Lesotho – Sehlabathebe National Park – Spring Part 4

We were up and about ten minutes before the alarm clanged shrilly. We switched the kettle on, and by six thirty, we had our coffee, rusks, and our latest obsession open on our phones: Blossom, a word game. It was a perfect morning. There was a gentle swell on the water, a few wispy, cloudy strands in the sky and a whisper of a breeze on my face when I opened the sliding doors and drew the curtains aside.
By ten to eight, we were inching our way to the front of the bundled queue to set off on our Saturday morning ritual, the Park Run/Walk at Groeneweide. All around us, participants were dressed in splashes of pink to honour Breast Cancer Awareness Day. Survivors had flowers in their hair, stiff pink tutus over their shorts, and one lady sported bejewelled wings. We did a selfie.

I was determined to improve my time, focus on my footsteps, and not be in the 42nd percentile of my age group. My smart watch was counting down when the starter’s whistle shrieked sharply at 8 o’clock on the dot, and we were off. I gave Butch a cursory wave, no time for niceties. Today was the day.

We were making good time, weaving through the throng and passing the slower walkers, while the runners were already out of sight, puffing up the hill.

Keeping to the left of the path, I huffed up the slight incline, wishing I’d stretched (next time I vowed, knowing I won’t, I never do.) a few feet ahead of me, a gentleman my age was putting his best foot forward, but this was competitive me. I increased my stride, my right foot was out to overtake him, when out of nowhere, he dropped like a stone in front of me.
He didn’t crumple, he didn’t stumble or trip up, nor did he put an arm out to balance himself or to break his fall; he didn’t gasp or exclaim, nor did he show signs of pain. He went down like a domino. BOOM. He was quite literally lights out. His switch flipped.
Within a nanosecond, he was lying face down in the sand. My right foot had just touched the sandy path beside him. His face was embedded in the thick white sand. I realised he was breathing, only because the small crystals of sand and a short blade of grass danced under the right nostril. His eyelashes were flecked with sand, and his lips were glossed with white sand. There was a deathly silence hanging like a cloud. I didn’t want sand in his airways, I thought and bent down. He was so quiet.
Around us, I sensed walkers were glancing at him, continuing their walk. I heard children running ahead, laughing, and mothers were encouraging their kids to speed things up. Someone coughed, a smoker maybe.
With the help of another walker, we gently turned him onto his back. I. Did. Not. Know. What. To. Do. Besides making him more comfortable and holding his hand. His skin was dry, smooth, silky and warm, like mine; he had a few sunspots dotted on his hand. He was so small, vulnerable and frail. If I could, I would’ve put his hand on my cheek, but instead, I just held it for a little while; he needed the warmth and a human touch. I think we both did.
Fortunately, within a few very long minutes, he opened his eyes and asked, “What happened?” Just like that. As if the lights had been switched on again. No splutter, cough or sign of discomfort.
A small crowd had gathered by now, and I straightened up and moved off. And that, I reminded myself, is how short my life could be.
My watch vibrated. “Do you want to stop, pause, or resume?” it asked. Resume. I breathed again. Steadily.

Today, I knew, I couldn’t break my own world speed record, so I decided to take one step at a time. All around me, there were new blooms out, the next cycle of fynbos amongst the seeds and dry stalks from last week’s flush.
The passage through a tunnel of overhanging trees felt like a warm cocoon.


I stopped to photograph the flowers, and I allowed slower walkers, runners and kids to pass me. I enjoyed the view, stopped to snap a picture of the cattle grazing for Liam, and ended up putting my foot into a puddle of muddy water instead of taking a running leap over the mess. My socks and shoes would dry, I told myself. My feet squelched in my Salomons.






At the end of the walk, while I waited for Butch to walk in I heard someone say, “What a way to go. That’s how I’d like to go. On a walk.” Fortunately, we spotted the ambulance on our way out—a good sign.


I am not ready for all that yet. Like my daredevil friend Hannes always said, slouched in his bright yellow Jeep deck chair, in Stillbay, “I hope I have another 17 good summers Buurvrou.” Me too, and I pray the chap in front of me has at least another 17 good summers ahead to complete his walks.
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Lesotho
How privileged were we to be there? Quietly experiencing spring in a remote national park on our African continent. The landscape, reminiscent of what I’ve always imagined Scotland to be, was a sight to behold.






Rolling hills, heather, grasses, whipped up clouds, and a particular peaty odour and dampness that I associate with that part of the world. It was a scene that inspired awe and left me breathless.






The park is also home to a diverse range of flora and fauna, including rare species such as the Maloti minnow and the bearded vulture. I could be wrong, of course. Please don’t burst my bubble.






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The Sehlabathebe National Park (Sesotho: Pitso ea sechaba sa Sehlabathebe) is not just a natural wonder, but a place deeply rooted in the cultural heritage of the region. It is a sacred site for the local Basotho people, who believe that the spirits of their ancestors reside in the park’s unique rock formations—located in the Maloti Mountains in Qacha’s Nek District and part of the Maloti-Drakensberg World Heritage Site.






The park was first established on 8 May 1969. Since then, it has been recognised for its importance in terms of biological diversity and cultural heritage, making it a place of great significance for the local community. Grasslands of various types dominate the landscape. The larger ecosystem functions provide freshwater to Lesotho, South Africa and Namibia.





The park’s name, “Sehlabathebe,” translates to “The Shield of the Plateau” in Sesotho, reflecting its expansive highland terrain.


The landscape is characterised by rolling grasslands, sandstone formations, rock arches, and numerous pools and wetlands.

Notable features include the Tsoelikane Waterfall, the park’s largest waterfall, and the “Three Bushmen” or “Devil’s Knuckles” mountains, which provide stunning vistas.
We will hike, walk, sit, enjoy our drinks and snacks and take photographs. These unique features of the park are sure to pique our interest and make us eager to explore this natural wonderland.

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Environment
The park is a designated wilderness area and is sparsely inhabited by stock farmers who graze their livestock in the park.

We had hardly parked the Honey Badger when a rider on his small, hardy Basotho pony arrived.


The friendliest chap, who proceeded to show us how he could balance, standing on his constant companion’s back, gracefully.

Dressed in his traditional Lesotho blanket wrapped around his shoulders for warmth, he kept us amused. He told us his cellphone was one of his treasured possessions and demonstrated its many uses. We stood transfixed.




Only later did we realise we’d parked on his well-trodden path and would see him every morning and evening as he trekked to tend his herd and at night to return home.

As soon as the sun dipped, the weather turned, and it became bitterly cold. I nipped out to capture the magnificent sunset but only managed two photographs and dashed back to the warmth of our Honey Badger. The sun echoed our mistrust of the weather and quickly dipped behind the mountains.



Soon after supper, we agreed it was time to retire, which was surprising because my beloved is never cold and always reminds me how he had to dress according to his Mother’s weather barometer as a child.

He couldn’t wait to get under the covers of my crochet blanket! As warm as bugs in a rug, we were ready to tackle a Lesotho winter’s night.
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We were to wildcamp; there is no formal campsite. We chose a spot next to an abandoned homestead built in the 1970s, where there was a level parking space. There were no facilities, and we would make do with whatever was around when Butch made a fire for our barbecue. We didn’t mind and found the building to be a good windbreak at least.


We experienced Lesotho’s chilly spring mornings the next day when we set off for our morning hike and wrapped up, layering to keep warm but also to strip off as the day warmed up. It would be a perfect day. No wind.

Much of the landscape consists of cliffs, waterfalls, pools, rock dwellings and rock art. The Tsoelikane waterfall is the biggest in the park.





We read about a total of 65 rock art sites that have been identified in the area, as well as other forms of previous habitation.

The park contains habitats supporting a range of Afro-Alpine and Sub-Alpine plants, mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians and fish. The site hosts 23 per cent of the plant species in the whole Maluti Drakensberg area. Some of the park’s species are endangered, including three vertebrates: the Maluti redfin, an endangered species of fish, the Cape Vulture and the bearded vulture.



The Sehlabathebe water lily is an endangered aquatic plant.

A large noticeboard highlighted the lily, “Wetlands and their associated plant types are a significant feature of Sehlabathebe National Park. High altitude rock pools are home to the Sehlabathebe lily(Aponogeton ranunculiflorus), which is found nowhere else in the world. The lily is on the IUCN red list, which means that the plant is threatened, and the number of plants in the world is declining. The lily is well-protected within the borders of the park.”


I would be on a mission to find the lily, and I did—two flowering plants, a magnificent, short-stemmed yellow lily. And one bulb is just sprouting a young, green leaf amongst dead stalks in a pond. I was thrilled.
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Recognition
The Park was added to the UNESCO World Heritage Site, Tentative List on October 8, 2008, in the Mixed (Cultural + Natural) category. Sehlabathebe is currently run under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Tourism, Environment, and Culture.



The park has also been recognised as an Important Bird Area (IBA) by Birdlife International.
On a few occasions, we spotted the pretty Cape Rock Thrush—a common resident throughout Lesotho, the east coast and parts of the West Coast of the Cape Province. The bird book says “ Locally common resident in rocky areas, favouring steep hillsides and ravines in grassland and heaths. Some birds leave high elevations in winter.”

Some of the plant species we saw were Watsonia Socium, Spiral Aloe (Aloe Polyphylla), Lion’s Spoor, Euphorbia Clavarioides, Broad-Leafed Poker – Kniphofia Northiae, Berg Agapanthus (Agapanthus Inapertus), Protea Roupelliae, Bruns Vigia Grandiflora, Red Grass, Tree Fern, Mountain Vygie and Protea Dracomontana.











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We were the only visitors in the park. Besides the shepherds, we were alone in this massive piece of heaven until the next morning, when, while hiking, we spotted a white Toyota double-cab bakkie making its way slowly down the mountainside.




At times, we lost sight of the vehicle as it navigated the U bends and turns, but eventually it stopped next to us. Four youngsters in Khaki gear. Emblazoned on the side of the car were the words University of Witwatersrand. They assured us there’d be no trouble and were going to spend the night under the protection of a rock a few hundred meters from our turnoff.




Butch didn’t accompany me on my second walk to see the waterfall, rock pools and caves, where I followed the directions to the Cattle Post and Hiking Route.




Getting close to the cliff face, rock pools and caves was a highlight, and being solo allowed me to scamper further up hills and on rockier paths into more remote areas. The silence was deafening and exhilarating.






I’d sit on a rock and admire my ascent, and admire the progress I'd made while surveying the landscape, and could even, occasionally, spot the Honey Badger, now only a speck in the distance.






It was at the first rock pool that I spotted a white bucket filled with water, and so at every rock pool heading upwards, I saw the same buckets. Intrigued, I followed the path and the buckets until I saw the four students in the distance.




I was determined to catch up, which I did, and asked about the buckets.


They explained that they were post-graduate bio-science students from Wits University, and they had filled the buckets in a circular pattern ascending the plateau. They were now descending where they would take samples of each bucket of water, which had time to settle.

Why? I asked. The answer was flabbergasting. They were testing the water for microplastic contamination.


But that is impossible, I said, this is fresh water from mountain streams. Virgin water, one could say. “Indeed”, they answered. That, in a nutshell, is how polluted the earth’s water is. Scary.


According to the New York Times, Millennials and Gen X demand an apology from us, the Boomers, and accuse us of causing the degradation of our planet and global warming, rising costs of housing and education and diminishing the “American Dream” because we never considered the effects of our industrialisation and inventions after WW2.





Standing here, at the highest point in Southern Africa, I have to agree we never considered the impact of microplastics, did we?




Like Kalashnikov, the AK-47 inventor, would Alexander Parkes, creator of the first plastic, Parkesine, in 1862, using cellulose (almost a century before the Boomers), regret his invention? I think so, I am ashamed, as I slip my picnic sandwich out of my convenient Ziploc bag, and this magnificent blue planet gets hotter.

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After a thorough investigation of the park, we decided to head south. On one of the slopes, we spotted a small group of deer, hard to identify from a distance.


We took a leisurely drive back to the immaculate highway with hardly any traffic, bar a handful of shepherds and their goats and sheep, the odd rider on his pony and a few pedestrians.






From my lofty position in the Honey Badger, I was able to survey the early morning colours of the grasses in the golden hour, which cast a completely different light on this landscape.










Before leaving the park, we stopped at the reception office, where we paid for our stay and perused the items on display.






This open road offered more stunning views, small villages, interesting rondawels, tilled and ploughed fields ready for planting as we made our way to our next destination. Lesotho still enamoured us.









We were back in the district of Qacha's Neck. The road wound up and down and around, snaking towards our destination.














And then Quthing, where the landscape started resembling the Eastern Cape Karoo.







The last stretch for the day was through Mohale’s Hoek.





“I will cut adrift – I will sit on pavements and drink coffee – I will dream; I will take my mind out of its iron cage and let it swim – this fine October.” – Virginia Woolf.

I will live and observe more closely, be more attentive, seek out the silent spaces between the noise, and notice the tiny surprises all around me. I apologise for the havoc we, the boomers (a dying generation), have caused. I am sorry. Our children and grandchildren do not deserve any of it.
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