19 Aug |
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 With the mayoral chain around his neck, Sir John Woodhead watches closely as the final stone of the dam that bears his name is lowered into place. It’s the first day of May in 1894; “the year of the diamond jubilee of Her Majesty Queen Victoria,” reminds the stone inscription. The stone settles and the pipers resume their bleating, as the tannin-stained waters start to fill the 955-megalitre Woodhead Reservoir. After years of thirsty uncertainty, the construction of Cape Town’s first major catchment means the burgeoning city won’t run dry next summer. But it’s a long journey home for Woodhead and his fellow town councillors. For this engineering masterpiece is in perhaps the last place you’d expect to find Cape Town’s first water reservoir. It – and the four other large dams that were built at the turn of the 19th century – are all on the summit of Table Mountain. Water has long been key to the growth of Cape Town, and even today the city’s limited water is– if you’ll excuse the pun – a source of concern for town planners. But water has been both bane and boon for the Mother City: when Jan van Riebeek first sailed the Drommedaris into Table Bay, the indigenous Khoi people called this place Camissa; the ‘place of sweet waters’. With a name like that, who wouldn’t choose to set up a refreshment station here to supply the passing ships of the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie. Centuries passed, the city grew, and the springs that gurgled towards Table Bay were being drunk faster than they flowed. By the late-1800s the situation was becoming desperate. A pipeline funnelled river water from the mountain to the city, but in the summers the city taps were in danger of running dry. A bold plan was required, which is how a small a small army of labourers, led by Scottish stonemasons, came to be hard at work on the summit of Table Mountain. Fast-forward 110 years and the mountaintop dams that were the fruits of their labours are one of the most surprising discoveries for the first-time walker on the ‘back table’ of Cape Town’s most famous landmark. It’s a fascinating piece of city history that’s best explored by wandering up the steep concrete track from Constantia Nek. As you crest the rise above Rooikatkloof the road flattens out and the three smallest dams sparkle into view. De Villiers arrives first, although it was the last dam to be completed on the mountain, finally filling up in 1910. But it is the diminutive Alexander Dam around the corner that lays claim to being the oldest on the mountain. When completed in 1893 it stored a ‘paltry’ 126 000 000 litres of dark mountain water, stained to the colour of strong tea by the tannic roots of indigenous fynbos. Along with neighbouring Victoria, these three supplied the then-independent Wynberg Municipality, which was suffering its own water shortages for the sprawling southern suburbs. From Victoria, the path is a veritable walk in the park. Gently undulating across the flat back table, the roadside is full of rustling restios; over 100 species of these sturdy grasses are found on the summit’s boggy flats. Throughout the year you’ll also spot the bright red tubes of the Fire Heath Erica, while the small flowers of the Pink Hairy Heath spring to life between November and April. Birdlife thrives up here too, with Familiar Chats, the Cape Rock Thrush and the Ground Woodpecker a common sight on the rocky outcrops. As you wander, keep an eye heavenward for the jet-black Verreaux’s Eagles that are sometimes seen soaring along the cliff tops. Around a bend or two, and the largest dams on the mountain quickly reveal themselves. The immaculate stonework of the Woodhead Reservoir is worth admiring, with two-ton blocks quarried from the abundant local sandstone. Be sure to lean your head over the 37-metre-high wall to admire the tapering curve, carefully crafted to fit the rocky valley. To the east, the hewn stones of the Hely Hutchinson reservoir hold back nearly a billion litres of water. While most of the work for the Woodhead reservoir was done by hand, mule and cart, for the Hely Hutchinson an entire steam train was dismantled, whisked to the mountaintop by cableway, and then reassembled to ferry materials to the building site. At the peak of construction, around 400 unskilled labourers toiled here each day. With the project – delayed for a time by the Anglo-Boer war – stretching over six years, it wasn’t long before a choir, football team and even a mandolin band were formed to entertain workers after a day at the rock face. It’s a history easily discovered in the small Waterworks Museum at the northern end of the Hely Hutchinson wall. Opened each day by the dam-keepers on their morning rounds to check the water levels, the steam engine that never made it back down the mountain takes pride of place. Along the walls, antique instruments – from cast-iron tools to delicate brass Venturi meters – quietly collect dust; exquisite artworks of a mechanical age. The steam-driven crane is put outside to rust away under the mountain’s famous tablecloth, while stone plaques hailing the likes of Sir John quietly weather in peace. Fading photographs and photocopied records tell the tales of the sweat and ingenuity that managed to craft dams on a mountaintop. They’re stories that should be told and admired, but are instead all but forgotten by the citizens below. Perhaps not unlike the dams themselves; dams that saved a thirsty city from its own success. First published in the Business Day, July 2011 Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites            |