Finally the sun is shining, temperatures are soaring and sunburn has become a real possibility for the careless outdoorsman. Summer seems to have been taking its own merry time to arrive this year but, with blue skies and warm temperatures, I was only too pleased to be heading out into nature, the industrial-strength wet-weather gear replaced with equally robust sunscreen.

Since it was so warm I thought that a spot of sea breeze to keep me cool wouldn't go amiss, so I set out early for Cape Point and a planned excursion around the Sirkelsvlei/Olifantsbos area.

The drive was pleasant, the sun yet to reach full strength and there were myriad walkers, cyclists and runners along the route, but thankfully little traffic that early. I rarely seem to see much game in the reserve, despite a quiet approach, but did pass some ostriches on my way down to Olifantsbos and the start of my hike. They looked a little weathered, it has to be said; feathers all awry, obviously buffeted in the recent past by some serious winds. In fact it wasn't just the ostriches; the entire landscape indicates that the most powerful natural force in the reserve is the wind and everything there is shaped by and adapted to the near constant breezes, from the rock formations to the numbers of ships that have foundered in the rough seas.

North-westerly gales in winter and howling south-easters in the summer whip across the flatlands, buffeting the creatures that live there and moulding the landscape, carving rock layers into sandblasted gargoyles. It carves out the softer sedimentary rock bands to create precariously balanced boulders and holes, one of which forms a gateway in the path.

It was only a moderate climb to ascend from sea level to the top of the plateau and as I walked the subtlety of nature's adaptations was marked. In every slight hollow or the shelter of a boulder colourful pelargoniums, lobelias and spectacularly painted Roella littered the ground.

Even minute divots housed their own tiny ecosystems of delicate flowering plants. I found a few triangular Moraea tucked behind a windbreak of boulders. But out in the open, on each section of flat plain there were few flowers other than the bright white everlastings that coated the level ground like snow.

Higher up, I walked through an extensive stand of restios, their presence belying the apparent aridity of the place, indicators that there was water not far below the surface. A sea of high grasses murmured in the breeze so that the sound of water running appeared more imagination than reality.

But then the ground grew unexpectedly springy and in front of me the wide expanse of the vlei itself came into view. Lying in such a shallow basin and in such an apparently dry landscape Sirkelsvlei is something of an enigma. Appearing blue at a distance the actual waters are stained deep mahogany from the leached tannins in the soil, and the entire waterway really doesn't seem to belong where it is.

The depression in which it lies seems too shallow and the surrounding watershed too insufficient to support such a large body of water. Had I not known it was there it would have been easy to suspect a mirage or perhaps a little too much time in the sun.

Around the edges there is a band of slightly more lush growth, relying on the high water table for sustenance and the minimal depression for protection from the wind.

Having skirted the water's edge, I headed towards the coast through more of the whispering restios, passing a boisterous baboon troop, some little ones receiving a fearsome dressing down from one of their elders as I walked by.

At this point the sea, impossibly blue under the clear skies, came back into view and I headed down a serpentine pathway to the beach for the final leg of the journey. On the point lies the rusted remains of the Nolloth, a Dutch trawler caught out by the vagaries of wind and current that make rounding the Cape such a notorious passage.

There is something inherently photogenic about shipwrecks, doubly so those that lie on golden beaches and are surrounded by clear blue waters and I stopped and spent some time labouring with the camera, hoping to capture at least one elegant and emotive image.

The walk back along the coast is a little tiring - soft sand sucked the life out of my legs and distances stretched so that the car seemed a long way away as I passed Oliphantsbos Cottage.

The Sirkelsvlei walk offers a variety of options and numerous mini ecosystems to explore. You can stay inland to skirt the coast, or you can simply skip the vlei and merely do the beach walk. The place offers near total solitude, only the wind sighing through the grasses, the pounding of waves on the coast and the lapping of waters in the vlei disturb the quiet.

Perhaps best of all, while the buses fill the carpark, and tourists clamour over souvenirs at the point, this area remains almost totally isolated, contributing to its appeal as one of the Cape's best low elevation walks.