Among my favourite friends at the Two Oceans Aquarium in Cape Town are the white steenbras or pignose grunter (Lithognathus lithognathus) that live in the Kelp Forest exhibit. They seem to prefer one particular window, and every time I pass by they are gathered there, bumping gently against the glass when I raise my hands to greet them. The literature about the exhibit indicates that it’s extremely rare to see such large specimens in the wild, as white steenbras have been under signifcant fishing pressure for decades.
Clare feeding the white steenbras at the Two Oceans Aquarium
I am ready for my close up.
White steenbras face
Today they are reserved for recreational fishermen, and are a very sought after fish (which has led to gross overfishing). They can grow up to 1 metre in length and weigh up to 30 kilograms. They’re fairly solitary fish, but during certain times of the year (such as summer in the south Western Cape) they aggregate into schools. They have seven dark vertical bars on their silver bodies, thick lips and small mouths. They typically feed on white mussels, crabs, sand prawns, and worms. They are endemic to South Africa.
White steenbras spawn in estuaries along the eastern Cape coast, and mass spawning migrations to these areas occur in autumn (March-May). This preference for estuarine spawning (juveniles actually spend up to two years in nearly fresh water before coming out to sea) makes them extremely sensitive to degradation of their spawning locations. Estuaries in Southern Africa have never been well managed.
White steenbras on the Clan Stuart
My first (and so far only) encounter with a school of white steenbras – or indeed, any white steenbras at all – was during a dive on the wreck of the Clan Stuart on new year’s day. We were a fairly large group – seven in total. Fishermen were active on the beach in front of the wreck, so we took care to avoid their lines as we went in. The visibility was maybe three metres, and seconds after reaching the wreck we were surrounded by a large school of very twitchy, good-sized steenbras. They swam around and around us, changing direction at random, and then disappeared. A few minutes later they found us again, and repeated the same agitated behaviour.
From the first moment we encountered them, Tony, Laurence and I (we would later discover) all began to feel incredibly uncomfortable. The fish were behaving as if something was chasing them, and they seemed to be trying to use us as cover. What could be chasing a steenbras? These are large, confident fish.
White steenbras on the Clan Stuart
The feeling of discomfort and anxiety continued for the rest of the dive. Laurence (lost the group and didn’t like the idea of being in the water alone, with poor visiblity and a large predator on the prowl) and two of the other divers (equalisation problems) aborted the dive early, leaving me, Tony and his two students – both tourists – to explore the wreck a little and make our way back to shore. It was probably one of the three least enjoyable dives I’ve ever done.
We’re fairly sure that a great white shark was hunting in the vicinity, spooking the fish. The concern was not so much that it would try to target the divers, but that we’d get in between it and its prey (as happened to Lloyd Skinner), and meet with misfortune that way. I was also concerned about getting munched because that very morning I’d given a sleepy interview on Radio 702 about sharks in False Bay, from the perspective of small business owners. It would be embarrassing to state that sharks don’t explicitly target humans in the water as prey, and then get eaten by one.
I’ve posted a couple of times about the Seli 1, a recent shipwreck off Blouberg that I am sure is hated by the owners of expensive homes overlooking the beach. The wreck is, however, loved by local divers (it’s only been dived a couple of times to my knowledge), surfers and kite surfers – the latter because it has caused sand to build up in a way that is extremely favourable to wave generation in front of the wreck!
The Seli 1 at Blouberg
A storm in early September caused the wreck to break into three pieces, and along with that a minor oil spill which was fairly quickly dealt with. SANCCOB received a couple of oiled seabirds. Why the oil wasn’t removed from the wreck during the initial salvage efforts is a mystery.
Most of our shore dives with Tony’s students are done at Long Beach, behind Simon’s Town station. It’s a plain little beach in a beautiful setting. Instead of trying to get all fancy with the camera to show you what it’s like, here are some photos I’ve taken by accident over the course of many dives there. My camera bumps against my leg as I exit the water, and sometimes an interesting moment is captured.
The buried slipway at Long Beach
Because the beach is sheltered behind the harbour wall, it’s a popular site for dive training and other water sports. We often see novice (and experienced, but they’re less fun to watch) kayakers taking to the water here.
Kayak ready for actionWatersports activity
We also often see sailing boats and little dabchicks when the wind is up. I don’t have any accidental photos of them, though!
Long Beach seems to be popular even when the weather is questionable.
Umbrellas on the beachCloudy day at Long Beach
Just south of Long Beach is the Admiralty Beach, which is prohibited to the public. For that simple reason, it seems incredibly alluring. There’s also a very interesting shallow rocky reef just off the beach, where one can end up by accident if one’s navigation skills are questionable.
Fence between Long Beach and the Admiralty Beach
For Long Beach, which is not by any stretch of the imagination suitable for surfing, this is a very large wave. Fortunately we managed the difficult entry and exit successfully!
This poem appears in the front matter of Carl Safina’s book Song for the Blue Ocean. It reflects a yearning -as humans faced with a bewildering array of choices – for the apparently sure destiny of living creatures such as turtles and salmon, both of which have homing instincts that take them back to where they were born. Something to reflect on as we approach the turning of another year.
I tell you this to help you in reading this poem, not to categorise her, but Alicia Ostriker is an American poet whose Judaism and feminist leanings inform her work.
Move – Alicia Ostriker
Whether it’s a turtle who drags herself
Slowly to the sandlot, where she digs
The sandy nest she was born to dig
And lay leathery eggs in, or whether it’s salmon
Rocketing upstream
Toward pools that call, Bring your eggs here
And nowhere else in the world, whether it is turtle-green
Ugliness and awkwardness, or the seething
Grace and gild of silky salmon, we
Are envious, our wishes speak out right here.
Thirsty for a destiny like theirs,
an absolute right choice
To end all choices. Is it memory,
We ask, is it a smell
They remember,
Or just what is it—some kind of blueprint
That makes them move, hot grain by grain,
Cold cascade above icy cascade,
Slipping through
Water’s fingers
A hundred miles
Inland from the easy, shiny sea?
And we also—in the company
Of our tribe
Or perhaps alone, like the turtle
On her wrinkled feet with the tapping nails—
We also are going to travel, we say let’s be
Oblivious to all, save
That we travel, and we say
When we reach the place we’ll know
We are in the right spot, somehow, like a breath
Entering a singer’s chest, that shapes itself
For the song that is to follow
I trust you are having some of these, at this time of year!
Pretty Halcyon Days – Ogden Nash
How pleasant to sit on the beach,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun,
With ocean galore within reach,
And nothing at all to be done!
No letters to answer,
No bills to be burned,
No work to be shirked,
No cash to be earned.
It is pleasant to sit on the beach
With nothing at all to be done.
How pleasant to look at the ocean,
Democratic and damp; indiscriminate;
It fills me with noble emotion
To think I am able to swim in it.
To lave in the wave,
Majestic and chilly,
Tomorrow I crave;
But today it is silly.
It is pleasant to look at the ocean;
Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall swim in it.
How pleasant to gaze at the sailors,
As their sailboats they manfully sail
With the vigor of vikings and whalers
In the days of the viking and whale.
They sport on the brink
Of the shad and the shark;
If it’s windy they sink;
If it isn’t, they park.
It is pleasant to gaze at the sailors,
To gaze without having to sail.
How pleasant the salt anaesthetic
Of the air and the sand and the sun;
Leave the earth to the strong and athletic,
And the sea to adventure upon.
But the sun and the sand
No contractor can copy;
We lie in the land
Of the lotus and poppy;
We vegetate, calm and aesthetic,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun.
The Living Shores of Southern Africa – George & Margo Branch
The Living Shores of Southern Africa
It took me a while to get my hands on a copy of this classic volume by Margo and George Branch, with photography by AnthonyBannister. It was a staple in the classroom of every biology teacher I ever had, and occupies pride of place behind the microscope display at the Two Oceans Aquarium, where it has helped countless nonplussed volunteers answer sticky questions about jellyfish reproduction or the eating habits of limpets. It was first published in 1983 and is long out of print.
The first half of the book deals with habitats – the rocky shore, beaches, estuaries, the open ocean, coral reefs, and kelp forests. The authors manage to sneak in quite a lot of physical oceanography without one noticing, as it obviously impacts the flora and fauna that can colonise a particular area. Prof Branch has a special interest in limpets, and I was amazed to discover the intricate adaptations that these unassuming little creatures have to life in the highly competitive, high stress intertidal zone. The section on kelp forests was also wonderful to me, as a regular diver in these parts! I found the chapter on estuaries somewhat dispiriting, given that it was written thirty years ago and it seems unlikely that matters have changed since then. Prof Branch used the Richard’s Bay estuary of the Mhlathuze River as an example of how human interference turned a thriving, sensitive ecosystem into a muddy wasteland in a matter of a couple of years. I have not visited Richard’s Bay, and indeed had not heard anything about this particular estuary before encountering it in this book, so I will have to do some research to find out whether it’s still in such a parlous state.
I found the sections on sharks, seals and whales – under the chapter on man and the sea – puzzling and upsetting, but perhaps they are just a reflection on where scientific understanding of ecosystems was in the early 1980s. I would be interested to hear Prof Branch’s views on these three types of animal today.
Sharks
On sharks, the authors mention that the Natal Anti-Shark Measures Board (now renamed to something less obviously brutal, but still with the same ultimate aim of killing sharks) killed 11,700 large sharks in eleven years (presumably the decade to 1980). The authors state that it is not known what the effect of removing so many top predators will be on the ecosystem, but do note that there were an estimated extra 2.8 million dusky sharks – a smaller species that has thrived in the absence of tiger and bull sharks – at the end of the eleven year period in question. I was immediately reminded of the fairly recent shark bite that occurred on a baited dive on Aliwal Shoal a few months ago. The culprit was a dusky shark.
What I found unsettling was that very little concern was expressed about the impact of killing so many sharks – highly migratory creatures, in many cases – along a small region of the coastline. The authors do mention the case of Tasmania, which after a few years of shark nets experienced a population explosion of octopus (traditional shark food), who destroyed the local rock lobster population and the profitable local lobster fishing industry. I know that the authors’ focus has been more on coastal species, but their apparent lack of recognition of the role of sharks in a healthy ocean was strange to me given their obvious awareness of how vital is every link of the food web on the rocky shore (urchins, abalone, kelp, sea otters, rock lobster, etc.).
Seals
The authors describe the economic value of the seal cull (which in the 1980s was a grim reality of South African life, and in Namibia still is the case). Baby seals were (are) valued for their soft pelts and the oil in their bodies, and mature seals just for the oil – their pelts were deemed to be too battle-scarred to make into a fur coat. The method of killing baby seals with a blow to their heads was sanctioned as humane by the NSPCA because their little skulls are still soft when they are young (and, in a happy coincidence, it doesn’t damage the pelts).
Apart from the economic rationale for killing seals, the authors state that seal colonies “attract sharks” – as if this is a reason to destroy them. I found this extremely confusing – why is one creature more important or desirable than another? The fact that fish, limpets, seals and sharks exist in the ocean means that they all have a role to play, and that somehow these populations lived in balance before human intervention.
Another reason provided for the annual seal cull (which at one point left 35 seals on Seal Island, in contrast to the current population of over 75,000 seals) was that their numbers were increasing “unchecked” and threatening the nesting sites of seabirds on the island. Nowhere do the authors acknowledge that the reason for the seal population explosion could be that their natural predator, the white shark, was fished to the brink of disappearance off the South African coast by testosterone-fueled trophy hunters. Fortunately today shark and seal eco-tourism is big business, and I don’t think (I stand to be corrected) that any seals are legally killed in South Africa any more.
Whales
Whaling was an entrenched part of the South African economy from the early 1800s, but was comprehensively banned in 1979, shortly before this book was published. In Blue Water White Deaththe whaling station in Durban was shown, and whale carcasses were used by the filmmakers to attract sharks. The authors provide a synopsis of the state of whaling in the world’s oceans at the time of writing (depressing – what is the validity of “scientific whaling” when it is conducted by a country that feeds whale meat to school children?) and the population status of various types of whale.
They suggest that, because the small Minke whale competes with blue whales for food, Minke whales should continue to be hunted in order to give blue whales a chance at increasing their numbers. My (admittedly uninformed) view of it is that – what with the population explosion of krill that whaling engendered in the Southern Ocean, the blue whales aren’t even going to notice a few small Minkes dining at the lunch bar with them. Whale populations have been reduced to such a tiny fraction of what they used to be that – for a long time still, everything else being equal – competition for food isn’t going to feature in their population dynamics. My feeling on the matter is that if a Minke whale ever even SEES a blue whale, let alone has the opportunity to argue over a ball of krill with it, it should count itself a lucky little whale and move right along.
The second half of the book deals with specific organisms, their life cycle (beautifully illustrated by Margo Branch), and their habits. The authors focus on invertebrates, as (they say) fishes are extensively dealt with in other volumes. The accompanying photographs were taken by Anthony Bannister, and have not dated at all in terms of quality – they are vivid, clear, and beautiful.
Some of what I learned
I learned a huge amount from this book. It’s clearly provided source material for almost every other South African marine flora and fauna book that has been written, and sentences – that I’ve seen in other books and presentations – kept ringing bells with me (I tend to use my fish ID books quite hard, trying to wring out every last fact from the one-paragraph descriptions accompanying the photos). The authors in fact collaborated on the handy Two Oceansguide, which keeps getting better with each new edition and is indispensible for the travelling South African diver.
I learned that the presence of plough shells on a beach generally indicates that it is safe for swimming – these little snails surf in the waves using their large feet as a sail, and if there were rip currents they would be drawn offshore and lost. Their activities on fish Hoek beach are shown to great effect in the BBC’s The Blue Planet series.
I loved learning how Rocky Bank protects the western side of False Bay to some extent, slowing down the swells as they enter the bay and causing them to focus their power somewhere near the Steenbras River mouth on the opposite side of the bay.
I loved learning about limpets’ “home scars” – the spot on the rock that fits their shell perfectly, and that they somehow return to over and over after foraging for food – and how some species tend little gardens of algae, encouraging its growth by mowing paths in it (and getting fed at the same time). Simple things like the effects of strong or harsh wave action on the slope and sand type of a beach, and as a result the type of life that thrives there, were also fascinating.
I learned that 30 years ago (when this book was published) overfishing was already a serious, serious problem.
I currently work in investments, and the investment team at the company I work for pays a lot of attention to what are known as cognitive (or behavioural) biases. Many of these biases make humans poor investors; the team I work with try actively to identify these biases when we encounter them in our own thinking about investments, and to counter them. Cognitive biases are patterns of poor judgment, hard-wired in our brains, that were once useful to us – perhaps when our ancestors were running around on the African grasslands – as they enabled quick decision making with limited information. Today, however, countless generations later and faced with survival in a concrete rather than a literal jungle, we are saddled with these brain short circuits that can in fact impair our performance in certain aspects of life, particularly in circumstances where emotions and knee-jerk reactions threaten to overwhelm logic.
Tony and I attended a meeting on on Monday 24 October 2011, held at the Fish Hoek Civic Centre. It was organised by Mark Wiley, the Western Cape Parliamentary Chair of the Committee for Culture and Sport, and was open to business owners who operate in the South Peninsula area. The focus of the meeting was to determine:
How the increased presence of shark sightings and the incident had affected business, sport and recreational activity in the Far South area – either positively or negatively
How the shark phenomenon was having an impact on the community as a whole from a perception point of view
If there was a need for an impact assessment
To advise or ask the authorities, City or otherwise, to investigate options to minimise risk to the public and for them to explore options in this regard
(I quote from the minutes – let me know if you want a copy and I will email them to you.)
During the course of the meeting I observed several of the cognitive biases I mentioned above, and realised that it’s very hard to have a conversation about an emotive topic such as shark bites on humans, without a whole host of these biases cropping up. The challenge when it comes to an issue like the shark bite one, is to remain rational and to listen to the statistics – not to the fearful, reptilian part of our brains. We need to form judgments and decisions based on evidence, and not our gut. In choosing what to have for lunch, you can listen to your gut – but not here.
What follows is a selection of statements heard (and sentiments expressed) at the meeting, and the behavioural bias inherent in each. The behavioural bias definitions are from the cognitive biases wikipedia page.
There never used to be any sharks in False Bay
“My family has lived on the mountain in Fish Hoek for sixty years and until recently no one ever saw a shark.”
Anchoring – the common human tendency to rely too heavily, or “anchor,” on one trait or piece of information when making decisions or forming thoughts.
Just because you’ve never heard of Oprah Winfrey doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist.
Just because your family never saw a shark, it doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Did they watch the sea all day, every day? Does your grandmother even know what a shark looks like when seen from an elevated point, when the sun is shining?
Your family wasn’t looking specifically for sharks, and didn’t know what to look for. The Shark Spotters undergo extensive training to distinguish between dolphins, kelp, shadows, and sharks. A lot of the time it’s not as straightforward as looking down the hill and – eureka – seeing a shark!
Sharks have only recently come to live in False Bay (and probably for sinister reasons, like to eat old people swimming at Fish Hoek)
Recency effect – the tendency to weigh recent events more than earlier events
Massive population growth and increased leisure time has given many more people access to beaches and recreational activities in the ocean. Just because they’ve only recently been drawn to our attention, it doesn’t mean sharks haven’t always been here. Sharks have been living in False Bay for longer than we have been in the area, but it’s only recently that we’ve been looking out for them – and more people in the water means more human-shark interactions.
Furthermore, as Anton Louw pointed out, evidence suggests that False Bay has been getting colder – and hence cleaner, enabling sharks to be seen more easily from above. One factor pointing in this direction is the fact that kelp, which likes cold water, never used to be found north of Miller’s Point but now proliferates off Jaggers Walk in Fish Hoek, and colder water implies cleaner water.
If there were fewer sharks in the recent past, it’s possibly because:
White sharks were fished aggressively until fairly recently (they became a protected species in the mid-1990’s in South Africa)
At one point there were only 35 seals left on seal island after aggressive culling – that means no food to support a population of white sharks, which would send them elsewhere for food in winter.
There are more sharks now that there have ever been before, and they are coming closer inshore
“I and all the surfers I know see sharks in the surf zone almost every day when we go surfing.”
Attentional Bias – implicit cognitive bias defined as the tendency of emotionally dominant stimuli in one’s environment to preferentially draw and hold attention.
Your buddy is more likely to share with you that he saw a shark while he was surfing than, say, a child’s kite or a peaked cap that got blown into the sea – although they are both equally likely. Sighting a shark carries far more emotional charge than almost anything else. It’s emotionally dominant, to say the least.
Chumming activities are teaching sharks to associate humans with food and drawing them inshore
Availability cascade – a self-reinforcing process in which a collective belief gains more and more plausibility through its increasing repetition in public discourse (or “repeat something long enough and it will become true”).
There’s no evidence for this, even though it’s a popular belief among surfers. Dosomereadingplease. Or buy this book (and read it).
The shark population is exploding
“Just look at how many sharks have been sighted at Fish Hoek beach this spring! The population is out of control!”
Confirmation bias – the tendency to search for or interpret information in a way that confirms one’s preconceptions.
The population of an apex predator cannot explode – it simply cannot happen. Such predators are typically are slow growing, slow reproducing creatures that produce few young, with high energy requirements. The population of everything else lower in the food web – EVERYTHING – would have to explode first, before the shark population could “explode”. And then it probably wouldn’t be a population explosion – it’d be the plot of a science fiction movie.
The Shark Spotters program doesn’t work
Outcome bias – the tendency to judge a decision by its eventual outcome instead of based on the quality of the decision at the time it was made.
Cape Town’s Shark Spotters program is a world leader in approaches that combine both beach safety and conservation awareness. The spotters cannot force people to obey the flags, however, and the actions of a single selfish, irresponsible, immature individual who endangered not only his own life but that of his eventual rescuers cannot be used to tarnish the reputation of this program. This article gives a good summary of just how impressive the Shark Spotters program is.
I thought it was absolutely shameful (and an outright lie) to suggest that the Shark Spotters have somehow failed, or – as one of the attendees who has “surfed in 30 countries in the world” stated – that the spotters are poorly trained and fall asleep at their posts. Unfortunately this comment was not censured.
A rogue shark or group of sharks is responsible for biting humans and coming inshore to the beaches
Clustering illusion – the tendency to see patterns where actually none exist.
You’ve got to choose: you can’t claim that “ALL sharks are maneaters” and in the next breath claim that a single rogue shark keeps coming into Fish Hoek bay to eat swimmers. If sharks actively sought people as prey we’d see several fatalities a day – at any one time there are about 50 white sharks in False Bay, and if they each wanted a human or three for lunch (a white shark can eat four seals on the trot, no problem), I’d fancy the shark’s chances over yours.
Return Jaws to the video shop and read some proper science writing instead. The Rogue Maneater theory has longbeendiscredited.
The business downturn in the South Peninsula is entirely due to the fear of sharks
Negativity bias – the tendency to pay more attention and give more weight to negative than positive experiences or other kinds of information.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the last few years have been tough. When I fill my car with petrol and hand over R550 for a full tank, it feels as if Armageddon is nigh. As Jenny Trethowan pointed out, we’re still making our way through an economic downturn of note, and businesses everywhere have struggled. Blaming this entirely on sharks is disingenuous.
This statement also ignores the eco-tourism value of sharks. Hundreds of people joined the shark spotter on Boyes drive every day during this recent peak of sightings, scanning the bay and excitedly discussing the possiblity of seeing a shark. Do you think they all went home without having a coffee somewhere, or buying a sandwich?
The large number of sharks currently being spotted inshore is going to persist FOREVER
Disregard of regression toward the mean – the tendency to expect extreme performance to continue.
Year after year a seasonal peak of inshore sightings of white sharks is observed. Sightings typically peak in October, and then decline somewhat for the rest of the summer. During winter, the white sharks hang out at Seal Island and are hardly ever seen inshore. This same sequence occurs year after year after year. It is driven by the sharks’ search for food (they eat seal pups at the island; when the seal pups get too old, fast and wily they eat the fish that come into False Bay with the warmer water in summer), and possibly by socialising activities and the opportunity to rest in the highly oxygenated waters close to shore. There is no reason to state that THIS year the sharks are going to stay in the surf zone, set up homes there and harrass swimmers year-round.
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Having listed the statements above, I realise that there was a disturbing mindset among many of the meeting participants, who seemed opposed to scientific thinking and statistical or evidence-based reasoning. Instead they attached great importance to anecdotes, personal experience (only valuable to the individual unless recorded and shared in an objective manner that recognises shortcomings of perception, memory and understanding) and uninformed generalisations. This kind of thinking is also prevalent in media reports of shark bites, and almost all the conversations I have had with friends and family on the subject (and let me quickly add, I have also been prone to it!).
Unfortunately, as humans we actually can’t help thinking in those ways. We have to actively work against the part of our brain that wants to leap to conclusions based on stories told around the bar or in the elevator, and give it some hard facts to chew on instead. These three cognitive biases capture some of the attitudes I am talking about:
Bias blind spot – the tendency to see oneself as less biased than other people.
Confirmation bias – the tendency to search for or interpret information in a way that confirms one’s preconceptions.
Base rate neglect or Base rate fallacy – the tendency to base judgments on specifics, ignoring general statistical information.
Contrary to my initial expectations the meeting was conducted in a civilised manner, and despite the flawed thinking on display, for the most part the attendees agreed (or claimed to agree) that a solution to the issue of perceived increased risk owing to shark attacks in False Bay must make sense both from a conservation point of view (not killing sharks) and from a human safety perspective. (As an aside, a topic that was skipped over was the possible role of trek net fishermen in attracting sharks to the beaches… A bit of a political hot potato, methinks!)
Tony has experienced a slight dip in business as a result of the recent shark bite incident at Fish Hoek. Experienced divers aren’t generally fussed, but new and prospective diving students are frequently nervous about sharks and ask a lot of questions. I think that no matter how much income Tony lost, however, he’d be very hard pressed to suggest that killing some of the fauna of False Bay was a valid solution to the problem.
However, at least two of the participants at the meeting – both gentlemen of a certain age who claimed vast knowledge about the world’s oceans and Fish Hoek in particular – clearly favour shark nets, culling, hunting down and shooting the “rogue” sharks who persist in coming into the bay or a similar solution. To say so, however, would have been unpopular once it became clear which direction the consensus was moving.
Some of those with a purely financial interest in the public perceiving Fish Hoek beach and False Bay waters as safe also would have jumped at the idea of a solution that removed sharks from the waters around Fish Hoek – whether that involved killing them or not. Fortunately thinking like this is no longer socially acceptable as it smacks of arrogance about humans’ role on earth, and ignorance about the functioning of ecosystems. Fear of saying something socially unacceptable is a tenuous reason to hold back on expressing a favourable opinion towards a shark cull – it by no means signals or causes a change of mind on the subject – but fortunately it was sufficient of a restraint for the meeting participants to reach an agreement that was in favour of the sharks’ continued existence in False Bay, hopefully in harmony with ours.
I was relieved when the meeting concluded with Mr Wiley stating that the evening’s contributions were sufficient to request the Cape Town Sub-Council in Fish Hoek to allocate funds for a research project to making False Bay, specifically Fish Hoek coastline safer for beach users. I believe that this will take the form of a safe swimming area, but we’ll have to wait (hopefully not too long) and see.
Update (December 2017): The increasing frequency of muggings by armed men in the vicinity of the Kakapo (sometimes hiding inside the wreck) means that you should only visit the wreck in a large group, on a weekend, preferably accompanied by dogs, and – unfortunately – with the expectation of trouble. When the management of Table Mountain National Park finally realises that their mandate requires action on this matter, rather than focusing on just collecting entrance fees to the park and fining the vicious criminal dog walkers who don’t have activity cards, I’ll tone down this warning.
The wreck of the Kakapo on Long Beach, Noordhoek
The Kakapo is not a shipwreck that you can dive on; it’s actually one that you can explore with your non-diving buddies, and even with your dog. No special qualifications are required to do a wreck penetration here.
Tony walking away from the wreck
On an evening in late May 1900, during a northwesterly gale with rain and thick mist, it seems that the captain mistook Chapmans Peak for Cape Point (this was before the days of the Slangkop Lighthouse), and swung hard a-port, full steam ahead, as he rounded it. The ship was driven so far up the beach – which she hit at an impressive speed of nine and a half knots – that banks of sand rose on each side of the hull.
Me next to the boiler
There’s some confusion as to exactly why the incident took place. Apparently the fog was so bad that the officers on watch couldn’t see past the bow of the ship from the wheelhouse; the ship’s compass was also rumoured to be faulty. The page in the ship’s logbook corresponding to 25 May 1900 mysteriously vanished, so the truth remains unknown.
The wreck of the Kakapo on Noordhoek Beach
The ribs of the ship sticking out of the sand
Tony investigating the wreck
One side of the rusted hull, and the boiler
Ribs of the hull
Tony at a funnel (I think)
Boiler hole
Inside the boiler
Inside the boiler
Tony investigates the boiler
Tony at what remains of the stern of the vessel
The ship’s boiler
Regardless of the reason for the presence of this particular shipwreck, I find the story hilarious (although I’m sure there were some red faces all round), and since I love shipwrecks this is one of my favourite places in Cape Town. You can either park in the beach parking area just below Chapmans Peak and walk several kilometres down Long Beach, Noordhoek, or you can go via Kommetjie, which is a lot shorter.
Sunset behind the boiler
This is a wonderful walk for a summer evening, or a picnic spot for a warm weekend. It’s far enough away from everything that you can feel as though you have the place totally to yourself.
Wreck sticking out of the sand
These photographs were taken in early 2010; the sand moves about and at some times more or less of the ship may be exposed.
A wedding at Windmill, with divers emerging (James Bond-like) from the sea in the background
It’s actually ridiculous that I haven’t written anything about Windmill Beach yet for the blog. It’s probably one of the three most popular shore entry sites on the western side of False Bay, and it’s absolutely beautiful. The beach is also a popular wedding venue – take care not to spoil the photos as you tramp past in your scuba gear!
Blue gas flame nudibranch
Right next to Boulders Beach, Windmill shares the same type of topography: large, rounded boulders sheltering small inlets. On a calm day with no large swell, it’s paradise. (When there is a big swell, it’s a washing machine and not worth the walk down to the beach.) A huge variety of life colonises the granite boulders around the beach, and the patient observer will find other interesting creatures on the coarse, sandy bottom between the rocks.
A diver in the eastern cove at Windmill
On the surface at Windmill
Exiting the water after a dive, in the east cove
The beautiful tree at the bottom of the path to the beach
Windmill Beach
View of the dodgy public loo on site, from just above the beach
Negotiating the path back to the car
The path leading down from the parking area to the beach
Getting ready at the parking area
The entrance to the beach, seen from the parking area
Parking is at the end of Links Crescent, so-called because it runs behind the golf course in Simon’s Town. There’s often a man in a penguin suit standing on the corner of Bellevue Road, which is where you must turn left off the main road. Links Crescent is the first road to your right after the golf course. On weekends the site teems with divers, but during the week it’s advisable to organise yourself a car guard (Happy Valley Homeless Shelter can often oblige). The parking is right next to the golf course – be warned! There are public loos on the way down to the beach, but optimistically the most they can be said to provide in terms of amenities is a modicum of privacy. The well-maintained loos at Long Beach have spoiled us in this regard!
Common feather star
Setting off in good visibility at Windmill
Tony, James and Linda at Windmill
Doing skills at Windmill
Interesting gaps between the rocks and in the kelp are fun for divers!
James swims over broken kelp
Linda traverses the seafloor
The two coves are very sheltered. The northernmost (left hand) one is very shallow and slopes very gently; the eastern (right hand) cove is the more popular entry point, and is ideal for skills training on the sandy bottom, as it is very protected and one can quickly get 1.5 to 2 metres of depth. There is plenty to see on the rocks around the edge of the cove, and in adverse conditions an entire dive could be conducted without leaving the protection of the rocks. At least one very large octopus lives in the shallows on the right hand side of the cove.
A red sea star… count the legs!
Kelp forest at Windmill Beach
Kelp forest at Windmill
Healthy kelp forests with invertebrates beneath at Windmill
Catshark egg case at Windmill
There is abundant life at the foot of the kelp stipes
Sea fan nursery at Windmill
Urchins and a sea star cling to a rock at Windmill
Baby sea fans at Windmill
There is ample place to hide in the kelp
The maximum depth you’ll find at Windmill is about 8 metres – getting deeper requires quite a swim offshore. I think it involves more than a little luck as well as some navigation skils, but it’s possible to enter at the eastern cove, swim out and around the rocks, and exit at the northern cove. There is a narrow gap between the rocks (shortcut into the northern cove) that is terrible when there’s a swell – the first time I dived Windmill, with Fritz (just after I started diving) we got washed through it at a precipitous speed. If you skip the gap, knowing when to turn west and find the seaward entrance of the north cove is also quite an art, and a “surface to look around” may be required.
Blue gas flame nudibranch
All that said, Windmill is an exceptionally attractive dive site. There are several passages to swim through, and the southern right whales that visit False Bay every year seem to like this spot. I have heard more than one story of divers encountering a jubilant whale in the shallow (for a whale) water. If you are one of the lucky ones who does, remember that these whales are very, very large in comparison to you, and an accidental sideswipe with its tail could well catapault you into next week.
Box sea jellies at Windmill Beach
A super klipfish at Windmill
Alikreukel on the sand
Super klipfish at rest
A hottentot with two fish lice on its head
Cushion star on some Stephens’ codium
Climbing alikreukel
A pinch-lipped marginella on some Stephens’ codium
Cape rock crab
Alikreukel on kelp
A Cape rock crab on the move
A klipfish perches on a rock
A large super klipfish at Windmill
A Cape rock crab in the kelp
When we dived there recently I found a white seacatfish, but wasn’t fast enough to photograph him as he disappeared into a crack in the rocks. There are lots of klipfish, gorgeous nudibranchs, and a wealth of other invertebrate life. You won’t find a single abalone (but lots of shells) – I think they’ve been poached out. The place is crawling with alikreukel. Fortunately at Photographer’s Reef, a 400 metre swim directly out into the bay from Windmill, there is a reasonably large and healthy population. Like A Frame, we saw many false plum anemones, and the Cape rock crab population at Windmill seems particularly healthy. If you want to see kelp forests, the ones at Windmill are particularly alluring, sloping gently upwards with a vivid scattering of urchins and anemones on the rocks beneath.
A large false plum anemone in the shallow water at Windmill
