Ken Gillings decided to make it more real this time: We’d actually walk the Fugitive’s Trail from Isandlwana to the Fugitive’s Drift across the Mzinyathi (Buffalo) River, then up a little way on the other side on Fugitive’s Drift Lodge land belonging to David and Nicky Rattray.
(Slides change every four seconds. To pause click top right corner. To speed up or go back, use arrows).
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An accurate and honest “Wall of Fame” in Elandsheim, KZN
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Ken Gillings lines up the troops and tells us how NOT to have a leisurely breakfast when you should be in charge (Chelmsford should have attended this talk)
Once again a bunch of bumbling Wit Ous cross the Buffalo at Fugitives Drift
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On the trail there was a bit of ‘oofin’ and poofin’ – and even some lying down for a while to serenely contemplate the sky and the clouds. Well, that’s what they said, anyway.
It was 6km as the crows fly, but we weren’t equipped for flight. It took us a while, and when we eventually reached the next Quantum Leap (back into our taxis), it was good and dark. It was a lovely, unforgettable adventure.
~~~oo0oo~~~
I had run the trail before this – or the road more-or-less parallel to it.
On our trip up north in 2003 Aitch and five year old Jessie kept a diary; when they got home they made this picture album as a memento of the trip. Enjoy the slideshow!
(Slides change every four seconds. To pause a slide, click in the top right corner. To speed it up or to go back, swipe, or use the arrows).
Larry visited from Ohio back in 1996. Pierre was in Harrismith; I was in Durban; Steph and Tuffy were living in Cape Town, so they won – we arranged to meet up as the Old Fab Five musketeers down in Kaapstad.
Larry Wingert had been Harrismith’s Rotary exchange student back in 1969 and had returned to South Africa twice before – once in 1976, down through Africa from Greece, mostly overland, all the way to Cape Town; and once in 1985, when he and I had done an overland trip from Maun in Botswana to Vic Falls in Zimbabwe.
Trish and I took him to Mkhuze game reserve:
– in Mkhuze –
and down to Cape Town:
– the Fab Five plus Rope – Pierre, Rope, Koos, Steph, Tuffy, Larry –
Steph took us to his Kommetjie beach house
This year 2020 Steph’s brother JP sent me pics of the magic pub in the beach house
– JP in Steph’s well-stocked pub –
and Tuffy entertained us royally at his and Lulu’s lovely home in Langebaan:
– Larry Lulu me and Tuffy –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Asked what the Fab Five was, I had to think about it. We were a gentlemanly triple-AA gang Educational Club who would meet clandestinely after dark and do creative things to broaden our minds.
The one AA was for automobiles, which we would borrow under an intricate arrangement where the actual owners were not part of the bargaining process; we would then use these automobiles to go places;
The other AA was for alcohol, which we would procure under an intricate arrangement of dispatching a third party who could legally buy the stuff, to a bottle store other than my parents’ bottle store; this we would then imbibe for the purpose of stiffening our resolve. And for laughter and the third AA:
Action! Adventure! Anything but boredom.
– the SAAB re-enactment didn’t happen – we used Tuffy’s bakkie instead – Fab Five plus Frik – Steph Frik Pierre Tuffy me Larry –
One of the founding reasons for launching the august club was we suddenly had a Yank in our midst and we were really afraid he’d go back to the metropolis of Cobleskill, upstate New York and say there was nothing to do in Harrismith. The thought mortified us. We had to DO something!
~~~oo0oo~~~
We were reminded how offended we were late one night on one of our adventures – this one not motorised – we were prowling the empty streets at night te voet – on foot.
And we spotted a policeman driving around drunk! Can you believe it!? That was OUR forte! What was HE doing driving around drunk like us!? So we indignantly phoned the copshop from a tickey box, reported him to the dame on laatnag diens and walked away feeling smug. Next thing we heard a squealing of tyres and the roaring of a Ford F150 straight six. It was him! She had obviously radio’d him and told him! Maybe they were an item!?
We started running as the cop van roared closer. It was the only thing making a noise in the whole dorp at three in the morning so we could easily hear where he was. We sprinted past the Kleinspanskool and as he came careening around the corner we dived under the raised foundations of Laboria – Alet de Witt’s big block of flats. We crawled through and out the other side, at Steph’s house. Steph & Larry went home as did Tuff, a block or two away. Pierre and I had a way to go yet, so we set off along Stuart Street – we could hear the fuzz in the grey Ford F150 with the straight six and the tralies over the windows roaring around in Warden Street. He never stood a chance of catching us. We were fleet of foot and we could u-turn within one metre!
~~~oo0oo~~~
te voet – on foot; saving fuel for the environment
Jess and I have been sussing out the Zululand game reserves COVID-19 scene and phoning and today was the day. We left soon after 6am. My gauge showed how little I have driven in lockdown – I filled up on the 24th March: Less than 100km in three months!
We got to the gate before 9am where the staff were very friendly and welcoming as they gave us an arms-length welcome complete with hand sanitising and temperature measuring.
Lovely day, not a cloud in the sky but a stiff breeze. Very few animals about but we just enjoyed being there. I decided to go straight to Sontuli picnic site for lunch and then straight home so we’d be back before 5pm.
– Jess took a shot of the Thrush and a selfie –
Jess made a lovely picnic lunch while I recorded a whole bunch of birds: Golden-tailed Woodpecker, Olive Thrush, Southern Black Tit, Golden-breasted Bunting, African Hoopoe, FT Drongo, Black Flycatcher, Blue Waxbill, Yellow-breasted Apalis, Emerald-spotted Wood Dove, Red-eyed Dove, White-backed Vulture, Rufous-naped Lark, Black-crowned Tchagra, Black-bellied Starling, Dark-capped Bulbul, Long-billed Crombec, Mocking Cliff Chat bashing a gecko, Yellow-fronted Canary, Pied Crow, Red-faced Mousebird, Crowned Lapwing, Red-billed Oxpecker, Cattle Egret, Woolly-necked Stork, etc. Heard Greater Honeyguide, Green-backed Camaroptera and Gorgeous Bush Shrike up close, but couldn’t spot them.
Jess spotted eles, giraffe, zebra, square-lipped rhino, warthogs, impala, and I saw one bushbuck.
On the way out I ducked down a side road to Bhekapansi Pan at the spur of the moment. And got a flat tyre! I asked Jess to keep her eyes peeled for lion and rhino – we’d seen both nearby – but she was intent on getting pics of me sweating.
My jack didn’t lift the car high enough to get the spare on; luckily a fellow Ford Ranger driver came along and I could use his jack on a rock to lift it up the extra 50mm I needed!
Thank you! That got us up and away – and home by 6:30pm
First job in California is to get into the nearest cheap motel and start the search for a Ford Econoline Camper! We’re going to drive our own home for a week! Of course, I’ll do the sums. I’m not irresponsible. It’ll have to be reasonable . . .
Those days you still used telephone directories, yellow pages and a phone plugged into the wall!
– sure, it costs a bit more than motels, but . . . –– it was well worth it, I said. – Incorrigible vrou took an upskirt pic of me! –
Off to Yosemite! Heard about it all my life and now we were going there!
– the rude wives of California –– our favourite Yosemite pics of each other –
Favourite birds probly the Acorn Woodpecker, the California Quail and the Roadrunner.
– pics from wikipedia –
From Yosemite we headed back to the coast in an arc to drive the Big Sur coastline
We were in California cos Aitch said ‘Hey! We can’t only be in the sticks! I’ve never seen an American city with its shops and bright lights. You have.’ OK, m’dear I said, thinking Yosemite, Redwoods, Big Sur coastline. Oh, and San Francisco – we’ll ‘do’ San Francisco, OK?
So we did, we hired a small car after handing back the camper – and paying in for a bumper bashing while reversing in Yosemite – and roamed the streets, going down the famous twisty Lombard Street and catching a few trams. And, unfortunately, shopping. I dunno what Aitch bought, but I got caught for such a sucker when I bought a telescope. One of these salesmen: ‘Ah! South Africa! Aangename kennis! Hoe gaan dit?’ you know the kak. So I overpaid for this telescope which was OK, but not what I had wanted. ‘Sucker!’ chortled Aitch, showing zero sympathy. Was this what marriage was going to be like? Was she not going to be like my Ma, who would have sympathised with her poor boy?
– Aitch collected postcards of SF –
I cheated a bit, using the car to also go across the big bridge and into the redwood trees at Muir Woods, just 20km north of San Francisco. This using her ‘city time’ for my ‘backwoods time’ did not go unnoticed, nor unmentioned. But she loved the redwoods as much as she’d loved the sequoias!
– internet pics –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Big old photo album has been thrown out. But first I recorded all the photos here:
We loved California. Now, we were off to Wyoming – We’ve been to Yosemite, now I’d love to go to Yellowstone! You too, right Aitch?
Vilanculos, said Jaynee J, is a beautifully sunny spot . .
. . with the odd shady person!
When she was about to leave Joburg for her paradise in Mocambique; to find another atmospheric cottage to inhabit and love; move into a new town, in a new country; and change the place – Vilanculos, not just the cottage – she asked some muscled 4X4 mechanic with his sleeves rolled up high on his bulging biceps, wearing tiny khaki shorts* what she should drive – and he sold her this:
well, this is how I picture him anyway!
– the monster –
After she’d been passed by her tenth Uno, her twelfth Polo, her fifth Corolla and numerous bicycles, she sold it. And found a cottage with a view:
One day I’ll have to write a story about Jaynee J – It’ll have intrigue, suspense, suspenders, laughter, optometry, launching colleagues and setting them free; Sundry veterinarians, optometrists, champagne, ophthalmologists, vets, veterinary specialties, veterinary marketing, veterinary publishing, veterinary posturing, veterinary skinder, candle-lit baths; It would have hospitality, laughter, publishing, amazing meals, cottages, fairies, champagne friends, neighbours, boat trips, idyllic islands, champagne, hospitality, bed making, bed using, champagne, joy, faeries, friends, a long-ago husband, champagne, laughter; Tales of taking real, genuine, valuable veterinary services to under-served countries, castrations old-style, castrations state-of-the-art, laughter, adventures; There’ll be two fine kids, special grandkids, favourites-in-law, champagne, a champagne suite at the cricket, amazing meals, champagne, The Reeds, The Rock, champagne, hospitality, success, laughter, laughter!! Champagne-induced laughter, some hicupping, nostalgic laughter . .
I’m only scratching the surface here . .
She sees things:
– Jayne J’s Vilanculos creatures – – she notices satire and aspiration –
– the MMM probly thinks this is normal –
. . and boy, can she organise things! When her Manky Mocambican Mongrel (that’s a registered breed) needed treatment, only the best would do. So a hand-picked Joburg vet had to make a 1450km house call by road – from Joburg to Vilanculos! How many house calls need an overnight stop on the way?
Of course, the Manky Mocambican Mongrel did what any MMM does, and croaked, but not before sub-continents were crossed by the vet and his lover, love was made, proposals were made, proposals were accepted; all done in large, huge STYLE. The vet and his fiancee drove back to South Africa with huge smiles on their faces! Best housecall ever! You do things right, Jaynee J! Unforgettably . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
– three ladies and a dog –– four ladies –
. . there are still chapters to be written . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
– dreaming of the day Crufts introduces a section based on CHARACTER –
Kosi Bay is a special place and the campsites are superb. Good birding and great habitat. It’s an estuary system comprising of four lakes – Amanzimnyama (dark waters), Nhlange (reeds), Mpungwini (?) and Makhawulani (boundary? haste?) – the system is connected by meandering channels and fringed wetlands before it runs into the Indian Ocean via a shallow channel and estuary. A boat excursion from Lake Nhlange to Lake Makhawulani is a scenic meander on open water and through reed channels. At the mouth you can snorkel among rocks and along the mangrove banks. The rocks are exposed or covered depending on the amount of sand present at the time.
You can get to the mouth by 4X4, but if you want the full Kosi experience you really need a boat. Fortunately for us, on two of our three trips there in 2002 / 2003 good friend Greg Bennett lent us his rubber dinghy and Yamaha. The freedom this gave us, plus the knowledge of the area provided by a local guide made all the difference.
– Jessie in awe of Dad’s skill –– to get to the mouth takes a boat ride and a walk . . . – some walked, some caught a ride . . – Jess was in her gymnastics phase, so I rigged up an umbrella pole trapeze for her –– that delightful age when simple little things can be a big adventure! –
JonDinDin joined us. His RAV4 4WD was feeling intimidated by my mighty Kombi 2WD, so we kindly let it do a little work . .
– the lakes can be choppy, they can be glassy –– freedom! We could picnic on the lake shore, or the beach at the mouth, or at Bangha Nek – bath time for ole pint-size in the ablution block –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Our first trip was ca,1990, newly married and blissfully chidfree.
Shh – Don’t tell a soul, but when we took the kids in 2002 and 2003 I smuggled our heavy AEG microwave along and plugged it into the plugpoint in the campsite. Made warming up Tom’s bottles so much simpler!
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!
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.
We flew into Jackson Hole from San Francisco. Change in temperature. I was still in short pants – had to change pretty quick! This was week three of our honeymoon, so we were into the groove: Fly in, find a car, then look around for the best places to visit and find cheap lodgings near there. Aitch was better’n me at that. She’d actually look and weigh up options.
Why Wyoming? Yellowstone Park, and my childhood reading of My Friend Flicka and Thunderhead, by Mary O’Hara.
Soon I was warm. Toasty, in fact, as I was sitting – still in short pants – in a Toyota Tercel! A little all-wheel-drive station wagon with four doors and a barn door in back. The four wheel drive system included an unusual six-speed manual transmission with an extra-low gear. It could be moved from front- to four-wheel-drive without coming to a full stop; That was nifty. The 1500cc engine produced 71 HP and awesome torque – more than ample with that light body. I had a SIX speed gearbox on honeymoon in 1988! Formula 1 cars only had five at the time. Plaid seats, two gear levers, four pedals and an advanced 4WD monitoring / information system were standard. Trish asked me, ‘Who do you love more? Me, or this one-week rental car!?’
Then we found the Antler Motel. I said I LIKE the look of this place. She said ‘You’re only looking at the price.’ How do they do that? Only married a couple weeks and already she can see right through me!
– Aitch loved it too – warm and woody –
We found out we were too early for Yellowstone – the road was still blocked with a wall of snow and we were turned back well short of the park boundary. Shoulda done my homework, glad I didnt. The countryside and views were breath-taking. All the way on our left the Grand Teton mountains loomed, disappearing behind cloud and then fully revealed as the cloud cover cleared from time to time. All around was deeper snow than either of us had seen before and on our right were rivers with Trumpeter Swans. And a moose!
One evening we went to the elk winter refuge, and enjoyed a sleigh ride on which we saw a grouse in a tree. Grouse, swans and elk in the wild – things I’d read about all my life, and here they were! I was chuffed. Also, being married . .
Also, I had read Thunderhead as a ten year-old. About a horse in SE Wyoming. I loved that book and also My Friend Flicka (Thunderhead’s mother), which I read next. Those books’ descriptions were all I knew about Wyoming, but it was enough to want to get there. Plus the attraction of Yellowstone (‘course, I could have checked if it was open before we flew in!).
– the elk overwinter here, then move back up north as it warms up –
Every stream I came to I’d get out and search. Then I saw it: A Dipper – at last! It flashed down onto a rock next to the current – and dived underwater! I’d spotted a dipper! I’d read about these little songbirds for years – and here was one doing what they do: hunt underwater!
What a honeymoon! A. You, my dear; B. The Dipper; C. The Grand Teton mountains; D. That Toyota Tercel.
That night in our cozy motel room my sternest critic suggested I was thickly settled:
Wait! Did I show you a pic of our Toyota Tercel? It was all-wheel . . what? oh okay . . .
In 1297 the Gordon family arrived at Lochinvar from Berwickshire. They established a castle on an island in the lake – or loch, as this was in Scotland. Lochinvar.
In 1908 another Scot, Mr Horne, a cattle farmer from Botswana, arrived on the banks of the Kafue river in Northern Rhodesia long before it became Zambia. The local chief, Hamusonde, gave? sold? him some land – or did Horne simply claim it? – or did the colonial government give it to him? He registered it on behalf of the British South Africa Company.
Known locally as ‘the Major,’ Horne built a big old red brick farmhouse. He called it Lochinvar and it is now known as the old Lochinvar Ranch homestead.
Previously little of this land had been used for farming because of the wild game here, including lion and leopard. To convert the land into a cattle ranch, ‘Major’ Horne set about exterminating the local wildlife in a ruthless program of annihilation. Populations of sable, roan, eland, warthog and wildebeest were wiped out, as well as all the predators he could find. The last lion that ventured into the area is thought to have been killed around 1947.
In 1966 the Zambian government claimed the land back and declared it a nature reserve.
In 2003 our little Swanie family drove past a sign that said Lochinvar National Park. As we’d never heard of it, we decided to go and explore this place. What say, Aitch? I asked. Go for it, she said, as she almost always did. Around 40km of rough road later we arrived at the gate as darkness fell.
– Lochinvar? Never heard of it – a sign on the twisty way to the park –– a more recent pic of the gate –
‘Sorry, but you can’t go in,’ said the friendly soldier with a gun. ‘Sorry, but we have to,’ said I. ‘You see, I can’t let these little kids sleep out here and nor can you, so please hop onto your radio and explain that to your main man.’ Back he came – ‘Sorry, but the main man says the gate is closed.’ ‘You just didn’t explain it to him nicely enough,’ I said – ‘Please tell him I can’t, you can’t and he can’t leave a 22 month old sleeping rough next to a village.’ Off he went and back he came: ‘The main man will meet you at the camp inside,’ he said.
‘You’re a marvel, well done, thank you!’ we shouted and drove in on a 4km free night drive in Lochinvar. No animals, but some nightjars in the headlights.
– Aitch and Jessie’s scrapbook –– the huge old H-shaped ranch house was used as a lovely lodge for a while – now it’s dilapidated –– our more lovely mobile lodge –– the ablutions were out of order, so we rigged up our luxury shower –– Aitch always had stuff to keep the kids happy – here, chalk and a rubber blackboard – – better pic of the lechwe – we saw them with binocs, but our little camera lens had them as distant specks! –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Lochinvar National Park
Later, we found out more about the park: In 1966 Lochinvar Ranch, as it was then called, was bought by the Zambian government with the help of a grant from the World Wildlife Fund, and converted into a Game Managed Area; The extra protection afforded to the wildlife by this designation was not enough to prevent its numbers from diminishing further, and so in 1972 Lochinvar was upgraded to a National Park. Subsequently the park has been designated by the WWF as a ‘Wetland of International Importance’, and a WWF team has been working with the local people on a project to manage the park on a sustainable basis for the benefit of both the people and the wildlife. There are a lot of settlements around Lochinvar, and local people still come into the park – as they have done for centuries. Many were unhappy with the Lochinvar Ranch ‘agreement’ – and have always felt that this is their land. They still come to gather wild foods and catch fish, and drive their cattle from one side to the other; so although major conservation efforts are being made in Lochinvar, building up the diversity and number of game species here is not an easy task.
We approached Lochinvar from Monze, on the Livingstone–Lusaka Road – about 287km from Livingstone and 186km from Lusaka. Directions: The road that heads northwest from Monze, signposted for Namwala, is just north of the grain silos on the Lusaka side of town. It passes Chongo village and forks about 8km afterwards. Ask local advice to find this junction if necessary. Take the right fork, or you will end up in Kafue. Follow this road for about 10km and then turn left at another sign. It is then about 14km to the park gate. This last section of the track twists and turns, but all the tracks that split off eventually rejoin each other and lead to the park. There are also a few more signs so, if you become unsure, ask a local person and they’ll show you the way. The gate to Lochinvar is about 48km from Monze. Most of the camps depicted on the old maps are now disused, and ‘some of the roads now seem as if they were figments of a cartographer’s imagination.’ (This from 2003 – it’ll change)
The original state-run, red-brick Lochinvar Lodge, built in the colonial style of 1912, lies abandoned. There are always ‘plans to renovate’ this dilapidated, crumbling old building, but it would take a lot of work and money. Until enough people come to Lochinvar to make a second lodge economically viable, it’s likely to remain an evocative old ruin. As the state of the park gradually deteriorated, the lodge was put up for tender to private safari operators in 1996. Star of Africa agreed to take the lodge, as part of a ‘package’ of old government properties around the country. They first planned to build a floating lodge, but settled on a luxury tented camp which they called Lechwe Plains.
Camping rough in 2003, the campsite handpump had water, but the long-drop toilet and cold shower were out of action. We were happy to be inside the park, though and were equipped to be fully self-supporting.
Although the large herds of Kafue lechwe can be spectacular, the birds are the main attraction at Lochinvar – 428 species have been recorded there! The best birding is generally close to the water, on the floodplain. We drove everywhere in our kombi, but we since read: ‘It’s probably best to walk. It’s vital to avoid driving anywhere that’s even vaguely damp on the floodplain as your vehicle will just slip through the crust and into the black cotton soil – which will probably spoil and extend your stay in equal measure.’ Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
So this is what mother Mary probably felt like! It’s 3am and still no sign or word of the little blighter. Then ***pring pring*** . .
Hello, is that Mr Swanepoel? This is Andrew of Medical Rescue Emergency Services
Shit! Worst fears and all that
Don’t worry Thomas is fine
Phew!
I have him here at St Augustines Hospital in the emergency unit. Can you come and fetch him?
Driving down the empty streets I think of mother Mary. Mary Methodist. And how she handled me in my fun days. Did she shout? Did she rant? Did she threaten? None of the above. I tried hard raising kids – not always successfully – to emulate Mom, appreciating hugely how patient she was with me, and knowing confrontations with me would not have ended well. Love, Patience, and a judicial dose of Los My Uit – not interfering – had worked for me. I mean, look at me . .
Tom’s story turned out to be along these lines: A house party in Kloof; Parents away; The girl whose house it was taking Dad’s Ford Everest, filled with okes, for a spin; She was driving fine, when an older oke said, Here! Lemme Drive! after which things sped up! In downtown Durban the cops took an interest in his driving style, and the clever oke thought he could outrun them; Turning a corner he rolled the Everest, bringing the short chase to an end; He decided to scarper, and Tom’s not sure if the cops got him; The rest were taken to St Augustines by ambulance, a few slightly injured. I met some of their parents and we all nodded gravely; Some were muttering threats and blame. Tom was unscathed and we went home.
Memories of Mom peeking her head into my Country Mansion garden bedroom on some mornings-after: Are you back? Oh, Good; or I’m Glad You’re Safe; and once: Were You On That Train?
~~~oo0oo~~~
Even Mom’s gentle attempts at warning served no purpose. In desperation she invoked the dominee: ‘You know, Ds Ras says ‘Na Middernag Kom Die Duiwel Uit!’ she warned. That sounded like fun and only convinced me the night actually started later in the evenings. Love and Patience.
~~~oo0oo~~~
dominees – fire and brimstone preachers
Los My Uit – benevolent, discreet, watchful neglect
Na Middernag Kom Die Duiwel Uit! – after midnight the Devil makes a grand appearance, TaDAAA!! – like Freddie Mercury – and the fun begins!!
~~~oo0oo~~~
One interesting side-effect: Tom would often say, ‘Dad, speed up please’ with my driving. After this he often says, ‘Dad, slow down please’ when I go round a bend!
Driving Under the Influence. After knocking back a few – a few too many chocolate milks, maybe? – Jessie grabbed the keys to Aitch’s VW Polo and sallied forth determinedly . .
where’sh that Polo of Mom’s? I’ve got things to do, places to go!– I’m outta here! –– that’s better! – what’s this thing, anyway? –– Yee Ha!! – get outta my way! –
Sheila worked at Fugitives Drift Lodge with David and Nicky Rattray for a while and met many interesting people and characters from all over the world. She should write about the weird folk she met – the judges and military men and colonial types and rich folk and historians and chief constables and all the other titles the Breetish Empire invented.
While there, she organised for the five of us – her old Swanie ‘nuclear family unit’ from Harrismith in the sixties – to have a family weekend there with her – the youngest child – as our guide. One afternoon she took us out to the Isandlwana battlefield in a Landrover and got lost on an off-road excursion. Her sense of direction was imperfect, but she was unfazed and soldiered on like a lost Pom fleeing a battlefield. She had the Buffalo River on her left (or was it right?) and was headed in a direction she thought might get us somewhere sometime. Like Douglas Adams wandering around at the end of the Universe, she was in Don’t Panic mode.
– start of the fugitives trail at isandlwana –
So we’re bouncing over the veld, Sheila driving the ponderous old Defender, and our 85yr-old ‘ole man’ uncharacteristically sitting in the back, getting fidgety.
After a while the bouncing got to his ancient bones and he groaned and – forsaking the old stiff upper lip – moaned about the bumpiness – sort of a geriatric ‘Are we there yet?’
Sheila whipped round and said, “Keep quiet and sit still. Don’t make me come back there and sort you out!” then grinned triumphantly and crowed, “I’ve waited fifty years to say that!” Now that was hilarious!
– isandlwana –
~~oo0oo~~
We drove over to the waterfall where ‘Lord’ Chelmsford made a monumental cockup for which he suffered no consequences, as connected people don’t.
– the family at Mangeni Falls – – where Robbie and I did a re-enactment . . – – . . from many years before –
~~oo0oo~~
While sitting on the hillside opposite the Isandlwana kop listening to the tale of the famous battle in which the homeland-defending Zulu warriors knocked the shit out of the wicked invading Poms, a fascinating tableau played out below us.
A minibus and two sedans pulled up. People piled out and one in sangoma dress – one who can channel the ancestral spirits – was holding a small branch of the buffalo thorn tree umLahlankosi, “that which buries the chief. ”
They had come to fetch the spirit of an ancestor who had died at the great battle of Isandlwana in 1879, and take him home.
What luck! Friends couldn’t make their timeshare for happy reasons (grandchild due) so we took over! With pleasure. Nibela is in prime Broadbill sand forest territory and I have dipped out on seeing a Broadbill, coming close a number of times, but no sighting. I was keen, so was Jess. Tom considered the fishing options and the food a la carte, but decided in the end that it was just too remote for a city slicker! ‘Enjoy your sticks and trees, Dad!’ he bid us farewell.
– lovely chalet in sand forest overlooking Lake St Lucia –– Nibela Sobhengu camp flowers –
Jess liked the place immediately. It had cellphone reception and DSTV. Also there was wifi at the main building. What was not to like?
– hey Dad, there’s DSTV! –
The food at the lodge was great. The one pork belly dish was the best I’ve had, and all their soups and veges were superbly done. We ate there three nights and I made supper one night.
– ’twas cordon red health food –
We searched for the African Broadbill, but no sign was seen or heard, so it remains on the wishlist. This is what its sand forest haunts look like, where it performs its little bird-of-paradise dance to get laid so an egg can get laid:
– Bird guide Lucky at Nibela trying to call up broadbills – I soon put a stop to his calling them – I’ll wait –
Lovely local specials we did see were Woodward’s Batis – a pair displaying and calling two metres away in a tree; Rudd’s Apalis; Purple-banded Sunbird; all good sightings and obligingly chirping as we watched. Narina Trogon, calling each day, but not seen; Heard but didn’t see a possible Neergard’s Sunbird. Two lovely bird parties popped up right in front of our chalet: One evening Dark-backed Weaver, Puffback, Golden-tailed Woodpecker, Yellow-bellied Greenbul, Terrestrial Brownbul, Yellow White-Eye and Southern Black Tit; The next morning Dark-backed Weaver, Puffback, Pink-throated Twinspot, duetting Southern Boubous, Square-tailed Drongo, Yellow-breasted Apalis and Collared Sunbird.
Jessie’s Best Sighting:
In the grounds of the lodge Jess spotted something beautiful in a tree! Look! Dad! wifi! You didn’t even have to go indoors to have wifi!
– wifi in the bush – a millennial’s delight –
A drive out to where the Mkhuze river flows into the lake brought back memories of my last trip there – by boat on a bird count with the game warden nearly forty years ago. Greater Flamingos, one Lesser Flamingo, White Pelicans, a Rosy-throated Longclaw, Common Ringed Plovers, Kittlitz’s Plovers, Stilts, Yellow-billed Ducks, Hottentot Teals and many more.
– where the Mkhuze flows into Lake St Lucia –
Pelicans fishing in a ‘laager’ – surrounding the fish then dipping in: Heads up – Bums up.
– White Pelicans fishing near the Mkhuze mouth into Lake St Lucia –
It’s true I have been a poephol in the past. But that was behind me. I now knew more. I was wiser. So when I got to the toll booth at Marianhill and reached for my bag on the front seat next to me I thought it must have slipped off. I pulled over. And I searched. And searched again.
So now my recent past flashed before my very eyes. I had parked my sleek white Ford Ranger 4X2 3litre diesel – turbodiesel actually – bakkie on the pavement outside the old man’s place and left my bag on the front seat. I now remembered thinking I shouldn’t really do that, but it’s fine and I won’t be long. After that I had driven to Azania to visit Mom, also parking outside on the pavement. The bag may or may not still have been next to me – I don’t know. I didn’t need my wallet, ID card, drivers licence or credit cards to visit my folks. Nor did I need my Petzl head torch or my new tiny Canon camera. The SX620hs thanks for asking.
Nor . . MY ZEISS BINNIES! Oh shit! NOW this was a disaster. The other stuff I could do without, but I cannot live without my binoculars. DAMN! The Zeiss Victory 8X32 FL T* – the best ones!
~~oo0oo~~
It’s three days later. I’ve been to the traffic department. The lady fetched me out of the queue and took me to the front along with some old people. I think it had to do with handsomeness. The clipboard she gave me said this:
I’ve been to the police station – very helpful; they took my case in Montclair Durban, even though ‘the incident’ happened in Pietermaritzburg. They sent me my case number for insurance the same day via sms. Tomorrow I go to Home Affairs. The bank is sending new cards. Insurance has emailed me – they’ll pay R20k towards new binocs. This is almost behind me again. I now know more. I am wiser.
Oh, and at the toll? I couldn’t pay, but one of the guys who works there came to my rescue. He asked, Can you send me ewallet? I said Good Idea! Instead of a huge backtracking detour he paid the R12 for me and I sent him R50 to his ewallet. Win-Win. He was chuffed. We both were.
~~~oo0oo~~~
poephol – A South African of lesser sharpness; A stupid or unpleasant person; The term is not complimentary, in fact it’s derogatory if I must be straight with you; Originated in Afrikaans in the 1960s. Poephol from poep + hol – literally fart hollow / hole; arsehole; asshole.
~~~oo0oo~~~
The Montclair police captain said he’d forward the docket to PMB. I thought, All I Want Is A Case Number, and wondered if there was any point. Next day I got a call from Alexander Road police station: Where is Lincoln Park? I explained exactly and she was puzzled: Is it a gated estate? she asked. Then I clicked! It’s Lincoln Meade, not Lincoln Park, sorry! Oh, OK, now she knows where it is. The next day another call: Any chance of a surveillance camera at the scene of the incident? he asked. I said No. What else was in the bag? A little Canon camera. What make were the binoculars? Zeiss. OK, we’ll do our best, sir, he said. I’m ashamed to say I thought they’d do nothing. But they did follow up. Well done, guys!
~~~oo0oo~~~
postscript: It gets worse! Sheila found my bag with everything still intact inside it in the old man’s lounge, where I must have carefully placed it, proving I am actually very organised – I hadn’t left it in my car after all!
** sigh! ** Tomorrow, exactly one week after first reporting it missing I will be phoning the insurance company and the police in PMB to cancel – false alarm!
I admit to being rather delighted! I get an uninsured camera back; my head torch back; my binocs back without having to pay extra to get new ones; and my ID card back without having to queue; It feels like I just played a Country and Western song backwards.
~~oo0oo~~
PS: My lovely insurance broker was very kind, and so was the Maritzburg policeman. Neither used the word poephol.
Tonight I was parked right outside the entrance to the Playhouse theatre in downtown Durban, opposite the City Hall, waiting to fetch Jess and Fatima after the show Shall We Dance? when out of the corner of my eye I saw cars taking big evasive action. A bakkie zoomed from the far-side lane at breakneck speed right across towards my side of the road and smashed into the little silver car parked right in front of me. BANG! People standing under the No Stopping sign scattered, leaping every-which-way.
Silence. Then much Hey! Hey! and running. I couldn’t see, too many people, but ‘my’ carguard told me the driver had made a run for it and citizens had chased after him. I though Uh Oh! and phoned 10111. Listen, you’d better send your people here pronto. I’m afraid the citizens may rough up the perpetrator, I said to the operator. I’ll send the police there right away, she said.
To their credit, the Playhouse security people stepped in and took the perp, who my informant confidently assured me was inebriated, marched him back to his car and put him back in the drivers seat to safely await the cops.
Two tow trucks arrived. An ambulance arrived and took the driver into their vehicle. The cops arrived and took over. The middle-aged couple who were sitting in the little silver car when it was hit – and like me had been waiting to fetch concert-goers after the show – were amazingly calm. They took photos and told their story, filled in forms, no panic, even though their car was badly damaged.
In the whole pantomime there were only two poephols – the drunk driver and a prick in a Merc SUV who drove up and hooted for the ambulance, the tow trucks and the crashed cars to magically get out of his way, he was important. A family member (I assume – probably a son) who had arrived to join the ‘victim’ couple went up to him, gave him a withering look and waved him around the scene.
When the dust had settled I finally thought of taking a picture. Then the girls arrived at last – they’d been waiting to have their pics taken with stars from the show! – and hopped in.
***** jess pic *****
As I was leaving my man came and spoke to me firmly: Mkhulu, my parking fee is R20; I looked after you well and I have to feed my family. I agreed with him, borrowed R20 from Fatima and paid him! He was chuffed and stopped traffic in the main street – old Smith Street – to let me out!
