October 2008

Two 11 hour flights, an 11 hour layover in London, and finally my arrival in South Africa! Shenanigans in Cape Town. Welcome to Wildcliff. Yes, we speak English here. Important vocab words learned – braai, bakkie, lekker.

General getting to know Wildcliff month. Started out by going into the field every day by 7:00 with my trusty GPS, mapping the extent of the remaining black wattle trees. Realized that 955 hectares isn’t as small as I expected. Met a lot of new interesting creatures and developed a curiosity for my surroundings that I have never had so such an extent. Began my yearlong quest to learn everything I can about the fynbos and its inhabitants. Changed my new favorite flower at least 5 times every week. Developed a newfound appreciation for beetles.

Took me a while to grow accustomed to the sounds of nature, or the lack of sounds of the city. The Cape Weavers were in their breeding season and their singles bar happened to be right outside our house. The males build these awesome little hanging nests, then hang upside down from them when they see the ladies, squawking ‘pick me, pick me!’ One by one the ladies chose their favorite nest and start their lil families, and gradually the squawking was replaced by the chirps of baby weavers.

This was an invited change, but one day we heard the squawking again and went outside only to find that a female boomslang was having weaver chicks for supper. He was bringing his meal back down the branches as the other weavers divebombed him, as if that would help save the chick.

She came back once or twice that month, and his arrival was always signaled by the chaotic shrieks, so we were able to witness it most times.

Gorgeous snakes - we also have them in a bright, neon green (males). They have huge eyes, the largest of any African snake. Back-fanged and super venomous, but very shy. I have never heard of someone getting bitten by these guys (aside from the snake handlers and occasional stupid tourist).

Put together a pretty sweet Halloween scavenger hunt for Bryce, the son of the reserve’s manager Keith. The Belgians and I dressed up as the Witches of Wildcliff (our costume options were severely limited) and I learned quickly to not talk about American politics outside of America. Too late to pretend to be Canadian, damn.

Began the stages of my hate/hate relationship with black wattle. First stage – ‘aw, but they’re kind of pretty. Such a shame to cut them all down…’ Granted, I arrived when they were blooming. Second stage – pulling out every wattle seedling in sight. Hours each day in the field dedicated to this. Third stage – denial. All hope has faded, nothing is being done, and I was witness to the total destruction of these trees from hell. I wouldn’t make it to the fourth stage until June, so basically I went between the second and third stages for about 9 months.