Pete and I have just returned home after a last-minute plan to get far from the madding crowds by escaping into the Baviaanskloof. I love the Baviaanskloof because suddenly; after driving (or riding or running), over some obscure mountains, one disappears through a weird portal and is transported to Namibia or the Kalahari without actually leaving the Eastern Cape. I also love this place because of the astounding memories it holds for me: cycling through it on two bizarre missions with our friend Moose, running through it from one side to the other as part of the Indlela Yobuntu Pilgrimmage run from Grahamstown to Knysna (that is another story entirely, deserving of a lot of ink and introducing many astonishing characters). So I get happy about being there before I am even there. And then I get even happier (mostly) when I am actually there.
Anyway, this time we decided to do something different based on some vague sleep deprived memories of Pete’s (from doing Word Champs Kouga Adventure Race in October 2023) and headed first to Ragels River, a spectacular, dramatic camp in the Kouga River Valley. The astonishing rock formation and the steep descent, the coke-colored pools and the grassy banks make this camp site utterly perfect. Its perfection is further enhanced by the fact that there was no one else there, it is dog friendly (we felt very remorseful about Basil) and the water was as warm and silky as a bath. We were in heaven. We found a tiny private beach for swimming and then Pete went off in search of logs. He had received an unbreakable axe for Christmas which rapidly became an important holiday accessory, and an axe wielding theme dominated most evenings (but in a good way). After driving and setting up camp all day we had a rare pass from further missioning and settled down for a post chopping braai (the first of 7 consecutive post chopping braais).
We were up at the crack of dawn to head off on a cycling mission up a mountain (that a Landcruiser had struggled up the day before) in the direction of Nooitgedagt, an obscure village beyond various ranges. As usual we blissfully underestimated the duration and difficulty of the journey. We also under catered. One of the reasons for the mission (other than van Ketsing) was to locate somebody who could give us reliable directions over the peaks to our second campsite at Doringkloof via an unmarked track which Pete had a memory of cycling a year before (from the opposite direction). We found Kobus at Ragels River Farm who looked deeply uncertain about our plans and said he would rather not reassure folk in a 2×4 (albeit with diff lock) to attempt such a crossing alone. Pete was undaunted and set off to find someone called Scheltema who knew the area better and could possibly be found at the large grey house beyond the next pass. Off we went although it was now midday, and we had 3 passes to cycle over on the return journey. Scheltema proved elusive and his staff member (tinkering with an old bakkie) was noncommittal. “Nee, ek sal’ie kan se nie. Nee, ek weet nie waar Scheltema is ‘ie, weet nie wanneer hey t’rug gaan wees etc.” The return journey was epic.
I managed a tiny, furtive reading break as we refueled over lunch before we set off to paddle up the beautiful Kouga River to the ebb and flow.
The next day we leaped up at the crack of dawn, broke camp and headed back to Nooitgedacht (in a vehicle this time) once again in search of the lessor spotted Scheltema. There was a sign on the door explaining that he was in fact only available for consultation from 10.15-10.45 and so we parked a respectable distance away and waited for the allotted time. At 10.14 we were back at his door where we were (this time) met by a harried young mother, holding a brand new infant with a grizzling toddler clutching her leg – suddenly the prolonged absences made perfect sense. We established that Scheltema was in fact heading home from the mountain and that we would encounter him (with a little good fortune) if we kept left after the last house in the village and then proceeded directly over the first peak. Off we set. An hour later we did indeed intercept Scheltema (much more youthful than I imagined) on a narrow rocky track on the edge of a sheer cliff. Undeterred, he slammed into reverse and raced confidently backwards along the track until he maneuvered himself onto a ledge that enabled us to squeeze past him. We had a marvelous chat, established his name was the maiden name of a great, great Dutch grandmother pioneer to the area, memorized instructions to bear left at the loading pen after 3 gates and then head right at the first post-pen gate after which it was difficult to go wrong, were reassured that the road got no worse although the surface would become more rocky and challenging (how? How?) and that we would descend into Doornkloof before nightfall if disaster did not befall us.
In the next 4 hours the most spectacular vistas unfolded – astonishing ranges of rugged mountains, kloofs with tinkling springs meandering along their bottoms, meadows with extraordinarily delicate wild flowers, more rugged peaks, a myriad species of birds, death defying drop offs – the approx. 40km from Nooitgedact to Doornkloof took about 4.5 hours and was the most beautiful drive I have probably ever done. By now it was midafternoon and the temperature had reached the 40’s.
We arrived triumphantly at the gates to the beautiful campsite at Doornkloof 4×4 Bush Camp to be met by (nearly toothless) Tannie Doesie who manages the camp site and its small shop with an iron fist.
Fortunately, she was excessively charmed by Peter (who flirted outrageously with her) and we (he) immediately became her favorite camper(s). To our surprise and alarm the camp was full to capacity and there were a large number of shrieking meisies thirstily guzzling purple alcoholic beverages in the small boiling (and obviously now also bacteria infested) pool directly opposite our site. We momentarily panicked (bearing in mind that we are recluses and had repaired to the Baviaanskloof to escape crowds of holiday makers) before regrouping at the river where we found a life-affirming pool surrounded by wild mint and a number of curious angora goats (with plump and foolishly woolly bottoms). Our equilibrium was immediately restored. Whew.
Because the weather app said it would be 38’ the next day, we leaped up at dawn again in order to get all our missioning in before midday (wishful thinking) and cycled to a kloof a few kms away to explore the Klipspringer Trail. Peter had been talking to his feral friend Hanno Smit (aka Smelly, possibly the least cautious person I know, despite having much competition for this title) and I distinctly overheard him suggest that we pack 10m of rope. I won’t lie – this made me uneasy. Fortunately, the kloof was so utterly spectacular that I soon forgot my rope induced anxiety – making my way up it in such awed astonishment that I ran out of adjectives and exclamations and got a stiff neck from gazing up in wonder at the dramatic cliffs and caves on either side of us. It even rained a few drops ramping up the sensory overload by adding the smell of rain on dry earth.[When we ran the Baviaanskloof my friends Kylie and Raj and I would peer down every kloof we trotted past salivating with excitement at the possibility of getting to explore them one day (impossible with ultra distance days every day for 2 weeks)]. And here I was at last, doing just that!
Wild places like this create an extraordinary sense of perspective reminding me of my own miniscule insignificance and impermanence and instilling, as a result, an extraordinary sense of the peace of wild things. But not for long. When I emerged, slightly dazed, from the overwhelming beauty of the kloof, Pete took advantage of my temporary serenity and the distraction of a lovely tortoise to suggest that we trek over a range of mountains to admire the view of the Karoo plateau visible from the top. He had a vague memory of this view from World Champs and wanted me to also experience it. This seemed like a reasonable idea at the time (although I may not have been paying proper attention) but many hours later, having clawed our way up an ancient ox wagon track in the direction of Steytlerville, and having climbed at least as high as Table Mountain x 2 I had a mini tantrum at the highest point (which had also very recently been in a fire rendering the ambiance more hellish than one would imagine even given the 38’ heat.)
The endless, quad busting descent finally ended, we located our bikes stashed in a clump of pinkly flowering spekboom and I was momentarily stumped when I tried to put on my cycling helmet. It appeared to have shrunk. The only explanation was that our heads had ballooned (much like feet do) in the uncommon heat. The entire experience was set aside for future couple therapy sessions as I rehydrated my parched, sooty and exhausted body in the mint-fringed river pool. My head size slowly returned to normal, little nibbling fishes tickled my tired feet and happiness levels were restored before we made our way back to the camp site for what was by now a comfortingly predictable evening of chopping and braaing…
The swimming pool meisies had been replaced in our absence with a kamp kommandant 4×4 chief who was striding around pelvis first in his snug khaki shorts and two-tone shirt barking military style instructions to a string of meek, admiring disciples. Although I much preferred this to the shrieky meisies with their purple sletsappies, I still found the beautiful site overcrowded and longed to return when it wasn’t peak season. We braved the swimming pool at sunset where we met a Capetonian couple who confessed in a moment of vulnerability that they were introverts who didn’t like summer and were accordingly both startled and perplexed to find themselves in a teeming swimming pool in 38’ making conversation with complete strangers with whom they had nothing in common. It was all very funny and I was buoyed up by schadenfreude.
I woke up at 5am the next morning to get an hour of reading in before setting off on our bikes up the farm road to Doornkloof (the actual kloof with the spring that feeds the farm and campsite). We hoped to locate some rock art and the source of the spring before cycling to another kloof (Varingkloof). We stopped at the farmhouse to meet and have coffee with the fabulous, bubbly veldskoen and hotpants clad Adele (mother of farmer Ruan) who comes to the farm over the season to help with the influx of visitors and admin. Note- Ruan grows Doornkloof’s angora goats, cattle and tobacco. He is 26 years old and in need of a suitable wife – she should be capable, hardy, heat tolerant and like dogs and wild places. I briefly considered applying for the position myself (after the previous day’s climb and because then Adele and I could be besties) having momentarily overestimated my own charm and forgotten that I am exactly 2 x Ruan’s age and both unlikely and unwilling to produce a robust heir. (Please do contact me with a brief CV, a short motivation and a clear photograph if you feel you may be the right person for the job.)
After coffee we reluctantly said goodbye to Adele and headed excitedly up the kloof in search of pools, cedars and rock art. Doornkloof performed. It exceeded all our expectations, provided evidence of a recent kudu visit to our favorite skinny-dipping pool (also surrounded with wild mint), the jewel like flash of colour that was a loerie among the cedars, endless flowering spekboom and towering sandstone cliffs and caves in every direction. We didn’t find rock art but we know it’s there so now we absolutely have to go back.
We explored the rest of the farm on our bikes before locating the next kloof we planned to traverse – once again we were utterly astonished by the drama and beauty hidden in plain sight just a couple of km’s from the main Baviaanskloof road. The only word that adequately describes the sheer scale of it is majestic! We decided immediately that this kloof was the perfect venue for a New Years Eve party for 2 and with Adele’s blessing packed up and moved our tent to the tiny private camp site at the foot of the kloof for the most perfect gourmet braai and an evening in exclusive 5-million-star accommodation (which we shared with a pair of swallows.) Talk about seeing 2025 in with a bang! Best new year ever.
