Sutherland's Freezing Landscape

Dedicated photographers are disciplined. They set off at the crack of dawn and wait until the sun has set and the blue hour has passed before switching off their cameras. It’s a fact. Those are the rules for the golden hour. So, instead of spooning in the freezing Karoo after a long, uncomfortable night in a short, vintage double bed with an Oregon Pine slatted foot-and-end, I leapt out of the feathers.  Still in my red flannel pyjamas, I donned my furry moccasins (from Canada), warm puffer jacket (from Truworths), gloves, scarf and beanie (all Woolies)!  And like a gazelle (with a stiff hip, scraped shin bone and slightly cricked neck), I limped out to see the sun rise over the koppies, feeling grateful for this quiet, beautiful morning.

The earth was covered in frost; small pools were frozen solid, and tiny succulents were beaded with minuscule drops of frozen dew.  This breathtaking landscape, full of vibrant autumn colours, is exactly what we came for.  The air is clean here; it’s evident on the smallest rocks. Lichen in various sizes, colours and patterns grow everywhere.    I stopped and filled my lungs with pure, crisp, freezing oxygen and puffed out cloudy steam until my eyes watered and my chest burnt.

Along the "Romantic" path I walk to the spruit, feeling the quiet stillness that makes this moment special. Not a sound, until there in the distance, the first Karoo Chats and Laughing Doves call, and then tiny stringy wisps of smoke appear from chimneys a way off in the distance.  Townsfolk were stirring too.  The three cottages on the farm were still dead to the world, city folk catching up on some well-earned sleep.  I’m sure Precious was pleased too; he could strip the extra-heavy woollen blanket, switch off the electric blanket, and kick out the now-frozen hot-water bottle!  Bless!

It wasn’t until I spotted our very chic Japanese neighbour getting into the Land Rover that I ducked and leopard crawled home; I was so conspicuous they must’ve thought I was slightly mad.  There was my Precious waiting on the stoep with coffee and rusks.  Ansel Adams would be proud; Precious thinks The-Burnt-Out-Actress (or the wrath of God) is back; he still smiles when he sees me, though!

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