May 23 2007
Waenhuiskrans Grot!
[Tuesday May 1, 2007]
Waenhuiskrans Grot! is not an expletive.
I’m not insulting anyone’s mother. Nor is it a blessing, or something you say after someone sneezes or even a drinking cheer.
It’s the name of a cave. A tidal cave.
But first, let me start from the beginning.
Our plan is to leave the cottage by 8am because we want to be able to photograph the cave in the morning light.
I wake up by 6:30am because I want some time to myself to explore the area. I enjoy a quiet time by myself in the early morning hours and even more so if I am outside with nature.
I walk along taking photos - the homes made magical by sunrise, the slanting shadows along the beach.
I nod to dog walkers and men with long fishing poles. I see luminous snail trails in the sand, their fine tracings resembling the script of some long-dead language.
When I return, Shirley and Laverne are ready to go and we drive a short distance to a small sandy lot. We have to hike a short distance over the dunes to see the Waenhuiskrans Cave.
Waenhuiskrans Grot. As I understand it, the Afrikaans breakdown is as follows:
Waen = wagon, huis = house, krans = cliff, Grot = cave
The cavern is so named because it is large enough to hold an ox wagon.
I am probably still mangling it but I pronounce Waenhuiskrans as “VARN-ice-kranz.”
The cave can only be reached during low tide. Luckily, the tides were in our favor.
The sand is white and fine and we have a bit of a climb up and down the dunes to get to the cave. I had no idea it would be so warm, especially with the sun reflecting off the white sands.
We finally are at the edge of this cliff and see this sign propped up against these posts. It had fallen off. We had to turn it around to see that it was the sign for the path that lead down to the cave. I’m in my running shoes and of course, Shirley and Laverne are Croc’ed. We slide-step down the sandy path to the beach below and then I’m told that we have to cross these tide pools to get to the cave.
Rats. If I had known that, I’d have worn my Crocs, which were back in the car!
Going barefoot is not an option as many of the rocks are encrusted with sharp barnacles. I decide to brave wet shoes - it’s not like I can see a tidal cave every day. Laverne and Shirley had visited the cave in the past. If they hadn’t been leading the way, I never would have known how to get there. I followed them, stepping over tide pools and gripping the cliff edge. I manage not to get my feet wet.
There are two caves - the first one is low and shallow with an entrance near the back on the left that leads to the larger and more famous one. We make our way to the back over large smooth stones. We are the only ones in the cave. The opening to the adjacent cave requires us to crouch.
Yes, even the four-foot-ten-and-three-quarter-inch Ms. Q has to crouch! We crouch-crawl through the opening into the larger cave.
The cave is breathtaking - a vast dark frame for the ocean. The ceiling rises high above us and manages to both comfort and awe me. The sounds of the surf echoes off the walls and Shirley and I walk towards the entrance. We take photo after photo and admire the reflection of the roof in one of the shallow pools.
We can see that the tide is starting to rise and Laverne urges us to leave. Shirley and I continue to take photos but move back towards what I think of as the cave’s side door.
Once we’re safely out of the caves we explore the tide pools a bit. I see a small fish and some small orange anemones. Shirley takes a small stone and shows me how when she gently pushes the stone against the anemone, its tentacles close up around it. The rocks in the area are round, smooth and massive.
We work our hamstrings hoisting ourselves up the dunes.
We wind our way back home, stopping for breakfast in the town of Bredasdorp, grabbing some bottled water in the art-colony town of McGregor and checking out an art gallery in Robertson.
We’re home mid-afternoon and our day ends with a glorious magenta-hued sunset.
