seeking-wonder, Author at Seeking Wonder

Wide Angle Lens

Jan 10, 2022 | Cederberg, Fly Fishing, Hiking, Overlanding, South Africa

After a few months in which every day seemed to need an extra hour at work, it was time to relax, unwind and do what any sensible person would do – adventure into the wilderness. It is well known that exploration and fly fishing pairs like Land Rovers and oil leaks. So, the mission this time round was again based on a combination of both wanderlust and piscatorial ambition. More specifically, the mysterious Clanwilliam yellowfish was to be targeted in its last stronghold – the vast Cape wildernesses of the Cederberg mountains.

Anyone who makes it a personal goal to catch one of these secretive fish will swiftly learn that it is not exactly Dullstroom-bashing or Vaal-nymphing. In fact, the clannie knowledgebase is underground at best, making the largie cliques look like public school. Those in the know (mostly from the Republic of Cape Town) generally give away working tactics and proven hot-spots in the same way Mrs Ball advertises her secret chutney recipe. It is understandable though, as this species is highly endangered and confined to only a few pools in the Olifants and Doring river systems and their tributaries where bass have not yet decimated it all. What is clear however, is that your homework should be done and you should not be afraid to put in good leg work, find out for yourself, and expect to blank.

Being unclear where to really find these fish, our adventure shaped around exploring different areas, trails, parks and rivers along the way, which made all the difference. By widening your lens angle you will inherently widen your horizon. We widened it to include en-route experiences far outweighing the end destination. A cold beer next to the Orange river watching yellows rise to large caddisflies. An afternoon spent casting nymphs and dries to eager smallmouth yellows, including a proud Simoné’s first smallies and even an unexpected largemouth yellow for good measure! Breakfast shared with two kudus, a scrub hare and a karoo tortoise. Kondensmelkkoffie on the Jeep’s roof near Merweville (no it was not a breakdown, yet). A postcard-worthy sunset across the vast Tankwa-Karoo plains with a lamb potjie doing its thing. A pair of klipspringers protecting their few-weeks old offspring along the rocky valley of the Groot River. Waking up above the clouds among endless rocky mountains in the isolated wilderness areas north of the Algeria forest station. Hearing nothing but a lone rock kestrel’s lament down in the valley.

We put in some hard yards on this trip – exploring, driving, hiking, and fishing wise. The process showed us to appreciate every step of the journey. Don’t expect to catch that clannie. Rather expect to hike 40 km despite your fitness levels being comparable to an obese walrus. Expect to listen to the company-starved tannie’s stories at the Tankwa Padstal. Expect a colony of concubine-posing dassies to laugh at your stealth skills. Expect the inexistence of a flat campsite in the Cederberg wilderness. Expect pot-smoking hippies, families, and happy campers en masse at Beaverlac over December. Expect to trust the locals if they say tomorrow’s day on the Matjies river will be soaked with rain. Expect the Jeep to give a general malfunction light in the middle of nowhere. Expect to be despondent after finding most of the hardly-accessible water filled with exotic fish species and the native species once prolific to this area all but vanished. Expect to wild camp under a magnificent Cedar tree despite most of them having been wiped out from the region in bygone days. Expect to see elusive Cape Leopard tracks and tree claw marks despite them being hunted to near extinction.

And can you even find a clannie at all despite its endangered status? Expect to find hope if you search hard enough.

Small blessings in Mapungubwe

Nov 28, 2021 | Mapungubwe, Mapungubwe, Overlanding, South Africa

The dampened stillness of the veld was punctuated only by the inquisitive sounds of a few Meve’s starlings. They are not commonly found in South Africa, but here in the Mapungubwe National Park they are ubiquitous. As we sit down on the creaky benches in the lonely bird hide overlooking a near-dry waterhole, we are disappointed with the lack of animal activity. Maybe not hot enough in the day yet, or maybe the drought’s toll has been high. Either way, nothing much to see here. We decide to just sit a while and be present – maybe something this way comes.

It had been an interesting weekend here in the very North of the country. We had made the immature decision to drive the 500 km for a quick weekend adventure to explore one of the lesser frequented parks. The Far North has always fascinated us – its wildness, its rugged beauty, its birdlife, its lack of crowds. Here the air seems hotter, the bush quieter and time slower.

We came via Alldays, doing our best to avoid the road remnants whilst driving in the potholes. We did quite well, until we hit that one hole (there is always that one). Our arrival at the entrance gate was duly celebrated by the replacement of the tyre now fit for recycling. The reception office was complete with tired-looking personnel, an even more tired-looking air conditioning system and a dusty award certificate on the wall, still in its plastic wrapping. We were informed that we had to drive around the park to the campsite. Apparently, the road to the campsite had been washed away in the floods. This could have been Noah’s, as there had been a regional drought for some time now.

Booming with recently-inspired optimism, we precariously made our way to the campsite via our old potholed friends. Another damaged tyre would have rendered us dependent on assistance from the foreign overlanding tourists passing this way, and I am not sure if my ego would have survived that. Panting in the modest shade of a dry Mopani shrub, an overheated black-backed jackal finally welcomed us fittingly to Mapungubwe: Place of the Jackal.

Despite the slight hitches, we managed to explore a bit of the park that afternoon – a quiet, hot, dusty Friday afternoon. Arid bushveld landscapes. A lazy giant eagle owl. A lone gemsbok. White-browed sparrow-weavers. Leopard tracks. Colourful swallow-tailed bee-eaters. Curious giraffes. These were only some of the small wonders that slowly reminded us why we had come here in the first place.

We camped under a giant and beautiful nyala tree – an icon of the Tuli area. ‘Careful for the monkeys!’ advised a fellow camper when we arrived. Good advice, it turned out. The chilled gin & tonics and crackling fire relaxed our nerves, while the experimental-yet-fantastic braai pie knocked us out completely. After sharing a night-cap coffee with a soft-spoken genet, we turned in and listened to the nightjars until it all became a haze of serenity.

The next day and a half passed too quickly for our liking. We searched for Pel’s fishing owl along a lush riverine forest drive (maybe next time). A treetop boardwalk gave us a unique vantage point to marvel at the forest edge and its creatures. The high view points over the confluence of the mighty Limpopo and Sashe rivers inspired awe, while the far-reaching horizons over Botswana and Zimbabwe seemed to beckon us closer (coming soon!). Our lunch was shared with pair of chirpy dassievoëls, and I readily provided entertainment to all by running a half-marathon in slops to subdue an unruly wind-caught paper plate. A late afternoon Crème Soda hit the right spot at the main interpretation centre, where we also enjoyed Peter Rich’s world-famous architectural integration of landscape, cultural heritage and imaginative design.

For the umpteenth time, I learned (the hard way) that there is value in proper fuel planning. Very enthusiastic about this seemingly new discovery, we set off to now also explore the road to Musina (note: it is just as filled with potholes). After filling up however, the detour proved to be worthwhile as we were treated with a sundowner drive filled with most magnificent baobab tree landscapes in this far-flung corner of land. Even the car’s warning lights disappeared. To celebrate, Simoné turned up the music and with a wide smile and her head peeking out the open window, I was reminded of how small blessings always matter.

The Sunday morning was a lazy one. I made a slow coffee with the camp bushbuck ewe watching to ensure a quality brew. A plethora of birds were more than interested in our breakfast leftovers, with a crested barbet taking the leading role. The feathered spectacle was rounded off by a special close-up visit of a red-chested cuckoo which, admittedly, we had called closer. It was time to head home.

To squeeze the last bit of adventure from the weekend, we had come here before hitting the road – to the deserted bird hide with seemingly nothing to offer. As my mind still peacefully wanders over the surprising gems we had uncovered over the last two days, Simoné grabs my arm excitedly, my fright startling both of us. From across the dry pan, a huge breeding herd of elephants appear. They enter the arena quickly and soundlessly. At first they seem determined to pass the hide, but the matriarch is clearly on a mission for water, and they turn to what is left of the waterhole right in front of the hide. Our excitement is palpable as the herd silently passes, one by one, within touching distance of us. As each Ellie finds a spot to slake their thirst, we can clearly see every dust-filled wrinkle, hear every grumbly conversation, smell the earthy mix of dust, mud and dung. The white of their intelligent eyes show they are aware of us, but declared us friends. But as quickly as they arrived and finished their sloshy drinks break, as quickly the herd disappears again. On to the feeding grounds closer to the river.

We are left with a sense of exhilaration. They say good things come to those who wait, and better things to those that are patient – it seems more so in a lonely hide in the bush. This special herd showed us again that if you slow down, relax, be patient, and take in the small blessings, you will always in some way be rewarded. As we turn South with the baobab-studded road to Pontddrift disappearing behind us, we know we will be back soon.

A Place of Prosperity

Sep 21, 2021 | Birding, Fly Fishing, Hiking, Lesotho, Lesotho, Overlanding

Khotso, Pula, Nala. The official motto of Lesotho wishes Peace, Rain and Prosperity upon this tiny mountainous country. We had come here in search of adventure, solitude, wild fish (of course) and to find out how fitting their slogan really is. A beautiful pair of Gurney’s Sugarbirds had waved us out of our homeland while we trudged steadily along the treacherous Sani pass, dodging the not-so-4x4s rattling and squeaking downhill. After stamping through the world’s calmest customs, an eery lunar landscape greeted us, complete with chilly wind gusts and gasping high-altitude air. A foamy cappuccino hit the right spot at the very touristy Afri-ski lodge before we continued to set up camp at Oxbow Lodge, nestled snuggly between the rugged mountains next to the upper Malibamatso river.

Following the river course here provides endless opportunity for an off-the-beaten-track mission. Hiking and fishing up the valley, we did not encounter a soul during the whole day. The deafening silence of the mountains was punctuated only by the ubiquitous sound of Lesotho – that of goats and their cowbells high up along the rocky ridges. We raised a few obliging wild rainbows from the chilled river. We swam in the crystal pools, enjoying the sun-basking afterwards almost as much as the water. While lunching on cold braai leftovers we looked upon a pastoral scene of endless mountaintops, tumbling streams and swaying grasses. In that moment, the world seemed content with itself. Khotso.

Despite a few normal African challenges, such as tedious petrol-searching detours, wet firewood by the metric tonne, and navigation with questionable confidence, we arrived on the outskirts of Maloraneng village the next day. The plan was to spend the afternoon fishing the nearby Khubelu river. As with all good plans, it all got swept away with one of the Mountain Kingdom’s famous afternoon showers. Donning a transparent camo-yellow poncho, Simoné did however manage to land her very first river trout that day. Happy days!

A Lesotho trip simply needs to include a visit to the Katse Dam. We made our way there through a series of semi-off-road trails that made the trip all the more memorable. Marvelling at the imposing landscapes, waiting forever for stubborn road-donkeys, and taking roadside breaks to drink scalding coffee laced with sweet condensed milk were only some of the highlights. Following another rained-out fishing stop, we set up camp overlooking the mighty impoundment in all its glory. The setting was truly remarkable, as was the potjie that night, and what was probably our only dry campfire of the whole trip.

Meandering through the countless mountain passes (i.e. all roads) burns enough fuel to quickly come to terms with an important truth of African travel: Fill up wherever you can. Such a truth becomes ever the more profound when one discovers it is embarrassingly tricky to remove one’s own fuel cap. Teething issues of spoilt travellers… Another detour brought us to a hilltop overlooking the Mohale Dam further South. Yet another sudden thunderstorm engulfed us here, with the confines of the Jeep being very welcome amidst the lighting, wild gusts and sweeping sheets of rain. The storm’s aftermath left us a beautifully clear and fresh late afternoon to tease the yellowfish in the Senqunyane valley, with all things cleansed and dripping wet. Pula.

The Maletsunyane river and waterfall formed the last part of our journey. We camped at the tranquil Semonkong lodge and explored the river nearby. It was here that we awoke to profuse mayfly hatches, had sundowners with the local Bald Ibis colony, and tangled with feisty brown trout of above-average proportions and fierce nocturnal hunting habits. We DIYed our own way down to the bottom of the falls – not something for the faint-hearted. Casting a sinking line into the deep mysterious pool surrounded by a thunderous and misty spray, hoping to glimpse one of the fabled monsters that live here, is an experience second to none. With feet dangling in the icy water, we enjoyed a most extravagant streamside lunch of thick marbled steaks and feta-filled butternut. We napped it off with a visiting Piet-my-vrou providing a lullaby from the nearby shrubbery, before braving the climb out.

It is not only the rugged mountain landscapes, remote watercourses and sense of wildness that makes Lesotho special. Its people are warm and friendly, particularly in the rural areas. They work very hard, but will always smile and wave at passing visitors, seemingly content and pleased with the humble piece of land they tend despite the obvious hardships. We also became acquainted with some of the ever-present animals wherever we went. Choppies the bell-ringing sheep, Vlooitjie the pap-eating dog, Dourette the nuisance chicken and Hansie the ganster gansie – we salute you all!

Lesotho is the kind of place that challenges you and keeps its secrets well hidden. Despite its economic challenges, it is richly blessed with the most majestic mountains, a welcoming people, lush green valleys, unspoilt waters, and wild-spawned trophy fish. Prosperity is sometimes all around us if we just take the time to look. Nala.