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West Coast

I'm not driving this road again without a gate opener ! !

Nyati's resting… recovering.
We're licking our wounds on a deserted stretch of beach beside a very docile Atlantic… flat, clean, COLD & crystal clear…
Somewhere North of Malkop baai, but South of the Groenriviersmond.
(I've learned it's called Brand baai)

What a day we've had ! !

Yesterday was spent in Lambert's bay.
I was determined to get a grip on how to load unlimited photographs onto the blog, using the laptop, even if it took all day… It didn't…
Straight off… No Vodacom dongle connection to the interweb… Bummer.
Stay calm, use the clever phone, always connected.
Ah, connected it may be… but it simply WON'T get past the bloody "capcha"…
I cancelled the project & got some washing done instead.

If it's got wheels, tits or a website, it's going to give trouble !!

That was yesterday.
The day before, we left Paternoster to move North.
Except for Stompnuus baai, there's really nothing to mention about this part of the coast.

One thing I DID notice was that ALL of the windswept, treeless, beach front property has been walled or fenced off, with roads & infrastructure for new private estates having already been built.
From Paternoster to beyond St.Helena, you're looking at boards proclaiming the wonders of living here…
Eish… Only a crayfish would.

"Emperors clothes" perhaps ?

So today we ventured forth looking for a "road" that I've been told runs along the beach all the way from Skaapvlei, up to  the Namaqua National Park, & then on to Port Nolloth…

There's a grubby little fishing dorp called Dooring baai… Very isolated.
Could this be the next "Paternoster" ?
They're building a lekker new road here & every few kilometres I spotted a tiny little fellow road user.

Check out the picture… It's one of them boldly exercising his "right of way".
He's also slow… Also travelling with his home on his back… So vulnerable.
A kindred spirit perhaps  ?

I drove even slower after the first one.

The Gypsy's extatic… Hey hey hey, it's there alright, the promised road, but it's only a fishermans sand track really & every few kilometres there's a bloody hek…

Stop, climb down, trudge across to the bloody thing, undo the wire, drag it open, trudge back to Nyati,  climb up,  drive through,  stop, climb down, trudge back to the hek,  are you tired of this yet ? Well then it's… drag it closed, do up the wire, trudge back to Nyati, usually muttering to myself,  climb back up & drive off…

Yes, that's just for ONE bloody gate.
So far, to here, there's been 13 of them…
Ja… EISH's right.

Mmmm… Could THIS be a use for some of those "Ex's" ?  :-))

Then… DISASTER… The track runs in & out, between & over, the sand dunes… Nothing graded, just sand drifts across hardened wheel tracks…Middle manijie.
It's all very very pretty & I wanted a photograph.

Carelessly, I'd stopped in a deep sand trap…

For the second time on this trip Nyati bottomed out & I had to start shoveling sand…
At least this time there were no lions, none that I knew of anyway, & it was cooler in the breeze off the Atlantic…
But this was no joke…
Very deep.

It's a long, dismal story of shoveling sand & packing dried kelp under the wheels, of expletives, lots of them, low ratio gears, diff-lock, deflated tyres & burning clutch &, yes, lots of blood, sweat & tears.
Try, try & bloody try again…

"Don't mention winches, there's nothing to attach 10tons of stressed Nyati to"…

"Don't bother looking around for someone to help… There's no one".

"So just dig some more".

When push comes to shove, that bloody gypsy's really no help at all.

Ja, we got out eventually, only after Steven, a kelp harvester, arrived, out of the blue, on his tractor, a quick pull & Nyati lifted out of the hole… Hallelujah.
Thank you Steven.

This episode did neither my self confidence, nor Nyati's clutch plates, any good at all, except perhaps to remind me of the problems we can have, off road.
I simply MUST be even more careful…
There's a LONG road ahead.

The morning dawned bright & clear & we set off, North bound, with no inkling of the drama this day held in store.

They say insanity's repeatedly doing the same thing, the same way, & expecting a different result… Mmmmm.

Nyati's handling the track well.
With the gearbox still in high range we were holding good speed, great momentum, revs up around 2400…
10 tons rolling fast, living on adrenaline & 50ppm dieseline…

I don't want to go on with the story, you know what's coming.

If Nyati could speak, we would hear that I should have swapped speed for power,  gone down to low range, deflated the tyres again & engaged diff lock.
All BEFORE heading onto an unknown beach track strewn with holes full of branches & dry kelp…
Clear signs of problems others had had.

Ja, well… I didn't.

It was a hellova day, hours of hopeless struggling, digging, kelping, reving…
Nyati gradually sinking deeper & deeper into the sand & me into despair.

Assessment time… Stop snivelling & think…

"AGAIN ?  It's a bit late for that NOW".

1) I could wait for someone to come past & hitch a lift, a bakkie won't manage this pull…It'll HAVE to be a tractor.

2) No sign of recent tyre tracks.

3) It's early, I could walk back to the sand mine about 25Km back. I'll meet anyone driving either way on this track. Steven's near the mine, or try the salt pan we'd passed.

Fuck it… 3… I hate doing nothing, waiting & the Gypsy would get on my nerves, I would just start feeling sorry for myself…
Out here, in my present state of mind, that's not a good idea.

I had a wee…
"Mmmm very dark… Must be getting dehydrated".
So I drank one, & took a couple of extra bottles of water out of the fridge, added "re-hydrate" powder, stuck the 9mm into my belt, put on my hat, spoke long & earnestly to Nyati, & set off… Due South.

"This won't take long".
"I've faced worse than this".
"Soon… I'll be returning, on a tractor… Believe it".
"A perfect day for a nice stroll along the West Coast… Whales broaching… Beautiful".

3 hours later…

"Jesus,  this fucking wind's blowing me backwards "
"Bloody soft sand… One step forward, half a step back".

"I wonder how many of the shipwrecked sailors who walked this same path in the past, made it".

"Old fool… There's nothing like an old fool"…"Could've stayed in Nyati… You can die out here"…

"Yes Mom, I know, but I didn't, & I won't"…

"Oh God, now I'm hallucinating".

Anyway… On & on like that.

I was bloody tired Man… My legs didn't want to move & then I saw them…
A landie & a Toyota… On a lower track.
Wave… Wave…  Nothing… Cruised past.

Despair again… Seagulls circling… Getting lower.

About a half hour further down the track, they suddenly appeared again, heading up towards my route… Ha HA… Saved.

Elation, at last.

Peter & Judy Wilson in the D4D, & their kids in the landie, were on the return leg of their long 3 month trip through Namibia, Zimbabwe, Zambia & Botswana… Heading home to Plett.

I would love to have seen myself through their eyes, because to me, they were wearing halos & wings.

So… Hell, this story's dragging on like a lonely, stranded overlander in the dunes…

Pete & Judy very kindly drove me to the sand mine where I got a most unpleasant reception from the mine manager, who flatly refused any help whatsoever & told me I was trespassing & should get off mine property… Arrogant prick.

To keep it short.
Steven couldn't help… Too far… Too late.

I got a lift to the salt pan with Albertus (Newly arrived camper) &, hooray, the manager, God bless him, agreed to let a couple of his guys (Johannes & Adrian) take a big old John Deere out to Nyati & so, saved my bacon.

It took two hours to get back to Nyati on the John Deere, & was fully dark by the time we were rolling back towards the pan again… This days pulling & struggling over.

Nyati rolled along effortlessly in low range with 4bars in the tyres, lighting the way back to the work shop, where I paid the Manager, (Chris DeBerg's song, "Don't pay the ferryman" had been running through my mind all the way up…how bloody uncharitable) paid the guys too…

So, as Nyati settled back into the relative safety of the informal campsite at Brand bay, I switched off the lights, engine, set the handbrake, pushed it into gear, locked the doors & sitting there, breathing a long sigh of relief, fell into an exhausted sleep, wondering why why why  ?

Then, finally…all's well that ends well… True.

www.rv-nyati.com

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