Your blood group displayed on your boat means...

Yes, it means this is a bloody (pun intended) dangerous sport, exclusively for adrenalin junkies with conjones (or similar) of solid brass. Take that to include bra's.

This weekend's boat race at our beautiful village of Yzerfontein proved just how dangerous...


There were several non-injury acrobatics and aerobatics, some of which were executed with a marked lack of grace.

The sea was calm, allowing for maximum speeds all the way around the island of Meeurots.

 A co-pilot being flipped out of her boat was the first injury. True to form the NSRI was on the scene beyond the backline immediately with their jetski.

Fortunately the injury proved to be minor, and she was safely brought to shore.  The next competitor was less fortunate - their boat did a complete somersault with one of the young men sustaining serious injuries.

The NSRI deemed it prudent to transport the patient to the harbour rather than bring him to the beach through the breakers.

Despite being in agony, the young man was none too pleased when the doctor had to cut off his brand-new wetsuit to assess the injuries.

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Fried scorpion anyone?

It being autumn, dawn no longer puts in the early appearance it used to. 

I had just started working this morning when I heard the familiar clack-clacking of the neighbour's electrified 'snake fence' once again frying something to death.

I knew it wasn't a tortoise or a cobra this time (see earlier posts), as they are not nocturnal.

Wondering what hapless creature was getting the shock of its life I grabbed a torch and a stick and made my way over to the neighbour's driveway.

This toasted scorpion had tried to edge its way under the wire. Seems it has had a good summer and was no longer as slim and trim as it used to be.

Good thing we don't have to pay such an exorbitant price for a little summer overindulgance.

See the video of the execution on my FB page.

The Horse Whisperer

 During our stay in the UK we came across a small band of genuine gypsies living in a small clearing in the New Forest.

One of the young ladies, living in an old horse trailer, proudly showed us her humble abode complete with a tiny stove for cooking and warding off the bitter English winters.

The pride of her life was her magnificent horse. From the outset it was clear that this was no ordinary horse, and that there was a very special bond between the two of them. In order to demonstrate this she repeatedly cracked a whip right next to the horses head. Note the whip in her hand, and draped over the horse between cracks. It didn't even blink an eye.

After the loud cracks she laid down the whip and touched the animal while whispering to it. This is what transpired:

It was quite an impressive performance, to say the least.

As she showed us around, I enquired about the rumours about fairies and elves in the New Forest.
She assured me there were indeed fairies in the forest. She noticed that I didn't believe her, and found her earnestness rather amusing.

She was quite adamant and insisted that I come back the next week at full moon. She would take me to a nearby glade, where I could see the fairies for myself.

When I asked her if we needed to smoke some mushrooms before venturing ino the forest under the full moon she did not find it amusing at all.

En of a new-found friendship.

Caterpillar train

Mimicking a snake

Some of the larger caterpillars use patterns and colour to mimic snakes, displaying large 'eyes' on the sides of their heads or tails. In doing so they appear less appetising for birds.

These little caterpillarshowever, measuring only about 3cm, won't get away with that. So instead they grew toxic hair all over their bodies. They also adopted the strategy of forming long trains of up to two metres when foraging for food - hence the term 'processionary caterpillars'. In this way they can fool birds into mistaking them for a snake instead of individual meals.

These are the larval stage of the moth Thaumetopoea apologetica.

I wonder what they are apologising for? After all, the more successful mommy is, the longer the snake.

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The Gigantic Mole

I abhor killing things. But there comes a time...

Yesterday I noticed a mole-hill the size of an African ant hill that had appeared in my garden in less than two hours. I was hoping the guy would head somewhere else.

He didn't.

Watering the garden this afternoon I noticed fresh activity with sand and soil being pushed up as he was sinking a new shaft.
Dropping the hosepipe, I fetched the garden fork.
After waiting patiently for some twenty minutes, he was shoving up a fresh heap, and I struck.

Nearly as big as a small Jack Russell.
I did apologise profusely to Mother Nature, but there are millions of these guys on the Cape West Coast, but I only have one garden...