Afriski, Lesotho. Winter 2012
Birds in the Snow
Category Archives: Travel Africa
Cellphone Roamin’
I send a serious sms:
Hi all
I will be able to send and receive sms’ while in Lesotho.
I’ll be there from Thursday about 1pm to Monday about 12 noon.
Thanks Pete
———————————————————————-
and I get this:On 2012/05/28 Jon Taylor wrote:
where-ever you may roam
thru mist or snow or foam
remember that you’ll always be pissed
what you ask for the way to go hoam
. . or something like that – some fossilized song that’s hard-wired in my calcified brain.
——-ooo000ooo——-
Fietsry in the Karkloof
So we enter the 19km event at Karkloof on our pushbikes. Me n Jessie.
Aitch n Tom are going to do the 10km.
We head off and Jess does well, stays on her bike on some gentle uphills, no pushing.
Riding up one hill after 4 or 5 km we hear a whooshing sound, and a wheezing and a loud shoosh and huh and a muttered curse and I realise its not a train or a wind turbine, it’s an oke saying “Spekkies – howzit?”. Young David Hill, peaking this early. He’s let himself go, as they say, since last season when he did Tuli in Botswana and was a shadow of his former self, and is paying the price. Finds his bike has lost all its former zippiness.
We rode together a while, but then gravity took over and off went Hill downhill at an ever-increasing speed on his high-tech multi-shock softail plenty thousand Rand special just when Jess ran out of steam and decided to chill a bit.
Hill’s bike
After another few kays I realised I was probably leading my category and was in for a podium finish and a prize: First SLOBO home (Seriously Lazy Old Bald Optometrists division). Jess was OK on the downhills (if rather cautious) and slow on all uphills – including some sections of “Dad, come back and push my bike for me”. Even so, I thought I had the win in the bag and was rehearsing my acceptance speech when, with much creaking and panting, an OLDER, BALDER optometrist pulled up next to me and called out “Swanepoel!” It was young Graham Lewis, who, although MUCH older than me, was probably competing for my crown! I tried to delay him but he was eager to move on, so – although I could have blown his doors off – I let him go (on his twenty year old, unsprung bottle store delivery fiets, with his knees whizzing past his ears his seat was so low) as I had to wait for Jess. Ah, well, silver medal, I thought.
Lewis’ bike
Meantime, back at the 10km, Aitch was waiting for 24yrs of trouble on six legs – Tom and the Bainbridge twins Peter and Philip. And waiting, and waiting. Hordes of cyclists passed her as she looked back in vain. Fifty, sixty of the slowcoaches they had been ahead of went past. “Have you seen three little boys?” she eventually started asking. Someone had: “I saw three little guys lying down in the grass near the drinks table chatting away” said an observant soul. Back went Aitch to roust them out and get them back on their wheels. “We were talking, Ma” was the explanation.
Just before prize-giving I had a thought and scurried over to have a quiet word with the officials. “First SLOBO home: Swanepoel” came the announcement over the tannoy system, and I stepped onto the podium to receive gold – to tremendous applause. Lewis had been disqualified, and quite rightly so. He’s running the Comrades ultra-marathon again this year, which quite clearly ruled him out on the important “SL” part of the category. Justice had prevailed.
Panjo Still Roaming Free – and I know why!
28 July 2010 – Groblersdal
A 17-month-old Bengal tiger has caught the attention of the whole country after somehow escaping from his owners’ Ford F250 bakkie on Monday night. He is now roaming about somewhere between Groblersdal and Delmas – which is very far from Bengal.
His owners Goosey (51) and Rosa (45), hope he will arrive at their smallholding at Endicott near Springs on Wednesday, though how he will do that without GPS they don’t say. Oh, and they don’t have a permit for the tiger.
According to Rosa, anyone who spots him should point a stick at him and say “NO!” That’s Tiger 101, everyone knows that. He’ll probly still eat you, but with some regret as you would have reminded him of Rosa. She also suggested you give him some chicken to eat. He’ll probly still eat you, but with some regret as he will have had a meat starter.
Sersant Wilson of Grobbies also chimed in with more dodgy advice: “If the permit-less tiger is spotted, people are asked to phone the local police station immediately.”
Well! No wonder they can’t find it!! Everyone knows a tiger is STRIPED, fgdsake!
I can just see Sersant Wilson’s konstabels tip-toeing thru the bush, seeing Panjo and saying voetsek wena! as they continue their search for a spotted creature!
~~~o0o~~~
For a little while the whole of South Africa knew where Groblersdal was. Sort-of: That place you must avoid; there’s a tiger on the loose! One old fellow, when warned there was a tiger around said, ‘Yes, he knows, that’s why he’s carrying a stick. It’s not cos he can’t walk without a stick!’ One lovely lady, asked what she would do if the tiger came to her house, said she’d buy chicken from her neighbour who sells chickens, then quickly dress up in her best so she’d look good when the TV cameras arrived.
Panjo was finally found on the farm Swartkoppies in Verena. The tiger’s spoor had first been picked up by ace tracker Johnson Mhlanga from Singita in Mpumalanga, then by ace tracking dog Zingela, a Weimeraner whose forebears came from Germany aus. He and his owner Conrad (forebears also aus Germany?) work in Sabi Sands Game Reserve, where they track wounded game.
So Panjo didn’t find his way home to Endicott near Springs; he had to be fetched and driven there. I hope he thanked Zingela and gave him half his KFC. Or some bratwurst at least.
~~~oo0oo~~~
voetsek wena – be off with you; shout it confidently, but he’ll probly still eat you
Cape Vidal Storm Disaster
We took the trailer and found a lovely campsite and settled in.
Tom was a mad keen fisherman and Jess loved the waves. Blissful. Peaceful. Tom had his first real fishing rod – a huge surf rod given to him by Trish’s Dad Gompa Neil. Jess was mad keen on gymnastics and swimming back then. Game drives were not as exciting – let’s go back to the beach! – but when I let them drive the kombi they were thrilled with game drives again. Such an easy-to-please stage of their lives!
While the gillie unties knots and baits up, the fisherman dreams of big catches: C’mon gillie, move it up already!
When we got back to camp from the beach fings had changed: The Boksburg and Benoni Fishing and Hengel Club had moved in with their V8 4X4’s, their caravans, tents and boats with twin many-hp Yamaha outboard engines on big traikers, and surrounded us! There goes the neighbourhood, we thought. Huge tents, awnings, gazebos, afdaks and wind screens – skerms had sprung up around big caravans and camping trailers, complete with large braais, TV satellite dishes and you-name-it!
Lovely people. We soon struck up a conversation with our nearest neighbour. The Boksburg and Benoni Fishing and Hengel Club had been coming to Vidal for their annual By-Die-See excursion for decades. The Highlight of Our Year, he told us. That night there was revelry and much smoke and brandy, but not too late – they planned an early start the next day to get their boats out to sea to fill their hatches and deep freezes. Serious fishermen, these.
Things settled and quiet descended on the coastal forest; then a big storm sprang up. A real gale. Soon the wind was howling through the trees and our trailer-top tent was a-rocking. I climbed down that treacherous ladder to check all was secured or stowed away, guy ropes tightened. Soon after I got back to bed I heard an almighty crack and the sound of something very heavy falling and striking a tent pole. Uh! Oh! I thought and listened, Dead quiet; then voices in the dark all around us, barely audible above the howling gale.
Soon a few engines were started and I thought “Here we go, they’re revving up their 4X4’s and the boat motors ready for a first-light departure.” Then a chainsaw started snarling and I thought “Give it a break, guys! Wait till morning!” but it carried on! Mayhem!
At last there was quiet. Next morning I hailed our neighbour: “Hey! Did you survive the storm?” He came scurrying over and in a hushed voice said “Yes, but Joan didn’t!”
Turns out a massive branch had fallen on top of one of their party sleeping in their tent near ours, missing the husband by inches but landing on Joan. A Durban friend of ours camping nearby went to assist, as she was a veterinarian. She had to give them the sad news that Joan’s chest was crushed, she had no chance and had died instantly. The police arrived, then a mortuary van.
Then the whole gang from the Boksburg and Benoni Fishing and Hengel Club, tight-knit friends as they were, packed up and left to accompany Joan’s husband home, the adventure over before it had really started.
We had a look at the branch: Now in pieces, it had been over 3m long and over 50cm in diameter and had fallen from about 10m up. What a bummer. As we watched, a beautiful green snake appeared on the sawn-up branch. Life and nature carries on.
We’ve always looked for the biggest, shadiest trees to camp under. Now we do a more careful assessment of where exactly to position ourselves.
~~oo0oo~~
Album Safari 2003
Trish (Aitch) and 5yr-old Jess made a paste-and-cut album when we got back from our trip to five Southern African countries. I found it lying around so thought I’d photograph it and paste it here as a gallery. Hope you enjoy.
Traffic Directions / Life Advice
We’d had supper and imbibed a few with Rita and a gang of her – now also our – friends and were on our way to a club, recommended by the guys. A number of Rita’s friends are gay and call her their ‘Fag Hag.’ Wicked humour abounds, they know everything, we’d been to the ‘in’ restaurant of the moment – You know, a ‘ooh, you need to book well in advance, but I know the owner,’ type of place – and were on our way to the ‘in’ club. Much hilarity in the rented car.
I was driving and Aitch was directing, her being a Cape Town local, so she’s assuming navigational duties, forgetting she gets lost on land and is only accurate when at sea with a sextant in hand and no land in sight. At an intersection she said, “Go straight,” which elicited an immediate chorus of, “NO! We don’t say that! Gaily forward! Gaily forward!” from the guys.
I nearly pranged the car I laughed so hard.
~~oo0oo~~
Annie and her Sherpas summit Mt aux Sources
Mt aux Sources, winter 1998. Younger sis Sheila organises a gang to summit the peak. Lots of people. Sheila can organise!
Ann Euthemiou brings two strapping nephews as sherpas to haul her four-poster double bed and duvet up the chain ladder, like this:
I think they may have carried Annie up the ladder too, but I’m not sure, don’t quote me, nê.
I hand out my special patented paklightna snacks at all stops on the way up.
Once up the chain ladder, Sheils insists we camp in the most exposed spot on the escarpment, where the howling gale leans our little dome tents at 45° angles and threatens to roll them away like tumbleweeds. Aitch goes to bed before me as ballast to stop the tent from rolling away! I have to bravely endure the gale a while longer to finish the Old Brown sherry. Late at night, Doug n Tracey Hyslop fight off imaginary intruders, Doug adopting a martial arts stance and shouting in stern Japanese that put them to flight.
Next morning we find out why Sheil had insisted on our bivouac location: That’s the sunrise view from our tent. Hmm . . OK Sheila, spectacular and well worth it. Local knowledge at work.
On top I collect delicious reciprocal snacks from all and sundry who carried heavy packs up all the way up, while I had lightened mine.
Chilly, windy, glorious mid-winter morning in one of our very favourite spots of childhood memory.
Lovely outing, lovely people.
Peering down at the Tugela Falls – one of the highest waterfalls in the world:
Here’s what the falls look like in a fly past by some enterprising glider pilots:
~~oo0oo~~
It might not have been on this trip, but on a trip up to Mt aux Sources I saw an interesting fly hovering at a flower. I had a good look, memorised him and went searching the internet. Here he is (or a close cousin):
I found a wonderful site – an Aussie Michael Whitehead who does research in Australia and in South Africa. He has some beaut pics of proboscis flies like this one – called Prosoeca ganglbaueri.
~~oo0oo~~
Hover flies are also fascinating.