I must go down to the sea again
“I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; I left my shoes and socks there – I wonder if they’re dry?”
Which are in fact more appropriate lines for our stroll on Buffels Bay Beach at the Spring high-tide on Friday!
In all honesty, though, on this fifth and last day of walking I did think of paraphrasing the bard:
Once more onto the beach, dear friends, once more;
Or end the walk with our English dead!
In the office there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of walking blows in our ears,
The sinews will stiffen, the blood will be summoned,
Let pry through the camera lens
Almost swall’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
On, on, you noblest English.
Have in these parts from morn till even trudged
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to walk
And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you who cannot make it to The Cape
On the first day I saw you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s a foot!
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘To Cape of Good Hope . . . and beyond’
Poetry aside . . . the walk was magnificent.
We were also extremely fortunate to watch a small group of Klipspringers for 30 minutes. We saw Bontebok as well and a large herd of Eland.
Eventually with “stiffened sinews” we reached Cape Point and celebrated with some natural painkillers.
