The night before I dropped Jess off on her nature course we stayed over here:
I walked around the garden that afternoon and saw 36 bird species in an hour or two! Terrific.
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Category Archives: Travel Africa
Cape Vidal Camping
So I took these –
. . to here –
and when they saw these harmless creatures –
they squealed and ran out of the campsite shouting “Pete! I’m taking an uber home!” and “Dad! I’m taking an uber home!” Pests.
We saw kudu, nyala, hippo, buffalo, giraffe, mongoose, zebra, warthog and hyena. Sindi pipes up on a drive: “There are no animals here!” She meant we hadn’t seen an elephant or a lion.
’twas like casting pearls before swine . . . .
They had a ball.
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Ken Gillings’ Hysterical Tours
Dear old Ken died too soon. His tours were hugely educational – and such fun. You had to listen carefully or you’d miss his wicked Sergeant-Major little asides and throw-away comments. And you had to stay up late in the pub after the day ended to hear his best ribald Sergeant-Major jokes. We should have recorded them all. Well, here’s one, anyway.
We walked the Fugitive’s Trail from Isandlwana to Fugitive’s Drift. Ken arranged for a local man to take us to the start and fetch us at the end in his taxi – a shiny new Toyota Quantum like this:
On the way we stopped to look at something and Ken ordered us to hop out of the taxi. Then he paused, gave a slight grin and said:
“You could call that a ‘quantum leap.’“
~~oo0oo~~
Our traipse along the trail was not uneventful. Once again a bunch of pale people were out of their depth, just like in 1879. Also, our average age was way above that of the pommy soldiers, and we had no horses. Even though we weren’t being pursued by victorious Zulus, panting was heard and hearts fluttered. Some had to lie down a while.
We walked from the Isandlwana mountain to the Buffalo river at Fugitives Drift:
We were a bit slower than the fleeing poms at the uMzinyathi (Buffalo) River crossing. Didn’t want to get our shoes wet:
After the tour I thanked Ken for a wonderful weekend and awarded him the Victoria Cross for his brave endeavours. Or rather, my Victoria Cross-on-Zulu-Shield, which I had earned by running a 21km half-marathon from Isandlwana to Rorke’s Drift years earlier.
~~oo0oo~~
‘kinell!
Back when I was running around the country visiting SpecSavers stores and opening new ones, I found myself in the village of Waterval Boven in a hostelry with a lovely pub run by an Irishman. Waterval Boven is an amazing place – a rock-climbing mecca. I bought the book called something like “The Menu to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe” which listed all the climbs – dozens of them! This is not it, but similar:
Here are two of those climbs:
Isn’t that amazing!?
The publican and owner of the Shamrock Inn was a raconteur and a wit and a delight. Said his brother was famous on SABC radio (Paddy O’Byrne, I think?). Seeing me all on my own, he chatted to me, served me sherry and guiness, and taught me some Irish, of which I have never forgotten “‘kinell“.
As in ‘kinell! It’s short for Fucking Hell . . fuckin’ ‘ell . . ‘kinell. A Pom might say ‘You don’t say!’ an American, ‘Beats me!’ – an Irishman will say ‘kinell!
His hostelry was special:
As is the whole village:
So for one fun evening I had me own personal Irishman feed me guinness, old brown; and blarney; guinness, old brown; and blarney. Rinse and repeat. Marvelous evening.
~~oo0oo~~
Long Lost Letter
Donald Coleman was my good mate and older side-kick in Harrismith up to around 1964. He died in a car crash (alone in the car) around 1975 (I have no detail of what exactly happened).
In around 2011 or 2012 I found a letter on the floor of my garage at 10 Elston Place.
It was from “your mate Donald” and consisted of one page (probably page 2 of a 2-page letter) and a scrap of envelope addressed to:
poel
rrismith
e Free State
A franked 2½c stamp in good condition is still on the scrap of envelope (but the date part of the franking was/is missing).
I suspect it fell out of the old Cape Colony post office stinkwood desk Dad gave me, as I had moved it to give it back to him before it fell to pieces.
The letter, in neat, flowing cursive writing in blue ink, said (I have kept the way he did his lines and spacing):
This is slightly exaggerated but between points
0 and 1 it is 50 miles and between 1 and 2 it is 13 miles and between
3 and 4 it is 14 miles. Even if you go at 10 m.p.h all the
way you will make it in a day. Well don’t take
too much equipment etc because you’ll shit yourselves
coming. Don’t forget to take hats and plenty of patching
equipment. If something goes wrong and you reach
Bergville or Winterton after dark just ‘phone us our
number is Winterton 2412.
Well I hope I’ve got everything down here, any-
way I still hope to run the Mountain Race
with you. I’m going to try harder this year.
It’s a pity I won’t be seeing you fellows
because I’ve got some jokes to tell you.
From your mate
Donald
Not a single correction or spelling mistake (oh, one tiny correction, changing your to you).
So it seems he had sent a map as well as the (presumed) 1st page of the letter. Obviously we were planning to ride our bikes to Winterton!
I gave the letter to his Mom, Jean. Wish I’d taken a photo of it and the stamp!
——————————————
I must ask Dad about the old stinkwood desk. Here’s the mystery: He gave me the desk when I was at 7 River Drive some time after 1990. In 2003 we moved to 10 Windsor Avenue and in 2005 we moved to 10 Elston Place.
Was it a Harrismith find? From when?
That could explain how the letter got in there, I spose. Suspicion: Did my folks open the letter and not pass it on!? Must ask Mom! We had done this around then, so maybe she wasn’t keen on another jaunt? Unlikely, though. Not like Mom not to give me a (very rare) letter addressed to Master PK Swanepoel!
I searched the desk again and found the rest of the envelope: It was franked on 30 March 1971. I was in Std 9, Donald would have completed his time at Estcourt High School. He would have been “a student at varsity” – an exalted state of being that I couldn’t WAIT for!
Later:
Nope – Dad says he bought the desk at Cannon & Findlay Auctioneers in PMB long after 1971. I have no idea how the 1971 letter could have got lodged in the back of the desk behind the drawers.
SO glad I found it though!
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Mfolosi Memory
Jess and I took Trish’s old Cape Town friend Val Excell and her brother Paul Gaillard to Mfolosi for a night. We finally got to stay in Mpila camp. We’ve been wanting to stay at Mpila as it is better situated for the drives in the southwest of the park along the Black Mfolosi river, but it has always been booked up for weekends. This was Thursday night, so easy to book at short notice.
Val is losing her short-term memory so is battling a bit with day-to-day stuff but her lovely sense of humour is intact and anyway our memories with her go back years and she remembers that stuff well. Her brother Paul Gaillard was involved in the establishment of safari companies like Afro Ventures (which had taken me on my first trip to Botswana in 1985) so we had lots to talk about.
Here’s Val and Paul with Jessie:
Afriski without Aitch
Travelling in the kombi! The T5 1,9TDi’s first trip to Lesotho! Strange travelling without Ma, but she’s decided to skip this one (first time!). She’s on a PE-EL trip for Pfizer plugging cancer products (‘oncology’). It’s winter 2009.
Stopped in at Gogo Mary’s in PMB. Had tea. Kids ‘watched’ a bit, but no “303 Disney” so SABC couldn’t hold them for long.
Tried to phone Pierre in Harrismith. When I hadn’t got hold of him by decision time, I turned for Oliviershoek Pass. We stopped on the pass at the lovely thatched restaurant and the kids did their traditional “Let’s tease Dad” by bringing a long grass stalk. “Don’t pull out the thatch!” I said again to their “innocent look”.
Spoke to Pierre on the way to Clarens. In Clarens I filled up the kombi and the Petrocard topped out at R500 – needed R600. Wasted time trying to speak to Firstcard, but ran out of signal.
Saw Destiny Castle near Fouriesburg. Border uneventful
Afriski PIN chalet. We have taken a small unit this time: Two bedrooms with bath only. No other room, and no self-catering stuff (no room for it!). Turned one bed in my room on its side to make room for the microwave on the bedside table. Checked for blankets: Plenty. Checked the gas hearth: Working well. Gas bottle outside: Full. The room soon warms up. It’s here:
Off we go to the ski shop while its still open to get kitted out with skis. Tom wants to “one-board” but chief instructor Rudi tells him not yet. Rudi (who’s admittedly biased in favour of skiing!) says there’s still lots to learn at eight yrs-old, m’boy. Methinks Rudi regards snowboarders as unruly hooligans.
I book a morning lesson for Jess & Tom with Charles. They get a HUGE welcome from all last year’s instructors: Wessel, Charles, Bronwyn, Rudi, Moruti at the ski lift, etc. Spoilt brats.
Off to supper in the room. Sure, I’m a cheapskate. We warm up a meal of Aitch’s pork sausage n baked bean pie for the first supper.
Jess & Tom are on the slope early the first morning, before the skilift has started.
“Can we go up the lift?” they chorused as it started up. Definitely not, says their law-abiding Dad. First, you have your lesson with Charles, then he’ll decide what you can do. “Aaw Dad, go on!” No. No means No.
Next minute Bronwyn arrives: “Hey, guys, you wanna come up the lift with me?”
“Can we Dad?” Um, of course you can (Bronwyn is a delightfully sexy, fun-loving, dare-devil, can-do instructor and expert skier who knows what she’s doing and has them sussed, so who’m I to argue!?).
and like . . .
And away they go – first up the ski lift. Jessie with Bronwyn, Tom on his own. Tom going all the way up to the very end of the line where the big knobs and instructors hang out. Jessie starts first, comes down snow-ploughing and zig-zag turning, graceful.
Halfway down Tom zooms past her going head-first straight down, hell-for-leather “Yee haa”.
Overheard at the ski lift: One of the new instructors saying to Bronwyn: “Is this the Tommy you were telling us about?” (this after he left his braking a bit late and crashed into the little hut at the foot of the lift, sending snow flying all over, a huge grin on his dial and waddled off to the T-bar, jumping the queue by about three people).
Later: TomTom: “Dad I weed in my pants”. All the way down the slope. Just couldn’t stop the fun long enough to find the loo!
LOTS of washing and drying of underpants, long johns, ski pant inner and outers. Then drying. Fuckit. Being a Dad is the pits 😉
Another day (early morning): “Dad, my tummy’s sore”. C’mon TomTom, you’re going skiing.
“No, but my tummy’s really sore, Dad”. OK you can ski for just an hour.
Suddenly Oops! Projectile vomiting! Five big spews – and NOT ONE on his clothes or on the bedclothes or anywhere but on the floor in a trail all the way to the bathroom.
Tom you’re a super-hero, I said. You didn’t hurl on any of your clothes! Well done! “Thanks, Dad”, he said with a proud smile. And “I feel much better now”.
Our Morning Ritual:
Have a wee – don’t forget that! It’s a mission once you’re suited up! Then it’s thermal unders on; Suits on; Blockout on; Gloves, boots, beanies.
Cereal in the chalet; Muti (Ritalin) after that; Full fry-up breakfast later in the restaurant; Homework on the restaurant deck;
THEN (at last, Dad!): First on the slopes – “Why do we have to wait?”
Midday sleeps and movies on the laptop. Charlotte’s Web gives a last showing before it locks up (a gift sent from the USA, won’t play again in SA). Charlie & the Chocolate Factory and Polar Express (sent from the UK) won’t even play once for us! Pigs! Thieves!
So The Incredibles and The Little Mermaid have to do duty (only after an Earobics session, though!).
Taking the microwave was a definite win. Rice sachets a big hit for suppers; Hot Milo before bed; The last night we splashed out on a restaurant meal.
Homeward bound we stop for a meal on Oliviershoek pass. Kids get to buy themselves a coolie and sweet in the shop. Joy!
The kombi gets 7,3l / 100km as we cruise along, no hurry, dropping from 3222m on the Mahlasela pass down to (probly) 222m in Westville. Yay! 1,9l diesel!!
Limpopo-Lipadi
Private Game and Wilderness Reserve
I joined Jenny & Tabs Fyvie for a lovely week in the bush at their luxury lodge in Botswana. Right on the banks of the Limpopo river – a wonderful setting. Their friends Johan and Elsa from their days in Hoedspruit in the lowveld were there, plus other friends and fellow shareholders from the Eston / Thala Valley KZN district where they farm now.
Wonderful wildlife, including two leopards; Great birding including a lifer: a White-backed Night Heron hiding out in daytime. The bird pics are all off the internet cos I’m a binocular birder, not photographic.
Weather changeable, hot and dry or warm and wet. Cool nights. October 2013.
We had a wonderful time, with only one major catastrophe: Tabbo’s bread was not completely square; it was slightly buckled and squashed from being thrown in the back of my bakkie under my suitcase and boxes. Tabbo survived that distress thanks to Jenny’s laughter. When he gaans aan too much Jen pulls him up with a stern ‘Oswald!’ and then he knows OK, maybe I need to change tack here.
Ever the chef, Tabs cooked us a slap-up breakfast at the foot of the ____ hills on the huge property. Memorable days.
~~oo0oo~~
I sent these images – pinched off the ‘net – to interested friends after I got back. Some of the birds that fluttered down to drink at iMbuzi waterhole in Limpopo-Lipadi reserve in the two hours we sat there. What a feast for the eyes!
Plus, some of the nyonis seen in and around camp:
~~oo0oo~~
I drove back from Botswana in just under 12 hours. It’s been a long time since I did that. Pressure from the kids to get home, so I resolved to keep moving, but overnight with Pierre in Harrismith, or with my folks in Pietermaritzburg if I got sleepy. But I didn’t. I just kept trucking, stopping regularly for a walk and a bite and hot black coffee.
Got a huge welcome when I got in! “Daddy we MISSED you!” No cellphone comms in the bush!
~~oo0oo~~
I wrote to Dave Hill: I haven't told you yet that we had a long discussion about you (rolling cars, Hartebeespoort dam, etc)
He replied: Hi spekkies. I knew it would be dangerous letting you loose with those rubbishes. I bet they were full of heinous lies about me. You of course were mum.
.
Me again: No! I had nothing but praise. Which they laughed at.
Trevor, Pete, Butch and Bruce. Pete and Butch dishing the dirt on you about rolling cars and choking Linda Lovelace. Funny how some things stick in your throat memory.
~~oo0oo~~
..
photographersdirect.com (this site has since disappeared)
shutterstock.com (royalty-free thumbnail pics)
https://limpopo-lipadi.org/
~~~oo0oo~~~
Here’s a lovely overview:
Makololo 1997
Aitch’s twin sister Janet and her partner Duncan were running Makololo camp in the wonderful Hwange Reserve in Zimbabwe. Duncan had just recently built the camp for Wilderness Safaris and now they were the camp managers. And they invited us to stay! We flew in to Vic Falls, they picked us up and we had a long slow ‘game drive’ to the village of Hwange; then into the park and a real game drive to the camp in the south-east Linkwasha corner of the huge reserve.
The camp that Duncan built – stunning wood and thatch comfort with only the four of us in residence. One night a woodland dormouse fell into the soup, poor little bugger! He seemed alright.
Sylvester the grumpy lion chased after us with seeming intent! We didn’t stick around to ask him what was bugging him! We accelerated away from his waterhole.
Saw two firsts, there – two lifers! A Red-necked Falcon and a Caspian Plover.
wikipedia pics – thanks
~~oo0oo~~
Namibia Birding Trip
Geoffrey Kay, birding optometrist, ‘ornithoptometrist’?, put together a trip to Namibia in 1986.
We landed in Windhoek, picked up a VW kombi and rigged it up with a nice big hebcooler in the back. Ice, beer, gin & tonic. Now we were ready for any emergency.
West to Daan Viljoen game park where a lion’s roar welcomed us that first night. On through the Khomas Hochland into the Namib Desert. Then on to the Atlantic Ocean at Swakopmund. On to Spitzkoppen; Usakos; Erongo Mountains; Karabib; Omaruru; Otjiwarongo; and Outjo;
Then up to Etosha: Okakuejo, Halali and Namutoni camps. In Etosha we saw a very rare night ‘bird‘; Seldom seen.
Then on to Tsumeb; the Waterberg; Okahandja; And back down to Windhoek.
Geoff Kay, Jurgen Tolksdorf, Jill Seldon, Mick Doogan, Me & Aitch; Three optometrists and three normal people.
.
.
We spotted 200 bird species that week! Also a new mammal for me: The Damara DikDik.
Jurgen Tolksdorf newbie birder spotted many birds for us with his keen eye. “What’s that?” he’d say. In Etosha one night we woke up to the b-b-b-b-bhooo of a white-faced owl near our tents. We shook everyone awake and grabbed our torches and binocs and went to look for it. Except Jurgen. He said “A WHAT?” and rolled over and went back to sleep with a snort. We searched in vain and got back to bed very late, disappointed.
After a short sleep, on our way back from breakfast we met Jurgen who had risen late after a long night’s sleep and was now on his way to eat. While we chatted he looked up in the tree above our heads and said “What’s that?”.
You know what it was, of course!
~~~oo0oo~~~
~~oo0oo~~
Celestial Birding in Namibia
While we were birding in Namibia in 1986, a comet buzzed past us.
Englishman Edmond Halley, in his 1705 Synopsis of the Astronomy of Comets, used Newton’s new laws to calculate the gravitational effects of Jupiter and Saturn on cometary orbits. He realised that a comet that had appeared in 1682 was probably the same one that had appeared in 1531 (observed by Petrus Apianis), and 1607 (observed by Johannes Kepler). Halley concluded they were the same object returning every 76 years and predicted its return for 1758. He died in 1742 before he could observe this himself, but his prediction of the comet’s return proved to be correct! It was seen on 25 December 1758.
And then – significantly – again by us in Namibia in 1986, thus conclusively proving Halley was no poephol even if he was an Engelsman.
SO:
Petrus Apianis in 1531
Johannes Kepler in 1607
Edmond Halley in 1758 if he hadn’t died away – and . .
Petrus Koosie Swanie in 1986
We lay on our backs in Etosha on a beautifully clear night with our birding binocs and telescopes and had a good look at a tiny little fuzzball* far away while a white-faced owl went b-b-b-b-bhooo in the near distance. If the truth be told, our view of Halley’s looked more like one of the tiny dots in the right of this picture rather than the swashbuckling zooming thing on the left. But it did have a tail, so we convinced ourselves we HAD seen it. Halley’s Comet!!
*Even the keenest astronomers said the view of Halley in 1986 ended up being underwhelming in observations from Earth. When the comet made its closest approach it was still a faint and distant object, some 62 million km away. However, we humans did send a few spacecraft up which successfully made the journey to the comet. This fleet of spaceships is sometimes dubbed the ‘Halley Armada.’ Seven probes were up there looking, with the European Giotto craft getting closest – to within 596km. The Challenger space shuttle would have been the eighth but it blew up two minutes after it launched.
The Giotto got this pic of the 15km X 8km X 8km rock:
Halley’s is due again on 28 July 2061. I’ll be keeping a 106yr-old eye out.
~~~oo0oo~~~
When did Saffers . .
. . start thinking of going on “trips up north” ?
As a colonial, I had long contemplated making an expedition into the regions north of the Cape Colony and Natal, but not until that year was I able to see my way clear to accomplish it.
At that time the Cape Colony was not so well known as it is now, and Natal much less; more particularly beyond its northern boundary, over the Drakensberg mountains, for few besides the Boers had ever penetrated beyond the Free State and Transvaal; and when on their return journey to Maritzburg, to sell their skins and other native produce, I had frequent conversations with them, the result was that nothing was known of the country beyond their limited journeys. This naturally gave me a greater desire to visit the native territories, and, being young and full of energy, wishing for a more active life than farming, although that is active during some part of the year, I arranged my plans and made up my mind to visit these unknown regions, and avail myself of such opportunities as I could spare from time to time to go and explore the interior.
That’s a quote from Andrew A. Anderson in his book “Twenty-Five Years in a Waggon in South Africa – Sport and Travel in South Africa”. * He started his trek in August 1863.
So the answer I suppose, is: As long as we’ve been here.
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Well, as colonials we had also long contemplated making an expedition into regions north, so in 2003 we finally got off our butts and went.
~~oo0oo~~
Back to our Andrew A Anderson: He left Natal and sallied into the Vrystaat, stopping first at a soon-to-be-famous town.
‘The great change in climate and vegetation is very perceptible on leaving fair Natal for the cold, dreary, open, and inhospitable Free State. Harrysmith, in 1863, was a poor, dull, sleepy, town, only supported and kept alive by a few transport riders on their way to the Transvaal and the small villages of the Free State. Hmph! what did ‘e know!?
‘I remained two days to gain news and information about the locality, and the various roads to the north; game being plentiful in all directions, principally blesbok and springbok, wildebeest or gnu, quaggas, hartebeest, and others. The ostrich was also plentiful. I decided to follow the game up, taking the advice of my Natal friend, who had recently returned from his shooting excursion. I took the road leading east, and less frequented than the others, which eventually leads to the newly-formed town of Wakkerstroom.
~~oo0oo~~
Later, Anderson relates a story he heard – second hand:
‘As an instance of their boldness at times, for, generally speaking, they (lions) are cowardly, the following was related by Mr Botha, a respectable, educated Boer farmer, and is quite true. It happened to his uncle.‘
“Journal.—Apes river, between Pretoria and Waterborg. Arrived at the Outspan, remained until next night at twelve, then started the waggon off on the springbok flats (twenty miles without water). The party consisted of L. Botha, P. Venter, and the servants, one waggon with span of sixteen oxen, one cart and two horses. Venter and Botha remained at the Outspan place with the cart and horses and a bastard Hottentot boy called Mark, twelve years old.
“The waggon had been gone half-an-hour when they heard the rattling of wheels in a manner which made them think that the oxen must have had a ‘scrick’ (scare) from a lion, as that place is full of them. Mark, who was sleeping alongside the fire, was called up to bring the horses. The lazy fellows there won’t do anything themselves*, not even when there is a ‘scrick’ from a lion. They were soon going to render assistance to the waggon, going at a jog trot (even then they did not hurry*), when Mark, who was on the front seat, called out, ‘Baas, de esel byt de paarde’ (‘The donkey bites the horse’), and immediately the cart stopped, and a lion was seen clasped round the fore-quarters of the favourite horse. Before the gun was taken up, down went the horse; meanwhile the gun was levelled at the lion, but the cap missed. Another was searched for, but it would not fit, as it was small and the nipple a large military one. The lion now was making his meal off the horse, lying at his ease alongside the splash-board, eating the hind-quarter, Botha trying to split a cap to make it fit in vain; so Venter took the gun, and Botha made up powder with spittle to make it stick, and Venter was to take aim and Botha to do the firing with a match. Just as it ignited, the lion sprang right into the cart between them, and gave Venter a wound on the head and scratched his hand with his claw, and bit off a piece of the railing, sending the gun and Mark spinning out of the cart, and with that force that the lion fell down behind the cart. He then came round, as fast as he could, on to the dead horse, and continued his feed; but, not in the same cool manner, but making a growling, like a cat with meat when a dog is near, and now and then giving an awful roar, which made the cart, men, and all shake again. The other horse, which is a miracle, stood quite still, never attempting to budge an inch. After the lion had fed he went away, and Botha got out, intending to unharness the remaining horse, but no sooner was he on the ground than he heard the lion coming on again at full speed. He threw himself into the cart, and the lion stopped in front of the living horse, which tried to escape but was held fast by the pole-chain after breaking the swingle-trees. The lion gave one jump on to the horse, and with one bite behind the ears killed him. Botha was lying on the front seat, with his legs hanging down alongside the splash-board, when the lion came and licked the sweat of his horse off his trousers, but did not bite, Botha remaining quite still, which was the only chance, in the dog-cart from ten o’clock, when first attacked, until near daybreak, when the lion left;”
Saith Anderson: ‘This is a most remarkable case of boldness in a lion, when not wounded.’
*Anderson’s contempt for the Boers was typical of Poms. In ’25yrs in a Waggon’ he often writes disparagingly of them even while accepting their hospitality and gaining from their local knowledge.
This arrogance led to the ‘mighty British Empire’ suffering a crashing defeat against the Boers in the First Anglo Boer War in 1880.
~~oo0oo~~
*Anderson’s book is free to read at Project Gutenberg.
Read about the amazing Project Gutenberg here.
The Old Pont
It’s 2015 and I’m on the banks of the Umtamvuna on the border of the old Transkei and old Natal. It’s paradise. There’s a broad deep river, a great sunset and the sounds of herons, guineas and francolin settling for the night. Also a black cuckoo complaining he’s feeling indisposed.
All of it drowned out by my camping neighbours from BoksburgBenoniBrakpan whose fokkins are matched by the local South Coast chicks’ fuckings. Loud music. LOUD. Did we ever play it this loud? Well yes, but it wasn’t a mixture of much-too-current and rooi rokkies, bakgats, Meidjie en Lola.
‘Kinell!!
At least my three 13yr-olds are in their element. They’re at the riverside on the wooden peir catching Africa, real crabs and imaginary fish.
My second double G&T from the bar is helping, also a good book.
But it’s hard not to eavesdrop. One oke has just chooned a chick he met that evening she’s a fokkin’ pussy and another chick complained confidentially to her mate that “Mandy’s a problem when she gets drunk: She takes off all her clothes”. Obviously entirely a chicks-only problem, I think, peeping out of my tent.
The next night the gazebo next to our tent on the opposite side gets going. I meet a swaying Kehle nearly my age in the ablution block and over the communal urinal he tells me that he’s from ‘Toti and his wife works in Umthatha and they’re gathering with family and isn’t it *hic* WONDERFUL how peaceful and quiet it is here on the Umtamvuna compared to the din of the city *hic*? I would agree with him except I can hardly hear him as his party has a massive boombox thundering deep bass while the ladies of the party are singing and ululating to an entirely different choon. The car is playing modern while the aunties are shouting traditional.
Squeaking through every now and then is the paid lone guitarist at the camp pub on the far side of the gazebo. He’s doing stuff I actually recognise – umlungu hits from the 70’s, but he’s losing the volume fight.
Later on the three 13yr-olds in our tent (I’m sleeping in the bakkie) get the giggles as they hear what’s happening around them.
Bloody hell! I’m looking forward to peace and quiet back in the city.
At least the nearby coast was peaceful:
Jessie’s Safari
She passed her matric, so got to choose her holiday. A Safari, Dad! And I want you to come along.
Well, wasn’t Dad pleased!
We went to Nambiti outside Ladysmith, KwaZulu Natal. To Springbok Lodge. Jess loved the accommodation and the food and the big beasts.
There were also wonderful little beasts and blommy cheese.
Then this! The best sighting: I had been polite about birding all along – it was Jessies’s trip and she wanted big furry smelly creatures. Also we had Poms on board. But when a quail flushed and Tascha drove on saying ‘Common Quail,’ I said ‘Whoa! Let’s have a look, please.’ Luckily it obligingly came out of the grass and back onto the track where we could see it was special. I got a reasonable picture, but Tascha got a better one with a better camera. Here it is: A Harlequin Quail!
The food was really special, the chefs and servers took great pride in their work; The chalet was comfy; Jess and our Ranger/Guide Tascha the Pom, took to each other and so Jess loved the drives.
Here the two of them watch three male lions threatening to attack hippos in a dam. The hippos were having none of it, so there was a standoff. Lots of bared teeth in the distance. Threats, splashes and bad language.
On the other end of the scale I watched a tiny green mantid nymph (half the size of a matchstick) rock and sway, trying to look like a leaf, then dart forward on his four legs – holding his boxing gloves up in front of his nose; no wings yet; then he’d sway and mimic a leaf in a breeze. Amazing feisty little fella was stalking ants and challenging them to a duel, it seemed. I stared in awesome wonder and clean forgot to take a picture!
Well done, Jess! And thanks for sharing a lovely celebratory trip, my star!
~~~oo0oo~~~
blommy cheese – small flowers
Salt Rock Gap
Gail & Sean Robinson invited us along to join them and friends Len and Ann on their Salt Rock getaway. Brave souls! They probly thought “Let’s ask Pete, Jess and Tom”. They got Pete, Jess, Tom, Lungelo, Ryan and Andile!!
Luckily the boys slotted in smoothly, eating, sleeping and fishing like Vaalies-by-die-see. And even getting a bit of exercise walking to Tiffany’s centre a few km’s away when they ran out of bait.
The girls did much the same except for the exercise and fishing parts. They did swim, and they rescued tiny toadlets from the pool – so the birds could eat them.
Whatta lovely weekend, with the weather doing all its things: Rain, wind, sun, quiet and cool. Everything but hot. Wonderful.
I walked to Chaka’s Rock a kilometre or so South where we had enjoyed our first by-die-see as Vrystaters in 1963! It has changed somewhat!
see: https://vrystaatconfessions.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/chakas-rock-1963/
Rare Mammal in Mkhuze
Mkhuze is dry. Very VERY dry! Nsumo Pan is empty. One little mud puddle has about twenty hippos huddling in it, caked in thick mud. Their farts probly don’t even bubble to the surface now.
At the entrance to KuMasinga hide, a chap with stunning new Swarovski binocs and a huge bazooka-like Canon telephoto lens asks, “You a birder?” Spotted my Zeiss binocs I suppose. In the next two minutes he’s told me the Swarovskis are R36 000, only Canon lenses “of course”, Mkhuze was last this dry in 1963 when he first visited, Swarovski gave him the binnies, he wouldn’t pay that much, and his name is Ian Sinclair.
“No shit?!” I said, “I’m a fan, I’ve got all your books”. “Got them here?” he asks. “I’ll sign ’em for you”. Faint Oirish accent. So he walks back to my bakkie with me and does just that in the only one I have with me.
“I’m writing another one. All of Africa’s birds. Photographic. Where are you staying? We’re staying at Ghost Mountain Inn”. “Ah”, I said, “They’re licenced to sell beer and whisky”. He says, “And I’m licenced to drink it, ‘cos I’m Irish!”
In the hide, a bird party is sipping on the nectar of a profusion of red flowers. Fellow Irishman Tommy is photographing them with his bazooka. Ian is guiding him on his Africa trip. “What’s that tree again with those red flowers?” Ian asks of me. “Schotia” I say “Schotia brachypetala“. “Vernacular?” he asks. “Weeping Boer Bean”, I say, thinking he’s having me on. “Ah,” he says.
“I’m going to tell everyone who’ll listen that I told Ian Sinclair something he didn’t know,” I say. “Oh, I’ll deny it,” he says, quick as a flash.
Ian Sinclair! Well that was definitely the most interesting mammal spotted on this trip. Read more about Ian here.
~~oo0oo~~
The feature pic shows the weeping boerbean tree at the waterhole. Ian said visit me if you come to Cape Town. I said I’ll bring whisky.
Enjoyable birding list:
White-backed vulture, yellow-breasted apalis, chin-spot batis, brubru, bulbul, sombre and yellow-bellied greenbul, golden-breasted bunting, orange-breasted bush shrike, camaroptera, yellow-fronted canary, long-billed crombec, pied crow, laughing, red-eyed, and cape turtle doves, emerald-spotted dove, FT drongo, blue-grey flycatcher, crested guineafowl, white helmet-shrike, African hoopoe, trumpeter, crowned and yellow-billed hornbills, YB kite, black-winged lapwing, red-faced mousebird, BH oriole, RB oxpecker, petronia, green pigeon, African pipit, 3-banded plover, puffback, fiscal shrike, bearded scrub robin, scimitarbill, grey-headed sparrow, cape glossy and black-bellied starlings, woolly-necked stork, white-bellied, scarlet-chested, purple-banded and grey sunbirds, wire-tailed swallow, blue waxbill, village and dark-backed weavers, cape white-eye.
Few animals: Tortoise, zebra, nyala, impala, waterbuck, kudu, warthog, giraffe, wildebeest, hippo, terrapin, slender mongoose, rock monitor lizard (Jess spotted these last two). Eleven big male nyala in one tight little herd.
~~oo0oo~~
Went with Jess and Jordi. Tom visited friends. We stayed in the safari tents. A yellow-bellied greenbul ate our crumbs right at my feet on the deck, and two thick-tailed nagapies (bushbaby / galago) raided our kitchen while we ate supper. Everything’s really hungry!
And a tiny little plant all alone in the dry dirt between the tents:
~~oo0oo~~