Casper Greeff and Ruvan Boshoff - Sunday
Times: November 24, 2002
Travel: Baviaanskloof Eastern Cape
River mermaids in a remote wilderness . . . it sounded almost too good to
be true, which is why Caspar Greeff and photographer Ruvan Boshoff went to
the Baviaanskloof to investigate
If this story were a tapestry, a tawny snake would wind through its centre
and on the sides beautiful mermaids would be combing their hair next to
mountain pools.
The tawny snake is a road. Encompassing five hair-raising passes, it was
constructed in the 1880s by the road-building genius Thomas Bain.
The mermaids (I was told) live in the rivers that run alongside and over and
under this road. The tawny snake that is a road stretches for more than
140km and is found between the Eastern Cape towns of Patensie and
Willowmore. It is among the last and is the longest of the 24 roads built by
Bain. It is the road that goes through the Baviaanskloof. The mermaids have
long black hair and white skin and shapely breasts and if you give them the
wrong answer to a question they will kill you.
Photographer Ruvan Boshoff told me about the mermaids. Until then I had
imagined mermaids as being solely creatures of the sea, and I had no idea
where the Baviaanskloof was. Boshoff assured me that the mermaids of the
Baviaanskloof live in rivers; he had spoken to people who had seen the
beings.
I found out that the Baviaanskloof is a wilderness area, a twisting ravine
situated between two parallel mountain ranges northwest of Port Elizabeth.
Some say it is an unspoilt paradise. It sounded like a story worth
investigating, and so the photographer and I flew to PE and hired a white
Microbus and drove off to the Baviaanskloof in search of mermaids.
We stopped at the town of Hankey to look at South Africa's largest sundial,
which is 34.6m in diameter and has a gnomon that weighs a ton. The sundial
is next to a green hill, and we walked up this hill, and found ourselves at
a grave enclosed in a cage made of metal pickets. The grave was strewn with
gravel, and on the burial mound were rocks, thistles, bunches of dead
proteas and a plastic bottle. It is the grave of Sarah Baartman; her remains
were buried here on August 9 .
Patensie, on the border of the Baviaanskloof was 13km away, but we made one
more detour - a visit to a place called Shumba Safari Lodge. Two stone lions
guarded its gateway, a high electric fence protected the property and signs
warned that dangerous lions were about.
At the main lapa, with its hunting pictures, stuffed hippo head and stuffed
lion, we met khaki-clad co-owner Adolf Kleinhans, who greeted us with
bone-crushing handshakes. He poured us Cokes and told us about game drives
and photo safaris and he told us about the lions.
There are 40 lions at Shumba, and some are there to be hunted, mainly by
wealthy Americans.
"It costs 18 000 to hunt a lion," said Adolf. "And we're speaking dollars."
" Do the lions ever win?" I asked.
Adolf looked at me. "Ja . . . they killed my father a few years ago. And
they put me in hospital once," he said, fingering a scar on his forehead
where his scalp had been ripped off and sewn back on.
I decided to change the subject.
"We're on our way to the Baviaanskloof. We're hunting for mermaids."
He laughed. "Do you have a lot of time?"
"Oh, a few days. Do you know where to find the mermaids?"
"No. I've never heard of mermaids in the Baviaanskloof. But if you do find
any, please bring me one."
"No ways," I said, imagining the enormous sum a rich American would pay to
kill a mermaid. "If we find any we'll keep them for ourselves. "
We bid farewell to Adolf, and checked in at the Ripple Hill hotel in
Patensie. The bar was full of barefoot men wearing very short pants and
peaked caps. None of them knew of mermaids and the trail seemed to be
growing cold.
We decided to approach the Baviaanskloof from the other side - from
Willowmore - because Boshoff said that's where the mermaids had been seen.
Willowmore. It sounded like the name of a verdant village where hobbits hung
out, but it was actually a dusty Karoo town where sheep farmers lived, and
we reached it by a roundabout route, through the Elands River Valley, and
via Steytlerville.
Outside a house on the outskirts of town was a sign which said, in
Afrikaans:
"Dr George. Herbalist. Fortune teller. Talk to me - I help with any
problem."
If anyone knew about mermaids I suspected it would be Dr George.
I entered his house and in a room where twilight was trapped came face to
face with the man himself. He had short dreadlocks and a gap where his front
teeth used to be. He was eating chicken and rice out of an enamel bowl, and
looked at me with eyes as deep as mountain pools
"We're looking for mermaids . . ." I began.
"You're looking for what?"
"Mermaids. They're half women, half fish . . . The top half is that of a
woman, and . ."
"Yes, yes, I know. Carry on."
"We have heard that there are mermaids in the Baviaanskloof."
"But there's no sea there."
"I know. These mermaids live in the rivers. Do you know where we will find
them?"
He considered the question.
"There are no mermaids in the Baviaanskloof. You will find what you are
looking for where the river flows into the sea."
We left town, turning left on to the R397, or the T1 as it is now called. A
sign on the white dust road warned of "DANGEROUS MOUNTAIN PASSES AHEAD". We
drove past Karoo scrub, past sheep and cacti. Then we were going through
ravines, past towering red rocks daubed with yellow lichen. Pink flowers
grew everywhere. The tyres made a satisfying swooshing sound as we drove
through a stretch of river. "Looks like mermaid country," said Boshoff .
We stopped at a house called Makkedaatcave. The actual cave, further down
the road, has been enclosed with timber and rock, and fitted to sleep 10
people. The owner, Henriëtte Terblanche, offered us tea and old-fashioned
hospitality and said yes, she had heard of the mermaids.
Now we were getting somewhere.
"One of the women who works here, Annie, told me about the mermaids. How she
saw mermaids, or mermaids' toys. I couldn't believe it. Something about a
doll and some rocks and a mirror . . ."
We found Annie Baartman in a simple cottage next to a kloof. Years ago, she
told us, she went to a rock pool in the kloof, when suddenly, "the water
started swirling, swirling, swirling. It went around and around like it was
boiling in a kettle. I saw big green fish swimming round the pool.
Then I saw three pretty dolls swimming round and round. The dolls had no
clothes on. They had coppery hair. Then a big brown snake with a white
stripe on its head came out of the pool and chased me.
"I went back there with some friends another time, and the water spurted up
like a fountain. I saw the fish and the dolls and the water shot all over
me. I've never gone back there."
We left the little white cottage with its wooden shutters, and drove on down
that dusty road. The river crossed the road many times. It babbled and
chuckled and sang secret songs.
Boshoff knew of a mermaid painting in the area. It was at a commune founded
by the folk singer Steve Newman. Newman's house, made of clay, stone and
reeds was locked up when we got there. A sparrow was trapped inside, and it
kept on flying into a window. There was a metaphor there somewhere, but I
couldn't find it.
We went to the house where the mermaid painting was, and a pretty young
woman named Gaelin opened the door. She gave me one of those Black Power
handshakes that I thought had gone out of fashion, and bade us enter. Alas!
The wall where the mermaid had once languished was now painted over, so we
asked Gaelin to pose like a mermaid in a chair next to the wall.
She was reticent at first, but after a bit of persuasion agreed to lounge on
the chair, which she called the "queen chair". She told us that the commune
was called Tchnuganoo, "which means Place of Little Water", but we should
rename it "the Place of Dreams". It was going to be an eco-village and there
were "two finished hand-built houses. There are another three or four
half-finished hand-built houses, but people find it difficult to make money
here, and they leave."
A couple of kids were running about holding big ostrich bones, and it all
started looking a bit Quest for Fire-ish.
"Ag shame boys," said Gaelin to us as we left. "Such a pity you didn't get
the real thing," referring to the painting of the mermaid.
But we soon got very close to the real thing. On the dusty sinuous road, (on
Zandvlakte) next to a weeping pepper tree heavy with goldfinch nests was a
house which Boshoff recognised.
"That's where Oom Klaas lives. He's a medicine man, and he's seen the
mermaids." We unlatched the gate, pulled in and waited for Oom Klaas. He
arrived in a brightly painted donkey cart - a 72-year-old man who wore a hat
and walked with two crutches because he had arthritis.
We met him at the river that runs past his house. Patches of light and dark
rippled on his face, reflections from the water. The finches were going
crazy, the shadows lengthened as the sun sank behind the mountain, and we
went inside Oom Klaas Swartz's house, with its pictures of Jesus and the
Last Supper and the Sacred Heart. He told us about the mermaids.
"I saw the mermaids twice. The first time was years ago, in a pool near
here. She had pitch black hair - long hair - and pure white skin and breasts
like a woman. The bottom half of her body was in the water. She was combing
her hair with a black comb, and when she saw me, she went underwater and
disappeared. As she went under her hair spread out on top of the water. It
was beautiful.
"I saw another mermaid two years ago in the same pool. Her breasts were
bigger, she looked like she had had a baby, but she was very beautiful. She
looked at me - she had grey-green eyes - and then she also disappeared under
the water."
Oom Klaas had been warned about the mermaids by his father, also a herbalist
and medicine-man.
"They ask you one question. They ask, 'Do you eat fish?' If you say 'yes'
they will kill you - they are half-fish.
"My father saw many mermaids. One Sunday he went to the pool and sat on the
rocks and they took him down to where they live under the water, and taught
him about herbs. They live in houses like we do, only under the water. If
you ever kill a legavaan you will see that there is cow dung under its
limbs. The mermaids send the legavaans up to get cow dung which they use to
make floors.
"Sometimes they will pull a child under the water. If that happens to your
child, you mustn't cry and carry on, because then they will kill the child
and throw her out. No, you must get a cow, and slaughter it next to the
river, and cook it. Then send down the haunches. When you go home your child
will be back.
"There are two lots of mermaids here and sometimes, deep in the night when I
sit here, I can hear the top ones going to the ones below. They murmur,
'na-ni-ni-ni'. What they say to each other I don't know, but they are very
clever."
Oom Klaas told us that "the whole of [nearby] Zaaiman's Hoek knows of these
[mermaids]. They have seen them."
When we told him we were heading into the wilderness area he warned us to be
careful. "The Kouga [River] - that's a dangerous place. There are many
mermaids there."
We spent that night at Zandvlakte, a historic farm where a South African
Prime Minister, J G Strijdom, was born in 1893. The farm used to have a
baboon-skin tannery when baboon-leather accessories were the height of chic
in certain circles.
Our charming hosts Piet and Griet Kruger were a repository of knowledge
about the Baviaanskloof, but Piet knew nothing about mermaids.
His wife Griet said she had heard stories of mermaids, and that she was
aware of "a mermaid myth" in the Baviaanskloof.
There are, in fact, myths about mermaids throughout the Karoo, where water
and the acquisition of it is such an important part of life. Nieu Bethesda
artist Helen Martins used to dream about mermaids, and she - and later her
apprentice Koos Malgas - sculpted many mermaids from cement and glass at the
now famous Owl House.
The following morning Boshoff and I entered the Baviaanskloof wilderness
area, and at the beautiful Geelhoutbos camp, with its tall yellowwood trees,
spoke to two women, Ivy and Minnie, who had heard that "by the big river on
a sunny day the mermaids sit on the rocks and comb their hair".
"What will you do if you see one?" asked Minnie.
"Catch it."
"No!" she said. "You mustn't do that. They say that if you catch one of
those mermaids there will be a big flood."
At a nearby mountain store we met the owners Johan and his wife Baby, an
elderly lady whose hair was in curlers.
"The road ahead is very, very bad," Johan told us. "I found a whole back
bumper on the road a while ago."
But the tawny road which snaked through the ravines was beautiful, a work of
elegance and artistry. It wound and wended its way through the warp and weft
of the Baviaanskloof. It looked like it belonged there in those mountains,
the master-thread which completed the tapestry. The narrow road took us to
dramatic heights, and sometimes there would be a sheer drop on the side - no
safety barriers.
We stopped for a midday swim at the Rooihoek camp site. The Kouga River,
which flowed alongside the red rocks, was silver in the sun, and the deep
pools which it formed were Bible-black. The sand was white, and shimmering
dragonflies mated in midair.
I dreamed about that place the next night, that as I swam through the warm
water electric currents passed through me, and then hands were dragging me
down and I was drowning. But in real life it was a place of beauty and
tranquillity.
Reluctantly, we left the river at Rooihoek, and continued along the road
which Bain built. At Bergplaas, which is 674m high and has a long hut for
hikers, and where there are old stone walls which used to be cattle kraals,
we surveyed the kloof in all its grandeur; at Poortjies the road crossed the
Witrivier a dozen times.
When we got out of the wilderness area I wanted to turn around and do it
again from the opposite direction. It had been an exhilarating journey.
But no sightings of mermaids. Not until Port Elizabeth, where we stopped at
the neon sign of a place called the Mermaid Club. I went into the cavernous
interior and asked a pretty young woman: "What's the story?"
"The story is," she said, "it's R250 for half an hour, R350 for one hour,
R450 for two hours, R660 for four hours and . . .", she smiled, ". . . R1
000 for six hours. The bar opens at eight and all the other girls will be
here then."
"And are there any mermaids?"
"Oh yes. We're all mermaids. Pay us and the towel comes off."
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Graeme Addison
Abstracts from the
article: OUTHERE
MAGAZINE September 1999 - When the genes for running are
finally identified in our DNA, we'll know for certain that we share less
with baboons than is generally believed. No baboon has ever run from one end
of the Baviaanskloof to the other, just for the hell of it. GRAEME ADDISON,
however, has.
Baviaanskloof is named after the scores of baboon troops that throng its
rocky crags and haunt its forests. Running along the twisting dirt road that
leads through the heart of this wild wilderness area, I kept meeting up with
granddaddy sentinels who would give a short, angry bark before hotfooting it
onto the shrubbery with yapping kids in tow. That seemed to be the full
extent of their athletic abilities for the day, and it made me feel quite
superior.
To run the kloof, all 100-odd km of it, was a pretty arbitrary decision, I
admit, but it struck me that the best way to get a handle on the place was
to feel it through my jolting bones. Folded and broken mountains form the
Baviaanskloof; their multicoloured strata creeping like a wrinkled carpet to
the dark horizon. Remote is hardly the word for it - it can best be
described as neglected. Now it is tagged to become South Africa's third
largest national park.
I chose to run the road that joins Willowmore in the doer Karoo to the
picturesque farming town of Patensie. My route took me through what must be
the greatest slab of undefiled, unphotographed adventure territory in South
Africa. The road - which at times is reduced to a mere track where in the
rainy season you might need a 4x4 - is a switchback alternating between
deeply cut valleys, wide farmlands and high grasslands looking out over
tumbled mountain terrain.
Running was a good way to gain a sense of the giant scale of the
Baviaanskloof. Mine was a survey mission to plan future explorations - there
are trails waiting to be hiked, rivers to be run, cliffs to be climbed,
kloofs needing rock-hoppers. The beauty of it is that once you have
purchased the hiking permit, you can go walkabout just where you like and
disappear into them thar hills.
Starting early, when the misty heights were tinged with wraiths of pink, I
felt no urgency to go the distance like a marathon competitor. My
consciousness settled into a doglike trot. Lateral thoughts curled around
the mind. Wild schemes like mountain biking across Antarctica or running the
Skeleton Coast someday came easily.
A signboard as you enter the reserve declares that the next refuse bin is
93km away. Okay! I was entering from the Geelhoutbos end after already
running down the Nuwekloof, gateway to this secret world and was on the
second day of my planned 33 km - per-day sub-marathon. Legs, fine, lungs
pumping.
A big red sign read 'Beware of Buffalo'. That was very scary but
fundamentally futile advice: what are you supposed to do if you meet up with
an enraged buffalo? Jogging along on my own under a canopy of trees with
dense grass both sides, I remembered terrifying tales about how cunning and
deadly this beast is, how he lurks beside the trail ready to storm out and
gore you to a bloody pulp.
Suddenly a huge beast broke from the underbrush just meters in front of me.
It was brown, it was big, it had horns. My legs lurched sideways, my lungs
yelped, my mind raced through its stored software looking for buffalo
evasion mode. But it was only a lone kudu bull, even more skittish on its
feet than I, and before I could catch a breath he was gone, his muscular
energy melting into the background as if I had imagined the whole incident.
For one whole day between Geelhoutbos and Rooihoek campsite, not a single
car passed me, except for my own car driven by two Rhodes photojournalism
students. Sarah Wyllie and Woods would pop out of the bushes at intervals,
urging me onwards, which usually meant upwards. Meanwhile, ahead of me
somewhere, companion Zac Moloto followed the same road on a mountain bike.
We passed by neat rural houses occupied by farm labourers and sharecroppers
around Studtis, then entered a zone where white farmers are turning from
soil management to eco-tourism.
Travel guides that bother to describe the Baviaanskloof at all say the
vegetation is "tough-delicate fynbos" mixed with valley bushveld and montane
grassland. Proteas, silver-trees, ericas: typical Western Cape grey-green
colours rise up the mountainsides to merge with whispering yellow fields and
heathland. Beyond, the southern edge of the continent recedes out of sight
in layer upon layer of blue rocky ridges.
Large parts of the Baviaanskloof are already protected under the names Berg
Plaatz, Guerna and Stinkhoutbos (Geelhoutbos) supervised by the department
formerly known as Cape Nature Conservation. These are the areas once
abandoned to the despised Bushmen who, with the baboons, were welcome to
make themselves at home. Even the herds of elephant that moved along the
southern coastline from Addo towards Knysna passed by the Baviaanskloof.
Meanwhile it was a paradise for leopard, kudu, bushbuck, rhebok, eland and
the rare mountain zebra, all of which are still there.
Three rivers cut through the sandstone that makes up much of the geology.
From the west, the Baviaanskloof River starts as a deep trench and ends in a
wide floodplain at the confluence with the Kouga River. The latter flows in
from the southwest and it is a white-water challenge for kayakers, starting
at Riverside and ending where the floodwaters of the Kouga Dam (formerly
known as the Paul Sauer) back up to the campsite at Rooihoek. From there, a
narrow dam - fully 30km long and seldom more than 300m wide - winds through
steep, bush terrain to the wall near Kondomo camp.
The three major peaks in the area are Cockscomb - well known to climbers and
highly visible for miles on all sides - and two less dramatic elevations,
Mac and Scholtzberg. Hikes to these two are sometimes done, but the trails
are scarcely established at all and it takes some bundu-bashing to get to
the top.
On my last day of running, I came to an area I recognized. A few years ago I
had mountain biking with my family to Berg Plaatz. Now I came pounding down
the dirt the other way, and for the first time actually encountered traffic
- a kombi with a family and a conservationist in a bakkie. The family looked
concerned for my welfare, shouting that I could catch a lift with them; the
conservationist just smiled. He knew about oddballs like me, driven by the
wandering spirit of the great open tracts over which he holds sway.
My photography students had meanwhile eased up on shutter-finger exercise
and seemed stunned. Moloto vanished for one whole day, only to reappear
searching for me when I failed to arrive at the end point. Reason: I stopped
for one final dip and passed out in the lulling warmth of the sun, lying on
a bank of spongy succulents.
Awoken from an insect-like stupor by a clattering truck, I dashed off on the
last few kilometers. It was hot. My sweat-creased map showed I was passing
Goede Hoop, a settled area. Farm workers pranced along next to me, cracking
jokes and cackling. They wanted to know why I was so red in the face - have
I lost my car? Nope. Well, said one, delivering his wisdom with a voice that
whistled through missing front teeth, "Sir's having fun in a funny way, hey?
"
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Magriet Kruger
Zandvlakte is our heimat, a secret hideaway where life is balanced between
the great wonders of the world's eco-systems and the technological
challenges of the new millennium. Remote but not isolated. We are fortunate
to reside in one of the oldest communities in the country.
Of all the tourist destinations in South Africa Zandvlakte farm can be
regarded as a destination where the full palette of sensual experiences is
combined in a holistic unity. Since the first inhabitants arrived in this
area development has taken place at a stubbornly slow rate. This did not
change even when the present farm was sold to Petrus van Staden in 1817 for
60 rijksdaalders. The influence of the forces of Nature on human
activity is overwhelming and continues to dominate the inhabitants. It
moulds the unique character of the area.
Through the centuries, as history has been written through the daily
activities in the inhabitants' lives, including those of the earlier Khoi
and San Bushmen families, one aspect has remained dominant: the pioneering
spirit of the people - encompassing their rebellion against order, and their
timeless union with Nature in the process.
Zandvlakte stimulates the adventurer, the inquiring spirit, the perpetual
traveler who constantly yearns for the unusual and the unique. It also
offers an opportunity to reflect on the quality of life and values amidst
the peace and quiet. Unquestionably, it is an opportunity for the
re-evaluation of human Nature and the sincerity of spirit. The overnight
guest is also in a position to absorb the ever-present patience of the
residents of the valley.
The farm itself, surrounded on three sides by proclaimed wilderness is a
surprising green paradise after the adventurous journey over the mountains
from Patensie (south east) and Willowmore (west). To reach the destination
is in itself a unique experience and must be absorbed by an unhurried
spirit. An overwhelming natural paradise stands in stark contrast with an
urban vacation with its high concentrations of people, commerce and
entertainment.
THE ROAD
Overnight visitors can use hire- or four by four vehicles, motor- and
mountain bikes. The route is one of the major adventures and should be
carefully weighed by people who appreciate their expensive vehicles!
The seasonal rain can sometimes cause wash-always and Zandvlakte will be
able to report on road conditions, before you set out. The approximately 97
kilometers from Patensie to Zandvlakte takes two to three hours. Two
majestic mountain passes are crossed. From Willowmore the journey is 97
kilometers and takes one and a half hours.
CLIMATE
While there maybe daily variations in temperature the general norm is that
summer is sunny and warm with maximum and minimum temperatures ranging
between 15° and 41° Celsius.
The easterly sea wind ensures wonderful cool evenings. During winter the
maximum and minimum temperatures are 28° to 0° Centigrade. The climate
remains sunny and is complemented with warm winds from the hinterland.
Zandvlakte offers the ideal overnight spot for visitors. The recreation in
this unexplored paradise is provided by Nature. Performances are plentiful:
the birds, which dramatically protect their nest with eggs and young ones
from thieving snakes and hawks; the leopard that playfully strikes out at
inquisitive goats and in the process slays a few; an African goshawk, which
sees the first light of day in the Bluegum in front of the old trading
store. At night you sleep mesmerized by a symphony of night calls while a
blanket of stars enfolds you. In the spring the aromas and pheromones in the
pure oxygen laden air is a sensual experience.
VEGETATION
The farm falls in the Little Karoo region and is thus, according to the
rainfall, a semi arid region. The valley, known as " the Kloof" is
protected by two mountain ranges: the Baviaanskloof-( North) and Kouga-
(South) mountains. One moves swiftly from one vegetation zone to the other,
there being five biomes in the Kloof. In some instances the transition
between the biomes is dramatic.
On the northern slopes are the Spekboomveld and Valley Bushveld. On the
southern slopes flourishes the Fynbos biome. In the long side valleys is
concentrated the Knysna Forest vegetation. On the mountain plateaus are the
Rhinoceros Veldt and Grassland. The widespread succulent Karoo bush in the
valley is probably why the Baviaanskloof is classified as a part of the
Little Karoo. Because of this spectacular diversity of plant species, an
impressive variety of birds can be found in the valley.
The valley lies at a lower altitude than the Karoo in the north. The
rainfall of the Karoo thus filters through to the Baviaanskloof mountains.
For this reason the valley is surprisingly luscious and supports a wider
variety of plant species than would have been otherwise expected.
Situated between the Karoo and the Langkloof the 200-kilometer long gravel
road between Patensie and Willowmore is one of the best-kept scenic secrets
in South Africa. For the eco-pioneer it is not a question of IF the
Baviaanskloof should be visited but rather WHEN.
Enjoy your virtual journey through our world. For us recreation and
relaxation is not a business. It is a way of life.
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Paul Ash
Outhere magazine September 1999. Hidden amongst the mountains of
the Eastern Cape is a wilderness so rugged, it's known only to the truly
adventurous The best roads to ride are the ones that squiggle on the map.
Curves mean hills, mountains and passes. Make that road a dirt traverse of
thousands of hectares of wilderness on ageing 500cc scramblers, and you have
something. By the fifth day in the Baviaanskloof, PAUL ASH definitely wasn't
ready to go home....
Not much of a road, I thought, as the tyres raised a shroud of white
dust and gravel bits pinged and spattered off the bike. The land rolled away
into nothingness. It was dry and cold, strange for midday under an empty
blue sky on the edge of the Karroo. And the fabled wilderness was no more
than a few desperate farms spread under stark mountainsides grazed to desert
by goats.
Not that I was doing much sightseeing, mind you. The bike was skittish and
my lack of experience was not helping, so I was ambling along, just trying
to stay on. In time, the hills crowded closer and where there were no more
farms, the thornveld grew thickly. The road rose in twists and zigzags into
hills, which became mountains, making me grateful that I wasn't on a
bicycle...
" Useful things, knees," I thought as once more I broke my - and the bike's
- fall in a low speed tail slide on a tight mountain bend. " But a real pity
we've only got two." At this rate I was also going to total all my denims
long before the weekend was over.
The upside, though, was complete solitude. In five days we saw five vehicles
- traffic is a curse in the Baviaanskloof will never have to live with, not
least of all because no-one knows about the place. If all goes to plan, it
will soon be the country's third largest wilderness area after Kuger and the
Kalahari Gemsbok. To imagine that there is potentially 300 000ha of
basically raw wilderness juts two hours from the Garden Route and an hour
from PE is almost unthinkable at a time when the country's finest real
estate has long been snapped up and developed.
Piet en Magriet Kruger, realising that their seed production farm could not
last forever, went into tourism instead. They've started horsetrails and
have opened their land to hikers and mountain bikers. The Krugers embody an
encouraging change in attitudes towards the environment and wildlife. " If
you don't care for the land, it'll kick you off," says Kruger. That means
stopping sucking life out of the river, and restoring the land to its
natural state. He reckons the latter will take about five years.
Meanwhile, game restocking in the reserve is going ahead. Disease-free
buffalo have been re--introduced, black rhino are expected to follow. Large
antelope species like kudu and eland already roam the area and leopard
sightings are surging. Farmers have learnt that everything has a place in
the circle of things.
We thumped our way southwards into the mountains over a rough-as- a -
badger's bum 4x4 trail. It was a jeep track in every sense - broken stone
interspersed with rare patches of hard-packed sand. We rode above thornveld
into fynbos where proteas reached down to snatch at the handlebars. There
was no time to rode the 78 km to the Langkloof - we made do with
overnighting in a remote shepherd's hut tucked in on the steep slopes of
folded hills.
End Kraal was an apt name. Looking south from Kommandonek, the mountains
falling into deep valleys, there was no sign of human life. The track cut a
thin line into a dark valley and disappeared. The silence engulfed us.
Riding back in the early morning, I was struck by the privilege of where we
were. Anywhere else in the world, people would be queuing at the gates for a
chance in Paradise. And they'd pay for it. In the Baviaanskloof, we
free-wheeled down the steep, rock-strewn track, the only sound being the
crunch of tyres on stones. The wilderness spread below us, and we were
alone.
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Don Pinnock
GETAWAY, March 2005 .
(Abstracts from the article) If you want to get
lost forever, try wandering into the wild of Baviaanskloof. It has kloofs so
weird they make the settings of the film 'Picnic At Hanging Rock' look cosy.
Most travelling-type South Africans have heard of it, but few would be able
to locate it on a map. Don Pinnock tracked it down and
went....well...wild.
AN ANCIENT HISTORY
Baviaanskloof is the eastern wing of the Cape Folded Mountains, which began
life as sea sand that was compressed into quartzitic sandstone layers along
the rim of a vast inland sea around 450 millions years ago, when Africa was
still part of Gondwanaland.
When this super landmass began breaking up some
200-million years later, coinciding with a period of high rianfall, the
sandstone was ground down and scored into the deep valleys.
Today the area contains elements of six of South
Africa's seven biomes - montiane grasslands, valley thicket, savanna,
forests, arid shrubland and fynbos. The transition is sometimes so sudden
you have to be sharp to see it.
IT WAS STILL AND HOT. The type of heat that causes cattle to
cluster under trees, sheep to stand in silly long lines using their
neighbor's rump as shade and birds to perch with their beaks wide open.
Linden Booth was on his knees on the Cedar Guesthouse stoep surrounded by a
photogrpah about as big as a king-size duvet made up of aerial shots stuck
together with Prestik.
"We're here," he said, his fingers on a tiny dot near the edge which was the
roof of his farmhouse.
We were looking at the image of a vast, wild, virtually unpopulated and only
partly explored river catchment system between Willowmore and Patensie in
the Cape Province known - appropriately, given their numbers - as
Baviaanskloof, valley of baboons. To the north of the Baviaans River are the
mountains with the same name, To the south the Kouga Mountains and in
between, like ham in a sandwich, are privately owned farms that hug the
river for more than half its passage through the mountains.
---
The rest of the huge photo looked like a black baking pan or rusks someone
forgot to take out of the oven. The sun sides of the row after row of
mountain ranges were wrinkled and convulated; the shadow sides ended in
river-cut ravines from which the burnt dough seemed to have peeled back.
Big, wild country.
There's only one road through this tangles of riversliced sandstone, part of
it built in the 19th century by South Africa's master pass builder Thomas
Bain. Maybe because of the farmers, the dirt road thourhg their section is
good. The deeper you go into the Baviaanskloof Reserve, however, the worse
it becomes, much of it now accessible by 4x4 only.
But if you have a 4x4 this is an exhilirating playground, with the
added value that you will have it almost to yourself for much of the year.
To those who know it, these kloofs are their secret heaven.
A man of the bush
Next day I left the farming areas and entered the reserve over a cattle
grid and plunged through a tunnel of green thicket, past an abandoned
farmhouse - which begged to be photographed - and up a winding pass. From
time to time kudu loped across the road and several baboons, sitting sentry,
barked their warning. It was gloriously wild.
I was hunting for a small side track which led to the isolated home of the
reserve's section manager, Derek Clark. He's something of a legend in these
parts; a highly regarded ecologist who's been living alone in the reserve
with his dogs for 11 years. An old blues number was stirring the hot air as
I entered his house and an electric guitar had pride of place in the one
room.
If anyone knows this wilderness, Derek does. "Where else can you buy a
three-rand overnight permit and walk for 150 kilometres without seeing
another living soul?" he demanded as he poured some rooibos tea.
"You get the brandy - and - Coke guys parking on the perimeter but almost
nobody gets far from the road. Leopards are increasing, so are antelope and
baboons... don't talk about baboons! There are things in there we
don't even know exist."
Guiding some biologists one day he found a few conical snail shells and
popped them in a cigarette box. Several years later he asked a passing
biologist to ferry them to a snail boffin in Durban. A week later his phone
and fax were going crazy; the snails had last been seen 150 years ago and
were thought to be extinct. The expert hotfooted to the kloof and went home
a happy man with 19 different snail species in his bag.
"Conservation's not about preserving species," was Derek's parting shot.
"It' s about protecting entire landscapes."
I overnighted in the Eastern Cape Park's Board timber chalets at
Geelhoutbos...
After Geelhoutbos the road deteriorated and climbed higher and higher along
tight hairpin bends. From the crest of the pass ( whose name appeared on no
map) you can see bush-covered mountains stepping off the horizon. The narrow
road skirts some yawning drop-offs: a stupid move could plunge you hundreds
of metres into thick riverine forest. Bain braced his roads with raw,
uncemented stones. I wondered how long they'd stand the weight of trucks. So
far, though, they're holding.
From there the road unwinds you down muscular mountain flanks and deposits
you at Rooihoek, which must be one of the most spectacular camp sites in
Southern Africa. A beach of fine white sand dipped into the near-black Kouga
River and on the other bank ruddy, striated cliffs soared upwards into
velvet-blue sky.
...
A place of kudu
Another pass with an even worse surface than the prevous one - but great fun
in a sturdy 4x4 - led to Bergplaas that is, as its name implies, an old farm
which consists of tumble-down stone kraals and overnight camping hut. As I
approached a large herd of red hartebeest watched idly, but bounded away
when I slid out of the vehicle to try for a photograph. From the building a
vague track penciled itself up the controus into the wilderness. Half a
kilometre along, however, large rocks blocked further progress.
From Bergplaas the road traverses some beautiful, high-mountain fynbos, then
swoops down into riverine forest, an area known as Poortjies for the many
stream crossings. Across a cattle grid was a shock of orange orchards and
the doef doef of water pumps: back in a pocket o farming country.
...
Unbidden, a line from the Native American Chief Seattle popped into my head:
"Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it." A Peal of
thunder applauded.
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Robyn Daly -
GETAWAY MAGAZINE November 1999
Exstracts from the article:
It's easy to gloss over the Baviaanskloof on a map of the Eastern Cape.
Instead, Robyn Daly paused a while in the valley to ponder nature's slow
process of mountain building - and Thomas Bain's ingenuity in cutting roads
through them." -
There's something about a map that reminds me of poetry. It's in the
seemingly effortless precision, the sense that every word and line speaks
volumes, and the certainty that between the lines there's a wealth of untold
significance. So much is left to your imagination. On a good map, just as in
a good poem, you're bound to find something new with each reading. It was
while reading map poetry that I came across a thin red line in the Eastern
Cape, which trickled between the Baviaanskloof and Kouga Mountains.
The Baviaanskloof portion was like a wistful lyric, touched on lightly by
the cartographer's pen with barely a clue as to what the place is about.
Punctuated by an ellipsis, the map bore three dots with alliterative names:
Studtis lay to the west; Sandvlakte was in the centre and Smitskraal to the
east. The red line of the road gave the lyric it's theme, following the
course of the Baviaanskloof River and modified by mountain contours.
Altitude markers for the highest peaks hinted at a rhythm and insisted on a
greater significance.
But that's as far as the lyric went. To find out more, I would either have
to hunt down an epic 1:50 000 map or go there myself. The lure was too great
and the hint that the road was built by Thomas Bain was all I needed to
start packing.
It has been said that Southern Africa is like the toe of on old boot and the
Cape Folded Mountains are the creases, which formed as the continent curled
upwards some 300 million years ago. My map of the Baviaanskloof showed that
the Kouga and Baviaanskloof mountains were indeed part of the boot, but it
wasn't until I slipped into the first narrow gorge at Nuwekloof Pass that I
understood just how weathered and worn that shoe had become.
I had entered the Baviaanskloof from the Uniondale side in the west. As my
map's cartographer had been at pains to conjure, this was the broadest
section of the kloof. Peach-coloured Table Mountain Sandstone wrinkles
slumped amid a grey haze of Karoo shrubland mingled with rhenosterbos. All
in all it was a fairly typical Karoo landscape, made from batter lumpier
than the characteristic pancake mix further north.
Nuwe Kloof Pass was the official start of the kloof. At it's most daring the
pass dipped into the dry bed of the Baviaanskloof River and followed it as
it twisted through a deep gorge walled by sheer, russet cliffs. I stopped my
Nissan Sani and stared in awe at the gash in the continental boot,
marvelling at the genius of the road builder, Thomas Bain.
Constructed between 1880 and 1890, it was among the last roads built by Bain
( he died in 1893 ) and it is by far the longest of the 24 roads and
mountain passes which bear his mark.
Although not in the same engineering league as his routes over the Swartberg
or Outeniqua ranges, it could be compared to the Tsitsikamma road, which,
incidently, was its inspiration. While the forest road was being completed
in the early 1880's, Bain was already arguing for connection roads to the
east-west highway, which would make it more accessible and valuable to the
rest of the country.
Had I known at the time that I was sipping the Champagne stretch first I
would have savoured it longer. But my map showed the Nuwe Kloof Pass as a
brief squiggle and suggested that mind-boggling loops lay ahead in the
eastern half. In hindsight the Nuwekloof Pass - for its looming
impressiveness - is the most spectacular section of Bain's road, although
not the most intricate engineering feat.
Besides a concrete causeway to keep the road in place during the flash
floods (which have been known to plague the west of the kloof), there was
little other evidence of human intervention. In another sense it was a fine
effort, for Bain's famous 'theodorlite eye' had seen a natural line in the
landscape, which required the least muscle power.
Despite the farming and aided by Cape Nature Conservation's efforts to
expand the Baviaanskloof Wilderness Area (a U-shaped reserve currently
occupying 180 000 hectares), the valley retains a fabulous biodiversity.
It's the meeting place for three major biomes and five veld types and is
home to more than 1,200 plant species, including the rare endemic Willowmore
cedar ( Widdringtonia schwartzii ). Because of its size and durable timber,
the tree was once harvested intensively. Now all that remains are small
clumps of trees hiding in inaccessible ravines and the odd stunted specimen
cowering along the mountaintops, visible only to the trained eye.
Every second bird was a fork-tailed drongo, but there were also nedickys,
plain-backed pipits, rufous-naped larks, brown-hooded kingfishers and more
than enough mousebirds. Numerous baboon families, small herds of kudu and a
lone eland made up the mammalian sightings.
As I travelled east, the Baviaanskloof and Kouga mountains encroached on the
valley ever more closely. The road lashed back and forth among mighty
monuments to tectonic forces. Each bend revealed startling new spectacles of
rough-hewn sculptures in rusty shades of iron oxides leeched from the rock.
I followed the road as it ran steadily upwards, pausing at the top of
Grassneck Pass to admire Scholtzberg in the north and to check its height (
1 626 metres ) on my map, before plunging into the valley of Rooihoek.
The campsite nestles beneath sheer walls of red rock converging at right
angles. There the river swells into a large pool, which I scouted
unsuccessfully for the rare red-finned minnows. I pitched my tent near a
sign, which warned of buffalo and hoped they would have the decency not to
trample me in the night.
Until farmers settled there and shot out most of the game, the valley
contained a wide variety of species. Cape Mountain zebra, red hartebeest,
buffalo and eland have since been added to existing bush pig, klipspringer,
grysbok, grey rhebok, bushbuck, mountain reedbuck and duiker. There is
evidence to suggest brown hyena, African wildcat, Cape fox, black rhino and
blue duiker once lived there.
A Family of baboons serenaded the evening, their barks echoing off the
rocks. This added an eeriness to Rooihoek which was intensified by the
silver-lined clouds crowding in over the mountains.
The following morning was drizzly and cold. I packed my tent and spread out
the soggy flysheet to dry in the back of the Sani before setting off for the
third pass on Bain's road.
In the sense that it's the last opportunity to view the entire valley, the
Holgat Mountain Pass marks the end of the Baviaanskloof. From the top you
get an idea of the extent of the valley's fault line and the enormity of the
forces which buckled and pitted in the earth's crust.
Beyond this last outpost lay a plateau of mountain fynbos before the road
plugged into the Combrinck's Mountain Pass. There evidence of Bain's
ingenuity abounded. He had cut into the sides of the mountains in a series
of daring switchbacks, at times with only a low, dry stonewall to keep the
road from sliding into ravines.
At its foot, Combrinck's Pass snaked into the dense riverine forest,
criss-crossing the convergent forces of the Kouga and the Baviaanskloof
River so often I eventually lost count.
The final squiggle on the map- the Grootriver Poort - followed the incisions
of the Groot River as it sluiced through slabs of grey-speckled Table
mountain Sandstone adorned with acid green and yellow-lichens. I pulled over
to the side to mark the poort on my map.
When pencil scribbles at every twist and turn, the map bore little
resemblance to the cartographer's lyric which had first compelled me to
visit the Baviaanskloof.
By then it had been transformed into something of a crude travelogue. The
thin red line- on close inspection it was actually two fine parallel
capillaries with white between them indicate a gravel road- was still
visible through layers of lead.
If this map was indeed a kind of poem, then it drew its energy from two
wells of inspiration in the Baviaanskloof: time, which shaped rivers and
mountains; and Thomas Bain, without whom there would be no red line
trickling between the mountains. I guess you could say Bain was the
cartographer's muse- and a traveller's one also. "
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Alexandra Brooke. Caravan and Outdoor Life - May 2006. T
Abstract from articles: The Baviaanskloof is growing in popularity in leaps
and bounds as campers exchange neat tar roads and cellphone reception for
red mountain kloofs, wide starry skies, kudu flashing across the road,
quaint campsites and a taste of "back of beyond" country hospitality.
Zandvlakte Estate: Even though this enormous farm doesn't offer camping, I
can't resist mentioning it. For one thing the Krugers are some of the most
hospitable people I've met. For another, on their property lie some
interesting buildings, such as the 1860-odd era schoolmaster's house and
school where Prime Minister J.G.Strijdom learnt his three R's. Both
buildings are now beautifully restored and used as part of the B&B - it's
worth keeping an eye out for them.
And lastly, Pieter and Magriet seem to be a backbone to the community and a
great source of information. So if you decide that this is one holiday that
needs four non-migratory walls, give their B&- hearty- B a try.
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- Words: Dieter Losskarn
Leisure Wheels Issue no. 19: July - Aug - Sept 2002. The dusty road
was built between 1880 and 1890 by South Africa's most famous road engineer,
Thomas Bain. The road stretches between the Elands River and the Grootrivier
valleys, between parallel mountain ranges.
One of South Africa's most impressive wilderness road runs for 120km, inland
from the famous Garden Route in the Eastern Cape. Along the way is the
Baviaanskloof, which epitomises the solitude of the mountains. We went there
with the new Hilux 3.0 KZ - TE 4x4 Raider
The baboons of Baviaanskloof quite obviously lack the cheekiness of their
colleagues at the Cape of Good Hope. While the latter jump onto every bonnet
in search of food, and sometimes leave a smelly reminder of their presence,
the ones here are extremely shy. As soon as they hear the characteristic
diesel sound of the approaching Hilux, they clear off in all directions.
Not surprising. Baviaanskloof is named after them, with baviaan being the
Dutch word for baboon. So plentiful were they that the first settlers
started using the skins from the baboons they shot. The remains of a factory
building bear witness to the macabre leather trade. Today the primates are
protected, but they are still unwilling to trust their almost hairless
relatives.
Between Patensie in the east and Willowmore in the west, nature lovers
taking the 120km of untarred road will find an almost pristine wilderness.
It stretches through the Elands River and Grootrivier valleys, between
parallel mountain ranges. Patensie is the center of fruit growing in the
region and the last chance to fill up the tank and the cooler box before
heading into the Baviaanskloof.
After a short while, the almost 1 800m summit of Cockscomb looms ahead, It
is named after the five jagged crests resembling a rooster's comb.
The dusty road was built between 1880 and 1890 by South Africa's most famous
road engineer, Thomas Bain. Together with his father, Andrew Geddes Bain,
who emigrated from Scotland in 1816, he was responsible for 32 of the most
important road projects in the Cape.
The first part of the Baviaanskloof trip leads straight through the nature
reserve up Combrinck's Pass. It's quite steep and there are some very tight
turns with breathtaking drop-offs and dramatic scenery. The Raider pulls up
effortlessly in second gear, but I'm glad my share of the road is on the
mountain side. If someone comes the other way, there will not be room for
two.
The turbocharged diesel is a jewel in the Hilux range. This engine produces
85 kW at 3 600 r/min and a massive 315Nm of torque at just 2 000 r/min.
The view from the top is almost unbelievable. In the east is the valley we
have just traversed; to the west more and more mountains. Before we climb
down again we pass over Bergplaas plateau, a plain covered with golden
grass, gently moving in the wind. You might see mountain zebras, eland,
bushbuck or kudu. Apart from "zebra crossings", we encountered some slow
moving "speed bumps"- huge mountain tortoises. They can be as big as truck
tyres, and when you approach them, their outraged sigh as they retreat into
their shells even sounds like a flat.
Going down the pass, the slopes are covered in spekboom, aloes, valley
bushveld euphorbia and mountain fynbos, sprinkled with some proteas. Their
bewitching scents permeates the car - aromatherapy for the soul.
There are several fords to cross, most of them paved. Normally there is no
problem, but in heavy downpours parts of the road are often washed away,
Then, a 4x4 or a bakkie with high ground clearance is a must in the
Baviaanskloof.
The first camping opportunity in the centre of the Baviaanskloof is at
Doodsklip, near the river. The name apparently stems from the mysterious
death of some people there, long ago. Towards evening, while we are
put-putting around the densely tree- and shrub covered area, a couple of
baboons disappear into the undergrowth. A mountain tortoise crawls towards
us, its long claws scratching across the sand. Shadows are moving in the
bushes, and pairs of yellow eyes stare out of the semi-darkness. This does
not seem a cosy place.
Only 5km further on, the situation is totally different. There is another
camping ground in open landscape, where the Kruisrivier has created a
natural pool with a white, sandy beach - a picture-book spot. We jump into
the clear water and wash off the dust. A circling fish eagle is our only
company at Rooihoek and appropriately, the setting sun bathes the sheer rock
walls in a warm, red glow.
Shortly after sunrise there is a blood-curdling wake-up call - the
alpha-male of the local baboon clan is greeting the new day. And everybody
seems to answer him. Well, good morning to you all. The high cliffs amplify
the sound, so there is no more sleep.
Sandvlakte farm is the place where we can truly test the Raider's low-range
driving abilities. Owner Pieter Kruger leads us in his 4x4 bakkie along the
steep track, covered in loose gravel and with some very tight turns. Again
there are no complaints from the Hilux, and I must admit that my slight
dislike of diesel bakkies is fading fast. The on-road performance on the N2,
coming from Cape Town, had already been an unexpected pleasure.
Piet and his wife soon realised that the future of their land was not in
seed-growing but in conservation. Protected land with free-roaming animals
lures tourists, so they are constantly restoring the land to its original
state. Game restocking is an ongoing process. The final stage will be a huge
national park, hopefully without fences, where the recently released
disease-free buffalo and the soon-to-be-released rhino will once again roam
free.
Before the road climbs up Grassneck pass there is one more chance fro a
refreshing jump into the river. From the top there are endless views of the
Karoo.
The next part of the journey, on a very well maintained track, allows us to
put the Hilux into fifth gear. Just before the road becomes tar again there
is another little, but nevertheless spectacular, canyon with massive folded
cliffs of red sandstone to traverse. In Willowmore, the Baviaanskloof
adventure finally ends.
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John Simpson
The Baviaanskloof in South Africa's Eastern Cape province is one of the most
beautiful, most diverse valleys on Earth. And it's human legacy is just
exotic.
We represented, said someone, all the fours; four men in their 40's or older
(in my case),driving in a four-by-four through one of the most beautiful
valleys in the world. I've done a lot of this kind of rough riding in my
time, from the Andes to the Hindu Kush; but this drive of ours through the
Baviaanskloof, in South Africa's Eastern Cape province, was grander than
them all.
It was also far richer, in terms of trees and plants and animals and birds,
than anywhere in Europe, Asia or North America. And so the company was of
special value. Johan was a leading medical specialist who knew the
Baviaanskloof and its ethnological and natural history thoroughly. The other
two were art dealers ( Clive in addition, had a keen interest in birdlife),
while Mark's knowledge of botany was encyclopedic.
The Baviaanskloof - the name is a mixture of Old Dutch and Afrikaans, and
means 'ravine of the baboons' - runs for 100 km to the north-west of Port
Elizabeth: a vast cleft in the mountains like an axe-stroke, with dozens of
smaller valleys leading into it. The rivers that have cut their way down
through the tortured strata of ancient reddish rock are swift-flowing and
green emeralds, with beaches of the whitests sand along their edges.
We bumped our way up and down the dirt roads and across the mountain passes,
heading west, with the great peaks above us and the extraordinary fertile
Baviaanskloof itself lying open before us, cloven on either side by smaller
valleys instinct with remarkable vegetation and animal life. Johan promised
us a cave filled with the delicate rock paintings of Bushmen, and we stopped
our vehicle, climbed a little way up into a valley only 30 feet wide, and
found its floor flooded by a clear, cold stream. Johan stepped into the
water.
Soon, as we followed, it deepened to chest height. The valley walls reached
40 feet above us, so it was dark and almost cool here. The ferns grew huge.
Arum lilies stood as tall as men. Little red-finned minnows swam up to
nibble the salt sweat from us. There are around 80 subspecies of them in the
Baviaanskloof streams, each group cut off from the rest and developing
seperately, like Darwin's finches.
Mark pointed: " Water snake!" It was18 inches long. He grabbed it and showed
us its silvery markings, its arrowed-shape, questing head, its nervous,
flickering, harmless tongue.
My notes of the trip are written in a crazily jerky hand that reflected the
terrible road. Often they are little more than an inarticulate list of the
things in the others spotted: sacred ibis, yellow-billed duck,
emerald-spotted wood-doves... There was the extraordinary protea repens, or
Cape sugar bowl, with nectar oozing from its brilliant red and pink head and
the insects fighting each other to get into it; pink spekbooms or bacon
trees, which elephants and rhinos love; blush-green cycads; and strange
nightmarish plants which the Afrikaner farmers call ' half-men' : they stand
six feet tall and hold little arms over their heads.
A troup of great baboons wandered purposefully across and open meadow on
their fists and feet, like early hominids. The air was alive with
mechanical, metallic noise of insects. Sun-beetles clicked like wind-up
toys.
" Those plants over there; they're called buchu."
" Buchu: strange-sounding name."
" All the names here are strange. Just up that way there's a waterfall
called 'Starling's Arse.'
It takes a South African to look at something of such extraordinary beauty
and give it a name like that."
" In Namaqualand there's a plant called Piet's Snot."
" My point exactly."
We came to a large open cave, fitted out as a place for visiting campers to
sleep out, cook, wash. Obsessively, someone had knitted a pink woolly cover
for the lavatory seat. Johan particularly wanted us to see that. It was, he
said, part of the ethnography of the area.
" So's this." Mark had dropped down on one knee and was holding a flat
whiteish stone almost a foot long. " It's a very early Aschulian hand axe,
made by homo erectus."
" How old is it?"
" Well, the edge has gone the same colour as the rest of the stone. That
takes around half a million years."
He set it down again, and we walked away from the half-million-year-old cave
with the knitted loo seat.
South Africa is the most beautiful country I know, bar none; but it's
problems have been as great as those of any nation on earth. And still are,
sometimes. As we drove on through the valley we saw, again and again, heaps
of red bricks by the side of the road. Under apartheid it was decided to
turn the Baviaanskloof into a nature conservancy, free of human beings, and
expel all the people there; both the white farmers and the descendants of
the Khoi people, who were once the area's only inhabitants. Majority rule
arrived, democracy was achieved with extraordinary peace and success - and
yet in the Baviaanskloof, the government machine went on knocking down the
houses and driving out the people.
Just before Christmas 2002, the minister in charge, a quiet, thoughtful man
called Vali Musa, ignored the advice of his civil servants and came to the
valley to see things for himself. He stayed with the farmers and listend to
their views and those of the workers. Then he went back to Pretoria and
announced that the entire policy would change; the destruction of houses
would end, and the farmers would be encouraged to farm with greater
ecological purpose. Tourism would be encouraged, though carefully.
That night we stayed in a superb mid-19th-century farmhouse owned by friends
of Johan's. It was beautifully furnished, with yellow-wood floors and
charming Victorian embellishments. We ate our way through a pile of steak
and local boerewors, while the insects sang deafeningly. Over the whisky we
had brought we talked about the previous owners of the farm. The tone
quickly turned philosophical; the Baviaanskloof always seemed to have this
effect on us.
" In fact, you know, this kind of land owns itself."
" Exactly. You don't tame it. You live here for a while, but you never own
it."
" Maybe it owns you."
For once I said nothing. I was thinking of the Bushmen paintings and the
Aschulian hand axe and the heaps of brick dust and the change in the
government policy. Ultimately, only the Baviaanskloof endures.
John Simpson is the BBC's world affairs editor.
Simpsons' World can be seen on BBC World, in the BBC's 24-hour international
news and information channel, broadcast in 200 countries and territories
wordlwide
(www.bbcworld.com), and on selected British Airways flights.
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Mary Yates.
LEISURE, November 6, 1993.
The
Introduction to the Baviaanskloof
" The Baviaanskloof? Yes, I think I've heard of it - but where exactly is
it? " Those could well have been the first questions you asked when
inquiring about this wild and rugged wilderness area, not far from Port
Elizabeth. Perhaps after that, because of its name, you wondered about the
baboons ( bavianen ). Were there really that many for the area to have been
given this name?
There would have been, as still today it is a stronghold for these tough and
adaptable creatures, whose range in South Africa covers practically
everywhere but for the desert areas.
The name baviaans ( baboons) was incorporated into the river along the floor
of the kloof (Baviaansriver) as well the long mountain chain on the northern
side of the valley (Baviaanskloofberge).
The earliest observation of a baboon in this country was made by an
Englishman, Sir James Lancaster, who went ashore at the Cape in August,
1591, over 400 years ago, and wrote: ..." here also are a great store of
overgrown monkeys....."
In brief references other travelers also indicated having seen them. An
entree in the Van Riebeeck settlement journal in 1652 made a note of baboons
as being big and horrible to look at". Two years later in the same journal
was a further mention of one of these animals "found dead on the mountain".
" It was as big as a small calf, having distinct hands and feet like a human
being, with long arms and hands, very hairy and dark grey in colour. Our men
ate it, so hungry were they, for the green do not permit nourishment."
Early visitors to the country were uncertain what the animals was that they
were seeing, first naming them monkeys, bush manikins, ourangh-outanghs and
apes, later being followed with different renditions of the word baboon -
babions. baboons, babowns, babious, bawians and baviaans.
The historian Nienaber believes that the colloquial name of "chacma " had a
Khoikhoi ( "Hottentot" ) origin evolving from the word choachamma or choa
kamma.
Although, when equated with humans, these primates can sometimes be rather
amusing in their actions and antics, they are not exactly popular when they
constantly raid mealie and pumpkin farmlands and steal other tasty morsels
meant for market and the family.
It is understandable that farmers want to seek revenge when, time after
time, their crops are damaged and raided or their stock killed and eaten by
these marauding pests.
Under normal conditions baboons would be found in mountainous rocky krantzes
peacefully foraging in family parties, searching under stones and in cracks
for insects, beetles and scorpions, also eating indigenous bulbs and fruit
and not usually preying on domestic stock or being any real cause for
annoyance.
In the Baviaanskloof the Divisional Council at one time paid out five
shillings bounty apiece for these oft-times troublesome animals, on
production of a set of tail and skin from the top of the skull - which had
the ears attached.
Over the years the farming people in the Baviaanskloof have had a few other
opportunities to make money out of the baboons and were probably very glad
to do so. Here was the chance to get even!
At the height of the research into the heart transplant operations at Groote
Schuur baboons had a value of 6s ( or 60c) each. They were caught live in
the area and taken to Cape Town by hospital staff to carry out experiments.
Going back to much earlier days in the kloof, the value of a baboon was seen
only as a provider of life's necessities when shoes, aprons, braces,
rucksacks, and handbags were all made in the valley from the skins of these
animals.
From recent research it seems as though shoes were most prized of all these
items and baboon was well known as being the softest of all different
leathers which, furthermore, wore particularly well.
In 1991 an elderly woman at Kleinpoort in the Baviaanskloof said she had
worn such shoes as a child. This footwear was even "exported" from the
valley and taken a few miles down the road to Willowmore, and was not sold
only in the few kloof shops.
It would be interesting to know whether any of these items are still around
today. To treat the baboon pelts, the indigenous shrubby tree looibas
(Colpoon compressum) was used as the lye in their preparation. This special
chemical property of Colpoon has long been recognised.
Some of the oldest residence still living in the area recall collecting and
chopping up stems of this small tree and putting them into sacks to be used
for the tanning process. Today the exact ingredient and quantities of the
solution are unknown by the locals.
To a lesser degree the bark of the common soetdoring ( Acacia karroo) was
also used for this purpose. This bark makes a good red dye, whereas,
according to Eve Palmer in her book Trees of Southern Africa, a yellow
colour is obtained from looibas.
Baboons have a high level of internal fat, the potential of which was
noticed and exploited long ago by people living in the valley. This fat
formed the basis of their boereseep. Was this fat also used for
candle-making perhaps?
Mature male baboons weigh up to 40 kg, more than double the mass of the
females, which average only 17 kg. There is quite a wide spectrum in hair
coloration too. This relates to age, sex, and also to the area where the
animals lives.
Baboons have many years to hone their wile and cunning as they are reported
to live for about 45 years. These animals are quite vocals as they roam
around in search of food and a " Bokkum!" alarm barked from somewhere soon
advertise their presence when they have seen you in the mountains.
An early author once wrote: " They hooted us.....," which quite well
describes their gruff call. The youngsters, too, are always squealing and
squeaking when being admonished by the troop adults.
Fortunately for the baboons, which have made their home in the
Baviaanskloof, they enjoy the safety protection today. Luck is now with them
- they will not end their lives as shoes or soap or any other household
commodity!
An early author once wrote: " They hooted us.....," which quite well
describes their gruff call. The youngsters, too, are always squealing and
squeaking when being admonished by the troop adults.
Fortunately for the baboons, which have made their home in the
Baviaanskloof, they enjoy the safety protection today. Luck is now with them
- they will not end their lives as shoes or soap or any other household
commodity!
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- Andrew Unsworth
The Baviaanskloof offers a treasure house of varied landscapes. ANDREW
UNSWORTH and photographer MICHAEL WALKER took the trip
We deliberately left the most exciting project of our Explorer week for
last: travelling the length of the Baviaanskloof in the Eastern Cape.
As one does when travelling, we asked locals in Willowmore about the
condition of the road and the best time to do it. People spoke in awe of
this place, its beauty and its toughness. Far longer and rougher than the
Sani Pass, said some: if you go over the edge they'll just leave you there
because it's too remote. Don't go in after noon, they added, unless you plan
to stay at one of the few B&Bs or campsites along the way, because you won't
be able to drive it in the dark.
Baviaanskloof is more than a pass, it's a whole series of them with
intervening valleys, and it contains, in the words of T V Bulpin, some of
the finest and most unspoilt scenery in South Africa.
The distance from Willowmore in the Karoo to Patensie at the head of the
Gamtoos River Valley in the more verdant Eastern Cape is just 170km. As
predicted, it took us a good six hours. Inevitably you stop to open gates on
the road, but also to drink water from streams or to just look, admire and
take pictures, but you can never travel at speed, for the road which starts
out as a conventional country gravel one ends up as little more than a rocky
two-wheeled track with little between you and eternity. At times you are
reduced to a crawl, making, at best, one kilometre in five minutes.
It would be possible for an ordinary vehicle to do this trip, and we saw two
on the way, as well as bikers, but it is not to be recommended without a
4x4, although that feature on our Landcruiser never even had to be used. In
wet weather it would be a very different story.
Turning off the main WillowmoreUniondale road, the R332 quickly takes to the
hills, where the occasional farm boasts ostriches and sheep, but they soon
give way to more dramatic landscapes as the kloof closes in with massive
folded cliffs of red sandstone.
You follow the course of the Baviaans River, which runs its rocky and sandy
bed back and forth under and across the road - most of the fords are
concreted but deeper in the valley they are not.
The landscape changes constantly from the pelargonium and spekboomrich upper
reaches to the cold and damp forested valleys where dew clings to ferns all
day as the winter sun hides behind cliffs. Here yellowwoods, wild figs and
white stinkwoods keep their roots in damp soil and their heads in the sun.
There is no one spot which you can define as the crest of a Baviaanskloof
pass, but there are a few where the road climbs up the shady side of a
mountain clad with protea bushes, to take you to an exposed corner with
spectacular views of mountains to the east and west, or to a flat
mountaintop where grass and fynbos stretch out like a velvety carpet.
Eventually the road starts to find more signs of human habitation with the
occasional farm and settlement, and then the orange orchards which tell you
you're back in civilization.
Baviaanskloof is probably best done from the west as we did it because the
road is better at that end and you can always turn back if it defeats you.
Also, it has an almost spiritual quality to the landscape as you enter
through looming and contoured cliffs only to be led to majestic heights and
back into gloomy vales.
In the end you emerge into a more tranquil and tamed landscape, but the
experience of Baviaanskloof will be indelibly etched on your memory. This is
the type of place that could have inspired a Bunyan, a Wordsworth or even a
Mozart to write a tale of spiritual discovery: for the rest of us it is
simply a magical part of South Africa.
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- Willem Pretorius
The only way to describe this area is to take the Sani and Bloukrans passes,
join them together plus a bit of scenery and feeling from the Tsitsikama and
Kruger Park en you have the Baviaanskloof route.
We stayed at Prince Albert at my Mother's, and did Swartberg pass and part
of the Gamkaskloof.
Then the best part arrived. I had to take my son to Jeffreys Bay. We left
early and went through Meiringspoort to Oudtshoorn, and via the Outeniqua
pass to George.
We then decided to take the more interesting route to Knysna via Karatara
and Barrington. This old road has seven passes through plantations and
natural bush ending at the lagoon just before Knysna. Due to the quiet
exhaust we often surprised Bushbuck and Duikers going around the bends.
The Traffic in Knysna was extremely hectic and chaotic, with traffic
officers shouting out at people over loud speakers mounted on their
vehicles. (What a joke!) This would not be my ideal holiday destination. It
is like Hillbrow at the end of the month. We managed to get out alive and
then took the road to the Bloukrans Pass and Paradise Beach.
After dropping my son at Jeffreys Bay, I left for the Sandvlakte Guest Farm
in the Baviaanskloof. The beautiful scenic route with hills and valleys goes
via Humansdorp, Hankey and Patensie. This area is also the "Fruit and Veggy
Pantry" for Port Elizabeth. It would be a good idea to fill up at Patensie.
Just north of Patensie, the tar road ends and the mountains and valleys
welcome you. This road goes through Uniondale and Willowmore. The road
surface is not smooth and plenty of gravel, rocks, sand and pebbles are
encountered in specific sections of the 170 km stretch. It is, however,
perfect in the flat sections. On the other hand, the passes are a totally
different story! In some places it looks as if the sandstone was just
smoothed out somewhat.
Because of the out of the ordinary surfaces, it is advisable to take it easy
and enjoy the trip and scenery. If you are a nature lover this is largely
untouched area, and is the third-largest conservation area in South Africa.
( A Botanist and Geologists' delight.
The road crosses a river about forty times and cement "floors" guarentee
safe crossing, and the water is mostly not very deep (± 10 cm ). There are
however three places where there were no "floors", and you have to cross the
rocky river bed at about piston depth for about 30 metres.
It is best to phone Pieter and Magriet at Sandvlakte to as about the level
of water before attempting this route. ( Booking is essential - tel 049
8391002 ) I am glad I traveled from South to North on this route, because
the more difficult section was in the south before getting to Sandvlakte.
There I got rid of all my wet clothing and enjoyed a five star meal.
The only way to describe this area is to take the Sani and Bloukrans passes,
join them together, a bit of the scenery, the feeling from the Tsitsikamma
and Kruger Park and you have the Baviaanskloof route.
There are warning signs Beware of buffalo". I am glad I didn't encounter
them, but did have a close call with a cobra. The gradient on the pass are
steep and I used first and second gear going up and down to prevent
blistering the brakes.
Going out of the area a Varadero with a pillion rider passed me, going in
the opposite direction.
I also met Paul and Philna, two cyclists travelling from P.E. through to
Uniondale and back. They promptly wanted to "swap" their two mountain bikes
for one GS (what a bargain!)
There is so much to see on this route, and seeing the BM's would appear to
be the only bikers going down Gamkaskloof ( according to a previous article
), I suggest that this Baviaanskloof tour is another "BM" MUST!
Willem Pretorius
(051) 5229817 (h)
(051) 4053552 (w)
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- Wren Mast - Ingle
The coals of log fire ebbed and waned in various shades of red as the flames
licked around them. The glow reflected dully off the faces of my two
companions fading into a bush-lined blackness almost immediately behind
them. The tented camp Thai Gee nestles in the foothills of Kouga Mountain
range 7kms outside the quaint village of Patensie – the centre of the
thriving citrus industry there.
We were at the ‘gateway’ to Baviaans Kloof and each of our party consisting
of myself, Peter Lewis and photographer Alex Lima, could not contain our
excitement which was fuelled by the geniality of our hosts Kobus and Estelle
Kok as we discussed the route that lay ahead.
The 120kms of gravel road built by the intrepid pioneer Thomas Baine some
125 years ago, stretches from Patensie to Willowmore. It is a ribbon running
between the imposing Kouga and Baviaanskloof mountain ranges to the north of
the Eastern Cape’s Garden Route. In part, our eagerness to experience this
pristine wilderness was tempered by anxiety about the state of the road as
we had two All-Wheel Drive Subaru vehicles – the Outback and its more urbane
cousin, the Legacy. We knew we would not have any trouble with the former,
but the Legacy is designed for tarred road comfort and does not have the
clearance.
Nevertheless we were determined and had planned to travel through the kloof
in a day with a view to making it a holiday trip at the later stage. So
after a hearty dawn breakfast we negotiated the 2km ‘pathway’ back to the
main road and headed off the tar that heralds the start of a journey into
the world of yesteryear.
Any excursion into this wilderness other than transit requires a permit,
which can be obtained at the offices sited around where the tar ends. The
careful observer will soon see a mountain to the right with the profile of
Queen Victoria. We took our time travelling up Combrinck’s Pass with its
steep, tight turns, more to enjoy the spectacular scenery rather than the
state of the road.
The road levels off across the Bergplaas plateau, a plain with great game
watching potential. We found signs all along the route indicating tourist
attractions, camping sites and guesthouses, all with quaint names wrested
from history.
We now started to descend towards Doodsklip in the valley below and about
the centre point of Baviaanskloof and we lost all interest in the scenery
trying to handle the road which now resembled a rocky, waterless riverbed.
We later learned that rain had washed all the soil from the Southern slopes,
(And as I am hopeless at compass references - the ones on the Willowmore
side of the mountains when you are travelling from Patensie) leaving a
surface of rocky protuberances.
The vehicles averaged around 5kmp/h and at the bottom it was a case of
re-arranging the riverbed to get across. Here unbelievably, we met a man and
his wife on a motorbike and after swopping road condition information, we
went in separate directions.
A feature of this journey is the river crossings which mostly have a water
depth of less than 10cms. I lost count but it is somewhere around 20.
Fortunately these crossings are over concrete surfaces laid to facilitate
easier going.
The beauty of this wilderness though surpasses words and has to be
experienced. Rooihoek, Elandsvlak, Apieskloof, signs passed in the climb
once again to Grasnekpas…another platform on the outskirts of heaven. After
descending from this pass with rain now falling and some five hours of
travelling, the roads became relatively better. The vehicles were checked
through the Baviaankloof Wilderness Gate and we set our sights on
Zandvlakte, a guesthouse of not inconsiderable repute.
Unfortunately, the Legacy sprung a leak in its radiator due to a Subaru
characteristic that when water covers the fans, they a pushed forward and
clobber the radiator. The journey proceed in spurts from river to river and
we filled the offending car part and made a dash to the next watering hole.
Then disaster. Just a kilometre after a refill, we encounted a wide crossing
and while deciding on how to go forward, watched as the river level visible
rose. A cloudburst upstream had sent down a flood of water. We dashed back
on the trail but were cut off that end too.
A tally of our reserves – a bottle of beetroot, a jar of quail eggs, a jar a
Jalapeno chillies and water – preceeded a long night in the vehicles. At
dawn, the raging torrent had subsided sufficiently for us to cross and
thankfully the Zandvlakte Guest House loomed large and beckoning just a
couple of kilometres down the road.
We had to park the cars and walk through a donga that had appeared during
the cloudburst that resulted in the guesthouse being flooded but despite
this, Magriet Kruger had a pan on the stove and a hearty ‘boere’ breakfast
on the go before we had even sat down. The Legacy was left in safe keeping
and we continued on our way in the Outback. I have made a vow, I will never
pass that way again without a stopover at Zandvlakte.
Pieter was full of tales regarding the rich history of the farm where he now
concentrates on conservation and although not having stayed there, a guided
tour persuaded me that it is one of the highlights of visiting
Baviaanskloof. One of his interesting comments was that scant attention is
paid to looking after the road to discourage visitors. “This area is a
heritage of our country and it should be accessible to everyone.”
Zandvlakte farm is the place where we can truly test the Raider's low-range
driving abilities. Owner Pieter Kruger leads us in his 4x4 bakkie along the
steep track, covered in loose gravel and with some very tight turns. Piet
and his wife soon realised that the future of their land was not in
seed-growing but in conservation. Protected land with free-roaming animals
lures tourists, so they are constantly restoring the land to its original
state. Game restocking is an ongoing process. The final stage will be a huge
national park, hopefully without fences, where the recently released
disease-free buffalo and the soon-to-be-released rhino will once again roam
free.
The road from Zandvlakte to Willowmore is a breeze compared to what we came
through and has a scenery very different but eye-catching in its own right.
The next part of the journey, on a very well maintained track, allows us to
put the Hilux into fifth gear. Just before the road becomes tar again there
is another little, but nevertheless spectacular, canyon with massive folded
cliffs of red sandstone to traverse.
So we made it! You can ask any number of people in the Eastern Cape about
whether they think you can get through in your vehicle and you will have
just as many different answers. Let me tell you as a non-offroading
enthusiast…it is tough. Nevertheless it is not an experience to be missed.
The vehicles we saw on the road ranged from VWs to X5s (and of course the
motorbike). The trick is to drive slowly enough, a prerequisite anyway for
enjoyment of the kloof. Be prepared if you are not in a four-wheel drive
vehicle to get stuck and know how to get help – you may also have to move a
few rocks to help you get across a couple of the rifts.
In Willowmore, the Baviaanskloof adventure finally ends.
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February 6th, 2005 - Sunday Times: WEEKEND GETAWAY- Paul Ash
It was all TV Bulpin’s fault. Without Bulpin, I might never have bothered
with the Baviaanskloof. It would have remained as lost to me as it seems to
be to most other South Africans, even those who consider themselves
well-travelled.
A 1986 edition of Bulpin’s Discovering South Africa has been bouncing around
on my dashboard for years. Printed in successive editions since 1970, the
book is the essential guide to the backcountry. If there’s a dodgy road
going nowhere, Bulpin probably did it.
So it seemed a decent idea to take a detour on the way down to Jeffrey’s Bay
and go via the Baviaanskloof. The road through the kloof, the R332, is after
all, a provincial road, linking Willowmore with Patensie.
But Bulpin — how could I forget, I’ve been here before — is notoriously
understated on the subject of the Baviaanskloof road: “For the traveller
exploring Southern Africa, this road, rough in places, with steep gradients
and incessant curves, provides an exciting drive through 171km of rugged,
coloured sandstone mountains and ravines.”
Indeed. I got really excited when, having stopped for a break to cool our
feet in the headwaters of the Baviaanskloof River, Fiona said to me:
“Strange of you not to check the tyres before we left Willowmore. Look how
flat that one is.”
I got to the car just in time to hear the last air hiss out of the tyre into
the warm morning. We had been on the road for less than an hour. Ahead lay
the Baviaanskloof proper, where the road falls into consecutive ravines from
which it attempts to escape over high mountain passes. A prudent motorist
would have swapped tyres and gone back to Willowmore. For one thing, we had
neither a tubeless tyre repair kit, nor a compressor to inflate tyres. I
mean, we were driving an SUV, dammit. How hard could it be? Anyway, turning
back didn’t fit in with our plans: it was midday and we had a dinner date in
Cape St Francis that evening.
Much later would I remember the wide eyes of the girl who served us G&Ts at
The Willow guest house in Willowmore the night before. Her eyes grew big and
round when we told her we were going to drive through the kloof the next
day. “Sjoe, it’s beautiful, but the road ...” I swear her hands shook. At
the time I thought it was the weight of the immense doubles that were
softening the tail-end of a long day on the road. I ignored my disquiet and
sat down to a nicely grilled ostrich steak with sweet potatoes and roast
pumpkin, the kind of food it’s worth driving a few hundred miles to eat.
The Willow is a fine stopover on the road to the southern Cape coast.
Originally the pastorie, it later had an extra floor added and some time
later became a guest house. The architecture is pure Karoo — wooden floors
that creak in the night, and a tin roof with delicious curves. The balcony
looks out over the road to a brace of typical Karoodorp houses. There are
cottages out back but you really want to stay in the main house with its
huge, high-ceilinged rooms and old Cape furniture.
Willowmore itself is one of the nicer towns in the Karoo. Bulpin says it
grew up around a tennis court built on part of the farm Willow, owned by
William Moore. A church followed, then a magistrate. Much later, the railway
arrived from Oudtshoorn.
The general decline in South African farming means that the town isn’t as
prosperous as it used to be, but it remains the western jumping-off point
for the Baviaanskloof.
Owner Deon van der Merwe has been there for many years. His pub is full of
the assorted debris that tends to accumulate on backcountry bars worldwide,
in this case old rifles dating back to the South African War, road signs,
ties left behind by passing reps, a number-plate from a steam locomotive.
More startling is the collection of framed black-and white photographs that
hang in the passage outside the dining room. One shows the grisly aftermath
of the first fatal aeroplane crash at Willowmore. Rubberneckers stare at the
body of a young woman lying next to the crumpled wreck. In another, faces
from the past stare up from the benches in an early session of Parliament,
Verwoerd at the end of one row, and a young PW Botha in the back.
We walked the house dog — a jovial Labrador named Penny — through the
streets at sunset. In between preventing the dog from killing the town’s
cats, we ambled through the wide streets, checking out the old Karoo houses
and wondering if this would be a good place to buy one.
Van der Merwe clearly thinks so. He's bought three — including a gem for
R12000. Some still have the original yellowood floors.
We headed off after a good farm breakfast. The road into the Baviaanskloof
is seductive. It drapes itself lusciously over the foothills of the
Baviaanskloof mountains, sucking you into its embrace. The road shares the
same defile into the mountains as the Baviaanskloof River. Even up here,
water was still trickling over the rocks, a thin ribbon of green in the
dryness around us.
After the first puncture, I took it easy. I still reckoned we would be out
of the other side by late afternoon. By midday, we were at Sandvlakte, just
west of where the Baviaanskloof Wilderness Area proper begins.
“Hey, what’s that sound?” I shouted to Fi. She leaned out of her window.
“Stopstopstop! It’s flat.”
There is no other feeling in the world quite like the chill that settled
around my heart when I realised we were 100km from the nearest tar road, our
spare was now spreading its useless folds off the rim and there was zero
chance of self-rescue. And it was Sunday. We limped on to Piet and Magriet
Kruger’s farm at Sandvlakte. Piet looked at our tyres and shrugged. “We’ll
make a plan,” he said. “Have you eaten?”
The Krugers have farmed in the kloof for 25 years. As the farming life
becomes tougher to sustain, they have turned to tourism, hoping that it will
allow them to reverse the tide in the kloof. They have a popular B&B and run
horse trails into the mountains. Magriet also maintains a website that helps
generate business for other operators.
On the day we arrived Piet took us into the hills above the farm to help his
daughter collect plants for a survey. From a few hundred feet up, the valley
looks austere, lying in the foot of the Baviaanskloof Mountains. There is
water here but not as much as there used to be and this has become the
Kruger’s mission.
“If you don’t respect the land it’ll kick you off,” says Piet. He knows that
the only chance for the Baviaanskloof is if the river is restored. A century
of intensive farming has sucked the life out of it and farmers have to drill
deeper and deeper to find water.
“It’ll take 40 years to do,” he says, “but it is vital.”
In the morning, I was still asleep when Piet fixed our tyres. After another
massive breakfast, we were on the road again. “How long to Patensie?” I
asked him.
“Ag, about five hours .. . if you go quickly.” And for a while we did, until
we passed a large red sign at the entrance of the wilderness: “Oppas —
Buffels.” Beyond the sign, a track wound off into the hills, bush smells and
dust drifted into the car.
“Slow down,” said Fi. So we did.
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