T.C. Robertson Nature Reserve is situated on the right bank of the Mpambanyoni River close to its mouth into the sparkling Indian Ocean. Part of Scottburgh townlands, it is about 60ha in extent. Established in 1989 and named after should-be-more-famous South African author, ecologist and soil and grassland conservationist Dr. Thomas Chalmers Robertson.
TC Robertson (15 September 1907 – 11 January 1989) was an extraordinarily gifted man – accomplished journalist, gifted raconteur, ardent naturalist from boyhood, war correspondent, and Jan Smuts’s anti-Nazi propagandist during World War II. His most significant work lay in his lifelong mission to save southern Africa’s soil and grasses, and for this he sacrificed any ideas of personal ambition.
TC was widely known during his lifetime as South Africa’s doyen of soil conservation and was regarded by many, including some of the best brains in the world, as a genius. Yet many South Africans today know little or nothing about him. This is partly because he was little concerned with self-promotion and put off writing his autobiography despite many requests to do so. He wrote insatiably, but not about himself. His passion was the land. He was driven by three things: his mission to save the soil, his insatiable quest for knowledge, and his equally insatiable hedonism.
He was of the intrepid, cavaliering stuff of which romantic heroes are made, a born musketeer, and a man with an enormous capacity for friendship. Outspoken, witty and able to hold an audience in the palm of his hand, he was immensely private when it came to his deepest feelings, sorrows, fears and any inadequacies he might have felt; his passion, his total commitment, was for his mission: saving the soil, conserving the land.
No public monument of bronze or stone commemorates his achievements. His epitaph is written in the soil of southern Africa, whispered by the grasses and leaves, murmured by the streams, and engraved indelibly on the hearts of all who knew him; plus in a small evergreen sanctuary on the banks of a subtropical river estuary on the south coast of KwaZulu Natal. Among the great men our country has produced, he was truly one of the greatest.
Paraphrased from author Shirley Bell – who wrote his biography, The Happy Warrior: The Story of TC Robertson 2005 ISBN978-0-620-33255-2
Birds seen on a short visit today 08:30 to 10:30 – Sunbirds, Amethyst, Collared, Olive; Weavers, Eastern Golden, Spectacled, Dark-backed; Mannikins, Bronze, Red-backed; Square-tailed Drongo; Flycatchers, Black, Dusky; Grey Waxbill; Lesser Honeyguide; Barbets, White-eared, Black-collared; Yellow-rumped Tinkerbird; Yellow-bellied Greenbul; Dark-capped Bulbul; Yellow-eyed Canary; Cape White-Eye; Hadeda; Geese, Egyptian, Spur-wing; Blacksmith Lapwing; Hamerkop; Little Egret; Black Sawwing; Black-bellied Starling; Red-capped Robin-Chat; Purple-crested Turaco; Grey-headed Sparrow; Doves, Red-eyed, Tambourine; Speckled Mousebird; Darter; Cape Wagtail; Heard: African Firefinch; Fish Eagle; Natal Spurfowl.
We ‘all want to preserve nature,’ right? I was the only person there those two hours on a perfect Sunday morning! Even Jess declined, ‘There’s TV to watch, Dad!’ Damn!
One bakkie did drive in and out. The manager, who stopped for a chat. He seems enthusiastic about changes he has brought in the five months he has run the show. Low attendance is a challenge. Next Sunday there’s a flea market, 37 stalls booked.
Look for a slight decline in the EFF’s results in the polls.
Driving south on the N2 a coupla days ago, I had a red bakkie right on my tail. Its nostrils were probly touching my exhaust pipe. Soon as I could, I moved over and it roared past, big hurry. It was an EFF election bakkie, only two weeks left, lots to do.
– like this – saw this one on election day –
A couple of k’s later, hundreds of posters lined the roadside. About a mile of red n yellow EFF election posters won’t be adorning poles on the KZN South Coast this week. They’re Scatterlings of Africa.
– oops –
I think youthful exuberance got the best of the two young guys in the bakkie. Let’s See How Fast This Thing Can Go! Move Over You Old Goat! WHEEE!!
I’m imagining them getting to Izingolweni and the main Mama of the EFF branch yelling, ‘Wadda you mean you don’t know where our posters are!?’
Tony the electrician (ancient: must be my age if he’s a day) arrives to check the cottage electricity for the wicked landlord. A ‘certificate of compliance’ is needed.
I introduce him to Jess. After a while he needs help checking all the plug outlets while he stands at the DB board and runs the show. He needs a reliable hand. He looks at me then says, ‘Jess can you operate my checking instruments for me please?’
She loved doing it!
Later she became a plumber! Walking back from closing our high security (not) gate, Jess said, ‘Dad, there’s the sound of water running underground!’
I switched off the supply on the pavement and called Dominique, lady plumber with a pink plumber bakkie.
The wicked landlord implied, ‘Heavy truck drove over supply,’ to which I quite correctly replied indignantly, ‘Mine tiptoes like a butterfly with sore feet.’ To prove my bakkie’s innocence, I sent proof:
1. Dominique’s gat; 2. The leaky pipe; 3. The innocent bakkie tyre tracks;
Mother Mary got onto the topic of obesity a while ago. She’s probly about 40kg soaking wet, and one of those is the steel in her thighbone. After discussing various people at the home’s ‘weight problems,’ she blurts out, ‘Koos, you’re not fat, are you?’ She’s using her earnest Woe is Me Mary voice.
Mom! I’m positively sylph-like! People call me slender; a bean pole. She laughs but with suspicion. I’m just right, Mom, I reassure her.
Dunno why she has this thing about weight! I mean, I’m a 69yr-old Dutchman it’s not like I’d get a boep or anything.
Tonight Mom told me she’d watched a movie. Her central vision is shot so she can’t see detail, but she says it was something about history from Henry VIII to when Churchill took over from Chamberlain when Germany invaded Poland. She was eleven back then.
Warsaw, she says. ‘I used to play the Warsaw Concerto, I loved it, it was very clever. The music had the sirens sounding for the bombing, and sounding the all clear after it was over. All just on the piano,’ says Ma. ‘You know the King and Queen stayed in Buckingham Palace during the bombing (we’re in England now) and they say that’s what helped England win the war. They could have gone to the country, but they stayed.’ My Mom Mary Monarchist, who hatched a very anti-monarchy son.
She saw the King n Queen once. When she was nineteen. Where did she first see the King n Queen? Why, in Benoni.
04/29 – Sarie: Please can everyone who is on Vodacom report the bad signal. (I spose the theory is like prayer? If you can get lots of people to pray, there’s a better chance things will happen?) Marie: Where can we report? I am on Cell C and we work on the same tower. Don’t know where to report Fanie: No signal at all. Been going on since Friday Jannie: Peet told me on Saturday they had stolen the batteries at the tower and using the generator now. Maybe the diesel has run out. .. I arse you, Vodacom! How ve hel are the mense going to be able to swipe up to tjek the poppies pole vaulting and hoogspringing in vey leotards if you don’t give us signal!?
…
update
05/17 – Three weeks later, the dorp whatsapp is buzzing again:
I’m murdering these as I find them, but they’re interesting while they’re still alive. Take a look.
Mimosa pudica Native to the Caribbean and South and Central America, but now a pantropical weed. Found in the Southern United States, South and East Asia, Micronesia, Australia, South and West Africa. Not shade-tolerant, it is primarily found on soils with low nutrient concentrations. Like in the lawn of this Mtwalume beach cottage.
One of few plants that can ‘move fast.’ Not as fast as insect-eating plants like the Venus Flytrap, but pretty quick. For a plant.
~~oo0oo~~
And – hopefully – some local blossompies:
– Indian Ocean sunrise from my bed –Aneilema aequinoctiale – CommelinaCommelina benghalensis maybe– Phaulopsis imbricata –
Phaulopsis imbricata is a shrub native to Southern Africa. A good fodder, the young leaves are eaten as a vegetable and the plant-ash in oil is used for rheumatism in Tanganyika. The flowers have an unpleasant smell. It is filed as near-threatened by the IUCN. It is one of the larval host plants of the butterflies great eggfly, tiny grass blue, brown pansy, soldier pansy and marbled elf.
A Red-lipped Herald snake visited this morning. It was enjoying the wet weather I suppose – we had a real downpour last night and this morning. So it was probly out hunting frogs. This was a little one, about 300mm long, I guess.
A couple days later an even smaller one made its way under the door. Played dead when he saw me. He also got shipped out to the garden.
Crotaphopeltis hotamboeia The story goes that its presence was first mentioned in the Eastern Cape Herald Newspaper, hence the name.
– hawk moth ? –
This poor fella fluttered in and died. A Forest Brown, maybe?
And an offshore visitor: A juvenile Brown Booby flying and floating just behind the backline. Seen from the deck off my upstairs bedroom three days in a row. A ‘lifer’ for me!
What’s that bird!? I often wonder before realizing, Ah, It’s The Mongeese. And their mongoslings. The Banded Mongoose band, about 25 strong, that have this coastal cottage garden on their daily route.
A busy bunch of all ages, they twitter and squeak to keep in touch as they rustle and skoffel through the thick undergrowth. Big excitement when they find a snail. They carry it to a wall then hurl it backwards between their back legs to crack the shell against the wall. Usually it takes a few tries before they get a good throw. Sometimes the first sign of their presence is the skoffel, crack! of them hurling a snail against the wall near the door.
If I’m outside and I move, or a biggish bird flies overhead, the big ‘uns will give an alarm call and they’ll all scurry for cover at speed.
~~oo0oo~~
skoffel – like rustle; both are also first names for blokes, dunno why
Visitors? I’m the visitor. They’re residents! With the really cool scientific moniker Mungos mungo. So we’ll have to call one of them Jerry. They’re peaceful in their own colony, but fight fiercely with other gangs. Gang warfare! And how’s this? In the midst of a battle, females may have a quickie with rival males! Whoa! Females: Always multitasking. Fighting, yet still time to think of their genetic diversity! – wikipedia.org
Planning ahead as always (not), we drove into Kaoxa Bush Camp hoping to find Virginia there to welcome us. She was nowhere to be found and her phone was on voicemail. So we booked into the SA Parks camp inside Mapungubwe, the first time I have stayed inside the park. Jess was pleased – the chalet had aircon! And it was hot. Even the eles sought shade:
I drove around Mapungubwe east, the more famous half of the park, and walked the boardwalk to overlook the Limpopo and into Botswana and Zimbabwe. Jess mainly stayed in the chalet. The day we left I drove the long way round to the gate, so she did see some of this interesting Eastern section of the park.
Then we moved on to Kaoxa. We drove down to Virginia’s home and found her. She asked us to bring cash, so we drove the 70km to Musina and drew cash as we needed to do some food shopping anyway. The tar road is in very good nick except for two patches near Mapungubwe with bad potholes. So 110km/h is easy, but when you see potholes, slow down drastically! Each patch is just a couple hundred metres, but bad.
Good ceiling fans and great showers, a cool shady pool and lots of shade under thatch. As we arrived there was a squirrel in the chalet. It jumped onto Jess and scratched her arm, then fled. We ate and swam and birded and stared at the view. For wifi we drove to Duncan’s homestead and sat on the back veranda. Good birding there, too. A very special place is Kaoxa Bush Camp. Do support it so it can stay wild forever! Best to book online.
– African Hawk Eagle – Gymnogene –
~~oo0oo~~
Birds seen in the area: Cinnamon-breasted Bunting Black Eagle (Verreaux’s) Familiar Chat Jamesons Firefinch Mocking Cliff Chat Kori Bustard Grey-headed Sparrow Lanner Falcon Woodland Kingfisher Dusky Flycatcher White-browed Sparrow-Weaver Rufous-naped Lark Arrow-marked Babbler Violet-backed & Redwing Starlings Wood Sandpiper Acacia Pied Barbet Black-collared Barbet
The Kruger National Park is easy, convenient, good roads; most camps have camping as well as chalets; also shops, so Jess is happy; she can bail out of camping and book a chalet when the weather gets rough – in this case, HOT! And she did, she certainly did. We camped less than a week, we chalet’d more.
Following a well-worn trail we trekked up to Harrismith and enjoyed a lovely night at Pierre and Erika’s home. Again. Then on to the splendid hospitality of the Brauers in Tshwane, home of the ancestral Tshwanepoels. Again. One doesn’t need to eat vegetables for months after a Terry dinner, as I have to eat Brauer’s veggies as well. He’s pure carnivore.
Then a four-year reunion of six colleagues who met as first year optometry students exactly – gulp! – fifty years ago.
– 1974’s eighteen year-olds –
On to Phalaborwa and into the park. But not before I’d gunned the old bus up Magoebaskloof pass, passing a much younger Toyota and Ranger and causing a high-pitched squeal from under the bonnet. It sounded like a fanbelt and it stopped when I switched off the aircon. This made me happier and Jess sadder, so we spent the next morning watching handsome young rooikop Pieter fixing the belt tensioning bolt, WTMB. Jess confessed later she’d been watching his pert blue-overalled bum as he leaned into the engine bay.
With our coolness restored and the 2008 Ford Ranger looking like a million dollars R600 later, we headed for Letaba camp, on the way spotting a ratel (honey badger) carrying its prey – a likkewaan (monitor lizard) about a third of its bulk. A special sighting! After staring at it in wonder through my Zeiss binocs, I remembered the camera just as it trotted off.
On the banks of the Letaba river, lots of hippos in and out of the water. About twenty floating while a dozen, including a small calf, grazed in full sun on a hot day!
Herds of eles. We drove into one herd as we rounded a corner. Got flapped at by go-away ears on our close left and right. I obliged. Jess needs lots of space between her and eles, and I’m happy to oblige. I don’t need to interfere with their lives, I just want to watch them.
In Letaba I had a problem with the stupidest primate in the whole Kruger National Park. Homo sapiens. Me. I left my car door open for “just a minute” as I went to our nearby safari tent and a vervet got my nuts. My luxury tree nuts from Checkers. That primate is a big problem. Hopefully he can evolve and improve his focus and short-term memory.
More Homo sapiens grumbles. I am not a hunter. But if I was I would maybe consider missing (shoo-ing, not shooting) three kinds of animals in the Kruger: – People on their phones talking to Venda or Cape Town at a volume appropriate to the distance. One was telling someone to drink eight glasses of water a day, and take rehidrate morning n evening. *sigh* Kak advice and I must listen to it. – Rugged camper okes using their fancy electric n mechanical camping aids, such as aircon running all night in they karavaan; Ryobi hammer nut-tighteners on their levelling jacks; and remote-controlled motorised jockey wheels! – Joggers plaf plaf plaffing round camp panting and thinking of Comrades or Waai-tality points, checking their odometers and their heartache, you know the type. Otherwise I’m chilled. I wave at them and force a grin. I very seldom shoot them.
Beautiful dawn chorus in the mornings, the new members being Mourning Doves; the oboists in the background were our biggest hornbills. If they formed a band they should call it The Leadbeaters.
Bucorvus leadbeaterii
– ve oom’s crocs –
Later I heard a sound I thought might be the Red-billed Hornbill tutting slower than usual, but it was a croc! Well, an oom’s Croc. He was walking past on his way to ablute, and his left Croc was squeaking.
Martial, Bateleur, Fish, Wahlberg & Brown Snake Eagles; Brown-headed Parrot, Puffback, European Bee-eater, Lilac-breasted Roller, Marabou Stork. Night sounds included nagapie (bush baby / galago) crying, Levaillants Cuckoo, Scops & Pearlspotted Owls; Crowned Lapwing. Hippos grunted and hyenas wailed.
Bush Shrike & Bush Snake
In Shingwedzi camp Jess said, Dad! A snake just fell out of that tree! She pointed at about six mopani trees. I couldn’t spot it, but I know Jess spots things, so I walked towards the trees. A helpful Grey-headed Bush Shrike flew down next to the snake. The Spotted Bush Snake fled up the tree trunk, and the bird buzzed off before I could get a pic of its beautiful colours. That would have made a stunning pic. Oh, well, here’s the skinny lil colourful snake on his own:
We met up with the caravanners who’d helped with our mfezi invasion last year. They have now been camped in the same spot in Shingwedzi campsite for over fifteen months. They reported that the snake had visited them some time later, and been removed from their caravan tent by the same Ranger Shadrack, resident snake catcher.
On to Punda Maria where we camped right next to the lovely pool; Twice a day we cooled down in the heat. Then Jess said, Whoa Dad! It’s too hot! booked a chalet and switched on the aircon. All the units had these noisy old window-rattler aircons! Aargh! Ah Haydim, as Bob Friderichs used to say.
Technocamping! Fanie arrived and porked his cor. Martie hopped out and watched, tjoepstil, as Fanie hak’d af and started manoefring ve treiler wif a remote control ding. After a while I thought I’ll just record this, and filmed a bit of ou Faan’s faan. Or fun. It was all worth it op die ou einde, the West Wing and the Norf Wing were ontplooi’d, and the double verdieping rose up. Once ve satelliet dish was up he could settle down and watch rugby. Just as if he’d stayed home by the house. Pic to come
That was ten days in the park and we left Pafuri gate after visiting the very special Pafuri picnic spot on the Luvhuvhu river and Crooks Corner where Moz, Zim and SA meet.
Handyman Running Repairs
I’d been flagged down twice driving around by kind drivers stopping me to inform me ‘your number plate is ‘falling off.’ It’s not, it’s just creatively attached, vertically instead of horizontally. But now two camouflaged soldiers with R1 automatic rifles stepped out of the shade of a baobab and told me the same alarming tale. I told them my same response, ‘Thanks, but I can’t fix it now as ibhubesi might eat me.’ Usually that got a sage nod of agreement, but these gents said, ‘Nah, no problem! You can get out here and fix it!’ brandishing their weapons. That put me on the spot. I hopped out thinking, I spose at this stage a rugged oke would haul out his full toolkit, start his generator, power up his drill and choose the right bolt n nut from his annotated collection. I opened the back of our camper and aha! found what I needed to effect a permanent repair: Jessie’s pink sneakers. Sorted.
Next stop Nthakeni Bush Camp where owners Kobus and Annelise have set up lovely duo Gloria and Thelma to run their own Thusani Shack Restaurant independently.
We enjoyed two full English breakfasts – with a large helping of potato slap chips – and two huge suppers of their homegrown chicken, pap, veg & salad; then beef stew, rice, veg & salad. The third night we just sat outside our chalet and burped.
– Muriel and Jessie –
Now, after about six nights camping and seven in chalets, we headed west – on to Kaoxa Bush Camp and Mapungubwe National Park, where Bots, Zim and SA meet, and David Hill’s mate has a wonderful bush camp.
Like your car is in intensive care for three weeks, having various internal organs replaced – nothing that’ll make it look faster – the best thing you can do is find a Boutique Hotel . . see mine above.
. . with provided chauffered transport to get you around to where you need to be . .
. . with gourmet meals, DSTV n Wifi included, posh outings to pubs n restaurants, all-inclusive in the low-low fee. Even the Willowvale at no extra charge.
The gorgeous hostess more than compensates for the grumpy security guard on duty. Phone me for details.
~~oo0oo~~
Ah, apple is being stingy. You’ll have to play your own vinyl copy of Let it Be by the Beatles.
– Paul McCartney, me n the grumpy security guard were all born to Methodist Mothers Mary – McCartney’s features in the song –
I have some pious friends. This is true. I even had a pious wife, and Mom Mary Methodist is pious-plus. Although she did have to confess to twenty-five blissful godless years thanks to her Mom Annie. Two of my friends, one in Tshwane and one in Durbs, have even changed from being normal upstanding beer-drinking citizens to bursting out in yarmulkes. I wonder if Mart also chants stuff on Fridays? I know he sold his ’65 Mustang, shame.
One friend said an Anglican Lent course was boring. Well, hullo-o! But instead of saying, ‘Of course it’s boring!’ cos I’m polite that way, I rather offered the following sage advice:
You should develop n cultivate more sins, so Lent can be more meaningful.
I think that’ll help, even though it goes against my usual advice on advice which is that giving advice to others is a complete waste of time.
You can’t believe the old goats who turned up fifty years after we all arrived in Joburg’s famous Eloff Street, some seeing its wonders for the first time. The girls looked great, the okes too (back then), with our hair as long as theirs. Blowdried. With natural colour. It was first year optometry school, 1974!
Now we’re ancient old wrinklies with lots to share, like how we all have aids – walking aids, hearing aids, seeing aids and lots of teenage aid trying to work our cellphone apps. There was some dispute as to whose was the A class and whose the B class. Ours was the A class.
I had to block my ears at the amount of exercise and diet advice flying around. Doesn’t everyone know Oscar Wilde told us that advice is only good in the giving? No-one actually TAKES advice! And someone- was it Winston? – said when he feels like exercising he has a lie-down till the feeling passes. And Jack London said he wouldn’t waste a single one of his days in trying to prolong them. These are wise people I follow.
Lovely grub – thanks Zena! – and just like in the olden days, wild drinking. We piled into the gin. Here’s the damage six healthy adults can do to a wimpish gin bottle:
I got my Truck With A Tent back after it spent three long weeks in intensive care. At last and Yay! One glance at its portrait and you can see my spend on a new clutch was well worth it. Looks good, nê?
So now we head north again to visit friends, then the northern, less-visited part of Kruger Park. At Crooks Corner we’ll peer across the border into Mocambique and Zimbabwe. In time we’ll exit Pafuri gate, then head west to Kaoxa Canp in Greater Mapungubwe, where we’ll peer across the border into Botswana and Zimbabwe.
Sally forth! My pink daughter Jessie-Jess will be my navigator, booking agent, critic, wildlife spotter and caterer again. Yay!
~~oo0oo~~
postscript: All went well till I gunned the ole bus too hard up the Magoebaskloof pass, beating a new Ranger and a new Hilux round the bends. Suddenly a screeching whine. Dammit, I thought, though Jess says my language was stronger than that. I pulled over. Still the whine. Switched off the aircon. Silence. The next day in Phalaborwa handsome friendly young freckled-faced rooikop Pieter fixed it. He said the tensioning bolt had come loose and nothing about a loose nut at the wheel. See!?
Jess confessed later she’d been staring at his bum as he leaned over the engine bay.
Louis showed me where to go. ‘Head South, young man! Along the edge of the Namib via Karibib through the Naukluft to Solitaire,’ he said. He’s lived in Namibia for forty years so I did as he told me, despite him having led me astray the week before. You know what locals are like: Go Straight, You Can’t Miss It, they always say. Keep the Namib on your right and the rest of Africa on your left, you can’t go wrong! they say with their head thrown back, eyes half closed and a beer in hand. This time he was right. I only meandered off the beaten track once, but that was to see where a dotted line on OrganicMaps led to. And the roads were gravel, not sand.
(Plug: Don’t use google or waze (google bought waze). Use OrganicMaps. Good people).
Well, Louis was right! Solitaire is an oasis with ice cold beer and wifi hovering around invisibly under cool, shady thatch. It’s owned, I was told by an American in a wheelchair, by his Dad. He represented USA in wheelchair basketball at the paralympics. I think that’s what I was told by him and his wife in the spacious cool shady pub. I do know they dish up just the right kind of fuel, food, beer and wifi that you need on a road trip, so it’s a popular spot. Also, it’s a long way to the next places to chill, and those don’t do these essentials quite as well.
So I pulled into a lovely campsite for the night, which became three nights cos who wants to leave?
Views around, and a small flock of quelea flying past. Sociable Weavers in camp – here’s one of their communal nests some distance south of Solitaire, nearer Helmeringhausen.
– another Ford bakkie salutes mine as I leave Solitaire – mine’s the white one –
Notice the Morris Eight open-top 2-door tourer in the feature pic?
