The Right Side Of The Tracks - Wild Camping

If I could have my life all over again, one of the career choices I’d consider would be to become a train engine driver. I love trains in any shape or form. As a child, one of the highlights would be my journeys to and from boarding school by steam train. The clickety-clack would lull me to sleep, and I loved the crisp starched sheets; even the scratchy grey blanket we were issued was a treat. We didn’t break with tradition either as we flung the leather cushions into the Nelspruit. Today I shudder to think that we were that naughty.

We left Nieu Bethesda on a crisp, blue sky, sunny morning and headed home to Onrus post haste. Spring was early in the Karoo, and the veld was starting to turn purple, yellow and pink from vygie and succulent blooms. We made good time and decided to find a spot  to camp for the night as we went along. Kilometers wizzed past as we wound our way through passes, plains and koppies back onto the N1. 

Laingsburg doesn’t appeal to me as a stopover, and Butch agreed and suggested we press on. Soon after, a saved favourite destination appeared on our GPS, reminding us of our Easter Weekend breakaway to Kanniedood Wild Camping. We were approaching the point where the railway line crossed the N1 when Butch remembered the railway siding we passed on the way to Kanniedood.

Ideal.

It was perfect. We parked protected by the deserted signals building. The sun was about to set golden (as it does in the Karoo) behind the koppies when Butch lit our fire and allowed us time to go for a short walk.

On one of the sidings stood a monolithic grimy blue  Transnet locomotive engine, abandoned, it seems. I needed no encouragement to explore. Joy. The smell of diesel, oil and forgotten dreams enveloped me while I sat in the driver’s seat. Wiping the small dirty window, I could see the tracks shine golden and imagined trains rattling along to De Aar. What fascinated me was that the rest of the colossal machine looked like a huge electrical board with only a driver compartment and a tiny cubicle for the engineer and his mate to rest during shifts. 

We enjoyed our fire long after the sun had set, Butch grilled our Karoo chops to perfection, and the braai broodjies were crispy, oozing golden cheddar cheese. Finger licking  good.

At 22h00, I heard the rumble of an oncoming train snaking its way ever nearer. With only a bright spotlight beaming ahead, the enormous python rolled past unstoppable as it shrieked and metal grated on the silver steel tracks. Thundering past the little building standing sentinel on its way to Cape Town. I dozed off imaging I heard the rattle of the conductor's key knocking on doors but not looking forward to the acrid smell of the cramped loo and relieved there would be no minute shaving of coal lodged in my eye.

That would be the only train we saw on what once was a busy transportation route.

I loved the short time we spent at Gemsbok, and my wish is that one day mail and milk might once again be delivered there! Not likely, but one can dream. For now I'll have to make do with memories of past rail journeys in India, Vietnam, Europe and South Africa.