Seems an appropriate shot to mark my last day here. Though, I suppose, this is a descent rather than an ascent, but never mind. Mostly, this has been an enjoyable and interesting visit, but I feel it unlikely I will ever return here.
On April 11th last year I departed on my trip to Namibia, and tonight I should have been in the air again, but instead am sitting out the year’s latest flight delay and am scheduled to depart tomorrow instead. But there are worse places to be stuck, I suppose. The surf was certainly up today, one reason why none of Ascension’s glorious beaches are considered safe places to swim. In the foreground, one of the historic ‘Turtle Ponds’, thankfully no longer used — behind, Sisters’ Peak makes its second appearance.
Ascension Island is greener than I expected, although this is mainly due to the spread of an invasive weed, Mexican thorn, which authorities are trying to control (with some recent success it seems). But the peak in the centre of the island has long been known as Green Mountain for good reason. It was on this mountain that, in the 19th century, botanist Joseph Hooker embarked on a giant horticultural project to plant a forest and bring more rain to the island — and the jungle in the foreground of this shot is evidence that he succeeded. In fact, as far as I can tell this view is shrouded in cloud most of the time — some more is just visible drifting in from the right, but I nabbed the shot in a rare clear spell on my Sunday morning walk up to the island’s summit. Note also the Perfect Crater — that’s its official name — visible to the right of the cone of Sisters’ Peak.
St Helena sits in such a vast expanse of uninterrupted ocean that sea conditions can often have no direct relationship to what the weather is like locally. The atmosphere was calm today, a beautiful day of weather (in fact, all of them have been, since I came here, except for one bout of mild drizzle last Wednesday afternoon). But the sea…. that was a different story.
“Rollers” are the local name for waves driven by storms way to the north, like off Canada, or Florida, and which just roll down the ocean for thousands of miles until hitting this small lump of rock that happens to be in the way. On one day in February 1846 (see this page) the rollers were so intense that they took out half of Jamestown and about thirty moored vessels. They weren’t quite that bad this afternoon but still, it’s noticeable no one was parking their cars on the wharf.
I’m sure this is one of those places of which we’ve all heard, but have never given a great deal of thought to what it might actually look like. Well — here you go. As seen shortly after take-off from Cape Town airport this morning.
I was all packed and ready to go on my Atlatnic journey on schedule. But with a 24-hour flight delay to sit through first, the mild irony of this bus, the latest (irrelevant) ‘rail replacement’, did occur to me.
I’m off tomorrow though. My Internet connection will be unpredictable until the end of November, so for the next three weeks I’ll upload when I can.
Being 42 