Ahh… Trees… The light breeze cooling as it moves down, off the mountain slopes, across the big lilly ponds & through the deep shade.
Nyati's parked in the "Pine Forest Holiday Resort" situated in the middle of a beautiful residential suburb of Ceres.

For the first time in MONTHS there was no distant horizon shimmering in a heat haze.

Ceres was literally a breath of fresh air.

I thoroughly enjoyed everything about the Karoo, the Kalahari, the high, dry sheep country, but my whole being welcomed this change in enviroment. We're lower now, denser air, nice big trees, beautifully manicured gardens.
Every breath brings the mixed scent of so many flowers… not dust.

Nyati's designed & built for the wild side… I LOVE it too, but oh Man, it's nice to be able lay back in the arms of suburbia occasionally.
Especially such a nice, NEAT, green & safe one like this.

Nyati's taken a hammering from the shocking roads we've used.
The fuel & water tank repairs're holding up well, but it's time for a thorough mechanical service, a change of oil, of all filters, oil, fuel, air, & a general "tightening up" of everything.
The radiator's been shaken so hard, it's broken off its mountings, the fixing brackets too…
Maybe the tyre pressure's been too high.
Difficult to know, but we're embarrassed about the bits of fencing wire holding the thing in place.

Apart from that, & the covering of dust inside, of course, the truck's in very good shape.

So anticipation of the next few weeks of nice tar roads, gently taking us downhill to the coast & the mechanical work shops of Cape Town, is high.
Like for a holiday.

It's peak "Whale watching" time in Hermanus, & the back roads down through the mountains & winelands, via Worcester & Villiersdorp, look inviting.

Okay, so it's going to be the rugger Semi-finals watched at Hermanus.

GO BOKKE.

www.rv-nyati.com

It's been a life changing couple of months exploring this misnomer, the bad-land, this high, dry country.

The Kalahari & Karoo have thrilled my senses & captured my imagination on so many levels. 

Most farms are completely self sufficient… No "Eskom", certainly no "Regional water supply", cell phone coverage's patchy at best.  They can't "Pop up to the shop", delivery of anything's out of the question, medical too.
So they're very self reliant people.

Loners. A little distant.

To me, it appears that everyone & everything's living "on the edge" there, resulting in a serious "push back" culture.
Don't talk… Just do.

Lets not even start on what it takes to survive Summer… Or Winter.
I've tried to visit in between the extremes, but MAN it's been BLOODY HOT out in the open.

I'm now sure that unless you're born to it, that life would destroy the strongest of us.

Here's the thing… Everyone I was privileged to meet & speak to, loves living there.
They're generally quiet, humble & self-assured but very well grounded.
They're an integral part of the nature of the place. They know where they've come from & they're not going anywhere.
There's nothing transient about any of them. These people arn't given to flitting about. Generations of them've been born, lived & died in isolation, on those same farms.
Lately there've been life changing developments in solar energy, battery technology, communications & of course DSTV.
I think of the children being born into the Internet age, in the Kalahari, like soon to arrive, little Adam Bekker on Ka Kolk… What does life hold in store for him & his sister  ?
Will they have families of their own on Ka Kolk  ?
Will Johann leave a "Jackal free" enterprise to them, or will Adam ride the scorching range with his trackers… Just like his Pa, Oupa & theirs before them  ?

Whatever the future holds, it will be determined by their decisions & actions, theirs alone.
There're no handouts & no safety nets given or expected here.

Adios dry country.

Nyati's leaving the Tankwa Karoo now, down through the Swartruggens & Witteberge mountain ranges into milder climes.

www.rv-nyati.com

So what do you do when you've got a very bad rep. ?
You rip the ring out of it
That's exactly what Jurg Wapenar's doing.
Sutherland's reckoned to be, by far, the coldest place in the country, & when would you think it was most visited ?
Its bloody busy in the Winter… WTF… ? It's true !!
Jurg's this terrific guy who KNOWS about the night sky. He owns & runs a caravan park, no money in that, BUT, from there he does nightly, yup, packed out, every night, (Except for 3 nights a month… Hee hee,  he might be the "King of the Universe" but Rita, his gorgeous, long suffering wife, told me during an informal tour through her beautiful, private "fairy" garden (not a single indigenous tree in it… Indigenous trees don't do well in Sutherland… Actually they don't survive at all… Non existant. So it's Hawthorns & the like, or nothing)  that she insisted on having 3 nights a month to themselves… Of course, she prevailed)

Jurg's passion's astronomy, his hobby's flying radio controlled planes.
I didn't tell him about my "foray" into that.

He has 5 huge telescopes in very specialised housings, nestling in a simple, informal boma & delivers a wonderful lecture, well it's not a lecture really, he talks to you, the Man's humble,  protected from stupid questions by a deep love for our Universe.
I assume that includes people too.

But EVERY night,  even at  -15c  ? 
"It's even clearer in Winter".

Eish.

So, the bitter cold's not a problem…
It's an opportunity  !!

I like it.

You can't visit Sutherland without visiting the South African Large Telescope (SALT) at the South African Observatory.

Very cool.

Not really that much to see, it's a factual tour.
The astronomers were sleeping of course. Those're nocturnal creatures. (Not to be fed)
This international cooperation cost billions, BUT, if you're keen on a lekker, very kitsch picture of you standing on the moon… This's THE place..

I was… Check it out.

Jurg's pictures, through his telescope with my phone are better, but I still can't see myself… or Buzz.

Yup, it's a nice destination alright.
Sutherland's very clean & welcoming.

There were a bunch of guys from Pretoria riding bicycles from Beaufort West through the Karoo down to the coast,  overnighting at "Sterland" (Jurg's place)
Nice guys…
Young though.
They've still got Mothers & Fathers.

Their next stop was the Tankwa Karoo…

"Oh really  ?   Me too".

Next day…
Surprise… one of them was "not kosher".
Anyway, after initially arranging to ride along in Nyati as far as Tankwa, he, wisely, decided to call it a day & ask Dad to come & rescue him.

How LEKKER… I'm still envious.

I only saw one of them in Tankwa, although I heard that the last arrived safely, around sunset, & they all took off again at sunrise.

So now, here's a situation…
The guy who went home, instead of doing this leg in Nyati, gave their left over booze to me for the survivors to collect in Tankwa.

They didn't…

The Gypsy's already tried to peek into the bag.

Johann, the Kalahari sheep farmer, had told me that he needed about 50 hectares per animal for his sheep to be happy, & that in Tankwa, they worked on 150 hectares to support one  !!
It's a hellova barren place, & people live out here… By choice  ?
I tried to imagine coming home from holidaying in Umhlanga or Kloof & flopping down onto the kitchen stool…
"Ah well, that was nice,  but oh, it's so lekker to be home".

Eish.

Nyati backed into the only natural shade in Tankwa, & prepared for a VERY quiet night in a valley, between mountains.
Did I say how treeless this place is ?

I went up onto Nyati's roof with a pillow & a few cold ones to watch the stars swop places with the sun.
Once it starts, its quick here.
Dramatic.
Red, orange, black. Sudden… Like that.
Quiet too.
The sky's busy… full of stars, satellites, shooting stars & the moon.
It's neap tide. Easy at anchor tonight.

Drifting, dreaming, sliding in & out, constellations burning overhead, staring down, smiling, floating, dribbling……..

Oh shit, it's bloody cold.
Aaaah bugger, stiff neck. (lucky that's all)
Where's that damn ladder ?

www.rv-nyati.com

Okay, so the Karoo National Park hadn't exactly lived up to my expectations. More likely, I hadn't used the facility to its full potential.

Regardless of how or why, the Gypsy took over & had Nyati pointed South, rolling along the dreaded N1, main arterial route between Jo'burg & Cape Town at about 2500 rpm.

"What the hell are we doing " ?
"It's the quickest route to Sutherland… look at the GPS".
"Fuck the N1, & fuck the GPS, We'll turn right at the next turn & follow the sun, its going West through the wild Karoo. Lets see what's happening in "Merweville".
"But, but, but".
"But, but what" ?
"The mountains".
"Fuck the mountains".

Oh yeah, it's no wonder I didn't really enjoy the Karoo National in this frame of mind.

Instant gratification.
"See ? I've never been wrong before,  & here I am… Right again".

As soon as we left the N1, the gravel road took us, winding through gorgeous, portrait quality, Karoo landscapes. Uncluttered, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Young mountains right & left.

"Well-being" settled over me & driving Nyati became pleasurable again.

The well modulated voice out of the GPS
finally stopped whinging about "re-calculating" & "make a U turn at the next possible opportunity"… Just as well, it was getting irritating.

Then there was Merweville…

I wonder just who the hell he was.
How did he get people to follow… & stay.
They built a church of course, & a causeway across the bottom of the dried up riverbed leading to the isolated farmsteads in the "Kareeberge" mountain range.

"These GPS's are fucking useless… I'm not turning around".

The door to the Municipal Office was slightly ajar, just enough for inquisitive employees to peer out at Nyati.

"Djaa Maneeer, Sutherland… Djaa you kan, on the plaas trrack, BUT you have to krross the MOUNTAIN".

"Oh shit".
"Told you".
"Shuddup".

Back across the causeway & up to the first farm gate,  closed but not locked.
A polite, (it was in Afrikaans, it had to have been polite) reminder to close the hek because of sheep. Well the painting looked something like a heavy sheep.

Hanibal must have felt like this, but he only had elephants.
I had Nyati.

As we drove along the dirt track, between gates & cattle grids, the Kareeberge range loomed large, like a young Everest.

Nyati seemed to gather momentum.
Using power through the lower gears in high ratio,  I thought I heard the chant, "What's the point in going, if you're not going all the way ?  What's the point in going, if you're not going all the way" ?

And, UP we went.

The track was ominously devoid of recent tyre marks & perilously narrow… You know, sort of bakkie width… sort of.
Nyati didn't miss a beat.
I normally never use 1st (crawler) gear,  but this Mother was VERY steep, so, still in high range, keeping the revs between 1800 & 2200,  we walked up & up that mountain track.
Some of the bends were "marginal".
This was no time for buggering about. Attempting to stop, reverse & improve the angle… Too steep for that.
Nope, Nyati's firestone's managed some first time road widening as we went.

Somewhere, I've read that in Asia, these're called "Mountain trucks".
Well, I can understand why.
Provided you keep all 4 wheels on the road & don't rev the shit out of them, they simply keep going regardless of the load, road, distance or incline.

15 gates later, I was more tired than Nyati was, & remember, Nyati's carrying about a ton over the official rating for a 911 like this.

I LOVE this truck.

Anyone who's hiked in the Natal Drakensberg will know the exultation of cresting that final ridge & looking back down the path to where the effort started… It was like that.

Just before Sutherland, the farm track joins the road again.(The LAST gate) There I stopped & spoke to a farmer who told me that the road's used by the locals mostly but many an overambitious visitor has had to unload their trailers or bakkie to negotiate the last section.
I just nodded, knowingly… "Thank you Nyati my hero".

What a great day…

Before leaving Kloof, I was asked how long I would be away.
I answered that, "I wasn't counting how many times I took a breath.
I was counting how many times my breath was taken away."

Today, I lost count.

And, yes, I DID close every gate, but I hadn't the nerve to fire up the GPS again… Have they got a residual memory,  I wonder ?

www.rv-nyati.com

Ha ha… What do you expect  ?
Nice & early the Eurotrash packed up & left on their big bus, taking every toilet roll in Spitskop with them… Mosquito repellent too…  Eish… Shame on them.

The Bokke won, the English made history, & I prepared to leave Upington & the Kalahari, making a run for the Karoo.

This country, & the tough people living in it, has made a lasting impression on me.
I’m a coastal, low altitude, sub-tropical boy,  this… this’s another world.
A hard, brutal world of incredible beauty &  contrasts, that previously, I was only ever aware of on the TV weather reports.
I don’t know if anyone, not born to it, could survive out here, away from the towns, I mean.
I don’t think I could.
But, Wow,  what an awesome place.

If this trip doesn’t go any further than here, it will have been worth the effort.
The Kalahari’s huge, its exciting, its humbling & Nyati’s only travelled a small part of it, but it’s woken something in me.

I felt that, like at sea, God’s hand is close here. It has to be, you’re not going to survive otherwise.
Then again, perhaps with so few souls per square kilometre,  you get more attention.

Nyati’s back tracking to Kiemos now.
Whenever we leave somewhere I’ve started to grow accustomed to, I’m aware of a build-up of inner tension.
Maybe it’s apprehension,  maybe anticipation…
It’s strong today.

Kiemos’s a serious blast from the past. It’s like being “a bit pregnant”… It’s kinda touristy, but not.
Stuck in time, some would say.
These quaint shops, houses & people are LIKE THIS. I didn’t see ANY tourists… Except me.

But then.

“Oh hell”… Nyati’s started making rude rattling noises… Funny how noises have different levels of scaryness all of their own.
This was a bloody loud one, but tinny in texture.  Tinny noises are not usually serious in the “terminal” sense.  Exhaust brackets & loose inspection covers make tinny sounds.

Nevertheless Nyati was telling me something. So hop to it.

“Stop, get underneath, get down & dirty. Find the problem before it becomes serious & bites us in the arse”.

I always listen to Nyati.

“Ah… This’s nice,  cool in Nyati’s shade, soft in the sandy road edge… Bloody oily though”… Hope, pray, LOOK.
Aha… I KNEW it… The clutch inspection cover’d come loose.
No problem to replace the two little missing bolts from out of “the second drawer down”. But, there’s a lot of oil drips here that weren’t here before.
Eish, bolts loose wherever I look.

So, Okay,  I’m not a mechanic,  but hell Man it was cool (in at least two senses of the word) under there.
My tension eased with every bolt I tightened, Nyati stopped the dreaded drip, & I felt bloody good about the prospects of getting to Cape Town before giving Nyati a serious mechanical service.
Nyati knew I was doing my part.

The sign said, “Kalahari Waters”.
A contradiction in terms, like “Virgin Active”
The place made me play the old Beatles music, yellow submarine, lucy in the sky, stuff like that.
Retro, & genuinely FAR OUT Man.
I signed in for an overnighter, & stayed until the beer ran out, four days later.
Like, so bloody cool Man.
Kalahari waters was a backpackers delight in the middle of a vineyard…
Check out the dormitory on the back of the old truck.
The Gypsy wanted to stay.
Zoe would say, it was “Epic”.

From Keimoes, (Sorry, badly misspelt in the previous blog) Nyati headed towards Kenhardt along the R27.

I just couldn't imagine what it's like here, in Kenhardt, during the Winter, especially when the wind's blowing.

There's sand.
Sand roads, sand pavements & sand gardens.
The houses are simple, neat, unpretentious, standing with their feet together. Complete & painted, facia & barge boards picked out in, mostly, green or blue, shutters matching.

I've seen so many paintings & sketches of scenes like this.  I never understood why anyone would bother with such a mundane, utility, subject…
Ah, but I do now.
In reality, it's spectacular in its simplicity.

We stopped behind "De Oude Herberg Country Lodge". I reversed Nyati into the shade of one of the few thorn trees in Kenhardt to get relief from the afternoon sun…
Linda, who runs the place, said in Summer, it's often 52c in the shade here, & at least 10c hotter out in the open…
Why why why  ?

From the moment I heard about the SKA… Square Kilometre Array, I've been fascinated by the concept.
So it's no coincidence that Nyati's route would include a visit to Carnarvon, the home of "Meerkat", "SKA", call it what you will.
The project's running, it's under construction. What a pity there's no information centre for those interested.
I visited the "support base" just out of town, & spoke to a most enthusiastic secretarial type, who apologetically told me there was absolutely nothing available for the public to view, here, or anywhere.
Most disappointing. I hope their scientific capabilities are better than their public relations are.
Ah hell… I'm still very enthusiastic about this project though… It's a monumental international undertaking, & we're doing it, now.

Along the road to Carnarvon, & further, towards Loxton, the idea that I could be driving through a gigantic art gallery took root in my head & grew on me.

Right & left, there were vistas stretching to infinity.  The Karoo in all its stark beauty, outcrops of rock, ancient mountains & canyons, miles & miles & miles of unaffected nature…
My mind kept slapping a picture frame around them…  Perfection, not a man-made structure in sight.

Here too, the scrub was flowering. 
Not the flashy Namaqualand daisy thing, but brighter than the Kalahari.
A competition of yellow, blue, white, red & purple.
Water too, in the streams & vleis.

Of course, beauty's all in the eye of the beholder… My eyes were watering.
Why hadn't I been here & seen all this before ?

Nyati drove on, down the Molteno pass & into Beaufort West.

www.rv-nyati.com

The 4 empty 20ltr containers lent to me by Johann were left at BLV for collection next time the Bekkers came to town.

They were the last thing I saw as Nyati rolled down the road, away from the security & comraderie of the folk, & bushman, at BLV, towards my latest home from home… Spitskop Game farm campsite.

The Springboks were playing Scotland in the world cup & I needed to get my DSTV working.
Within 5 minutes the little tuner started clicking then squealing… PERFECT ????
Beers're cold…
Braai's ready…
Oh shit… It's only Friday ! !   😮

Never mind, there was an overlander FULL of Italian or Spanish or similar tourists, that had arrived at sunset.
Watching them set up their dozen or so tents, whilst in foul humour, was entertainment enough. 

A friendly family from Montegue came over fascinated by Nyati, &
presented me with a bottle of their locally made Red Muscadel… OhmyGod… Delicious.
Such unexpected generosity.

Writing about it's given me a craving for a glass… "Tiny glasses", she'd said, kindly eyes twinkling…

Have to put this down while I pour one.

Aaaah yes… THAT'S better.

Well, back to that Friday night.
Apart from the usual spectacular desert night sky full of stars, some beautiful, skittish springbok nibbling around the braai, the gift from Montegue & the crasse antics of the Eurotrash… Nothing happened.

www.rv-nyati.com

Game viewing at Kgalagadi, is very different from Kruger, for example.  The sand dunes run in huge parallel ripples, most animals spend their time wandering to & from the water holes in the bottom of the wide valleys.  Cover’s very sparce, so the game shelters under any thorn tree not already taken.

National Parks are using solar technology to pump underground water up, into small concrete pools that are visited all day by thirsty gemsbok, springbok, ostriches, well everything in the park actually. I didn’t see ANY natural water, so they’re doing a great job keeping the park alive.

It’s bloody hot, dusty desert country.  After 2 days, I had had enough, I’d seen lions & after last nights great braai with the “love birds”, I decided to leave Kgalagadi on a high.

Oh hell, it was back to reality with a bang. There was trouble back in Kloof. Our brilliant municipal services had decided to disconnect the electricity supply because “the meter’s not registered” The same meter I’ve been using, billed & paid for, monthly, for the past 15yrs. Useless buggers.  They needed all the usual documentation… AGAIN… NOW.  Luckily I had copies with me.  So I had to get to a computer terminal somewhere to transmit them…

I’d stopped thinking about the leaking tanks… Not a good sign. I HAVE to keep on top of problems like this before they become overwhelming.

What did we do without smartphones & Google?

Very quickly, BLV Sweiswerke website came up & Nyati galloped down the R360 to Upington. The same highway we’d spurned in favour of the Kalahari sand roads, just a week previously.

Hennie Boshoff’s father had started BLV Sweiswerke (welders, for you ignorant English). Hennie was now firmly at the helm & subscribed to the “can do” philosophy on life. This Man could write a book… He’s been around & done more than most, a lot more.

My stomach was in a knot thinking about the weeks we’d spent installing these bloody tanks. They’d been manufactured, pressure tested & built-in, no facility for removal… Ja Mom, I know… An old fool.

Hennie took one look, pulled a policeman’s face, he used to be a policeman, called Sarita & Slang, waved at the tanks & growled, “Jy moet uit trek”.

So, they set too it, as only “Hotnots” can, laughing & swearing, swearing & laughing…  I got a bit twichy when they brought up the oxyacetylene & a bloody great big fork-lift.

But come out, those tanks eventually did.

Repairs would take a while, so after a sundowner braai in the scrap yard using Hennie’s special knotted vine wood, I settled down for a night in the BLV workshop guarded by the worlds biggest, meanest, junkyard killer watchdog, bushman.

Next day, it was done…
Now to put them back…

Oi vay, what a struggle… The language was indescribable,  especially from the delicate Sarita..The fork lift worked valiantly, well they all did, cutting, welding, lifting, lowering, pushing, pulling… Swearing.

But, put them back, they finally did.

There seems to be no limits to the hospitality of the people here.
Hennie put a bakkie at my disposal to run around Upington, so I took the opportunity of having a haircut, refilling a gas cylinder, buying some maps &  groceries.

Rina presented me with a huge tin of wonderful homemade biscuits.
Lynette invited me to park Nyati at her guest house on the West coast when there. Sonja scanned, copied, typed & emailed documents to all points, averting many threatened disasters.

Just like the “Mayfair” family in Bloemfontein, I found it very difficult to leave BLV.

But, leave, I reluctantly did.

If there’s anyone who’s planning a trip to this neck of the woods, as essential as the beer, more so actually, because Hennie’s got stock.
Make a note…
BLV Spieswerkers… Upington…
They can & do fix EVERYTHING…

www.rv-nyati.com

The Kgalagadi lions were a wonderful sight.  Nyati makes a great viewing platform & I settled down to make brunch while savouring the opportunity of being so close to a pride of one the world's top predators.

An hour or so later,  watching their lazy yawning, stretching & general lolling about was having its effect on me.
I had to decide whether to join them & have an afternoon kip, right here, or move on.
I decided to seek out a better vantage point, higher, at one of the picnic spots dotted around the park.

Why why why  ?

The sign said, "STAY ON THE ROAD. SOFT DUNE SAND".

The next sign said, "YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE YOUR VEHICLE ".

Nyati rolled up the hill & onto the turning circle at the top of the sand dune… "Oh yes, this's perfect"… "Oh shit".

The edge of the "hardened" turning circle had crumbled away with the passing of time… Nyati's 10 tons were unforgiving, & as the wheels rolled over the broken edge, the left side simply sank straight down to the diffs, front & back…
Acute angle  ! ! 

"Oops", I thought. "Okay, let's see what low range  can do".

Wheel spin, & Nyati levelled up a bit.

"Fuck", I thought. "Now we've gone through the surface on the drivers side too… Start thinking".

A bit late for that.

It was about 38c outside, more inside. I took a cold bottle of water from the fridge & started to assess the situation.

Nyati was stuck.
Lions were just over the sand dune.
The tyres were pumped up HARD.
Nyati was fully loaded.
There was still diff lock to try.
I had food & water for about 3 months.
& a shovel.

It all pointed to an "out of vehicle" excursion.

Looking around, I couldn't SEE any hungry predators, but I hadn't noticed a big, dominant male under the trees, with those girls, where was THAT bastard  ?

I went up onto Nyati's roof for a better look. Thank God for the astro turf, I could  seriously recce from up here, even in this heat, & THERE he was, far away, on the skyline.
A MAGNIFICENT black maned, tawny BEAST.
I only saw him because he moved, standing up, stretching & slowly moving away across the ridge in the distance.

Lets go… It's now or never… This's NOT going to be done in the dark.

What followed was an hour of frantic work. Digging behind Nyati's wheels & forcing big lumps of broken road under the tyres.
Yes, all 4 wheels were through the hardened surface & buried in the red dust, it wasn't sand, it was dust.
I couldn't stand & sank down to my ankles whilst digging. Not lekker, working on my knees, I kept looking around.

"Where's that big mother" ?

Wondering if this was enough rubble to support Nyati.
There'd only be one go at this.  Well two actually, I hadn't deflated the tyres or unpacked Nyati yet.

Could I call this a "shit storm" ?

69yrs old, road building, shoveling dust from under 10tons of truck, in almost 40c, dodging lions, alone…

That's a SHITSTORM.

Anyway, the lion didn't come back my way, neither did anyone else.
I spoke long & earnestly to Nyati, explaining what was needed.

The diff-lock indicator burned bright & the rev counter held steady at 2500 as I engaged the clutch, fast, careful, not too much spin. This was IT… Go go go…

Oh yeah, Nyati went alright, all 4 wheels churning, it felt like we levitated out of those holes. The rear wheels hung out over the danger zone, but the front wheels dragged Nyati back to safety in the centre of the paving… Hey hey we're Out  ! !

I took an ice cold Hansa from the fridge… I was going to make that braai date tonight afterall.

Driving slowly back to the "Twee Riveeren" campsite I was acutely aware of how this COULD have gone down.

"Nobody said it would be easy".
"Nobody said it would be this hard".

My respect for Nyati's capabilities had grown, but I HAD to take into account that the shear mass of this truck was an "off road" problem. Nyati's not a beach buggy.
I didn't even want to think about mud.

Jacobus & Tracey, that's her on Nyati's roof, were a charming young engaged couple from the Cape who'd invited me to join them for a, last night, clear out the fridge, braai.  Jacobus is a butcher in Piketberg, so the quality of the meat, wine & cooking, goes without saying.
Tracey's a teacher & reminds me so much of Georgina.
I wish them everything of the best for the future.

We had a great evening & I hope to meet up with them on my way along the West coast.

www.rv-nyati.com

Coming out of the desert sand tracks & onto the tarred approach road to the Park gate, I thought I felt Nyati pull in the stomach & puff out the chest a bit.
Hell, I did.
No, we won’t immediately move over to make passing space for the GP registered, headlight flashing range rover trailing a puny “off road special”… Lets see you take THAT to Noenieput… & back.  Hee hee.

It’s times like this, I feel proud to call myself South African.
The Kgalagadi reception staff were terrific.
No fuss, “Ja we’re VERY full, but if you’re prepared to stay at “Twee Riveeren”, without power, we can make a plan”.
“Far out”, I said.
“Say again” ?
They’re very young…. ” Great, that would be wonderful, thank you”.

The Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park gives you access to Botswana if you want…
It’s very cool, but I just wanted to see lion. Here, NOW.
“Bots”. is on a future agenda.

Nyati was on a roll… This was Nyati country Man, move out-of-the-way, we’re coming through. 😉
We drove out of the reception area, past the camping ground & right into a pride of 8 lazy lions. (I was once, officially, a “lion at large” can you believe it ?  But that’s a story for another day)
They lay about a hundred metres off the road, shading themselves…
Oooow, nothing canned here… Wonderful, Man eaters, & well worth the trip…
“Lets get closer”.
“NO”
“Jesus, LIONS, & here I am arguing with myself”

Little did I imagine the SHITSTORM that was coming.

A dishevelled Man, empty handed, standing in the dirt track waving Nyati down. Another one leaning on a trailer full of sheep hitched onto a bakkie older than Nyati, off to one side.

"Don't stop, its an ambush"… The Gypsy.

A quick scan left & right, no-one hidden, a flat right hand wheel on the trailer, the 9mm safety catch clicked off.

Buuuurrrpp… Nyati slowing… Gypsy very uneasy… Me assessing the situation.
What would Johann do  ?
Paranoid thoughts & behaviour… Survival in modern day South Africa.
Perhaps anywhere in the world that there's been a radical change in demographics.

"Remember the Umhlanga incidents, the wonga kid stabbing you with the screwdriver, the other one, the kid with the HUGE gun & the 3rd time, the Rambo knife".
Now the Gypsy was pushing it.

"This's the desert, different etiquette, farm protocol, I'm stopping".

At last Nyati was able to give. Up to now we'd been needful.
It WAS only a flat.  The guy replaced the valve & we used the on board inflation hose  connected into Nyati's braking system… Quick quick, toothless smiles all-round, & the sheep were on their way to an uncertain future.

I couldn't help ruminating over those initial, uncharitable thoughts, & my mind wandered back to to a time that Helen, Adam & I got lost driving in Miami.
I'd stopped to ask a policeman in a black & white for directions. Fortunately, I'd approached the patrol car from the front, because when I got to the window, he'd drawn his weapon. His advice stayed with me… "Follow me to the highway, & don't stop ANYWHERE… It ain't safe".
That was a long time ago.
What's changed ?

Brakedown in Europe, & a service patrol vehicle will arrive in minutes.
In Africa, there's no safety net.

Anyway, we'd done a good turn, & Nyati happily loped along, following the tracks through the sometimes white, sometimes red, Kalahari sand dunes… Destination, Kgalagadi Transfrontier National Park.

www.rv-nyati.com

So, my overnight stay, have a lekker shower, rugby, whisky, braai, hunting stories & great assistance in saving a huge amount of precious diesel, had come to an end.
Johann, Monique & their daughter, not to mention the soon to arrive, new baby Adam, along with the trackers, had brought me back from the edge of despair.

Nyati needed fuel & water tank repairs… But how urgently, really  ? The front tank was holding diesel below the crack line & the rear tank was full. 4 of Johann's jerry cans were stashed inside… We had more fuel than Ka Kolk had sheep.

Ja, sure it was a holiday weekend & Nyati wasn't booked in… So what  ?
Ready or not, Kgalagadi here we come.

Check out the pictures of this dry land.
How does anyone survive out here  ?
Yet survive they do, &, in their own special way, they thrive.

May God bless them all.

www.rv-nyati.com

What's the point of travelling through the Kalahari at 120km/hr on a perfect, pot hole free tarred road  ?  Unless, of course,  you're in a rush.

Nyati wasn't.

At the first possible opportunity, we turned left into the Kalahari, deep desert country. Headed for Noenieput, Koopan Suid, & all points desolate. Here we go again… WOW, wow wow.

Everybody should see this place… Of course, you're going to need a company car to drive it without flinching. The family's new SUV will shake itself to pieces. It's an ancient, tough land with only a scattering of very tough people living out here.

One of those, is Johann Bekker, on the farm "Ka Kolk"… 30km from his nearest neighbour.

Johann & his beautiful wife Monique, took Nyati & me in &  gave us an overnight stop, not to be forgotten.
Another example of the level of hospitality people out here consider normal.
There's simply no way to refuse it without offending. So why would you ?
If only we all had such a strong spiritual grounding.

Watching the Springboks prevail from the comfort of a lounge sofa, whisky in hand, smell of the braai being prepared was wonderful, therapeutic… Aaaah life might be great afterall.

Johann had recently completed almost 58km of electric fencing around his sheep. No, not human poaching, jackals & Caracals.
He reckons he's been loosing 2 or 3 lambs every day to them so IF he can stop them, he'll recover his capital expenditure very quickly.
While we stood around the braai, there was lightning in the distance all around us but no rain.

I told them that I had passed through several kilometres of bloody tricky driving… Deep red mud roads with standing water either side. Actually, Nyati was covered in mud which had dried to a delicate pink. How do you reconcile that with one of the driest periods experienced here in decades  ?
Johann said that the area I had passed through received about 50mm of rain in under an hour, but it was very isolated.

So there we were, sitting under a huge desert sky, the soft Souti & the tough Kalahari farmer gobbling down platefulls of delicious lamb. The very lamb he spends so much time & effort to protect…
It's okay, I'll reconcile that one. "Nog een" ?  "Ja, dankie".

I met two of his bushman trackers. They rode in just before sunset, empty handed, their quarry had escaped into Namibia… Most unusual.
These guys literally follow the animals spore, ride ahead, run them to ground & then smoke or dig them out. It often takes days.
Nights spent sleeping at the burrow or digging… It's never a happy ending for the quarry, unless they emigrate.
When they tell of their hunt, it's all body language. Mesmerising. You're transported there, the man almost shape shifts, he's moving like a Caracal, tired now, fear in the eyes, the end seems enviable, salivating & sly, the cat jumps from rock to rock leaving no trace of spore… Aha, but there, & there, look, tiny traces of spittle. Eish, it goes on & on.
I watched, fascinated, like a child.

I asked how the trackers survived & hunted for so long without supplies… Simply answerd… "They're bushmen".

When I stopped outside "Ka Kolk" my body & soul had been at an all time (in the context of this expedition) low.
Diesel had started dripping out of Nyati's front tank. From a drip, the pounding  we'd taken over these Kalahari "roads" encouraged it to run like a tap…
Nyati was hemorrhaging fuel at a startling rate…
I stopped to see if there was anything to be done. The big 325litre tank had started to split about halfway down a seam… There was simply nothing to do but wait for it to reach the level of the split… About 150litres down tank.
A gut wrenching disaster.
Oh, but that's not all… The other essential in long range desert travel, had, as if in sympathy,  joined the diesel… The centre, stainless steel water tank was unceremoniously squirting its load onto the road… Nyati looked like a goat standing there, frozen in fear, pissing into the sand. So undignified.

"OhmyGod, no, not now,  not now."

"So when then. ? When would be a more natural time for the tanks to leak, than now, here, after hundreds of kilometres of pounding over really bad, corrugated "road". Whatcha expect… angels, miracles"  ?

"Yup, fuck it, we've got 2 fuel tanks & 3 water tanks… So stop moping & get moving"

Sort of like that, you know, tooing & froing in the mind.  Nyati (& I) were in the shit again, & there was absolutely fuck all to be done about it here & now… Yes, gut wrenching.

So finding sanctuary at "Ka Kolk" was a Godsend. Not only did Johann help me decant a lot of fuel, he & Monique gave me the reassurance of companionship.

www.rv-nyati.com

Where to go  ?  Wandering aimlessly now that Augrabie's been reached… The only other "wanna do" anywhere in this area, is to see, visit if possible, the Square kilometre array in the Carnarvon area of the Karoo. Other than that, I simply want to explore this wonderful, alien (to me) land.
"Just GO", says "the Gypsy"
"That's easy for you to say, but I have to turn this bloody big wheel"… Oh my God, now I'm arguing with myself !

NORTH… Kgalagadi, we might not come this way again. 

Okay, Kgalagadi it is,  but via Upington, they'll have number plates there.
My dear departed Mother used to say, often, "There's no fool like an old fool". Whilst at Douglas, I discovered, to my horror, that when Nyati was officially "put back on the road", a new registration number was issued… I hadn't noticed & driven all this way on the original plates… "Yes Mom, I know".

20 Kilometres outside Upington, I thought aliens had landed…across the veld stood a seriously lekker bit of experimental technology… Check out the pic… I'm told that they're magnifying the sunlight (plenty of that around here) to superheat salt (that too) into a liquid, store it in the tower, producing steam, & the end product is electricity fed into the grid… I love it… Cheap electricity I hope… More power to them & to our wonderful, adventurous, robust nation.

Upington on a Friday is bloody busy. Chaos,  but, if its possible, orderly chaos. People appear friendly… I like the place, it's pretty clean & much bigger than I'd ever thought.

The plates appeared quicker than it took to drink a couple of Fanta oranges. So I filled up with diesel, found the main drag out of town & set sail for the Kgalagadi.

A little way along the arrow straight tarred road is "spitskop".A camp site with nothing going for it except location. Perfect, I stopped there for the night.

Dawie & his lovely wife, they're from the Eastern Cape,  told me to just turn around & forget about getting in to the park without a booking ! ! 
Well, they ARE from the Eastern Cape, so I discounted their very well meant advice.
However,  they sounded like genuine, experienced, people, & I decided to indulge myself in a little "off the beaten track" adventure that would, if I made it, get me to the park gate after the unofficial long weekend holiday.

www.rv-nyati.com