Mossel Bay—a place stitched into memory. For those who grew up here or returned year after year, it lives in the heart as nostalgia: sun-bleached summers, salt on the skin, rocky coves and open beaches, and the ever-present voice of the sea.

Long before any town rose on the South African coast, this bay stood as a silent witness to history. It is the oldest recorded landing site in the country and the first place of sustained European contact. In 1488, Bartolomeu Dias came ashore here for fresh water—an event that helped shape the Age of Discovery. For centuries after, Portuguese mariners returned, anchoring in this natural refuge before rounding Africa.

But the story did not begin with them. Long before those sails touched the horizon, the Khoi people lived here—at one with the coast, the wind, and the waves. And long before any human presence, the ancient stones of this shoreline—its peninsula, tidal pools, windswept cliffs, and sea caves—had already stood unchanged for tens of thousands of years.

This song is adapted from a longer poem I wrote about Mossel Bay. It follows the quiet journey of a hiker descending the St. Blaize Trail toward The Point—passing the lighthouse and watching huge breakers crash over the rock formations that protect the tidal pools from the open ocean. From there, the path winds past campers and surfers along the walkway, moving through the curve of the bay toward Santos and De Bakke, with Reef and Díaz Beach lying in the blue distance