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Mountain Kingdom

When I left for my African trip in January it was -16C, about 3Fahrenheit, and the only way I could get to Heathrow was in my ageing Land Rover. Thankfully we got there with time to spare despite the ice and snow. I left very clear instructions for the driver (who was going to pick up the car and park it for me while I was away) that you have to wait until the pre-ignition light goes out on the instrument panel before starting the vehicle. I got him into the driver’s seat, showed him what to do, he thanked me, and then promptly ignored everything. As he drove away I had my doubts whether the old bus was going to be seen again.

 

When we arrived in Africa next morning it was 43C a rather pleasant 109Fahrenheit, but in the mountains, where I was heading, it would soon be 48C, which is getting on for 120 Fahrenheit. Now, it’s no good moaning about these kind of conditions when you’re there of your own volition. I reminded myself, as I staggered up and down, across and every which way along, these mountains, that there were young men and women fighting a war in Afghanistan, wearing full battle kit in temperatures higher than that.

The mountains look rather foreboding, and there’s no denying that I felt the heat, especially when a couple of wind-whipped fires started on nearby mountains. The thought did cross my mind that it could be very easy to die up there, especially if the wind shifted. (A couple of days after I left a small, prosperous tourist town was nearly destroyed by a mountain fire. The wind had shifted from north to south and the valiant firefighters stopped it just short of the town’s main road.)

I remember when I was a firefighter how exhausting it is to fight bush and forest fires in those temperatures. I certainly couldn’t do it now – and there’s no way you can outrun a bush fire. It’s important to keep the brain in gear and read the weather signs.

The mountains are home to beautiful flora – fynbos – (Afrikaans meaning ‘fine bush’) as well as wild flowers. Although I was only concentrating on a small range of mountains, the area itself is about the size of England, or for my American friends similar in size to the state of Louisiana. There are certainly more plant species in this area than the whole of the UK.

I saw no sign of Cape mountain leopard that hunt in these mountains, and there were only a few sightings of antelope – the dust-red coloured grysbok, mostly – though there were the usual dassies (rock hyrax – or rock rabbits, as I call them) and we were shadowed for some time by a troop of Chacma baboons. There was the occasional, uncomfortable sense of being outnumbered, and I wondered how I would react if they fancied the food I was carrying in my backpack. It’s not uncommon on the roads to see people stop their cars and feed baboons. I wish they would think twice. These are wild animals. A baboon recently mauled a tourist in another area to where I was hiking – and game rangers ended up shooting the innocent creature.

The lazy Puff Adder can be a problem because they don’t get out the way unlike most snakes, and although they look sluggish (they’re about 90cm long and fairly fat looking) they can strike quickly. Cobras are also common in this area and when you turn a corner and walk straight into one – as I have done – and they rear and hiss, believe me it’s nothing like an Indiana Jones movie. Standing quite still it can be quite mesmerizing as you look into their black eyes. Walk back quietly, with the necessary, occasional glance over your shoulder. That’s not the time to take a tumble.

My time in this area passed at a gentle pace. The rhythm of nature, the light and shadows, the movement of the breeze across the fynbos and flowers, all slowed down the hectic internal clock we inherit from urban living.

You don’t have to go to other continents to experience this – our own country has magnificent countryside – but if you get the chance, get out there. 

It’s a different kind of connection when you plug into nature.