The War on Nature

It must be more than ten years since I last saw, or even heard a barn owl in Pearly Beach. The Cape eagle owls, though increasingly rare, are still around and their hooting is sometimes audible on a moonlit night. But the screech and hiss of the barn owl is never heard and I presume it has taken a dislike to this area and has moved away, much to my regret.

It was a delightful surprise then to learn that these beautiful birds of the night have not emigrated but merely decided to put the R43 between them and us. At Kos and Sarah’s place, just a kilometre up the dirt road leading to Baardskeerdersbos, two of them were perched side by side in a gum tree. Clearly visible in the twilight, they bore a striking resemblance to a pair of nuns, and I recalled that their common name in Afrikaans is nonnetjie-uil.

Later, when it was dark, I stood outside and listened to a tumult of insects and frogs and was reminded of how life in Pearly Beach had been 40 years ago. It was before the advent of electricity and our candles and gas and paraffin lamps attracted a great variety of moths, damsel flies, longihorns, flying beetles and other insects. Some would flutter at the windows while others would find their way inside and career about the lights. Then came electricity and more and more houses until now even moths have become rare at night.

Almost all other forms of wildlife have followed the trend and the porcupines, grysbokke, hares, lynxes, polecats, badgers, otters, mongooses, tortoises and snakes have either disappeared or are seen but seldom. Similarly, there are now far fewer birds in the air and fish in the sea.

To conserve what remains of the local fauna and flora the Pearly Beach Conservancy attempts to educate residents and visitors about the importance of caring for the natural environment. A small band of dedicated members try their best to eradicate invasive alien plant species and to promote indigenous water-wise gardens. They spread the message that one of the most attractive features of life in Pearly is that it is not like living in a city suburb and that it still feels ‘out in the country.’ To keep it that way every effort should be made to lessen the human impact and allow other forms of life to flourish.

Unfortunately, the Overstrand Municipality does not see it that way and regards all vegetation on undeveloped properties as a fire hazard. By insisting on the clearing of all vacant plots the Municipality demonstrates a lack of respect for the environment that is out of step with a growing global concern for the protection of endangered species and the need to nurture biodiversity.

It is now a matter of urgency for the Local Authority to consult with Conservation Societies in the Overstrand and to draw up new environmental protection guidelines. If the current devastation is not halted, we run the risk of finding ourselves living in a sterile wasteland and not a vibrant Conservancy.

This is an example of a plot that has not yet been devastated in the war on nature. Apart from removing the Manatoka at the back, it should be left just as it is, pleasing to the eye and teeming with LIFE.

"It is interesting to contemplate a tangled bank, clothed with many plants of many kinds, with birds singing on the bushes, with various insects flitting about, and with worms crawling through the damp earth, and to reflect that these elaborately constructed forms, so different from each other, and dependent upon each other in so complex a manner, have all been produced by laws acting around us. … Whilst this planet has gone circling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being evolved."

- Charles Darwin

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Crumbling Infrastructure

While I was building, I learned a few things about reinforced concrete. Eventually, depending on proximity to the sea and thickness of concrete cover, the steel will begin to corrode. As it does so, it expands and cracks the surrounding concrete, allowing more moisture to penetrate and speed up the process.

To slow the corrosion and extend the life of the structure, the rusting steel should be hacked free of surrounding concrete, wire brushed and painted or sprayed with a rust retardant. After closing up with cement and sand plaster, the outer surface of the building should be sealed with a waterproof paint or membrane. In this way the life of a structure can be extended for several years before it becomes unsafe and has to be demolished.

As has been widely demonstrated in South Africa, neglecting to maintain infrastructure leads to the inability to provide basic services to communities.

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.

On the Beach: The Fishing Fraternity

(Here are two extracts from my social satire, Strandveld Private Investigators. All the characters and incidents are purely fictional.)

Sedrick was a lazy bum, and to substantiate her opinion of him she had supplied whole bucketfuls of detail about his reprehensible behavior and disgusting habits.

For one thing, he preferred to lie in bed all morning reading, rather than get up and help with chores around the farmhouse. And he wasn’t interested in looking for a job, even though his bank balance had a gaping hole in it and was sinking fast. She also disapproved of his newfound pals in Gansbaai who had initiated him into the low-life angling fraternity. He now liked nothing more than to go off at sunset with his rod sticking out the passenger window in the hope of landing a big cob or Steenbras. These fishing expeditions always ended up in one of the pubs, and he would come home after midnight and get into bed reeking of brandy fumes and rotten bait and want to have sex. Or, more likely, fall into a drunken stupor, open his mouth wide, and immediately start that bloody snoring again, like he was sawing up a log in slow motion. 

They shouldered their fishing gear and trudged over the dune to the beach and began the ritual with sinkers, swivels hooks and bait. Then, standing knee deep in the surf, they steadied themselves, raised their rods high over their shoulders, and swung the weighted lines in an arc overhead and watched for the splash beyond the back breaker.

This is better than sitting in a parking garage,” said Monty.

“And infinitely superior to sitting at an office desk,” agreed Sedrick.

To their surprise, they caught nothing with that first cast. And nothing with the second and third casts, either.

“The water is too clear,” said Monty. “Galjoen prefer it churned up and murky.”

“That’s what I once told Avril,” said Sedrick. “You know what she said? “She said that fishing makes you even more stupid than you might have been before you started fishing. She said that the reason why Galjoen don’t bite when the water is clear is because that’s when they can see what they are eating. She said that fish are a lot smarter than what the average asshole with a fishing rod thinks. You know what else she said about us fishermen?”

“No,” said Monty. “And I don’t want to know. That woman is full of shit.”

“She said that we act like we are tough macho types who brave the elements to put food on the table, but we’re just a bunch of pathetic wankers who can’t handle the responsibility of being a real man.”

“And I suppose a real man is some pussy-whipped nerd who stays at home and takes orders from his wife?” 

“We’re also a menace to the environment,” Sedrick went on. “We drive over the nests of breeding sea birds, we abandon miles and miles of fishing line that eventually snares sharks, seals penguins and other birds, and we are steadily wiping out the last of the fish stocks.”

“And what about our smoking and drinking?” asked Monty.

“Oh yes,” said Sedrick. “Most of us are overweight slobs who stand on the beach polluting the air with our filthy cigarette smoke, and we can never go fishing without our six pack or bottle of brandy. And … “Hey, something’s taking a nibble. Wow!”

When he felt the third tug, Sedrick pulled back hard and the line went taut, his rod was bending, and he knew he had hooked something that wasn’t a piece of kelp or, God forbid, a rocky crevice.

Click here to read Strandveld Private Investigators.

Broadway Then and Now

This photograph was taken 40 years ago in 1981. With the money I had saved during my year on Gough Island I started building a cottage on the plot my father had bought in 1978. Initially, I did most of the work myself and stayed on site.

At that time, there were only a few dozen houses in the whole of Pearly Beach, and in Broadway there was only one. This was owned by Vernon Kruger, a retired Air Force brigadier. Broadway was a narrow track surfaced with a thin layer of gravel. Being at the back of the village it carried virtually no traffic and I was able to park my Peugeot 404 station wagon in the middle of it for days and nights on end without having to move it. The vehicle served as a bakkie as well as sleeping quarters.  My toilet and cold-water shower were situated at the bottom of Beach Road, a mere five-minute walk away.

There was no electricity and water came from the tower, which was gravity fed direct from the dam at the back of Groothagelkraal farm. Apart from a rudimentary sand filter there was no attempt at purification, and the water quality was better than it is now.

At that time, there was virtually no crime in the area and when we went out windows were left open and doors unlocked.

 

This is what Broadway looks like today.

Forty years ago, there were no tarred roads beyond Gansbaai, there was just one small shop at the Camp Site – and it was just that: a caravan and camping site – and basic services like water supply and road maintenance were provided by the Bredasdorp Divisional Council. Many species of fish were still plentiful and perlemoen poaching was unheard of. Moonless nights were genuinely dark and the stars actually sparkled, the air was so crisp and clear. Giant moths battered the window panes and smaller insects, along with the damsel flies, swarmed about the gas lamp and candles. At any hint of rain, a cacophony of frog chirps and croaks drowned out the muffled clamour of the surf. There were frequent sightings of small game, especially at dawn and dusk. Grysbokkies, porcupines, Cape hares, mongooses, polecats, otters, civets and honey badgers were not uncommon. There were plenty of snakes,too, and the mole and mouse population was kept under control.

No more than thirty Whites lived in Pearly Beach permanently, and at what is now called Eluxolweni there were only Coloured folk and no Blacks.

I had been looking for isolation in a place of unspoilt natural beauty and that is what I found. However, over the ensuing four decades, and most noticeably in the past three years, Pearly Beach has lost much of its lustre. It has begun to take on some aspects of a refugee camp. There has been an influx of migrants from the Eastern Cape attracted by the lure of easy money poaching abalone or engaging in other illegal activity. And then there are the middle class fugitives fleeing the perils of urban life, or the deteriorating conditions in other parts of the country. Very few of these new arrivals show any appreciation for the environment they now find themselves in, and appear resentful that they have ended up in this backwater. And they all have dogs! The peace and quiet is repeatedly shattered by the mindless barking of these animals while their owners sit inside watching soapies or sport.

I am tempted to sell up and look for some other place to live, but where would I find peace and seclusion on this over-populated planet? I am afraid I will have to resign myself to being surrounded by detestable people whose howling, barking and yapping dogs will eventually drive me insane.

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.

On the Beach: Nurdle Gatherers

For several weeks a team of workers has been seen at high water mark along our coast sifting sand in search of nurdles. These plastic resin pellets used in the manufacture of plastic products have become a major source of pollution around the world. They absorb poisonous chemicals and when mistaken for food are harmful to sea creatures like fish, turtles, whales and sea birds. In recent months an increase in this form of pollution has been evident as it washes up on our beaches.

In the past year there have been at least two major spills at sea involving containers falling overboard. These accidents have had disastrous consequences requiring costly clean-up operations along the Cape coastline. The team of workers seen in Pearly Beach has been laboriously sifting sand in order to recover the pellets that have floated ashore.

These workers are employed by SpillTech, a company specialising in hazardous waste management and emergency response to accidental spills. When contacted, the spokesperson for the company was unwilling to respond to the following questions:

Who was responsible for the spills?

Who is paying for the clean-up?

How much is being paid for the operation?

What quantity of nurdles has been recovered so far?

Sand being sifted for nurdles at Pearly Beach.

Nurdles at Buffeljagsbaai on 8 November 2020.

To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.

No more doughnuts for Monty

In Stranveld Private Investigators Monty, one of the two protagonists, likes coming to Pearly Beach in his old Beemer to do doughnuts in the carpark.

They turned off Charlie van Breda onto the track down to the sea.

“Yippee, yippee, yip!” Monty sang out on sighting the deserted parking area overlooking Silversands.

“Gravel! Glorious gravel! Every last parking area in Gansbaai is now under tar. Boring old lifeless tar.

This is God’s own gift to a doughnut specialist. Yippee, yippee, yip!”

He stopped dead in the middle of God’s own expanse of gravel, wrenched the steering wheel as far

over to the right as it would go, engaged second gear, got the Beemer’s six cylinders screaming for

blood, and let the clutch loose. They did three revolutions, and he reined the clutch in. It was time to

yank the wheel all the way left, get the revs up, and then spin the car in the other direction. When

they came to a halt facing the sea again, Monty cut the engine and sighed with satisfaction. “Ah,

that’s better!” he said, as if he was buckling his belt on emerging from a brothel, or a toilet. “I really

needed to do that.”

Unfortunately for Monty, the Municipality is busy destroying every last expanse of gravel in Pearly Beach by covering it in a layer of tar.

Stranveld Private Investigators is available from Smashwords.

My Arrival

Bang in the middle of the century, on the stroke of midnight, as the moon rose above the African bush, my mother shrieked in agonized panic, raised her knees and parted her thighs, and began to expel me from her womb. I had been perfectly content where I was and would have preferred to remain there, but the rules and regulations governing obstetric procedure decreed otherwise. On entering the world I opened my eyes and gasped in horror. For a brief instant my life lay before me, and in that instant I understood the impossibility of ever going back. I let out an anguished bellow of rage. And just to confirm that the clock was already ticking, Mrs Hildagonda De Groot, housekeeper cum midwife, slapped my face, held me up by my ankles, shook me, and then hacked through my umbilical cord with a meat cleaver.

(Adapted from The Life of Henry Fuckit.)

To view my longer work as an author, including The Life of Henry Fuckit, you can find me on Smashwords here.