Welcome to "Travel With Elmore"!

Sunday morning I left Fish Hoek and went to the Cape Town airport to pick up my rental car.  Thus began an adventure more intimidating than anything I might have encountered out on the ocean: in South Africa, the driver's side of a car is on the right, and people drive in the left lane.

Actually, it didn't take me that long to get the hang of it.  I just kept telling myself to imagine the mirror image of everything I do while driving at home.  Even the roundabouts didn't bother me much.  There's a roundabout I drive regularly in Memphis--it's on the route between my house and the riverfront--so I probably understand the concept better than the average American.  The only thing that persistently gave me trouble was remembering that the turn signal arm is on the right side of the steering column.  Over and over I would try to signal a turn and the windshield wipers came on.

The driving also got easier once I was out of the Cape Town metro area.  I headed north for several hours, during which the surrounding landscape became rolling plains, similar to what you see in western Nebraska.  That gave way to rockier, more rugged and mountainous terrain that looked somewhat like New Mexico.  The tree species were the main indication that I was in fact someplace else.

And where was I?  The Cederberg Wilderness Area, whose semiarid climate is another similarity with New Mexico.  I'd booked lodging at Driehoek Farms, a working farm that supplements its income with a campground and cabins.  I checked into my cabin and turned in soon after.

My plan was to spend two full days, Monday and Tuesday, exploring a little.  Thoroughly worn out from the camp, I wasn't planning any ambitious backcountry treks; several short day hikes would be enough to make me happy.

Further limiting my choices was the closure of some areas to hiking because of wildfires in the area about two months earlier.  Apparently frequent fires are important to the regenerative cycle of the fynbos ecoregion that includes Cederberg.  The scrubby vegetation is uncommonly flammable to encourage fire every few years.  The Driehoek Farms property was among the acreage that got burned:

The lady in the office there told me they knew fire was inevitable and were glad to have it over with for now.

Monday morning I opted for one of the day hikes on Driehoek.  The trails there are marked by simple homemade signs like this one:

Other signs along my Monday morning route promised "bushman art," which I think is what we call petroglyphs, but I didn't see any.  My experience with petroglyphs in the American West is that you can be looking right at them and not realize what it is you're looking at, and it's possible that's what was happening here.  I certainly spent a lot of time studying every rock face I saw that seemed a likely place for bushman art.  I guess I just don't have the eye for it.

Monday afternoon I drove over a ridge to the community of Kromrivier.  I hoped to explore a little, but my main objective was to patronize the only restaurant in Cederberg.  I was well stocked on breakfast and lunch food, but not knowing what sort of kitchen I would have in my cabin, I didn't buy a lot of supper ingredients.  The restaurant at Kromrivier was primarily a breakfast and lunch place, and closed at six o'clock, so I had an early supper there.  The restaurant was part of a park management office that had some displays with interesting information about the local history, so I educated myself a little.  Then I drove back to Driehoek on the network of roads that are all gravel and have some pretty bad washboards in places.  I took it slow: all I needed was for the rental car company to slap me with damage charges.  Most of the other vehicles I saw in Cederberg were much more off-road-worthy than the subcompact Suzuki Swift I'd been issued.

Tuesday morning I drove to a spot just outside the community of Dwarsrivier, where there's a trail into an area called "Lot's Wife/Window Rocks."  Just a short distance from the parking area is Lot's wife herself.  That's her on the left:

Here's a closer look:

The thing about Lot's wife that makes me go "hmm" is that The Bible doesn't mention her name (although, according to Wikipedia, she is called "Ado" or "Edith" in some Jewish traditions).  She's just "Mrs. Lot," and that's all readers of The Bible need to know.  Maybe I'm overthinking it, but it strikes me as a bit patriarchal, just like when I was growing up our society thought it was appropriate  to address my mother as "Mrs. Elmore Holmes" even though she had a perfectly good name of her own (Sara).

Anyhoo... I continued on into the Window Rocks area, and saw all kinds of nifty formations:

My last outing was Tuesday afternoon, back on the Driehoek property.  I followed a trail that took me up onto a big hill that's visible from the front porch of my cabin.  It afforded me commanding views of the valley of the Driehoek River:

It's easy to see the areas that burned.  The green areas are the marshes along the river that either didn't burn or greened back up quickly.

Here’s a look down at the main Driehoek farm.  My little cabin is circled:

And finally, back down on the farm, here’s some of the livestock:

Wednesday I packed up and began the drive back toward Cape Town.  My flight out was not until almost midnight, but I had to have the rental car back by three o'clock.  The car was very dirty after a couple of days of driving those gravel roads in Cederberg, so once I was back in the city I stopped at a car wash and got it looking as spic-and-span as could be.  Then I continued on to the airport, half expecting the Budget/Avis Car Rental personnel to exclaim over how nice the car looked.  Instead, they found a scuff mark on the right front wheel cover.  Was that my fault?  Well... probably.  I think I did rub against a curb or two while driving the car.  I'd been very concerned about not scratching the car's paint, but the condition of the wheels hadn't even occurred to me.

I turned in the car and proceeded to the airport terminal, where, a short while later, I received a rather schoolmarmish email from a Mr. Clayton West with Budget/Avis informing me that I would indeed be assessed a damage charge for the scuffed wheel cover.  "There is no indication that the damage had been there before receiving the vehicle," Mr. West wrote.  "We have gone through the previous vehicle condition and vehicle history in which the damage was not noted and would not have been sent out for rent if the damage was there prior to the rental."

That last sentence makes me shake my head.  Anybody who knows me well knows that the car I drive at home is a beater, and that car-vanity is completely absent from my DNA.  For me, a car is a tool for getting from A to B, simple as that.  I'm aware that many rental-car customers probably would make a fuss over the slightest blemish on a vehicle, but I also think that somebody who cares about stupid stuff like that should be required to spring for more of a luxury model than a Suzuki Swift.

Anyway, I had to ask Mr. West several times to tell me what the charge would be, and he finally quoted me R1210.87, which is around 75 U.S. dollars.  And, you know what?  Fine.  Like I said, I probably did put that scuff mark on the wheel cover, and even if I wanted to fight, I doubt I'd succeed.  When I got the inevitable email from Budget/Avis asking me to rate my experience, I shared the same opinions I've just written above, and informed them I would probably try a different company the next time I rent a car, and I'm just going to leave it at that.

Once I'd turned in the car, I still had some nine hours to kill before my 11:45 PM flight.  So I planted myself in the airport and entertained myself the best I could.  I read my book, I poked around on the Internet, and I sought out something to eat for supper (it was terrible).  The Cape Town airport is not the worst airport I've ever been in, but it's far from the best.

On my trip over from the U.S. I took a direct flight from Atlanta to Cape Town, but the best I could do for the trip home was fly to Amsterdam first and then Atlanta.  When my flight to Amsterdam finally took off around midnight, I tried my best to get some sleep.  But I've never slept well on airplanes, and I doubt I got more than maybe four hours during this nearly 12-hour flight.  It was a KLM flight, and they didn't start serving breakfast until after 9 AM (Amsterdam time), and the breakfast wasn't very good.  I had time to find a decent cup of coffee in the Amsterdam airport before boarding my plane for Atlanta.  On this nearly-nine-hour flight I finished my book and watched three movies.  In Atlanta I cleared customs and got on one last plane for the short hop to Memphis.  I arrived home having spent, all told, some 37 hours on airplanes and in airports.  Whew... I must really love these trips to South Africa to put up with all that.

It's now occurring to me that this post on my canoe & kayak racing blog barely mentions paddling at all.  If you've read this whole thing hoping for such content, I hope you'll accept my apology.  But one reason I like paddling so much is it gives me a reason to go places and see the world.  None of what I've written about in this post would have happened if not for my paddling activities.

For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

Get a load of these guys, hey?  They've just completed five laps of a course in Fish Hoek Bay, mixing it up with the South Africans on their turf!

The occasion is the 13th installment of the 2025-26 Sea Dog Race Series.  It took place Friday evening.

In the middle of the photo we have Bjørn Kristensen, who I think is from Sweden, but don’t hold me to that— he could be from one of those other Scandinavian nations.  On the far right, that's me!  And yes, I'm still a little annoyed that I couldn't outsprint Bjørn up to the finish line, but hey, the cookie doesn't always crumble my way.

As for the guy behind us: my best guess is that's Mark Allen, who, according to the results, was the next male finisher after me.  I'll gladly make the correction if anybody recognizes him as somebody else.

Photo courtesy of Cape Town Sport Photography.

For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Redlining it in the camp's final two days

Friday turned out to be an action-packed day for me: two Miller's Runs during the day and competition in the Sea Dog race at Fish Hoek Beach in the early evening.

All week I'd been paddling a Fenn XTS surfski.  Many of this blog's readers are familiar with Epic skis, and the XTS is in about the same class as the V9.  With conditions somewhat on the light side Friday, I decided to try a longer, less-stable ski: the Fenn Swordfish.  I'd long had the impression that the Swordfish was Fenn's equivalent of the Epic V10 Sport, but I discovered that it's actually quite a bit less stable.  For the most part my two Miller's Runs went just fine on Friday, and I had a wonderful time, but there were numerous unstable moments where I missed a stroke or two because I didn't quite have my balance.  I flipped once during the first run.  In the end, I was just happy to have tried out something new.

As usual, I was good and tired by the end of my second Miller's, and I had a perfectly valid excuse to skip the Sea Dog race.  My three fellow campers all begged off.  But I had raced Sea Dog on my previous two trips here, and to me it just feels like an important part of the Fish Hoek experience.  So as six o'clock approached, I rallied and got myself to the starting line.

If the Sea Dog race has taught me anything, it's that back home in good old Memphis, Tennessee, I am your classic "big fish in a small pond."  If I lived in the greater Cape Town area, I probably wouldn't even be in the top one hundred racers here.  Friday evening about 130 craft were lined up on the beach, 65 of which were of my class, single surfski.  We waded into the surf, and when the horn sounded we mounted our skis and got down to business.  The course was the same as it had been on my two previous visits: five laps of a triangular circuit that included an upwind leg, a downwind leg, and a beam wind leg.  The first lap was chaotic with some stressful moments at the buoy turns, but eventually the field got strung out and I was able to work my way forward.  There were a few elite athletes in the field, people who have represented Team South Africa in various age groups, and by lap 3 I was getting lapped by some of them, including Dawid Mocke, coach of my camp this past week.  But I put that out of my mind and just competed as well as I could.  Eventually I was on lap 5 and gunning for the finish line.  I reached the beach just a step behind another international, a Mr. Bjørn Kristensen, who I think is from Sweden.  I tried to outrun him to the finish line, but he held me off, and so I settled for 27th place out of those 65 single surfskis.  The results of the single surfski class are posted here.  For some reason I'm listed as being in the 60+ age group, but I assure you I'm a spry 58 years old, thank you very much.

As for my overall position, the posted results have me in 72nd place out of 129 total racers.  But some of those 129 were on lifesaver boards and raced only three laps.  I was actually 58th out of 111 boats that completed five laps.  Thirty-one of the boats ahead of me were double surfskis.

Anyway... it had been a long time since I'd raced!  My last race had been way back in July, on the Mississippi River up at Alton, Illinois.  It felt good to be out there and be competitive, if not triumphant.

I was also gratified by how well my body handled the demands of two Miller's Runs and a Sea Dog in one day.  But yesterday, the final day of our camp, it all caught up with me.

We waited until after lunchtime to get started yesterday, as the wind was light in the morning.  By the time we were driving up to Miller's Point, some nice conditions were developing.  I knew I was tired, and I was on no mission to set any speed records, but I was hoping for a relaxed, enjoyable time on some downwind swells.  I was back in the XTS and as we got started, I was feeling reasonably good.  I was waiting for good solid runs that I could get on without killing myself, linking onto some other runs, riding them as far as they would take me, re-gathering myself, and repeating the process.  I was tired, like I said, but all in all, times were good.

Then Dawid came over to give me some individual attention.

I think the world of Dawid, and I can't overstate the positive impact he's had on me as an athlete and a person in the seven or so years that I've known him.  But his coaching style can be, shall we say... over-enthusiastic.

My most vivid memories of all the times I've been on a downwind run with Dawid involve me already paddling as fast and as hard as I can while Dawid is off to the side shouting, "All right, Elmore, here it is... NOW!  FULL POWER!  GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!" not realizing that I simply have no sixth gear to shift into from fifth gear.

In the past I always sort of laughed it off--"Oh, it's just Dawid trying to get the best out of me"--but yesterday what had started out as a reasonably enjoyable downwinder quickly turned into a private hell for me.  No more was I catching runs at my own pace; Dawid was determined that I not let a single run get away from me.  And look, I get it: to do well in a downwind race--especially at the elite level where the Mockes have always roamed--you must endeavor to catch every run, and ride it with your eyes scanning for the next one.  Downwind requires an exquisitely high level of cardiovascular fitness, and sure, I've always been a reasonably fit guy--I did track and cross country as a teenager and I've spent my adult life training and racing in various canoe and kayak disciplines.  And anybody who's read this blog lately knows I worked pretty hard at home to get ready for this camp.  But in the Mockes' world everybody gets into surf lifesaving around age six, and swims and plays water polo and develops an aerobic capacity that is out of this world.  Believe me, I wish I had a background like that.  But I simply don't.

By yesterday my body was screaming ¡No mas! and the longer I listened to Dawid urging me to sprint harder and chiding me for not seeing the opportunities he could see, the more resentful I became.  I arrived at Fish Hoek Beach feeling utterly defeated, with none of the elation you're supposed to have as you finish a downwind run.

I wanted to let Dawid know how I felt, but I didn't want to blow up at him.  I admire and respect the man, for he is truly one of the giants of my sport, and on top of that he's a really nice guy.  These are the words I finally found: "I very much want to paddle as well as you want me to paddle.  But your coaching style really drives me insane sometimes."  Dawid nodded and admitted that he can get a bit overzealous, and that he could see that the physical demands of the week were taking their toll.  His brother Jasper, who was standing nearby, laughed and said, "Ellies (that's their nickname for me), that's the harshest thing I've ever heard you say!"

We had one more Miller's Run to do, and Dawid suggested that I team up with him in a double ski.  I replied, "It's a deal!"  As we drove back up to Miller's Point for the last time, I felt that the pressure was off.  By the time we were back on the water, the conditions were a bit beefier than they'd been on the first run.  Dawid was making all the crucial decisions while I, behind him in the stern seat, simply matched his strokes.  But I was watching and learning as much as I could.  All week long the Mockes had urged us to find "the rhythm of the ocean" and calibrate our efforts to match it.  Downwind paddling, they said, required one to focus in on one run at a time, and then "zoom out" to see what the ocean was doing on a larger scale.  I've always been pretty good at the "focusing in" part, but "zooming out" to see the big picture remains more of a challenge for me.  It doesn't help that I've lived my whole life inland and really haven't spent much time on the ocean.  But in the boat with Dawid I was able to relax and take in the wider view.  More often than not, I could see what the next move was going to be before Dawid led us into it.  There were moments when we had to paddle at maximum power, but because we were using the conditions so much more efficiently than I'd been on my own, I never felt the kind of exhaustion I was having in the single ski.  This was the fifth time I've done a downwind in a double with one of the Mockes, and in subtle ways it felt like the most productive for me.  It was also just plain FUN because we were riding one beautiful juicy swell after another.

I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge my fellow campers, who were an easygoing and upbeat group all week long.  We had Peter Scott of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia; Craig Taylor of Sydney, New South Wales, Australia; Brian Wicht of Kenilworth, Cape Town, South Africa; and yours truly.

With all our paddling in the bank, it was time for a little celebration.  After showering and freshening up, we headed up to Jasper's Fish Hoek home for a braai (cookout).  Jasper's wife Michaela and sons Reuben and Jesse were there, and Dawid's wife Nikki came over with their daughter Sarah.  We enjoyed one another's company one last time and savored our successful downwind camp.

As for my own self, I plan to be a tourist for a couple of days before returning to wintertime back home.  I'll let you know how it goes.

For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Some fun and some hard work on the Miller's Run

When I woke up yesterday morning, the southeasterly wind had returned.  My fellow campers and I headed out to see what fun could be had on the Miller's Run.  The Miller's Run starts at Miller's Point in False Bay.  From there, the paddler aims for the Roman Rock Lighthouse, and then continues on to Fish Hoek Beach.

The plan was to do a morning run, take a break, and do an early-afternoon run.  Dawid had us spend the first part of the morning run doing a couple of drills.  The first drill challenged us to catch some runs while taking as few strokes as possible over a five-minute period.  A dozen or so strokes would be required to get on a run, but then the idea was to ride the run as long as possible, reading the water and keeping the nose of your boat in the trough as the trough moved around.  Dawid had to add the caveat that each of us must catch a run--we couldn't just float for five minutes.  He had to bark at me a couple of times for not trying hard enough to catch a run; I, meanwhile, was frustrated by how many strokes I had to cough up just to get on a run.

The next drill had us maintain a constant stroke rate--raising one's cadence in order to get established on a run was forbidden.  Instead, each paddler had to keep his stroke rate the same, and simply apply more power during the critical moment of catching a run.  Paddling on flatwater back home, I do lots of workouts at various stroke rates and degrees of power, so this drill seemed simple enough to me.  But it was trickier doing it in downwind conditions.  It often seemed that I simply couldn't put enough power into my strokes to get on a run at the moderate stroke rate I'd chosen.

These drills were very much like the drills I've done in the past for whitewater slalom of for flatwater in the harbor: they were mentally taxing more than anything else.  In no time at all, my brain was tired even though my body wasn't.

Once we reached the lighthouse, Dawid set us free to ride the downwind conditions into Fish Hoek Beach.  At this point I started having the most fun of this trip so far.  I think my body is becoming more and more adapted to the stresses of downwind paddling, and also the conditions were much better defined than they were on Sunday.  I landed on the beach feeling good and looking forward to run number two.

Jasper had missed our morning run because he had a prior commitment with another group, but he rejoined us for the afternoon.  This second run was to be a good old-fashioned downwinder with no drills or special instructions, though Jasper did say he wanted us to let the conditions do the work as much as possible.  In other words, he wanted us doing no hard sprints to get over that extra bump; if a big juicy run wasn't within obvious reach, he said, let it go and wait for the next one.

We set off from Miller's Point, and Jasper moved among us to provide coaching.  Noticing that each time I caught a run I was moving both right and left in search of the next one, he told me to move only to the right, because that was where the next one was presenting itself under today's condition.  I did as he said, and as the run went on I began to understand what he was talking about.  I settled into a good rhythm with the ocean and was linking runs with nice regularity.  There were times where I was gasping for breath and had to back off a little, but then I was able to get back in the flow quickly, and I believe that the fitness training I'd done back home was paying off.

From the lighthouse in to the beach the conditions became more concentrated, and at times more confused because of rebounding waves off Elsie's Peak.  A couple of times it took a timely brace to save myself from flipping.  As the beach drew nearer I chased runs as aggressively as I dared.  The moment my bow touched the beach I looked at my watch and saw that it was an even 49 minutes since Jasper had sent us off.  This was the first time I'd ever broken 50 minutes on the Miller's Run.  I hadn't really been that focused on clocking a fast time--a couple of times during the run I'd stopped paddling altogether to listen to some advice that Jasper was offering.  My main goal had been to go out and enjoy the run as much as I could, and sometimes that's the most important element in producing a fast time.

(For context: the all-time Miller's Run record for a solo paddler is 36 minutes, 28 seconds by Uli Hart of Fish Hoek.  Mr. Hart achieved that time just a couple of weeks ago, breaking the record of 36:36 set by one Jasper Mocke.)

Needless to say, I was in high spirits.  I'd clocked my best time, my body felt good, my cardiovascular endurance was there, the conditions were ideal, the water and the waves and the sunshine were beautiful... it all added up to a super day.

The wind continued to blow hard overnight.  By this morning it seemed to have let up slightly, but there was no shortage of conditions out on the Miller's Run.  Today the Mockes mixed things up a little by putting a couple of us in double surf skis with them.  For the morning run, Jasper was the lucky man who drew me for a partner.

We set off from Miller's Point, and while Jasper, in the bow seat, seemed to have no trouble reading the conditions, he remarked that they were quite tricky.  The main reason was that the ground swell was running from our right to our left, toward the shore, while the wind swell was running straight on--in other words, they were at an angle to each other.  In the early going our main strategy was to get up some speed on the ground swell and surf it to the right and look for wind swell to catch that would keep us moving toward the lighthouse.  We did that again and again; in the stern seat, I simply followed Jasper's lead, and we glided merrily along.  Once in a while we would pause so that Jasper could provide coaching to one of my fellow campers, Craig Taylor of Sydney, Australia, who was paddling a single ski.  Craig was having his difficulties in the confusing conditions, and Jasper was encouraging him to focus on just one or two things so that he could have some success.

Once we'd passed the lighthouse and set our sights on the beach, Jasper pointed out various aspects of the conditions for me.  For a period we rode the same swell, though it was hard to detect because of all the little bumps we were moving over in the process.  Jasper pointed it out, and I could in fact see it, but I was doubtful that I would be able to see it while paddling out there in my own.

We arrived at the beach, and though we had thrown in some hard sprints during our run, I felt fresh, because the guy leading my boat is one of the best in the world at navigating downwind conditions with very little wasted effort.

For our second run today, I was on my own in a single ski.  The good news was that the wind had shifted a bit so that the ground swell and wind swell were more lined up.  Nevertheless, I found the conditions harder to read than I had yesterday.  I didn't quite have the power to get onto a ground swell right away, so I used smaller runs to get my speed up with the intention of linking onto one of those big beautiful waves.  But too often when I thought I had a good run to link onto, all of a sudden it wasn't there.  As a result, I felt like I was taking lots and lots of wasted strokes and I had to back off to catch my breath frequently.

I would say that I had fun during this second run.  I didn't feel as miserable as Craig had looked in the morning.  But my run was a lot of work... too much work, I'm afraid.

I believe even elite downwind surfski racers are not a hundred percent efficient.  They're simply more efficient than guys like me.  The best thing I know to do is look at all this philosophically.  I didn't come away an elite paddler from my first visit to Fish Hoek; nor was I an elite paddler after my second visit.  And I won't be after this third visit, either.  But each time, I've learned little things, many of which I can't even really articulate.  On my second visit I was able to build on what I'd learned during my first, and on this visit I am once again building on past learning.  The key to enjoying these trips is to appreciate that process and knowing that each day I'm a little bit wiser than I was the day before.

For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

No wind? There's still some good stuff to do.

While the Miller's Run was placid yesterday, the Mockes thought they had found an alternative.  Forecasts were showing a decent south-southwest wind developing by afternoon, so we headed over to the Atlantic side of the Cape Peninsula to paddle from Oudekrall Beach to the Oceana power boat club.

Sadly, when we arrived at Oudekrall the wind was not blowing as advertised.  So we had to settle for a tour rather than a downwind run.

It was a pretty fascinating tour, however.  For one thing, the scenery was quite impressive.  From our putin we could see the "back" side of Table Mountain, and we passed by Lion's Head Peak midway through.  Eventually we were paddling by the core city of Cape Town, and our took out with a great view of the "front" side of Table Mountain.

Meanwhile, out on the water the ground swell was as big as I've ever paddled in.  Ground swell is not really surfable the same way wind-driven waves are, but Dawid and Jasper coached us in the art of getting as much forward aid as we could out of it.

Today was another day with little wind in the forecast, so we drove down into the Cape Reserve for a paddle around the Cape of Good Hope and the Cape Point.  We would put in at Platboom Beach on the Atlantic side, and paddle around to Buffels Bay on the False Bay side.

While this adventure didn't offer the downwind that we all came here for, it was not without its share of excitement.  Platboom Beach features some bigger-than-average shore break that's rather imposing for the paddler heading out onto the ocean from there.  Dawid and Jasper spend some time observing the incoming waves, determining the frequency and the number of waves in each set, and came up with what seemed like a good plan: Dawid would put on the water with us campers, while Jasper, in radio communication with his brother, would stand up on the beach and tell us when it was a good time to go.

So we were all sitting in our boats looking at the impact zone, waiting for the green light.  As an experienced whitewater paddler, I'm less intimidated by paddling into the shore break than some people might be; but seeing as how the Mockes know more about the ocean and its rhythms and behaviors than this lifelong inland-dweller ever will, I wasn't about to second-guess them.  And yet, as Dawid, relaying his brother's advice, told us "wait... wait... wait... wait... wait..." I couldn't help getting hot and bothered, as the waves I was seeing in front of me didn't strike me as a big deal.  Then, when Dawid finally gave us the go ahead, I found myself paddling into breaking waves that did seem like kind of a big deal.  I paddled as hard as I could and managed to punch through them all, but at least one, maybe two of my fellow campers ended up swimming and had to try again.

Later on the Mockes would admit that their launching strategy didn't quite go as planned, but... in the end there was no hard done.  Flipping and swimming is part of every paddler's experience.

As we proceeded onward toward the southern terminus of the Cape Peninsula, we found that the ground swell was even bigger than it had been yesterday.  It was moving in from the southwest, so we were paddling against it in the early stages.  I for one was in awe of its size.  It wasn't really difficult to paddle on, but some of the approaching swells were truly impressive.  We were bobbing up and down through a range of, I don't know, six vertical feet (a couple of meters)?  As we rounded the bottom of the peninsula, we started to get waves rebounding off the rocks, and while it wasn't too scary, it did command my attention as I navigated through it.  As we approached the Cape Point lighthouse, I actually found a few surfable runs within the chaos, and that was fun.

The conditions calmed considerably once we were in False Bay.  But there were lots and lots of seals swimming around and apparently finding plenty of food.  Fortunately I didn't get as well acquainted with one as I did four years ago.  We reached Buffels Bay and had drinks and snacks, and then the Mockes declared that we would continue on up the peninsula until we reached Miller's Point, the start of the Miller's Run.  This stretch of coastline features some truly lovely geology, including caves and granite boulders.

Like I said, we all came here for the famous downwind awesomeness.  But one must be ready to accept that the wind doesn't always blow.  Fortunately, the Mockes' bag of tricks includes some pretty neat activities for those no-wind days, and we availed ourselves of that yesterday and today.

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Monday photo feature

After working us hard yesterday, coaches Dawid and Jasper Mocke gave us some downtime this morning, during which we did some video analysis of our efforts on the Miller's Run.  Dawid, seated at the table here inside the Fish Hoek Beach Sports Club, provided kind but firm critique of what each of us was doing.

We were back on the water this afternoon.  More on that later.

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Shocking the system across the Atlantic

My travels went quite smoothly and I arrived in Cape Town around 7 o'clock local time Friday evening.  The Mocke brothers dispatched Mr. Aldo Cicatello to drive me from the airport to the beach community of Fish Hoek.  Fish Hoek sits on the False Bay side of the Cape Peninsula, and while it was once its own municipality, it is now part of the City of Cape Town.

I'm staying at the same bed & breakfast (they call them "guest houses" in South Africa) where I stayed on my previous two visits to South Africa: the Tuscan Villa in Fish Hoek.  I wouldn't say it's super-fancy, but it's a real B&B, not one of those "Air" B&Bs.  The place makes a low-maintenance guy like me feel like he's in the lap of luxury, most notably at breakfast time, when they serve a complete home-cooked meal.  The proprietor, a lady named Anita, is as conscientious a host as you'll ever find, and she's a fount of knowledge of this area and can offer advice to her guests on just about any topic.  Here in the "high season" (December through March) the rate runs around R1700 per person; at the current rate of about 16.1 South African Rand to the U.S. dollar, that comes to about $105.60.  That's a bit higher than I usually pay at the budget motels (Days Inn, Baymont Inn, Econo Lodge, etc.) that I typically stay at in my own country, but you get a lot for the money.  And within the last several years the exchange rate has been as high as 20 Rand to the dollar, making Tuscan Villa an even better deal for the U.S. visitor.  I certainly want to believe that the dollar will be that strong again sooner or later, but, well... don't get me started on the state of such things in my nation.

I spent yesterday enjoying some unstructured time before the beginning of camp.  I walked to the Fish Hoek Beach Sports Club, where I caught up with a couple of friends and inspected the new construction that has occurred since my last visit four years ago.  I did some grocery shopping and other errands, and otherwise just worked on getting over my jet lag.

Camp began this morning, and it was different from what I'd expected.  Normally the first morning sees campers get their boats adjusted before doing an easy paddle, but there was a strong enough southeast wind blowing to create serviceable conditions out on the Miller's Run, and with very little wind in the forecast for the next couple of days, the Mocke brothers decided to get us on out there for a pair of downwind runs while we had the chance.

I worked hard back home to be ready for this camp, but I don't think anything I could have done in advance would have spared me the shock to the system I got today.  I laid down one hard sprint after another to get what I could from the moderate-sized conditions, and halfway through the first run I was exhausted.  Dawid Mocke told me to stop working so hard and spend the rest of that run letting the runs come to me, and that was what I needed to hear at that moment.  I paddled on in to Fish Hoek Beach catching some good runs here and there but not trying to conquer the world.  I carried that approach into the second run, which we did after a short break at the Fish Hoek Beach Sports Club.

While driving back to Miller's Point for the second run, Dawid's brother Jasper went over a couple of things I could be doing better.  There were probably many things I could have been doing better, but Jasper focused on just a couple, and that was wise, because it prompted me to spend the second run working on just those couple of things and not overloading my senses any more than they already were.

Regardless, I was absolutely gassed by the time I was coming in to the beach for the second time.  My arms and shoulders were stiff and sore from the lactic acid generated by the not-so-efficient paddling I had done.  I'm probably still a little jet-lagged and that was a contributing factor, but the truth is that ocean downwind paddling is more intense and just plain different from anything I can do in Memphis, Tennessee.  Right now I'm hoping that my fitness base is solid enough to enable my body to adapt to these new stresses as the week moves along.

I'll write more later, and I hope I'll be able to articulate my insights more lucidly.  But for now what I need is to go to bed and sleep soundly.

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