The West Coast Is About to Flower (and You Should Go See It)

Right, this one has nothing to do with brewing, so if you came for grind sizes you guys can come back next week. A few people at the hatch asked what’s worth doing around here in spring, and seeing as this is literally our back yard, I figured I’d write it down properly.

Our roastery sits in Blouberg, which for most of the year plays the slightly plain cousin in the Cape Town family photo. There’s a good beach, a big view of Table Mountain from the wrong side of the bay, and a frankly heroic amount of wind in the form of the dreaded South Easter. Then round about now, every August, the West Coast gets its act together and shows off a bit. The flowers come out, and it’s a hell of a show (and great for those instagram pics!)

I’ll be upfront: my main gauge for the seasons is how much I suffer at 6am. Blouberg winter roasts start in the dark and the cold, me hopping about next to the roaster waiting for it to come up to temperature and wondering about my life choices, while my dad usually helps me by weighing out the beans. By late August the mornings soften a bit, and on the drive in you start catching colour on the road verges that wasn’t there in June. That’s the tell. Spring on the West Coast properly ambushes you.

So, seeing as this is our actual back yard, here’s what’s worth doing over the next few weeks. Think of it as the sunny sequel to that whole post I wrote in winter about learning to like the cold.

The flowers, and the short window you get

The big one is the West Coast National Park, about an hour up the R27 (on our side of the mountain, which if you’re in Blouberg or the northern suburbs is a small miracle in itself). Most of the year it’s a lovely lagoon and some birds. But for spring the park opens its Postberg section, and Postberg is the show: fields of orange, white, purple and yellow running all the way to the sea. It’s only open for the West Coast flower season, roughly the start of August to the end of September, and the peak usually lands mid-August to mid-September. Which is to say, right about now. Gates run 9am to 5pm, last entry 4:30.

One thing that trips people up, and I only half understand the botany here: the flowers open to face the sun. Rock up on a cold, grey, blustery morning and half of them will be shut, sulking, like me before coffee. Go on a bright warmish day, aim for the middle of it (say 11 to 3), keep the sun in front of you, and you get the full postcard. The West Coast flower belt has something like 1,200 flowering species, dozens of which grow nowhere else on earth, so even a slow amble is worth it. I’m no botanist. I couldn’t tell a Monsonia from a mielie, and I’ve made my peace with that. Doesn’t matter, you just stand there going “wow” like everyone else.

If the park’s too busy (it gets properly full on a sunny weekend), there’s a calmer, emptier option near Darling: the Tienie Versfeld reserve, out on the R315 towards Yzerfontein. It’s small and free, and nobody out there is trying to sell you a thing. Wear shoes you don’t love, the low-lying bits get muddy. And while you’re out that way, Darling itself is a good, daft little town for a spring day: wildflowers, a bit of wine, and Evita se Perron if you’re in the mood for something odd.

Not a flower person? Fair enough

Then point yourself at the water instead, because this is peak whale season too. Southern right whales come up the coast from about June to November, with the busiest stretch roughly August to October, mothers and calves loafing about close to shore. The classic spot is Hermanus, which is the opposite direction entirely (a good 90 minutes to two hours from us, so a proper day out, not a quick one), but the payoff is that you can watch them from the cliffs on land, no boat required. That’s a rare thing anywhere in the world.

And if you can’t be bothered to drive anywhere at all, the plainest option is the one I’d actually push you towards: wait for the day after a cold front blows through, when the air goes clean and still and the mountain looks close enough to touch, and just go outside. A beach walk. A plod up Lion’s Head (I’m no serious hiker, that’s about my level). A fire at a wine farm on the last of the cold days. Spring here is short and it moves fast. Blink and it’s the roaring summer Southeaster and everyone pretending they didn’t complain all winter.

You don’t need a grand plan

That’s mostly it. You don’t need to book anything, and you really don’t need to hold out for some perfect weekend. Half a tank of petrol, a flask of coffee, a random Tuesday off. Some of the best West Coast mornings I can think of started with no plan beyond “let’s just drive up the road and see.”

Which, obviously, is where we come in. Fill a flask before you leave, or swing past the cafe at Laude Classic Cars on your way out of town and grab a cup plus a bag of beans for the road (the single origins are the move if you want something to sip slowly and actually pay attention to). Spring’s only here for a few weeks. Go see the silly, beautiful flowers before they close up shop for another year.

One honest warning about the flask plan, since I have form here. Coffee in a flask is never quite as good as coffee in a cup. It goes a bit flat and by hour three it tastes faintly of flask. I still do it every single time, because standing in a field of orange flowers with a slightly disappointing coffee beats standing there with none. That is just maths.

If you are fussy about it, take the beans and a plunger and make it when you get there. I have gone full circus with that before, kettle and all. Worth it, mostly.