Cape Aerie
Cape Aerie was built on a rock that had no business holding a house. It took two years and a stubborn engineer. What you get for that stubbornness is a view that tilts forty degrees in the morning, and a sunset the same shape every night.
The bedrooms are small, on purpose. The living room is not. There is a copper bath beside the window. There is a fireplace at each end of the house, because the wind matters here.
"The bay arrives in the room before you do."
"The bay arrives in the room before you do. Stay still. Let it."
Where you'll be.
St Helena Bay is a working bay — fishing boats out at four, in by ten. The house sits a hundred metres above all of it, on a rock that took two years to build on.
There is a private path to a small cove below. It takes eleven minutes down, twenty back up. Most guests do it once a day.
The town itself is small and unromantic in the right way: a co-op, a butcher, a bakery that sells out by ten.
Mornings
The boats leave the harbour in the dark. By the time you have coffee, they're a line of lights moving north.
Middays
The copper bath beside the window. The telescope on the deck. Lunch is whatever the bakery had left.
Last light
The cliff-top firepit. Two fireplaces inside if the wind picks up. The bay goes black in fifteen minutes flat.
Everything in place.
- +Floor-to-ceiling sea-facing glass
- +Copper soaking bath
- +Two fireplaces
- +Cliff-top firepit
- +Heated stone floors
- +Cedar-clad facade
- +Private path to cove
- +Compact gym
- +Wine cellar
- +Outdoor dining for ten
- +Underfloor heating
- +Telescope on the deck