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Careful Where You Step!

Recording and reminiscing; with occasional bokdrols of wisdom, one hopes.

Random, un-chronological events and memories after meeting Trish, marriage, children and sundry other catastrophes.

NO PERMISSION GIVEN to Artificial ‘Intelligence’ wannabes or LLMs to steal content. Don’t steal other people’s stuff, didn’t your mother teach you that!? Shame on you!

– this swanepoel family –

My pre-marriage blog is vrystaatconfessions.com. Bachelorhood! Beer! River trips! Beer!

bokdrols – like pearls, but more organic. Handle with care

~~oo0oo~~

Note: I go back to my posts to add / amend as I remember things and as people mention things, so the posts evolve. I know (and respect) that some bloggers don’t change once they’ve posted, or add a clear note when they do. That’s good, but as this is a personal blog with the aim of one day editing them all into a hazy memoir, this way works for me.

Child- and Adult-Rearing Tips

Barbs Kirby, special lady, died recently. The news brought some reminiscing, so I went looking in old sent mailboxes…

email to Barbs & Rip Kirby Sent: 22 March 2019 10:18 PM Subject: Chirpy wisdom

I suddenly had a clear moment in my fuzzy brain and thought of two things from way back when. And I thought “I must tell the Chirpies!” So here are the two stories I wrote down, you good people:

Story 1: When we first got infested with children I thought, What the hell are these things? They looked like a lot of fun so I’d play with them. Then for some unknown reason, they’d start crying and it was less fun.

Luckily, the Kirbys were frequent visitors and – with three blonde daughters – they were experienced. They said: “Always try feeding them first. Then see if you need to do anything else.”

Pearl of wisdom! That helped us LOTS!

Story 2: When the lil bastids started jolling I was on my own, no Aitch. So I started laying down the law: What you could do; Where you could go; When you must be home. Harumph!

Of course, they ignored it all, and just when I was about to start fighting with them, I suddenly thought: What do I want most? Their safety? Or to fight with them? And I remembered my jolling and how much fun it was. That’s when I remembered the Kirbys telling me they fetch their girls from clubs downtown or wherever.

“We fetch them from Wherever, at Whatever time – No matter where they go, we will fetch them, even if it’s very late at night,” they told me.

So I started saying “Where are you going please? and what time do you want me to fetch you?” or “Phone me when you’re ready, and I’ll fetch you.”

I fell into the Kirby method, and it has worked like a bomb! They tell me where they’re going. They phone me when they’re ready and I fetch them. And USUALLY not very late – often earlier than I would have expected and certainly earlier than I often got home in my day! Dodgy areas, sure. Same as I used to go to.

Right now, they’re snug in bed after saying, Love You Dad And Sleep Tight and all that shit that I never said to my father! Or him to me…

I love it. Thanks, Kirbys! Cheers, Pete

~~oo0oo~~

The Kirbs replied:

Thanks for the reminders.

Yep the bottom line is Trust. You are a GREAT father. So glad we could give you bits of advice.

Love you,

Rip & Barbs

An Ominous Clunk

First an intermittent sheesh sheesh. Not ominous but not lekker neither. What’s that sheesh sheesh? asked Jess. Searched all under the left front from whence it seemeth to emanate, but nothing. It stopped.

Then later, hours later, the ominous faint clunk under the left front. Feels likes that faint clunk is under me, Daddy, says Jess in the passenger seat. Damn! I haydit, as Friderichs used to say. It stopped.

And started again. It was the propshaft. No, the brakes. No, the wheel bearing.

A second opinion from Mtinzini’s Dennis said it wasn’t the brakes, so we’re starting with wheel bearings.

Abandoned!

I refuse to speak at my younger sister Sheila’s 70th opskop. I won’t do it.

I just learned this week from Mother Mary, 97, that she abandoned me to the care of Great Granny Bland just so she could go off and give birth to Sheila!

Rattled, I am. This might explain so much…

~~oo0oo~~

opskop – unruly gathering with lots of grinning and nodding while thinking, ‘What Did She/He Just Say?’ Also, ‘What’s her name again? I should know it!’ – luckily Sheila an Lou n Richard organised big name badges so you could fib indignantly, ‘Of course I remembered you!’

Actually, I did remember everyone, but wouldn’t have got all names on-the-spot without those great-idea name badges.

I wonder… Can we force Old People to wear big number plates fulltime?

I’m Gonna Live forEVAH!

Me and Freddie Mercury!

I do so luvvit when my little fondly-held prejudices and pet theories get supporting evidence. ‘Course when evidence goes against me I huff n puff, duck n dive.

Remember when drinking red wine made you live longer? And when just a little occasional mild exercise was best, and any more you did was a waste of time, maybe harmful? Those were the good old daze! That was good research!

Now, Good News! Fuck trying to live to a ripe old age! Read this and relax, and – as a bonus – save time n money!

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/jun/17/morbid-by-saul-justin-newman-review-why-everything-you-think-you-know-about-longevity-is-wrong

Yay!

Summary for the lazy:

All that crap about special diets? Horseshit

Special areas where people live longer, like the Med or a Japanese island (“blue zones”)? Perdekak

110yr-old people who hit the news (“super-centenarians”)? – Most – 82% of them! – are dead, vrek, deceased, frot, mummified, buried. What IS happening is their families are still collecting their pensions. Never forget to factor in our human fondness of fibbing. (Remember Auntie Doris told you she was 39 for decades; and Uncle Horace told you he was 90 all through his eighties).

Others, still living, were born in the 1930s or 40s, not the 1900s. Never mind “the 19th century – they have lived in three millenia!” as they and their relatives tell the journalist eager / desperate for a story that will get more clicks than their last story about the village fete.

So instead of following devious Dan who built a lucrative brand around the trademarked term Blue Zones selling books, diets and lifestyles that promise the nine “secrets” of longevity; Or the fake China Study; Or tech-bro biohacking bullshitter Bryan who aims to defy death by infusing himself with his son’s plasma, injecting his penis with Botox and publicly tracking his bowel movements; Rather listen (as I do cos it suits me) to Jack London who said, I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them…

Also – and ignore this if you believe as Oscar Wilde did, that advice is only good in the giving: Do follow reproducible basic research by reputable institutions. Do value the scientific method. Spoiler: Both of these are usually boring, and sorry, but they will change over time (that’s science for you!).

In the meantime, don’t smoke, eat more plants and less meat, move more if you’re as lazy as me, move less if you’re an exercise bunny.

Or don’t.

Yay!

~~oo0oo~~

Perdekak – horseshit

vrek – dead; still collecting pension though

frot – not fresh

Kruger Centenary

In 1926 Kruger Park was declared a national park. Some areas in the south had already been protected since 1898. Kruger the politician gets credit, and the park was named after him, but we mustn’t forget the prime conservationists of Africa’s wild spaces: The tsetse fly and the mosquito. If it wasn’t for them we’d have overrun the place with sheep n mielies n fences. Or some such tame beasts n crops.

OK, so in 2026 people are writing their KNP memories. Here go some random thoughts on KNP n Me.

First, long before I appeared on the scene, my folks spent a night there on honeymoon, on their way back from LM, capital of Moçambique.

My first trip was as a nogschlepper, a fill-in to make up the numbers on a high school trip in 1968. Had to fill the big ole bus.

I remember the big swimming pool built on a sloping rock in Pretoriuskop camp, and the simple rondawels, which both still serve their purpose today. Jess and I stayed in one of the basic rondawels last year.

As a student in the late-seventies a magic trip with Tabs in the Fyvie yellow and white kombi. I think Glutz n Stervis were there, so Tabbo had an entourage!

A day trip with the kids in 2003 as we waited near a Mbombela hospital to be sure they’d recovered from malaria. Which they got in Moçambique from a Zambian or Malawian mozzie’s saliva.

In the winter of 2022 Jess went to rehab in White River and that started our many visits to the KNP over the last four years. I’ll try n count how many! We’ve now stayed in 11 of the 12 major camps* – all except Malelane; spent three weeks in the park twice, many weekends, some daytrips, traversed it from north to south, camped and stayed in new luxury chalets. Self-catered and eaten at the restaurants. And loved it all.

It’s a special place.

~~oo0oo~~

Feature pic: Skukuza in the earlies. It’s a village now.

  • *There are also seven bush camps, four satellite camps, Tsendze Rustic Camp, and the ‘Doctors House’ at the Moz border up in Pafuri – still lots to see in Kruger!

Olifants

So the Donkey Damage is fully repaired; the bakkie is immaculate. Perfect. Better than the latest all-electric Papal Ferrari. Now insurance wants a full 100-point check. Oh boy and liewe bliksem. The technicians find a dozen things wrong due to Old Age, not donkey-related. Unfair to put an 18yr-old Ford through such stress!

They found things equivalent to our hip n knee replacements n stuff. Bushes, rubber dust seals, etc. Reminded me of the Miss Universal Joints pageant. So we soldier on, still repairing the Truck with a Tent 77days after The Curious Incident With The Donkey in Broad Daylight.

Time to escape again. This time Olifants camp in central Kruger park. Ten km in from Phalaborwa gate this elegant lady calmly walked past us. She was relaxed but alert to anything in the long grass that she might catch, shred and eat.

Jess chose to lie in this am. I stopped to listen to a River Frog (engine switched off, are you listening, Kruger visitors?) and enjoy my coffee hot, when I heard lions roaring some distance away off the Balule road. A scrub robin and a bush-shrike were entertaining me when this fella walked out of the bush and lay down right in front of me.

Now Jess would have wanted to be with me. Up until now, parked with the engine off, she’d have been saying, ‘Dad, there’s a reason it’s called a game DRIVE!’

And then I saw a kill! Parked on a low-level bridge, a bright little malachite kingfisher swooped upriver, low over the water. It perched, then plunged, caught a tiny little silver fish, bashed its kop on a branchlet, then swallowed it whole. It was brutal.

A last morning drive yielded lovely bird sightings n sounds, but not one single mammal! Not a squirrel, not an impala! I’m glad Jess chose to lie in. She needs mammals on her game drives.

Then back to camp, last breakfast on the deck with Jess, and the drive home. Lots of eles, a steenbok, hyena mom with three little pups, giraffe, buffalo, and a female Red-crested Korhaan.

~~oo0oo~~

bakkie – pickup, ute

liewe bliksem – gosh

Outstanding!

Quite one of the best game drives I have ever been on! We headed for Red Rocks, a place where the sandy Shongweni riverbed is cut by a different geological layer resulting in an impressive cataract / waterfall.

To get back to camp we had two options: Back the way we’d come with a wall of green Mopani woodland on either side, or cross the river and head north and downstream along the left bank on a route I remembered as more open savannah dotted with big trees and glimpses of the sandy riverbed en route.

So glad we chose the latter.

It was beautiful. Miles of mixed herds of zebra, impala and wildebeest, lots of giraffe – up to sixteen in a bunch; one herd of eles with tiny babies; many waterbuck with young; one solitary warthog that got a fright, then chased our car like a dog!

The light was perfect, the trees – jackalberry, sycamore fig, fever tree, nyala, natal mahogany, mopani, apple-leaf – magnificent. The open grasslands between were a relief from miles of Mopani and that’s where the rutting impala ram noisily chased his target doe for the day; zebras kicked each other, raising dust, and wildebeests stared dopily while lying in the shade. The eles were peaceful except for one young bull who swore at us and raised his middle trunk as we passed.

Hornbills, including the big ‘Thunderbirds’ shown, fish eagles, puffbacks, go-away birds, weavers, 3-banded plover, crowned lapwing, hamerkop, drongo. All ‘ordinary’ birds and animals but in a wonderful quintessential African setting on a lovely cloud-and-blue-sky day.

~~oo0oo~~

Shingwedzi Again

Progress on the panelbeating of the Ford Ranger, but no end-date yet, as sourcing parts aint easy, her being a 2008 model n all. Also slowing progress is that scourge of old vehicles, *rust*! So panelbeater Chris is repairing, making some parts while searching scrapyards and pestering parts shops. And waiting.

So Jess and I did our usual dash to Kruger park. Waiting is hell in a town, bliss in a game reserve.

We got one night in Mopani camp, three nights in Shingwedzi. On arrival here, we snagged another two, making this a lovely 5-night stay in one of our favourite camps.

Lush green growth and lots of surface water after recent rains, so animals quite scarce. Some roads closed due to flood damage and much repair and reconstruction going on. Nature looking good, its our man-made infrastructure that gets damaged.

The couple camped permanently are still here. We met them when we had an mfezi in our bonnet some time ago. That’ll be well over two years they’ve been camped on the same spot in Shingwedzi!

One day we must ask to stay in one of the older bungalows here:

Hey, we got one of the 1935 huts! See how they’re much as they were back then – on the outside. The interiors are new and smart. Tiled, big shower, fully-equipped kitchen on the lovely shady porch.

Those mopani tree trunks in the foreground look only a little thicker after 85yrs!

– last drive on a drizzly day –
– Bennets Woodpecker female outside our chalet –
– Bronze-winged Courser –
– tiny tortoise – about 90mm shell length –

~~oo0oo~~

PintSizes

Today was filled with cute lil knee-highs. We went to inspect our flat / apartment as my tenant is leaving. At the door we spied two tiny kids bouncing trampoline on the sofa. They stopped and stared at the strangers at the door: An ancient pale thing with snow on his head and chin and a fun-looking auntie. The tiny boy hung back but his big sis, all of two years old, ran to us, stared at Jess and decided Just Right and gave her a huge hug. Then stepped back, took a green lollipop out of her mouth and handed it sopping wet to Jess. No pop star ever had a more effusive and decisive welcome!

When I’d finished nosing around – the place as neat n clean as the day we handed it to the Mom, we had to search for Jess. She was sitting on the floor in the main bedroom closet holding piles of shoes, dolls, toys etc that CutyPie was foisting on her. When I said we gotta go now the lil girl burst into tears, setting lil Boetie off as well. Both clung to Jess all the way to the door! Wow!

Later we met Tom for lunch and he and Jess chose to eat at Spur. Omigoodness. Herds of kids and loud Happy Birthday singing. Halfway thru, a cute lil girl started playing with my snow-white wisps. Dad she likes your hair, says Jess. Weird, I said. Maybe she thinks you’re Father Christmas. Can’t be, I protested, I haven’t got a pillow stuffed into my shirt.

~~oo0oo~~

Bumbling down another River

How you doin’? I asked Indomitable Felix, after a night on a sandy riverbank under a clear, jet-black starry sky. We both pretended not to be stiff or limping. He’s been fitted with spare parts made of yards of titanium, used plastic buckets, steel tubing, iron bars and crushed Tafel beer cans, but after considering the question for half a second he announced with a huge grin, “Swanie, I’m RIDDLED with good health.”

Had I asked him the same question forty two years earlier on a riverbank fifteen thousand kilometres NW of the riverbank we were now on, I’ve no doubt the answer would have been in much the same vein. That was the last time we’d been on a river trip together.

….
I knew this Felix Unite trip was going to be great, with good people, good grub, spectacular scenery, and that we would be fine with the unknowns – the weather and the water level.
It actually turned out amazing above and beyond. Felix’s gang of friends were terrific. They love the man, and they included and accepted me warmly. The food was next level; Felix’s men were skilled, well-trained, friendly and genuinely helpful. The weather and the river level fine-chooned themselves skilfully to be friendly and helpful; the moon also obligingly tucked away behind the western hills early so the ink-black sky could be at peak clarity. We had twenty four stars on the river and a billion in the sky.

And then to me the biggest tell – the thing I loved the most of all on this magic float down his river: The way he, as the founder and legend they had heard about from their fathers and uncles, treated his men; mucking in and helping them, coaching them, telling them the forty-year history of his famous river adventure company. He strummed his guitar round the kitchen fire, singing off-key and in-choon both, them joining in when they could. He quietly gave generously of his time. Above and beyond.

Also for a birthday:

I am so glad that, thanks to Lang Dawid Walker’s ongoing friendship and staying in touch, I finally made good on my decades long intention of, “I must do one of Felix’s trips one day.”

I’ve done some unforgettable river trips; they’re forever part of my memories. This one moved to the very top of them all.

I drew a long straw for a paddling partner on my first Orange River trip. I got Monica, who has been down this river many times. Here’s the point on the first day when she realised the oke in the back of her boat was no evinrude:

Quite often I had to lie down and rest as I watched these energetic ancients bustling about. I declined an invitation to climb this mountain, choosing to think n drink  in camp instead.

All too soon we had to klim innie bus for the ride back to base camp and a delicious last meal:

– Felix’s “the wetter the better” Bus –

~~oo0oo~~

That other river trip is here:

Kayak the Canyon

…

*Hey, Thanks!* to many happy campers for these pics, most of which aren’t mine. I pinched them off the group blog.

Gonarezhou

It rained in the mountains of the Eastern Highlands of Zimbabwe. Quite a lot. But I think only in the last few days after our Chimanimani stop at the Frog & Fern cottages did we have days where it rained almost non-stop.

Frog & Fern

I remember the drive from Chimani to Gona, and the last day from Gona to Beit Bridge as being the rainiest. In Gona we had a rather windy night at the Chipinda Pools campsite. I tried to position my camper to block some wind and Dave erected a groundsheet to block more, but only when Esme put up a second groundsheet did we finally get some effective shelter.

Chipinda Pools campsite

The Rhunde river was really high and it kept rising. Jess and I went to look at the submerged causeway downstream. The next day Dave and Esme went, and the river was about three metres higher!

Rhunde causeway
Same causeway one day later

Most of the roads had been blocked off. We really could only traverse up and down the main Chipinda – Chilojo road. We made the most of it, plus the road to the dam and the causeway.

Saw way too little of Gona. A return trip here is a must.

Back to the highways! Jess spotted a flap-necked chameleon on the road. We moved him off the tar.

That was nineteen wonderful days in friendly Zimbabwe. Four one-night-stands and the rest two to four night stopovers. Lots of weather, lots of birds, good grub and good friendship. A trip to be remembered.

~~oo0oo~~

Bvumba Mountains

The Vumba Mountains or The Bvumba – Misty Mountains just SE of Mutare on the Zim / Moz border. Our base was the well-known Seldom Seen cottages where the staff did us proud in a large comfy farmhouse with a great view eastwards into Mocambique.

Resident birding guide and everything-else Buluwezi was great. He took us up into the Miombo woodland in search of the very special African Spotted Creeper. One flew in and gave great binocular views but was too quick for the cameras. Then one arrived and sat still for maybe ten minutes! Most un-creeper-like. So we all got pictures, even me.

He’s Spotted – and hard to spot
Until he moves

Also Red-faced Crombec, Purple-crested Turaco, Yellow-streaked Greenbul, Miombo Double-collared Sunbird, Black-eared Seedeater, and yay! at last, a Stripe-cheeked Greenbul sat and looked at me!

On our own walks we saw Black-fronted Bushshrike, Cape Robin-Chat, Lemon Dove, Stone Chat, Long-crested Eagle, Fiscal Shrike, Bronzy Sunbird, Tawny-flanked Prinia.

Buluwezi saved my most-wanted-bird of the whole trip for last. After a big circular walk to various spots in the forest below the homestead, he brought us back to near the garden and had us lying down in the damp soil and leaf litter peering into the gloom. There a male Swynnerton’s Robin sat inches off the ground and preened itself for ages while we got saturation views. I didn’t bother with my camera, just kept my Zeiss binnies glued to him. I hope to get a pic from Dave or Esme to show here. Here’s wikipedia’s pic by Maans Booysen as a place-holder.

For decades I kept a neat little wooden box with a hinged lid on my grandfather Frank’s oak desk. On it some artist had decoupaged and varnished a picture of a Swynnertons Robin. Now, at last, the real thing!

Onward! South to the Chimanimani Mountains and Chirinda Forest. Except the latest intel on Chirinda Forest was that the road was simply too bad to be worth it. So Chimanimani, then straight to Gonarezhou.

– Frog & Fern cottages outside Chimanimani village –

…

Here’s our Zim route in pink; and bottom: Four of our stays in the highlands marked.

~~oo0oo~~

Aberfoyle

On the way north to Aberfoyle near the Mocambique border we enjoyed one of Dave’s signature tea stops: Chair and table out under a big tree; hebcooler and Stanley flask out; Soon lovely tea and a snack. While we were enjoying our break, Jess said, Dad there’s a bird. I brought her binocs and she got a good view of a beautiful Pytilia in among the miles of tea plants. Hey, she said, That was actually quite cool! Her first bit of interest in what we had been doing all along. Also her last.

Roadside Cafe David
Melba Finch -Pytilia – wikipedia

We booked into one of Aberfoyle’s self-catering cottages a couple k’s above the lodge. A great option, quiet and comfy – and Jess could stay on the lodge veranda while we went birding. Here too we had some solid downpours where we were glad we had some solid corrugated iron overhead!

Jess’ lodge stoep waiting station
downpour

On the way down to the lodge we got a great view of Swynnerton’s Spurfowl, the local tuxedo-morph of the Red-necked Spurfowl. At the lodge the Red-throated Twinspot posed dutifully so even my sedate, patience-testing little camera could get reasonable shots. Resident birder Morgan Saineti then took us straight to the very rare Lesser Cuckoo he had discovered. I got a good view, but no chance of a picture. It was most certainly a cuckoo, but was it a Lesser? Yes, cos I believe Morgan as he has showed it to a lot of good photographic birders. I got good views of Green-backed Woodpecker, Singing Cisticola and Green Twinspot. The Blue-spotted and Tambourine Wood Doves sat still; My camera tried its best…

Also samango monkeys and sun squirrels.

Here’s a lone Zambezi Indigobird in miles and miles of tea where there should be grasslands.

Whattapleasure to be taken by Morgan to where he knows his birds hang out . .

~~oo0oo~~

Pungwe B Power Station

We needed a place to stay. Aberfoyle’s cottages were full and we were not going to pay Aberfoyle Lodge prices. Dave, as he usually did, found the solution: You can camp at Pungwe B power station – and only US$5 a head! Boy, I like prices like that.

We had traveled south to get down the mountain. As we headed east across the Honde Vally we saw the falls we’d hiked to a few days prior: Mutarazi Falls and its twin – the Muchururu Falls.

Red arrow = Mutarazi
both falls – waterflow more than we saw

The road to the power station was quite rugged and steep. Beautiful, and – birds along the way. On the way there I got a pair of Red-throated Twinspots. On the way out, Dave got a Black-winged Red Bishop. New to me in southern Africa – I had seen one in Malawi under ‘interesting’ circumstances decades before.

The weather was fair; The weather was foul; We had sunshine and we had a few torrential downpours that got the stream roaring. They’re used to rain in the mountains – check the roof for the outdoor braai.

Once again a communal shelter came to the rescue – we could cook and eat in dry comfort. We did ironically have a little power outage as we sat in the power station, but they soon fixed that.

And outside our loo with a view, Hooligan’s Robin sang his heart out.

Cossypha heuglini – The White-browed Robin-Chat, thanks xeno-canto.org

And here I have to admit the camper canvas seemed to have sprung a tiny leak and the mattress was ever so slightly damp! Jess may dispute my downplayed description of the problem! She was a star as ever, simply getting on with life.

Two nights here and now on to the famous Aberfoyle that every keen southern African birder has read about.

~~oo0oo~~