of rock-steps. The elevation gain is about 700 meters – from 360 meters, where you leave your car, to 1065 meters on the summit. And you don’t have to walk down; the cable car is round the corner. Back in 1503, Platteklip Gorge was a very different proposition. While we dodge traffic and pedestrians today on our way to the start, Saldanha and his men had to dodge lions, hippos and an unknown indigenous tribe – all the way from the coast (and sea level). There was no path, needless to say, so they had to battle their way through dense vegetation for much of the way. Most hikers nowadays opt to take the cable car down. Saldanha didn’t have that luxury; after a gruelling ascent, they faced an equally gruelling descent. One wonders what they had to say about the view on reaching the summit.

Just for the record, the first woman to climb Table Mountain was Lady Anne Barnard. Along with Sir John Barrow, two naval officers, her maid, a couple of servants and several slaves (straining under the weight of cold meats, Port, Madeira and Cape wine), she set out up Platteklip Gorge in July 1797, dressed in her husband’s trousers, her shoes tied on with tape and carrying an umbrella. They reached the summit after a five-hour slog, feasted on their cold meat and drank a toast to the king. Unlike other early travellers who climbed Table Mountain, they opted to stay overnight on the summit, only descending the next day the way they had come, Lady Anne sliding down most of the way on her rear. Although Hike Table Mountain offers hikes up Platteklip Gorge as their easiest half-day option, we only pack Port and wine on very special occasions.

(c) Riaan Vorster

The Twelve Apostles

When viewed from above, the Table Mountain massif resembles a molar (tooth) in shape, the flat-topped summit – also referred to as the Table – forming the crown and the Suburban buttresses and Twelve Apostles the two roots respectively. No discussion about Table Mountain can be complete without reference to the Twelve Apostles. Bastion to the crenellated and castellated Table Mountain proper, this string of peaks extends south from the Table, covering a distance of about 6 km and comprising 18 peaks in total.

So what qualifies as an ‘Apostle’? A peak alone; or a peak with a buttress? Or just a buttress? It can all get quite confusing when you take examples like Blinkwater Peak, a distinct peak without its own buttress; and Porcupine Buttress, a distinct buttress without its own peak. Which is eligible to be called an Apostle? Not wanting to perpetuate that particular raging debate, let’s just settle on South African National Parks’ non-definitive list of Apostles (from north to south), who chose buttresses to define an Apostle: Porcupine Buttress, Jubilee Buttress, Barrier Buttress, Valken Buttress, Kasteels Buttress, Postern Buttress, Woody Buttress, Spring Buttress, Slangolie Buttress, Corridor Buttress, Kleinkop Buttress, Grootkop Buttress, Separation Buttress, Grove Buttress and Llandudno Corner (a ridge).

Back in the day when the Cape was still Dutch (pre-1795), the Apostles were known as the Kasteelbergen (Castle Mountains) and Gewelbergen (Gable Mountains). Only two peaks / buttresses bear the names of actual apostles: Judas Peak at the southernmost tip, and St Paul, the most imposing of all the Apostles, now known by the prosaic name of Corridor Buttress. Some of the buttresses’ names suggests their resemblance to a castle, like Kasteels Buttress and Postern Buttress (‘postern’ meaning the lesser or back entrance to a castle). The most popular hiking route up the Apostles is called Kasteelspoort (Castle’s Portal), flanked by the above two buttresses.

While not quite as high as the Table (averages 1060m), the Twelve Apostles, averaging around 750m, are in some ways more impressive. Dissected by ravines and gullies, and featured with crags, spires and ridges, they present a mouth-watering prospect to the hiker and climber. Not surprising that more than 26 hiking routes have been opened on the Apostles over the years, although only about 10 of them are done on a regular basis nowadays. A few more sees the odd intrepid hiker; the rest are never done and only a few lone, moss-covered cairns bear testimony to their existence. Needless then to say that the Twelve Apostles offers some of the best hiking on Table Mountain. Routes can be combined to make a hike harder or easier, longer or shorter – and all of them offer sea views. Often, the boom of surf drifts up from far below, an unusual sound to hear when you’re climbing a mountain and therefore very special. The area also offers interesting titbits in the way of history: there used to be a small settlement on the summit, complete with its own little cable car and locomotive, erected during the construction of the reservoirs in the 1890s; and no less than two tunnels lead through the mountain. Then there’s the geology, featuring caves, pinnacles, wind-sculpted rocks and august crags – even a subterranean stream. Whatever your particular interests, the Twelve Apostles never disappoints. Join Hike Table Mountain on an exploration of these majestic peaks.

(c) Riaan Vorster

The Tablecloth of Table Mountain

Of all the cloud formations occurring on Table Mountain, the famous ‘tablecloth’ must rank as the most dramatic. In its perfect form, it resembles an immense waterfall pouring over the flat-topped summit. Sometimes it is distorted, appearing as a shapeless bank of cloud stacked up over the summit, dark and forbidding; at other times it creeps over the summit edge like a ghostly veil.

So how does the tablecloth form? This was the subject of much debate among the early Cape inhabitants. They had no way of explaining the phenomenon unfolding in their backyard on a more or less weekly basis during the summer months. All they knew was that the Southeaster had to blow – and blow hard, as it usually does – for the tablecloth to form. Also known as the Cape Doctor (in former times, believed to clear the air of disease; nowadays, its role in ridding the city of smog perpetuates the name), the Southeaster sweeps across the Cape Peninsula from around October through to March. As the prevailing wind in summer, it never brings rain to the Cape, only clear skies and usually the tablecloth. Sometimes the tablecloth is so heavy and dense that it precipitates rain, which is then blown onto the lower slopes of the mountain; on such days, the Southeaster is referred to as a black Southeaster. The tablecloth has its beginnings as moisture-laden air blown in from the Atlantic against the eastern slopes of Table Mountain, where it is forced to rise. The air condenses on contact with the cooler summit air, forming cloud. The cloud is blown over the mountain and down the front, where it dissipates on contact with warmer air at around 500 m above sea level, more or less halfway down Table Mountain.

The tablecloth plays a vital role in sustaining the flora of the summit plateau. In any given year, cloud precipitation on the summit is nearly double the precipitation from rainfall. The many plant species thriving on the summit owe their survival to the tablecloth, which provides them with moisture during the long, dry summer. The leaves and stems of some are uniquely adapted in shape and arrangement to capture the maximum amount of moisture.

With regards to hiking, the tablecloth presents a few challenges and opportunities. The main challenges are lack of visibility (which could get you lost) and drop of temperature, which could lead to hypothermia – a potentially fatal condition. Getting lost on the mountain is easy enough in clear conditions, so when the tablecloth boils up out of nowhere and restricts visibility to a few meters, you better know the way like the back of your hand. Route-finding in the cloud is virtually impossible if you don’t know the mountain, and know it well. Many an unwary hiker over the years have fallen victim to cloud blotting out the landscape in the time it took him to gulp down a sandwich and take a few pictures. But the complications do not end there for our unwary hiker. While the city bakes in the summer heat under a serene sky, the temperature on the dripping, wind-swept and fog-bound summit of Table Mountain approaches freezing. Suffice it to say that the tablecloth is a weather phenomenon to be reckoned with.

As far as opportunities go, the tablecloth can provide the hiker with surreal sights and unique experiences. One of the best has got to be seeing the leading edge of the tablecloth race towards you as you wait for it on the front edge of the summit and then watching it plunge down the sheer cliffs in a graceful arc. Your timing’s got to be impeccable; and even then, the tablecloth might show up in clumps of clouds scudding helter-skelter across the summit. But when it blows in textbook and trim, it makes for a sight that will stay with you for years to come. With Hike Table Mountain, you can experience the beauty and raw energy of the tablecloth up close and in safety.

(c) Riaan Vorster