Lee organised his umpteenth trip to the CKGR – the Central Kalahari Game Reserve – and my first! His frequent fellow-travelers Hans and Karina joined him on their annual visit from the Netherlands; as did Dwayne the pilot; he also invited Janet – and me! At last, a trip to a long-desired destination.
We headed east to Makalamabedi, then south along a long cutline to Motsware gate. On to Deception Pan. Kori campsite No.2 I think.
– water attracts all sorts of creatures to camp –
Day trips in Lee and Dwayne’s Toyotas to Owen’s camp for sundowners; Sundays Pan – water pumped; Campsite on dune for brunch – delish; Leopard Pan.
Struggling to get a deckchair back into its bag, Lee says he knows why. At the factory in Australia the worker asks, Where’s This Batch Going? Suffefrica, says the foreman. Right, make the bags 10% smaller, they all shout in unison.
Zena said We must go to Kruger, my man Martin is a fabulous guide. I said Let’s Go!, and when August rolled round there we were, chilling in the mopane woodlands around Mopani Rest Camp in the famous Kruger National Park, drinking gin and tonic, gazing out over Pioneer dam from our under-thatch bird-watching stoep.
– seek out chalet 43 in Mopani Camp –
Martin Brasg is an honorary ranger and runs Laughing Hyena Safaris. His experienced Kruger Park nose soon led us to great sightings – big ones, feathered ones and little ones too.
Suddenly! We spotted some spots in the mopane shadows! With great skill we tracked the shadowy spots through the dappled sun and shade of the mopane woodland. What could it be?
Hey, it was! It was a . . a . . leopard! Kruger’s holy grail. With great tracking skill, we had found it:
– Martin showed us how to tell that it was a boy leopard –
. . . ‘course, we actually found it the traditional Kruger Park way:
– check the Sharkie going offroad to shove in front of us – tut tut – most un-Natal-like –
To celebrate we had lots more gin & tonic, which improved our sightings even more:
A keen photographer and Canon ambassador, Martin aimed his long lens out the window and later let us have some of his pics:
. . and he made us a video:
and he taught us a new bird species: the Burchell’s Poupol
Southern Double-collared Sunbird, and we think the butterfly may be a Tintinkie Blue.
A ticking in the birdbath led to Louis finding this fella – we think a Kloof frog from his ticking call. (Petrea/Louis, do you still have a recording?).
Here’s the birdlist: (coming soon)
Also: The Winterskloof is a very hospitable place; and good prices. I get a warm meal, a second helping, much grog and a crackling fire in the kaggel, followed by a comfy bed for the very attractive price of four-call Ront.
Some pictures and a slightly embarrassing confession at the end.
At Marakele, there was no room in the inn. For camping. But they did have a safari tent free. I was forced into Luxury! In Tlope tented camp. A big tent on a raised wooden deck, en-suite bathroom, overlooking the water, mountains as a backdrop. Sometimes you just gotta grin n bear things. Flycatchers – Tit ( fantailed), Pallid Green Woodhoopoe Brown-crowned Tchagra Chats – Buffstreak, Mocking, Familiar, Sickle-wing; Buntings – Cape bunting, Golden-breasted, Lark-like;
– beautiful drive right to the top of the Waterberg –
Slight Blush Called For?
I wrote I’d never heard of Marakele National Park! Then I read my own 2003 blog post: ‘Spent three nights in the Marakele National Park while we waited for our binoculars to be courier’d to Thabazimbi . . ‘
I remembered then a lovely pic we had taken of Jess (5) and Tom (20 months) taking themselves to the ablution block.
. . so I went looking for that ablution block and found it:
So the streets of Parys, Vrystaat, much like the streets of that other Parys, France, were very interesting if you like shopping and eating on the pavement. I did have a good brekker at the Lekker Bistro, indoors cos it was raining. But then I skipped the shopping to drive the roads to the west. Near Viljoenskroon I saw Simbra bulls for sale and asked Des if I should get him one but no reply yet. He used to live in Viljoenskroon, so I thought the bull would feel at home with him. Update: Mercia says he can’t buy any more bulls. Something about foot-in-mouth. I spose he’s been talking kak again.
Choosing a road less traveled, I headed for Schoemansdrif across the Vaal, but chickened out at this minor stroompie drif which could have been deeper than it looked. As I waited and contemplated how deep was my bakkie, a Landcruiser came past, stopped, then decided to proceed. It sank down to above its big wheels, so I christened this spruit drift Omdraaidrif, made a u-turn and crossed the Vaal instead at Scandinaviadrif which has a high bridge, and gave me a great view of the full river.
Pilanesberg price! Ouch!
Bakubung Lodge was R2400! One person! One night! But it was late, I’d run out of options, so I gritted my teeth. For once I checked that I was getting the Old Goat price and the friendly lady assured me she had not mistaken me for anything younger than ancient. ‘Remember this is for dinner, bed AND breakfast,’ she kindly tried to ease my landing, feeling my pain.
– vetkoek, vino, bathtub –
But I’d bought grub in Potchefstroom and the thought of a dining room didn’t appeal – other people, you know? So I ate Cordon Bleu in my comfy room – actually in the bath, up to my chin in hot water. Vetkoek n Mince ala Potch washed down with a vintage merlot. For you label-readers, it was 13,5%, R54 and some change, February. Only 750ml, so not the finest, but complemented the vetkoek well. A delicate nose, bosveld notes.
Pilanesberg grassy plainsPilanesberg hills
On to Dinokeng. I dialled a number I found. It was Wim. I was welcome to stay at his place, man; Did I have a tent and a mattress? No? OK, then phone Fanie. He might have a roof and a bed. I did. He did. How does R600 sound? Fanie asked me. I said Fine, baie dankie Fanie, still suffering from the R2400 the night before.
Thekwane Camp
Supper was an avo and a crispy bun from Potch Spar. There was a kettle, and friendly camp manager Bothwell brought me some Ricoffy sachets. On the drive out I saw a bird I couldn’t place. I decided melanistic shaft-tailed whydah. Maybe a world-first. Me and my camera were too slow again.
In Pretoria I finally made my long-awaited visit to AHA camper makers and ordered my piggyback slide-on camper for the old Ford Ranger, paid my deposit and was told: Come back on the 11th May.
Now Easter weekend loomed and I remembered another time I had almost got caught out by Easter. I headed for comfort and luxury. Top-notch accommodation and world-class fare at rock-bottom prices. At 60 Pinball Ave, Gramadoelas, Tshwane. Home of that fine chef and splendid hostess Terry Brauer. Also her husband.
M.agical A.vian and H.ysterical E.xpedition to M.emel – 2.0
I decided to look for elusive gentlemen farmers Des and Ian by launching a stealth visit to the Memel district, choosing the Memel hotel as my base. This magic old hotel is not just IN the main road, its ON the main road. If you stretch your foot out while drinking a beer on the stoep it could get driven over by the big knobbly tyre of a farmer’s bakkie. Why’s the bakkie nearly on the hotel stoep and does his wife know he’s there? Well, ons sal sien.
I settled on that stoep with a cold beer and asked if anyone knew Des Glutz? Well, they all did and they all had lots to tell me. Just wait right there, said Rudi the friendly hotelier, He’s sure to pop in, it’s Friday.
Various bakkies arrived and men in khaki wearing boots or velskoens trooped into the bar. Most wore langbroeks in khaki. Then a Nissan bakkie parked right in front of me and under the chassis a pair of bony feet in blue slip-slops appeared, followed by a pair of bony legs in faded navy blue rugby shorts with plenty of ballroom. His face and neck were covered by a scraggly beard but two eyes peeped through and I could see this was my man. He’s kinda unmistakable with his half-closed eyelids. Also, khaki shirt with a notebook and pen for the amnesia.
– my view of that Nissan –
I accosted him from my prime spot on the stoep: ‘Excuse me, what you think you doing? You can’t come in here dressed like that!’ Well, then he knew I was from far, cos he most certainly can and does go into the Memel pub dressed like that. He stopped in his tracks and stared at me with his chin tilted up and his eyes half closed, you know how Des does that. Then he kicked for touch: Wait, I’m just going to tell these fuckin old fossils I’ll be late. He ‘stuck his head in the door and cussed his three slightly older drinking pals, telling them they were fuckin old fossils and he’d be outside, they must behave themselves; then he came back to stare at me. Took a while to see through my new beard, then he said Coppers!? Is that you? He called me Coppers after a Clifton primary schoolmate oke called Copchinsky. He also called policemen copchinskys.
As people arrived everyone greeted Oom Des and he had a cussing and a vloekwoord for each of them. Except the ladies. Hello my sweetheart, I still love you but I’m worried about your heart, he says to one, Come here and let me listen to your heartbeat. She leans over him and he nestles his ear in her boobs and rubs back and forth going Mmmmmm. Haai! Oom Des! she says and rubs his head affectionately. Incorrigible. He has not changed, never mind improved. Not at all, I’m afraid. We had a wonderful evening nodding at each others lies. Every time I told him I don’t normally drink but I’d make an exception tonight cos he was there, he’d order another quart of beer each. He left for home, very late, with the re-heated and re-heated pizza Mercia had ordered as a peace offering.
I discovered a few things that Memel evening: One was that the mense of Memel love the oke.
The next day I drove around the well-known Seekoeivlei nature reserve; Des was off to pretend to buy bulls at a vendusie with one of the fuckin old fossils. I saw them on the road but Des had his head in his notebook for amnesia and the fuckin old fossil doesn’t know me.
Des and Mercia have a lovely spacious home in town and Oom Des decreed that a braai would be held there. Unfortunately I hopped into his bakkie to go there, mid-conversation, so I had no beers, no car. Soon after, another apparition arrived with a snow-white beard. The Bothas Pass hermit had emerged from his cave, bearing enough beers for an army, plus a bottle of brandewyn. Ian Stervis Steele, who I had not seen for many decades. What a night. About ten people, about a hundred beers and a gallon of brandewyn; lots of mutton chops, pork ribs and boerewors, a huge pot of pap and a very lekker sous. Very good oldtime music and Des at the head of the table till WAY late. Generous hospitality and much laughter.
Stervis, myself and a local couple stayed the night with Des and Mercia and their four dogs, the most notable one being a pekingese / sausage dog cross. Pitch black and chubby, about ankle-high, with that Pekingese-style smashed flat beak. Name: RAMBO. If you weren’t careful it would lick you. I got the comfy couch in the lounge.
The next day I was off-peak and had a snooze back at the hotel and booked another night. In the afternoon I drove out to Normandien and Mullers passes and then visited Des. For tea this time. Then back to the hotel where Rudi cooked me a huge T-bone and I had one glass of red and an early night, dank die hemel, Memel.
I saw stonechats, mountain wheatears and amur falcons; and the beautiful Klipspruit valley.
Before I left on this drive I called in at the butcher for some fatty biltong. The owner enquired what I was doing in town and I said I had been sent on a special mission to find and fix a man called Des Glutz. He and two customers in the shop roared with laughter and told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way I could ever live long enough to achieve that.
~~oo0oo~~
mahem – the sound this bird makes
mahem – grey crowned crane that shouts ‘MaHem!’
bakkie – pickup; ute; status symbol
slip-slops – Glutz fashion footwear
fuckin old fossils – people slightly older than Des
vloekwoord – swearword; expletive; term of endearment
brandewyn – sacramental drink served as part of the braai ritual in tall glasses; distilled from grapes or peaches, they say. Stervis brought a bottle along which he’d found at a helluva good price, he said.
dank die hemel – Memel ‘sanks heavens’ ritual chant
~~oo0oo~~
Memel is maybe named after a Memel in East Prussia where they fought a battle in 1257, even before Des was born. The name means silence, but that has been broken since Des moved to town, and since Memel joined with Zamani to become Memel-Zamani.
. . and then low on grass as they sway downwards. Then HIGH again if one flies off a stalk and the stalk sways upward under less weight. I confess I am endlessly fascinated by little seed-eating birds swaying on grass stalks in the morning light, so here are some more Red-backed Mannikins performing for us in my garden:
The Bronze Mannikins followed today, with juveniles; Yellow-fronted Canaries come often; and every now and then I get a Grey Waxbill as a rare treat.
~~oo0oo~~
Meantime, on the surface of my pond, a gruesome scene: skimmers doing what skimmers do: feeding on some poor creature that landed on the surface. My surface-tension hyenas doing their job.
I heard a tap tap tapping next door. Industriousness can be very irritating, so I bustled out to have a look. My neighbour on the other side is industrious and what a pain. There’s a lawnmower, or a leaf blower, or a high pressure hose going so often it drives me crazy. I haven’t shouted GET A LIFE! over the fence. I’m far too polite.
Turns out this tap tap tapping is a bloke building a new home. He has chosen his site for the best possible fibre wifi access. Progress has been stopped today after his lady friend came to look at the joint. Maybe she didn’t fancy the bathroom tiling or the layout or something? I like it. It’s east-facing, gets the morning sun, and is protected from our prevailing wind and rain from the SW.
~~oo0oo~~
If he abandons it a Crested Barbet may move in. He’s been prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-ing in the yellow-flowered Cassia tree next to the pole.
– Golden-tailed Woodpecker – Crested Barbet – thanks wikipedia
Later I saw him doing some interior work – and spitting out the sawdust:
Hopefully they’ll be good neighbours once they stop making a racket.
I forgot to get the camera out – or rather, aim my phone at people – so that’s the setting for my farewell meals without Petrea, Louis, Charles, Barbara, Jules, Gayle, Grant, Ziggy, Tom, Mbono, Geoff, Janet, Heather or Bruce. A people-free zone before they arrived.
And I didn’t suffer all of them at once, are you mad? I only have five chairs left, so that’s my max guest number. And I sub-contracted out all catering – to Petrea, Louis, Ziggy and Checkers.
Some of these soirees were evenings, some were lunches. The evening ones were interrupted by le frogs calling loudly. Guttural Toads loud BRAAAP! and the gentle creak (that’s creak, not croak) of the River Frog – all in my sparkling blue-green pool. Here’s a guttural toad who scored – managed to entice a svelte young lady. The noisy one is the little guy on her back. He’s quiet now cos he doesn’t want any interruptions while theyr’e makin’ whoopee – and making long strings of black fertilised eggs.
We’d have to get up every now and then and shurrup the toads, but you know what its like when you’re horny – they would only shut up for less than a minute. You do know what its like when you’re horny, right? Here’s one of them belting out a number:
Oh, hang on!? Anyway, Fats sounds better.
Here’s the polite lil chap:
Here’s his cousin from Petrea and Louis’ place down the road with a much showier ventral stripe:
One morning I called in expert help to deal with the noisy toads. I don’t know if he manage to relocate any of them. Hope so. He looks like he needs the protein.
I’m told my end-of-days is now only at at the end of February, so more to come.
A frog he would a-wooing go, Heigh ho! says Rowley, A frog he would a-wooing go, Whether his mother would let him or no. With a rowley, powley*, gammon, and spinach, Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.
Like all good nursery rhymes, they all came to a bloody end. Dead, the lot of them, by the end of the rhyme. And they’re for children, of course, so there’s mention of spinach! See all the words here.
Aitch and I enjoyed some lovely frogging outings in our courting days and pre-children days. Sometimes with Barry & Lyn Porter at their three main ‘patches,’ Hella Hella (Game Valley Estates), inland of Port Shepstone (the litchi farm) and Betty’s Bay (which Barry’s father donated to the nation for a nature reserve), but the two of us ‘frogged’ all over the place, filling in data for the frog atlas by ADU at UCT’s Fitztitute. We had a lot of fun doing that. We felt lucky, we had an early GPS given to me by friend Larry in Ohio.
– me and Barry frogging inland of Port Shepstone on ‘the litchi farm’ –
Top ‘feature’ pic: A red-banded Rubber Frog I caught in me underpants on Malachite Camp – a shortlived venture in Zululand by the Mala Mala crowd. Here’s the frog again, and the tuft he was calling in:
Sonderbroek frogging as sometimes the vlei was quite deep. Whistling catcalls would emanate from the Landrover. That woman!
Useful to top up your salt intake every so often by sticking your tongue in your nostril. Must practice that.
Mpila camp’s ‘safari tents’ are great. Comfy with all modcons, own kitchen and en-suite semi-outdoor bathroom. It’s walled in with reeds, like the kitchen wall you see here, but only to shoulder height – above that, it’s open to the outdoors under the big canvas roof. It’s a treat. A Purple-banded Sunbird sang to me as I showered. No pictures.
While photographing these ‘acacia’ flowers (must get the real name – maybe Senegalia?) this biggish weevil or snout beetle dropped into my hand. I’ll ask iNaturalist.org to identify both the plant and its weevil. Otherwise it would be like I saw no weevil.
– a Wahlberg’s Eagle and a Yellow-billed Kite share a perch –
A slender mongoose made a breakfast appearance at a waterhole. If anything was nesting in there, they were egg and toast, as she inspected every nook and cranny.
Driving along, an oft-heard sound and a not-often-seen sighting:
– a very obliging Black Cuckoo calls ‘I’m So Sick!’ –
At the hide (must add the name – Bhejane?) I saw the lovely Mocking Cliff Chat, Lesser Striped Swallows, Village Weavers building nests and a Hadeda Ibis pulling down their new nests around its nest! A Diederik Cuckoo was calling, probably waiting to get into those weaver nests. This hide looks out over a waterfall – dry today:
At another waterhole a bird flew past as my little Canon snapped a 3-shot burst:
I took a new route home, exiting the Cengeni gate in the south-west of the park and heading for Ulundi, Melmoth and Eshowe. Right outside the gate exiting the Umfolozi Big Five Game Reserve there’s this puzzling sign:
– or turn around and go back fifty metres! –
I asked the man at the gate, How far to Ulundi? 37km. I asked him, And how is the road? and he got all coy, hummed and hah’d a bit, then blurted, “but it is a tar road.” It wasn’t too bad. A fairly normal look-sharp neglected tar road as we’re used to.
If I still had Marguerite Poland’s book on the isiZulu descriptive names of Nguni cattle I’d tell you how this beast on the way to Ulundi would be described:
– something like ‘she lifts her black dress to cross the river, revealing her white petticoat’ –
I’ll go back to Mfolosi. Soon, though. Before it also loses all its grasslands to bush encroachment.
I enjoyed my stay in Hluhluwe. I stayed in Hilltop camp in the old rondawels that were built in the fifties or sixties. About sixty years ago.
– same view – 1966 and 2021 –
They’re very comfy now, with a ceiling fan, big cupboard, fridge, cutlery and crockery and cooking utensils, power points, lights, washbasin with hot water, kettle. And aircon. The bed linen was luxurious, fresh and clean and seemed brand new. The kitchen and ablution building is shared by all. The shower had hot water.
I spent both days there in the camp, no driving. The bushy hills where once there was grassland is not a good sight, so I elected to walk the camp forest – much of which was also once grassland!
Top right the Tassleberry tree has the most tassles I ever saw. Bottom right the Grewia shows why its called a crossberry. Click on them for a better look.
A beautiful old paperbark Commiphora had an interesting hole-in-the-bole, so I zoomed in: Bees, honeycombs and a butterfly that went back again and again despite the bees buzzing her.
Some flowers I lazily havent yet identified:
– crested francolin – beautiful feather patterns –– one European Roller on an interesting branch –
As I said, I enjoyed Hluhluwe, but I don’t think I’ll go back in a hurry. The disappearance of the grasslands ruins it for me. I wonder if there’s an eco management plan for Hluhluwe?
Lovely three nights solo in Mantuma Camp at Mkhuze game reserve in Zululand. Nothing much happened, animals were not plentiful, the grasslands are still sadly bush-encroached, but the birds, insects and plants more than made up for that.
Driving in, I see Malibali hide is CLOSED!! Aaargh! One of the MAIN reasons I came to Mkhuze! Grrr!
So as not to moan about Homo sapiens urbanensis polluting the lovely Masinga hide with farting, phone calls, smoking and loud shutter clicks of cameras with more computing power than their owners, I have politely refrained from commenting, and instead played some games with the pictures I took with my phone and my lovely pocket Canon SX620hs. Enjoy!
I dunno what he saw in there, but he was making an awful racket for a long time – snake maybe?
In camp I went looking for cicadas. A big old Albizia tree was humming with the critters, must be hundreds, I thought. I bekruip’d and approached and searched. Suddenly the nearest one stut-tut-tuttered to a halt. And there was silence! All that eardrum-vibrating noise was ONE cicada! Amazing. I tried another tree, same thing. Could that be? I searched every trunk branch and twig around where he was calling. Couldn’t spot him.
For sundowner, off to Nsumo pan, a glass of chilled white wine on the banks. Lovely Woodland Kingfisher giving his loud kip-terrr. Heard a black-bellied bustard in the grass close by – aark like a frog, then or-wip! – but couldn’t spot him.
this tiny little spider on my rearview mirror elongated himself to look like a mini octopus when I got too close – iNaturalist id’d him as a Humped Tree Crab Spider Tmarus cameliformis
At last an ele in Mkhuze! I was beginning in the last few years to think there weren’t any left. There must be very few, anyway. He’s in the camp area, so one of the staff sent him running. I don’t think there’s a good story of Mkhuze and eles, somehow.
– now he has spotted me, he’s shtum –
At Kumahlala hide, after an hour of being alone and quiet, the Foam Nest Frogs Chiromantis xerampelina started up a chorus, probly thinking “the coast is clear, boys!” It took a while, but I found one up on a twig just outside the hide and got a pic of him. I wish I had thought to tape their call – a lovely loud chorus – I’d guess about four of them doing a fine barbershop quartet! I was so busy searching and then clicking, I didn’t think of recording them! Here’s a shy soloist:
A family came in with a young kid carrying the big fancy camera. I was able to show him the frog. He took 45 pics with loud clicks and showed me his results. None of them as good as my pic with my little Canon!
After they had left, I heard a new sound, Hey! That’s new. What’s that?
I found a new frog! I went through my frog calls: A Rhythmic Caco – Cacosternum rythmum. I must look for a picture of one. I would not be able to see him in the flooded grass in the waterhole, confined as I am to the hide; also, he’s little over a centimetre long. Another name for Cacos is Dainty Frogs. I think we miss a lot by being noisy and impatient. If I’d left the hide after 45mins – way longer than we usually can sit still – I’d have missed these fine choristers.
Sunset at Masinga Waterhole: The sun sets behind the big old Boerbean tree that was probably already there when I first visited ‘Mkuzi’ in 1965. The hide wasn’t here then. The famous Bube hide was the ‘in place’ then, just a few hundred metres away (north, I think).
– very little water – full of green algae –
Driving out of the park to go home, a savannah scene in one of the few remaining open areas: Stripes and horns and a few egrets hanging around, hoping for some disturbance to happen. I ‘shopped’ the lily (Crinum stuhlmanii?) into the foreground, as it was lonely in its own picture with nothing around it. And it was nearby . .
~~oo0oo~~
Domestic notes:
As a family we usually took one of the lovely big chalets in Mantuma main camp, but I don’t need that this time, so I choose a small squaredawel Number 1. About R540 a night pensioner price. The two ladies in reception are very friendly, helpful and welcoming.
For supper I braai a picanha, potato and garlic bread. Delish. A lovely sunset and an electric storm that moved north as I braai’d. Thunderbolt and lightning, Not at all frightening, Mama Mia. A few drops of rain for a few minutes.
(Back at home, Tommy got vaccinated YAY! and AT LAST!)
Breakfast picanha and garlic bread and coffee.
Windy, so I stayed in camp in pm. Lots of Violet-backed starlings all over. One performing at a hole in a tree trunk.
Supper the leftover picanha with bubble n squeak.
Back in camp breakfast of fried egg, bacon, bread and coffee.
Last night: Too lazy to go to the communal kitchen to cook, so tonic water and fresh lemon juice, potato salad and a dark choc KitKat.
~~oo0oo~~
Seen at Masinga hide: Rhino, giraffe, zebra, wildebeast, kudu, impala, nyala, warthog, terrapins. and lots of birds too. A namaqua dove female was good; melba finch, firefinch redbilled and African; Egyptian geese with 4 babies; lots and LOTS of doves (Emerald spot, Cape, Red-eyed, Laughing), was hoping for a raptor swoop. Heard 6 cuckoos, only saw the red-chested (also Jacobin, Klaas, Diderik, Emerald, Black). Heard 3 Bush Shrike, saw none (Grey-headed, Gorgeous, Orange-breasted). Peckers, one wood, lots of ox. Wahlberg’s eagle. Purple Turaco, Three-banded Plover, Paradise Flycatcher, and Whydah (longtailed), pintailed Whydah too. Quelea, and a Lark-like Bunting.
Birds at Kumahlala hide: White-browed Scrub robin, Crowned eagle, Crowned hornbill, Trumpeter Hornbill, one knob-billed duck male flying.
Or I thought I was. Packed the hebcooler, the book box, the camera bag – now huge with two tripods and a new spotting scope (the main toy to be tested out at Mkhuze’s hides!). Food. Ice bricks from the freezer, the lot. Having been a critic when Jess forgot things, I went through my mental checklist. Nah, I’m sure I have it all.
Oh, clothes and toiletries. OK. Coffee. Right. Charcoal. First aid kit.
Loaded the whole lot in the car then remembered I had undertaken to get my will signed, witnessed and courier’d today. Did that, then had to arrange a locum optometrist to work for us – quick! before he changes his mind! Did that, then remembered I’d arranged to meet the lady who sold all my furniture for final payment. Did that. Then Gugu texted me: Can the girls come for a swim this afternoon in my newly cleaned sparkling blue pool? That did it.
I unpacked, back in the deep freeze and fridge. I’ll leave tomorrow. Early start. The three young ‘uns had a noisy, fun swim, chips and red cooldrink. And I had a perfect, productive day ending in Joy to the World.
The big old album is hitting the recycling bin. I have recorded all the pictures.
Home after our lo-ong honeymoon and some surprise welcomes:
Also in 1988 we had a big optometry conference in Durban. As part of the hosting committee I produced a daily newsletter. Then I became president of the optometric association at the end of the conference.
Friends at the conference – and an induction (Brauer says they induced me):
I dragged some non-canoeing friends out to the Umgeni Valley. I wanted to see the valley for a last time before Inanda Dam drowned it forever. The river was rather shallow – um, VERY shallow! We dragged for miles!
We visited the folks in Harrismith, clambered the slopes of Platberg and sang around the piano:
Bernie & Karen Garcin got married in Empangeni – George Stainton and I were his best men.
In between all the scurrying we lived in our lovely Whittington Court one-bedroom apartment in Marriott Road, and I think I occasionally did a bit of work. Sheila reminded me that she lived there for two years after we bought our house in Westville.
Another of our frequest visits to Hella Hella. And a visit to the Hills on Melrose farm, Mid Illovo.
I gave a talk in the Kruger Park once called The Art of the Game Drive. It was magnificent, complete with exciting sightings and livestreaming. Pity was, I had an unappreciative audience. Well, they were from behind the boerewors curtain, so . . you know how they are.
It almost sounded like they had a pet monkey with them, as they kept muttering Ari Aap as I drove them serenely in quiet splendour and exquisite comfort in my VW Kombi 2,1 in subtle camouflage blue and white. But you won’t believe this, when I stopped to examine old poo there was audible sighing. Philistines. The talks are still wildly popular, but I notice none of that particular batch were ever repeat guests. And I mainly have repeat guests. *
*Like Jessie. She has been a repeat guest dozens – scores – of times. She can appreciate the Art of the Game Drive. ‘Specially if she has her phone, her music and noise-cancelling earphones with her.
