Rich, Richer, Richtersveld

Writing the Richtersveld story is far beyond my intellectual abilities, and speaking eloquently about this extraordinary place would be an injustice to the reader and to the Richtersveld. Often, knowing less is safer, and the more you know, the more intimidating the subject becomes. I am out of my depth with this blog, and I ask you to forgive my ignorance.

Before I start, I should mention that our Wi-Fi was almost non-existent, so I've added a few photos at the end to give a glimpse of the journey. Africa and Wi-Fi are like an unhappy marriage: together, yet apart, at the table and in bed! Frustrating, but it adds to the adventure. I hope you understand.

I said the following about India: “Every human being needs to go to India at least once in their lives.” There, one learns humility, joy, respect, authenticity, and how to make the most of the life you’ve been dealt with, living it gracefully and with thankfulness.

Regarding the Richtersveld, I would say, “Every human being needs to go to the Richtersveld at least once in their lifetime.” There, one learns about our insignificance, arrogance, and the incredible wonder of this planet we often abuse and take for granted. Our contribution is small, yet our footprint has a tremendous impact. In the Richtersveld, I realised how fragile the earth is. As John Varty said, “We must tread lightly on this earth.”

People have studied the soil, plants, mountain ranges, and plains for decades, but I can’t. It's best to experience it yourself, sooner rather than later. Thankfully, very few will ever have that privilege. If it became a mass tourist destination, the environment's delicate balance could be destroyed.

---oOo---

Our morning rituals were changing. Shorts, T-shirts, and SPF 50 suntan lotion replaced my daily squirt of Amariche. Hats and sunglasses were a must, and we applied Vicks to our noses and Zam Buk to our lips. Soon we’d be doing saline eye baths. The days were getting hotter, sucking the moisture from the air. 

---oOo---

But first, let me get you up to speed.

We left the Goegap Nature Reserve and made our way to Steinkopf, then turned towards the sea, stopping briefly in Port Nolloth, thinking we might spend the night at Mc Dougal Bay Caravan Park, as we’d been recommended. Unfortunately, it was a miserable, blustery day, and I didn’t see my way to being cold; what’s more, a gale whipped the sea into a foamy froth.

Butch took me for a scenic spin around the village, then we headed north, hoping to make good time and spend the night at Sendelingsdrift instead. 

We rolled into Alexander Bay just after lunchtime, dehydrated and starving. We followed the mom-and-daughter duo’s recommendation and stopped for a takeaway hamburger at Impressions Family Restaurant. Thank you; it was an excellent call. I concur that they make the best gourmet hamburgers north of Cape Town.

 ---oOo---

This was my first road trip through a desert of this magnitude, and it certainly was impressive. We made good time and stopped at the Sendelingsdrift campsite for two nights, the official entry to the Richtersveld.

Daisies were flowering abundantly along every verge and rockery—a patchwork of colour keeping the thorn trees’ roots cool. Namaqua daisies in marmalade colours bloomed in full. As we set up our campsite, vervet monkeys chattered at us. They were no bother; we enjoyed their antics as they went from tree to tree, scouring for easy pickings. They’d get nothing from us and soon moved on.

---oOo---

Butch had had a gruelling day, and the drive took longer than anticipated. Soon after sunset, we enjoyed supper and retired early. The full moon cast a yellow glow through the dusty air.

We spent our second day exploring the area and doing the usual sightseeing. We traipsed around the mine dumps, looking for ancient rock engravings thousands of years old. We think we might've found a fossilised tree in our explorations, with slatey rocks stacked in a way that gave that impression. 

 ---oOo---

The highlight of the day was undoubtedly my walk through the nursery and ultimately meeting the botanist Pieter Van Wyk, who has been instrumental in creating the magnificent gardens and fantastic nursery. Pieter's passion for plants adorns his body in a landscape of perfectly inked dots—mesmerising and beautiful. I felt moved and quite emotional by his commitment. 

His enthusiasm for the Richtersveld is infectious, and his knowledge is encyclopedic. He was swamped and could only spare a few minutes to talk with me. Still, he imparted so much important information about this ancient, fragile, unique and extraordinary landscape in the time he gave me. You sparked a burning interest in my soul. Thank you. 

What he told me was both inspiring and scary, and it made me so aware of my footprint on the earth that I wished I could fly rather than change the excruciatingly fragile composition of the soil layers. Layers as thin as a few millimetres produce the perfect conditions for seeds to germinate or not.

I was told about ferns, mosses, and lichen that produce the nitrogen seeds and growth need. Ferns complete a full life cycle, from germination to procreation and withering, within 8 hours, and frogs hibernate for six years during a drought. Freshwater springs high up in the crags and rock fissures feed plants, trees, and shrubs.

If memory serves, he mentioned that although the Quiver tree, Aloe dichotoma, Kokerboom, has a shallow root system and produces thousands of seeds and seedlings each year, only one specimen will survive in eighty years. Trees can be hundreds of years old. (On the pavement in Upington at the Oasis hotel, there’s a tree believed to be between 200 and 300 years old.)

I spent an hour admiring the displays of ancient-looking, potted indigenous plants carefully curated in containers. The soil is layered to recreate the exact conditions where the plants were removed from the veld. Finally, stones, crystals and gravel unique to that plant’s specific area are placed strategically to produce the same climatic conditions for that individual plant.

---oOo---

The mind-blowing cost of mining in the area begs the question, “Is it worth it?” Enormous machinery moves a tonne of earth to produce 1.5carats of diamonds. Tragically, the disturbed soil can NEVER EVER be rehabilitated, even in a billion years. Not because mining companies are unwilling to do so, but because it’s humanly impossible to rehabilitate a two-billion-year-old landscape. Staggering.

The dreadful conundrum is that one morning, while riding our bikes, we met a delightful man, Riaan, the mine's operations manager. Riaan went out of his way to let us ride up to the mine to photograph some of the enormous digger-loaders and tipper trucks used for excavation. We witnessed men working these machines with pride and enthusiasm. I respect the miners who spend months away from their families in the desert’s unbearable heat, constant dust and loneliness. Being negative about their work makes me feel guilty, yet the effect on the earth saddens me greatly. Only a fraction of mined diamonds is used in jewellery production.

Riaan, you were a delight and a true raconteur; we thank you for your generosity and kindness. Our grandchildren were super impressed with the pictures we sent them, and some had the short clips on repeat, I’m sure to the parents’ annoyance.

---oOo---

Our vocabulary went from sophisticated to two words. Wow and exceptional. In the biblical sense, outstanding wouldn't be amiss! It reminded me of the hymn we sing, “How Great Thou Art…then sings my soul!” My soul sang. It did.

 A landscape of unsurpassed magnificence. As we slowly navigated the narrow passes, riverbeds, plains, and hills, we were dumbstruck. Around every corner, at the crest of a hill, and on the summits of passes before and behind us lay a landscape beyond our wildest imaginings, either stretched out or condensed. A movie set couldn't create such magnificence. 

Georgia O’Keeffe, the American artist, and her husband, the photographer Alfred Stieglitz, who lived in Taos, New Mexico, came to mind. They might’ve known how to interpret the spellbinding beauty we witnessed. Words like ochre, salmon, steel blue, ice, granite, magenta, gold, pumpkin, blood orange, and sunshine came to mind. Grinding natural stone, sheetrock, or granite to powder, and gathering berries, roots, and bark to produce the precise colours, would be the only way to reproduce what an artist’s eyewitnesses saw. No artificial colours could do justice to the sunsets, mountain ranges, striations, or glacial dumps.

---oOo---

Our Honey Badger’s size and weight made it impossible for us to visit all the campsites and areas in the Park. We limited ourselves to four sites, spending more time at each so we could conduct a proper investigation.

Although the Park isn’t all that large and, as the crow flies, the campsites aren’t that far apart, the journey would be at a snail’s pace for us.

Our itinerary included two nights at Sendelingsdrift Rest Camp, two nights at Potjiespram campsite along the Orange River, four nights at De Hoop campsite, and finally two nights at Kokerboomkloof Rest Camp.

Each spot was unique and hard to leave. Each day, we rode out to explore slowly on our bikes, feeling the land beneath us, the heat and sunshine on our skin. Butch made regular photo and picnic stops during the drive. Then we would shake out our tablecloth and take it all in, unrestricted by the close confines of our vehicle. 

In my mind’s eye, deserts have always conjured visions of sand and shifting dunes, a few palm trees nourished by a spring that forms an oasis; the Richtersveld comprises mountain ranges, passes, winding twee spoor tracks, and ancient animal footpaths—giant rock formations and colossal pyramid-like “dumps”, and vast plains.

In the low range, with our hubs locked, we engaged 4x4 and ground our way zig-zag through the Swartberg Pass, Halfmens Pass, Penkop Pass, Akkedis Pass, Maerpoort Pass, Tattasberg, and Kokerboomkloof. Our jaws dropped as we crested, and below lay the Springbokvlakte in all its magnificent splendour.

We, who sometimes miss landmarks like the Halfmens, recognised Die Toon immediately, as if no one had ever seen it before. The Hand of God is as clear as daylight, and I believe the wise Namas thought only God could have made all of this. It’s been around for all of 700 million years.

We visited the Tattasberg viewpoint twice. One trip doesn’t cut it. We placed stones on the land surveyor’s beacon for our children, their spouses and grandchildren. Our own little cairn. 

In defiance, we showed The Toe the finger after Butch’s iron Bucking Bronco threw him right off into thick sand. He will get the hang of negotiating sand, overcome his fear of falling, and stop spoiling our travels; nothing he does can spoil our adventures.

At Kokerboomkloof, Dassie Rats would bask in the early morning sun, siesta in the cool shade of a massive boulder during the hottest hours, and come out to play at sunset. When they were tired, barking geckos would take over until, at last, the evening star appeared, the world quieted, and the air cooled. By 3h00 we'd pull up our sheet to combat the early morning chill. 

I scampered all over the rocks, exploring and marvelling at the Quiver Tree forest, then relaxed after a strenuous ride in a cool cave with a view. While I was setting up my camera, I thought of Lorna Binneman-Reade, a well-known Worcester artist. She pointed out shadows, light, texture, and composition on my photographic walks in her garden and her and David’s studio. Always eager to encourage, teach, and inspire, she unknowingly taught me to look closely, see the unexpected, and seize opportunities to create a picture at any time of day. David Reade does it fluidly in a glass.

---oOo---

Not only were we entertained by the Vervet monkeys and Dassie rats one evening, but we were also pleasantly surprised to have a Genet come around at supper time. I called her Genet Jackson.

On all our trips, we birdwatch and list our sightings. On my Sasol Bird App, we mark our sightings and start with our bird list, recording them on the “Our African Adventure” list. We were pleasantly surprised by how many birds we recorded in the Richtersveld, and spotting a Dusky Sunbird was a highlight.

After I visited the nursery, I became very aware of the trees in the Richtersveld. Stunted, small, hardy and misshapen. Some thrive, while many die or hibernate. They are all fascinating. To think a minuscule root can penetrate a rock, crack it and survive. Trees became the subject of one of our exploration days, and I couldn’t resist them.

---oOo---

Butch and I are social beings and love meeting people wherever we go. As a result, we have made lasting friendships with people from all walks of life around the world, and we still correspond, albeit through Social Media. (What could be easier or more convenient?)

To overcome my shyness, we ask strangers questions. Most people are eager to help and will always answer a simple question.

So we came upon a herd of goats (boerbokke) on one of our snack breaks while cycling. Eventually, the herdsman and his dogs came along. Bingo. I asked him how many goats were in his herd. He replied that he couldn’t count but knew each one by name. They knew their bleats and which lamb’s bleat would call the ewe. He was missing an ewe and her lamb. This information conveyed a few things about the shepherd. We then asked him why he was there. Without missing a beat, he said, “For the quiet!”

The Quiet brings many folks back to the Richtersveld. We also met Andrew De Villiers Farmer. A SANParks employee was doing his rounds. Andrew, a builder by trade, went to Johannesburg to make his fortune but returned after a few decades in the city. Together with Bokkie, his wife, a butcher, and their three children, they returned to live in the quiet. “You only need to sleep in the sand on your back once to understand. Man, you lie on your back in the sand and look at the stars at night. Those are times more precious than diamonds.”

As a young man, he’d shepherd his father’s goats. His diet consisted of goat’s milk, edible roots, and dry goat meat cured in the night breeze. He’d fill a tin buried deep in the sand to keep his milk cold. He told us he'd gather seeds from edible wheat-like grasses, what we might consider a weed. Once stone-ground, it bakes delicious askoek. "Right there in front of our eyes is everything we need to eat." He said.   His beloved mother taught him that “sheep and goats are more precious than diamonds, and all you have to do is look after them”!

Andrew confirmed that he, too, an educated man, didn’t count his flock but knew them by name, could scan them, and tell if even one was missing. A raconteur, Andrew had us spellbound and could answer many of our questions about a herder’s life. He made it sound very romantic and effortless. Yes, “gold is where you find it.” The Alchemist.

---oOo---

Gerard, his wife, and their friend from the Netherlands were lovely; they agreed we were in God’s own country, fortunate to enjoy the desert, and promised to look out for us as we crossed from Morocco to Spain! They promised that our beds would be ready by the time we pulled into their driveway.

Our final surprise was seeing three adult ostriches and their nursery of chicks. So they are there.

---oOo---

Everyone, from the gatekeeper at the Park’s entrance, was pleasant and welcoming, saying, “There’s always space for everyone in the Richtersveld.”  We enjoyed Richtersveld humour, helpfulness, kindness, patience and hospitality. On our way out, the young gatekeeper from the Orange Free State said, “There’s no noise here. I can send my money home and save some, too; my mother thinks I need a wife, but I’m happy in the quiet.” 10/10, San Parks, you make us proud.

---oOo---

Roger Parsons, a learned geologist and lover of the Richtersveld, suggested we invest in these books: Geological Journeys (2 books), Off the Beaten Track, and Fifty Geological Sites to Visit, by Normal/Whitfield. Enquiries at Upington’s bookstore were disappointing, as none of these books were in stock. They did have Africa’s Top Geological Sites, which we’ve added to our library.

Of course, there’s always a balancing of the books. It seems we can’t visit anywhere and come through unscathed. Poor old Honey Badger lost her electric steps again on a large rock and a narrow causeway as we negotiated a narrow passage on our departure from our riverside campsite at De Hoop. The sound of those steps ripping from the chassis was like a nail scraping a blackboard! Blood-curdling.

We have numerous friends who’ve been to the Richtersveld, have suggested we visit, and have promised we’d not regret it. The only thing we regret is waiting so long. At last, we joined the club. If it’s on your bucket list, good. If not, give it serious consideration. You will need a 4x4, a tent and your camera. It’s not an easy passage, but it's worth every minute. The scales have fallen from my eyelids, and I will tread softly on the earth.

The Richtersveld was declared a World Heritage site a few years ago.

I throw in the towel and reluctantly admit that technology wins this round. No matter how resilient or patient I am, I can't edit this post! Consider my spelling and grammatical errors, typos and a slip of the tongue. My connectivity wanes and dips so often that I can't save anything! Sorry. At least I have plenty of electricity! 

---oOo--