Wednesday, 17 December 1986: Stupidity Yields a Camera Disaster

Helmsley Hotel, Cape Town, December 23-24, 1986

In the morning, after packing up my camping gear, I headed toward Waenhuinskrans (Wagon House Cave), a large cavern eroded into limestone cliffs.  I waked around some cliffs at the edge of the ocean to get there.  I noted it was low tide and when the tide came in I would be cut off – best not to linger too long.  Upon entering the cave, I turned around, faced the sea, and saw I had a fantastic photo op.  Waves were crashing just outside the cave entrance with the outline of the cave mouth framing the photos I took while lying on my side. 

View of the Indian Ocean from Wagon House Cave

 

I stayed too long.  On the way back to the shore, there was a low, tricky spot which was now covered with water.  I couldn’t make the 4+ foot leap across the gap from one dry rock to another dry rock with all my gear.  So I had to make one step on a little rock just below the surface of the water.  The little rock was covered with a thin film of algae which turned out to be slicker than it looked.  Like a bloody fool, I didn’t put my two camera straps all the way around my neck.  They were only loosely resting on each shoulder.  I stepped on to the rock and slipped.  I only went into the water up to one knee but one of my cameras slipped off my shoulder and into the drink.  As I grabbed for it, the other camera also fell into the water.  It only took me two seconds to retrieve them both but it was too late.  Salt water is not kind to either camera mechanisms or film. 

 

Coastline at Arniston.  Tidal pools at low tide and slick, algae-covered rocks.  Note slight purplish film discoloration from salt water in the sky just right of center.  

After my little camera fiasco, I drove about ½ mile south to The Point where I ran into the surfer boys I’d talked to the previous night in the campground. The Point was literally a narrow line of rocks jutting out into the Indian Ocean with huge waves breaking on the one side and smaller ones on the other.  Beyond The Point, the line of rocks continued just below the water surface and the waves broke over them in various directions – a confused, spectacular mess.  The surfers told me it was practically suicide to surf out there both because of the rocks and unpredictable currents but even more so because of the large cluster of sharks that hung out around the rocks.  They said most surfers stayed away from The Point except for one mad, suicidal friend of theirs.  These guys preferred the lekker (awesome) waves on either side of The Point.  I was left wondering what I’d missed out on, not having grown up in the California beach culture.  Well, instead I’ve had a great time as an adult skiing the moguls at Colorado’s Copper Mountain, etc.

My drive on December 17 took me from the Indian Ocean northeast and over the Lange Mountains to Barrydale.

 

From Arniston, I drove north away from the ocean and into the interior – first to Bredasdorp, then to Swellendam on the southern slopes of the Langeberge (Lange Mountains).  The 4000 to 5000 foot, barren rocky peaks tower above the old town which is less than 200 feet above sea level.  I crossed the Langeberge via a winding, paved road through the Tradouwspas canyon arriving in the small town of Barrydale at dusk.  The hotel manager at the Valley Inn wasn’t very talkative, but he did say they’d had some Americans staying there from Pittsburgh.  “Was that recently?” I asked.  “No, it was two years ago.”  Out of curiosity, I had scanned the pages of the guest register two nights earlier in Gansbaai.  The last U.S. citizen had registered there exactly two years to the day before I had arrived. 

1834 house (Cape architecture) in Swellendam.  No, the sky wasn’t lavender.  That’s what a quick dunk in salt water did to the film.