Storms River

Before leaving Willowmore I drove to Steytlerville, another typical Karoo dorpie and came back via the "scenic" route close to the Baviaansberg on some fairly horrendous roads - I pity the farmers in the area.  It started out with cattle grids separating farms but as the road became a track, it was do it yourself gate opening, which very quickly loses it's charm.  On one such occasion though, I happened upon this pretty little daisy bush, which appears to be a felicia of some ilk.

Though the roads were not great, the scenery was..........

............and at another gate stop I found these two.  The grunting and crashing of shells was quite something - made me more than a little jealous.  Speaking of which on my last weekend in Willowmore a fellow pitched up in a bakkie and set up a little tent which featured a mattress but no other comforts which made me think he was saving his expenses.  However about an hour later a Golf pulls in and out pops a very pretty lady with a couple of plastic bags, presumably vittels.  Well they disappeared into the tent at around six and I didn't see them again till about nine the next day - I didn't draw any conclusions, as Jo and I used to do pretty much the same thing when we first got together.

A closer view of this weird mountain range.

 Some time ago the water heater in the van stopped working and I decided to investigate.  I checked all the fuses but the one for the 12 V side of things was one of those flat plastic jobs which was the devil to get out.  When I put it back in I managed to bend one of the legs which I straightened, but I failed to notice that charge light had not come on.  It has two systems 12 and 220 V and the lights are all 12V.  About a week later, I was watching TV and the lights went dim.  This was the Friday and I was due to leave on the Sunday and if the battery was dodgy there was no ways I could get the Beast off site as I'd used the movers to position it.  So investigation began anew.  The fuse box is under the dining room seat and when I got to it a red light with "Battery low" printed below was not a good sign.  Pulling the fuse again I checked that it was not blown but when I came to replace it, one of the legs broke off.  Fortunately there was a spare and I got this in without hassle, threw the main switch and was very glad to see dead red and lovely orange charge light.

I seem to recall talking about the road between Avontuur and Knysna and as there was no way I was going to attempt it with 1 700 kg of Beast behind me the choice was to take the very bouncy road almost back to J Bay or detour through George.  Either way was going to take me 100 k's out of my way, but time is not an issue.  I decided on the N9 to George and just before the town (which is now probably big enough to be a city) is the Bloukrans Pass over the Outeniqua Mountains.

From one of the view sites you are able to look down on Montagu Pass, another of Thomas Bain's (incorrectly spelt previously) works of art

And so to Storms River, eat your hearts out.

My first night there I was very excited as it appeared that the sun set directly into the sea, which is only supposed to happen on the west coast.  A bank of low cloud actually hid the truth and it wasn't until my last night that the enigma was solved.

That little peninsula is actually Robberg in Plettenberg Bay.

Soon after I arrived some gents pitched and started putting up a structure that looked like a race starting or finishing gate with big signs for The Otter.  A visit to Google and the answer was a race over the entire 42 km Otter Trail - normally done over 4 days.  Seems you just need to come up with a way of making people suffer and they'll pay you shitloads of money for the privilege.  A lot of religions have realised this too.  There were actually two races one on the Thursday and another on Saturday and I was there for the first.  I was awoken just after 4 am by an idiot with a mike, and just after 5 these twits set off.  Half an hour later the heavens opened and 44 mm (from the radio) made their day even better.

I've seen trees and bushes weighed down by fruit but these Psoralea affinis (I stand to be corrected) bushes were almost bent double.

 When it Tsitsikamma it's compulsory to visit the Big Tree, which the Yanks will probably scoff at as it's a mere 1000 years old (not sure how they know but the leaflet very confidently states that it started growing in 1013), 37 m high and has an 8.5 m trunk circumference.

The Storms River mouth is another must do, especially after a downpour as all the streams were gushing.

There's a suspension bridge across the river at the mouth and if you're really energetic you can climb the hill on the right to a lookout deck on the top - I wasn't that energetic.

There is a circular path involving a couple more bridges and one of them passes an undercut that explodes with each wave.  To the right of this was a tiny cove that had a minute "beach" consisting of round pebbles and when the wave ebbed it sounded like an avalanche.

Another obligatory stop is the Bloukrans Bungee where people a lot braver than me willingly jump off the bridge, which is over 200 m above the river.  They don't quite do a face plant in the water but they looked to be a good two-thirds of the way down when they stopped bouncing.  Very slick operation and though I tried several times to get a pic of a jumper they were always too quick.  In the car park, guys were building a new rope which involved a lot of stretching and winding.  I asked how often they change it and was surprised by the answer of 400 jumps.  They can manage up to a 1000 but for safety's sake............

On my last morning I walked the waterfall trail but ran out of time before reaching it.  On the return leg I heard a warbler that was not familiar and guessed it might be Victorin's.  Robert's confirmed it and in response to the call out popped a little fellow whose acquaintance I'd last made in 1995 - almost as good as a lifer.  It was extremely obliging and sat quietly in full sun until I took out the camera.

Escaping the crush

As school holidays were almost upon me I did an overnight trip to Willowmore in the Karoo as it's caravan park was highly recommended on a website I use.  Getting there involved driving along the R62 to Uniondale through a valley flanked by the impressive Sikammaberg - I think.

Near Willowmore one comes to the other end of the Baviansberg which starts just outside PE over 200 km away.

I over-nighted in the delightful Willow Historical Hotel which lived up to it's name with artifacts from two Boer and two World Wars.  The village itself was typically Karoo with quaint cottages, huge NG Kerk and a two donkey power "karretjie" to take you sightseeing.  A more apt name I felt would be Willowless as there certainly isn't a lot of it.  But it is amazingly clean and mostly still works, but a lot of empty houses and closed shops attest to a definite drain of one population group.  The caravan park right behind the City Hall was as promised in good shape with only 8 sites and each with a dedicated shower and toilet, so I booked for the week of the school holidays and was assured that I would be the only one there other than incidentals.

The only problem with Willowmore is that there are no fewer than 3 mountain ranges between it and the sea and rather than go around I decided to go over, via the only road available between Avontuur and Knysna, which, though dirt, was surprisingly good for the most part.  It involved mountain passes constructed by the brilliant Thomas Baines that displayed his signature stone walls......

.........and liberal use of rivers.......

...........to get over this lot....................

...........and finally back to the green and fertile Gamtoos Valley with the Beast sitting in splendid isolation in an almost deserted park.  Didn't last though as I was only moving on the Saturday after schools closed so by Friday evening it was back to half full - or half empty depending on your personality.

The return trip to Willowmore took a lot longer as the R62 is not the smoothest in the world and had me down to 60 kph in places for fear of breaking the Beast.  When I did arrive I'd been allocated the most private site around the corner behind the ablution block and next to a very reedy river, which proved very popular with the birds, but then the was the CLOCK. This was affixed to the tower of the recently renovated Stadsaal, the aforementioned City Hall, and rapidly became the bane of my life.  Not only did it ding-dong once for the first quarter, twice for the half and three times for the three quarter hour,but it went and did it four times on the hour before erupting into the hour chimes with a bigger and louder clang.  It drove me to drink, well more than usual - it was the only way to get some sleep.

But the wonderful herby smell of the Karoo and the flowers made up for it.  It was obvious where rain had fallen..........

.......Drosanthenum I believe, with petals that actually reflect the sun.......

.............swathes of Gazanias..................

...........and minute Gentians with flowers only about 15 mm in diameter.

It was also great to catch up with all the Karoo birds and relearn the calls as the loss of brain cells caused by the excess alcohol had taken it's toll.  At one stage I heard something that sounded familiar but was unsure what was making the noise, so out comes the trusty (well mostly anyway) Robert's app.  Well when I played the Karoo Prinia call, this little guy went absolutely ape - actually felt quite bad as he was still going off when I came back about half an hour later.

As atlassing was the order of the day I needed to find water and Baker's Dam which supplies the town was the obvious place to start.  When I got there it was a perfect summer's day and with not another soul around I just had to go au naturelle and work on an all-over tan at the same time.  Have had experience of this on the nudie beach on the south coast of course.  All was well until I decided to try and get through the tangle of Acacia karoo (see picture above) that lined the river leading into the dam. When I finally emerged it looked as if I'd gone 10 rounds with a caracal and I thought I was going to bleed to death.

I was out early one morning and heard the distinctive call of the Karoo Korhaan which sounds just like they are saying their name in a croaky voice.  They also contrive to do an antiphonal duet (drop that at the next cocktail party) where one birds' call is immediately answered by it's mate.  When I located them there were two pairs and it looked like either a territorial or sexual confrontation, with much posturing and shouting by the males - typical.

Also spent time atlassing in pentads that had only ever had one card submitted, which when you go on to the SABAP website changes their background colour from yellow to brown - quite exciting really - well I've got a lot of time on my hands and you do get to see panoramas like this.

And this.

The tourism dudes have to try and convince people to come and spend and one large board proclaims that "This is mohair country".  That got me thinking that if mohair comes from one of these shouldn't they be called a Mo?  Which led to the even more ludicrous conclusion that their offspring would the be a "half a mo" - as I said too much time on my hands.  Would think that's about all you can stomach for now.