Footprint in the African hourglass

Grosse Spitzkuppe - finding Herero Chat

As the dust settles on the thrills, spills, trials & tribulations that was [at the time of writing] our 800 Challenge, three, as yet, unanswered questions spring to mind - Each has an Old & a New; a past & a future, some tense, some not. In the context of our global village we consider http://www. We consider the hard to truthfully pinpoint: // Where, What & Who or even the who, what & why..

Time is fleeting; a lesson made all too clear throughout our challenge. As the old sets on the eve of something new, you might lend me your eyes for a minute.

In the context of our 800 Challenge some examples in the Std-grade category:

1. Where has our journey taken us? or even Where has the time gone? All over the region, from corner to corner, more than once; in the blink of an eye.
2. What inspired us? or perhaps What have we achieved? A self-motivated, time-constrained goal, within a predetermined set of rules & governed by a self-imposed code of conduct. That & more.  
3. Who have we met along the way? Accountants, teachers, the needy, the greedy, policemen, judges & a jury of our peers.

Dune Lark - The abominable sandman..?

Will we do it again? Hard to truthfully say. 

If the old sets the standard then the higher-grade questions lie somewhere in the new. The answers are as elusive as they are pressing. Here are some examples. You'll know your own.

1. Where have the numbers gone? or even Where will we find the courage & make the effort? 
2. What must be done? or perhaps, more importantly, What will our children say?
3. Who will toe the line? & Who's responsibility is it anyway?

Rooibank  -  West Coast. Namibia

Will we find the answers? Hard to truthfully say.

Our footprints, etched in time, leaves a stain. This we know for the stain lies in the old. It's the future that stands dawn-lit & at the start of something new. 

Birds are not food & yet the plight of birds, in our ever shrinking global shanty, is food-enough for thought.

2013 played host to an unforgettable adventure; the avian protagonists foremost in our thoughts. We hope, this year, to reciprocate a little. 

One or two G. Flamingos : dismissively attentive.

Ruppell's Korhaan

Our last & final leg, in central Namibia & on her west coast, was perhaps a fitting end to what had been a fantastic year. Namibia stands first & foremost in the countries we love most. Burn't skies, open fields & singing sands call to us. 

Our suite at the Hansa Hotel

A half-dozen, unaccounted-for species secured our flight from South Africa's OR Tambo to Namibia's Hosea Kutako International, a large skip east of Windhoek, the country's capital. A more convenient flight would have been a few minutes further westwards to Walvis Bay. Nevertheless, the range restricted Herero Chat & the rain-seeking / desert-loving Ruppell's Korhaan necessitated an inland stop & go. We added both in quick succession, in two uneventful sessions, en route Swakopmund's Hansa Hotel, our desert home away from home. Germanic influence; a local ja, das ist gut attitude; seasonal holiday fever & an outdoors-orientated lifestyle cements this coastal town's status as Namibia's premiere holiday destination.

Migrant waders clog the salt pans, tidal zones & nearby tundra-like vegetation

If a free-flowing piste down the autobahn-like aisles at the local Food Lovers Market is your passion, then December is not the time of year to travel. Notwithstanding the urban crush, December is also rarities season & as the drapes fell on our year we hoped for nothing less than an encore performance. We weren't disappointed.

Pygmy Right Whale - beached in the lagoon

Joined most mornings [afternoons & evenings too] by local resident Mark Boorman, friend & part-time banding mentor, we were assured of something special. In fact we had a whale of a time.

We were after three specific birds for our 800 Challenge. Wading through a sea of waders for three specific individuals takes a keen eye & some experience. Wilson's Phalarope, seen intermittently since the start of the season would, as suspected, pose a challenge. As it turned out the Wilson's stayed in the bag, unseen.

In the interim we had recorded Red-necked Phalarope in the lagoon & Dune Lark at nearby Rooibank. One special remained. Earlier in the year we had missed this particular bird & were seemingly well on track to do the same again. Fairly regular to date, this repeat-vagrant had, for selfish reasons no doubt, made itself scarce the instant we disembarked.

Alisha & Mark B trying to relocate a probable American G Plover

If worms hate 1st-call then, by rights, they have good reason. Finding visiting avian guests, eager to explore the unfamiliar, usually means a wake-up call sometime before the sanity bell. Walvis Bay is no different. We'd arrived most mornings in time for morning tea which secured a vacant lot. Getting to the lagoon on time, however, proved more rewarding & on our last morning in the field we recorded our final species for our 800 Challenge, Pacific Golden Plover; a magnificent likeness of himself, in non-breeding garb & a lifer to boot. Fitting; unscripted & more than a little poetic.

A. Penguin - in moult. Escorted, by rental, to Hotel Boorman

As an aside, Mark introduced us to the world of long-distance avian travel. We spent a day scrutinising waders & terns for foreign-flagged / ringed / banded individuals ie: caught & marked for identification in the field. The foreign-caught, long-distance migrants are also the most intriguing. By end-of-day we had successfully identified a handful of birds. One particular tern, as it turns out, was originally processed in Scotland, some 9000 km further north, undeniable evidence that Scotland, is in fact, the very hub from which all good things emanate..! It's an amazing feat of endurance in itself & a confirmation, more importantly, of the role that Southern Africa plays in the seasonal lives of many long-distance migrants, drawn from all around the globe.

For those who have followed our exploits what would our story be if we had no tale to tell?

Poking the stupid stick at the gods!

Poking the stupid-stick at the gods is something I do well, clearly. One poke is not as good as another & this time I thought I'd give it stick. At the start of our year we acquired a diesel A-class Mercedes from which we'd do most our local birding. The rationale was simple; for a simpleton that is. We'd keep our carbon footprint to a minimum... No point ruining the world chasing the ridiculous, yes? In hindsight, it's a bowl of hot air! We've traveled further than a godwit's bill & the reasoning is akin to a bag-full of sticky-pie & a diet soda.. but I digress.

Notwithstanding the frail-nature of good intent, we ignored the rows of gas-guzzling 4x4s, vehicles for the insensitively boorish & secured, instead, the mechanical services of a rented front-wheel-drive sedan. As the manual reads - adequate on tarred surfaces or salt-hardened gravel but, like all Toyotas, somewhat skittish in the dunes..

A trip highlight - Dune Lark nest

Dune Lark happened to be on the morning menu. To secure the lark we'd need to travel a touch inland to nearby Rooibank, a haven for sand-experts & the closest landmark to the bird in question. To get from Rooibank to the red-sand habitat is a walk of a 1000 meters. We thought we'd drive.. Her words resonate in my left ear still! WTH soon became WTF! The adequate on tar proved inadequate in sand. Mechanically belly-beached, 4 wheels lazy in the desert breeze & less upwardly mobile than might have been expected came, at the time, as a complete surprise to me... Fortunately, as it turned out, we'd saved ourselves a measured 23 paces to the nearest dune; an Eskom-like energy-saving during a summer thunderstorm black-out. Small mercies as they say.. We walked the remaining 981 meters to the dune & found the larks, on a nest. We walked the 981 meters back to immobility & spent the next two hours digging, cursing & larking about under the chassis.

If Namibia is nothing else then it's a country of unmatched hospitality & good people. From the nearby Rooibank hamlet two German/Afrikaans-language [preference] sand-experts approached our sand-spit & found me in full display. I was immediately addressed in well-spoken English, relieved of the car-keys & in soothing, single-syllable west coast tones encouraged to take a seat under the nearest shady tree. The sun had, no doubt, found a chink in my thinking -cap. They were taking no chances, evidently. I chewed, somewhat thoughtfully, on the cork clogging my senses, put there by my own wife, familia no less..! Is there no honour left in this cruel world?

Damara Tern - the week's highlight

I'm not too displeased to report the untimely demise of not one but two 'nooit-nie (can't break)' snatch-straps before the vehicle was eventually recovered a third strap & a short snooze later.

Namibians know their sand. We live & we learn!

Mustang Sally, Rolling Thunder & The Porsche Club

Orion's Magoebaskloof Hotel is the quintessential weekend getaway reserved usually for stressed city-slickers and jaded politicians alike. Quietly charming and mystical when the mist rolls in, this aesthetically appealing country-hotel is accustomed to lifelong guest- loyalty.

Evidence that Orion is taking its management responsibilities seriously is obvious everywhere. The facility is spotlessly clean, the decor is tasteful and the accommodation well-appointed.

The staff is well trained, courteous and functionally competent. Whilst not considered fine-dining by any stretch of the imagination, the food is always well-prepared, freshly served and presented in such a way that eating there feels like home; which is exactly what any self-respecting country-hotel guest usually wants.

That said, what do you get when you coddle Mustang Sally, Rolling Thunder and The Porsche Club into one weekend without any fore-warning? A bloody good show!

Before we start; some formalities. Orion Hotels did some things well and other things 'not so well'. On the plus side patrons, without leather-jackets, were calmly allocated rooms in the furthest reaches of the hotel. Guests who needed upgrading were upgraded, without preamble or grumble. On the flip-side and speaking generally; forewarned is fore-armed! As the weekend progressed it became glaringly obvious that the hotel's management was a little light in the breeches, euphemistically speaking and with apologies. Shattered nerves, both in the reception and in the kitchen, are self-deprecating indulgences and a little unexpected of professional staff. If 'don't bring The Truck' means 'don't bring The Truck' and 'the truck arrived anyway', does a R112000 Friday-night bar bill make it all better?

Tassels, boots and helmets are just attitude-adornments, much like make-up or frilly underwear. So when leather-jackets go boo in the night please don't run the other way.....

'Spirit of the Wolf' - usually in a pack and when wrapped in studded week-end leather only. Any other workday it's a 'Bleating of the Lamb' ...!

Notwithstanding, if life is about freedom and freedom is attitude and if attitude feeds the soul then free we must be. When machines are the elixir, then roll on the thunder!

As is our way when we've had our fill of JHB we search for freedom in places other. Like many city-dwellers we joined the exodus out of town for some country-side R&R. This last weekend we chose Magoebaskloof where we would spend our time in our usual pursuits of nature-based relaxation.  As always we decided on the Magoebaskloof Hotel. The drive out of Gauteng's Johannesburg to Limpopo's Magoebaskloof was largely uneventful. Arriving at the hotel gate-boom was something else altogether. The gate-guard shyly and perhaps too apologetically encouraged us to park as far away from the hotel reception as we could... Whilst I appreciated the notion that my burgeoning gut could do with some exercise, I found the entreaty a little odd at the time. Doing as bidden we walked the few extra meters towards the reception only to round the corner and face-off with Mustang Sally herself, just a gentle wrist-toss of an empty away from reception's front door.

At first glance the hotel staff were showing just a touch more white around the eyes than is normally encouraged by patrons on arrival. A second take revealed milling aged-rockers clad in jacketed fury!

The Harley Club had come to town..!

Aggressive machines, largely ignorant of pedestrians and diminished none at all cloaked as they were in misty spendour, were scattered across the patio. In and among the pistons and the smell of an oil-rag, lurked grey wolves, bears and Batman himself. Blood-soaked skulls, decayed since the sixties, screamed blood-curdling reminders of one life, live free... 

Truly an awesome sight and when viewed in retrospect an amazing insight into human nature at its very best.

Enter Act 2; scene one. Arrive The Porsche Club... If life is a journey then travel in first class we will! At first look an impressively synchronised compliment of aggressive machines, in glacier-white or stornaway grey. Pringled, bespectacled and classically aged, these paragons of good grace paced reception as calmly as Batman himself...Face-off; Stand-off! The very ethos of freedom, freemen and opposing definitions of one life, live free...! 

Grossly out-gunned in intimidation & costume, The Porsches instinctively gave ground and retired to their respective luxury suites, shaken & stirred. In victorious exuberance Mustang Sally soon revealed concert-standard sound-speakers, big-screens and an endless supply of sixties rock which she impressively demonstrated for the next 12 hours without hesitation or pause..

Some 500 meters away, whilst safely locked away in my own suite, I whistled along and drummed gently to crystal-clear ballads by ACDC, Black Sabbath and The Doors. Later that evening lasers tore through the mist, blinded bats and illuminated the skies!

Mustang Sally [9pm]

At early dinner agitated murmurs, grinding teeth and twitchy limbs from Reserved for The Porsche Club confirmed that afternoon naps had been sorely missed. Discussions of power to weight ratios and the vagaries of torque lacked its usual resonance. Awkward silences followed new dinner arrivals, lest leather jackets feature too strongly in the evening attire. Staff scuttled nervously; Chefs whined pitifully and managers apologised profusely.

All the while Mustang Sally rocked on and on and 3am on..

The Sunday 6:30am breakfast bell welcomed the Reserved for The Porsche Club, the rest of us and one or two Harley-rockers intent on leaving sober for the long trip home to Mrs. Rocker.. Imagine the consternation when the Harley-rocker bid Reserved a good morning in clipped, well-spoken English.. and imagine his surprise when Reserved gave him the bird!

So there you have it. It's just life Jim and just like we love it. Like morning-after soap-suds in the water-feature it's another fragile reminder to live considerately free.

Postscript - I mourned the passing of Jim Morrison; have listened to Rodriguez; can recite the lyrics to ACDC's Thunderstruck; still occasionally ride my superbike on the track; currently own a leather jacket and more than a dozen suits; appreciate the vagaries of down-force and have owned a multitude of performance machines then and now. I can't thank Orion enough for the most entertaining weekend I've had in years.

Limpopo's Magoebaskloof Hotel - Good, better, best!

There's a yearning that we feel for things less sterile, stronger in some of us than others. City life has its perks, obviously, but the bright lights soon dim and the vibrant sounds become a thing of diminishing beauty..

As a consequence and whenever possible, we hit the road less traveled, usually on week-ends. So that's the why but what's with the owl (Pearl-spotted Owlet for the 'twitchers'); why Magoebaskloof and where is that anyway?

Rushing from pillar to post or from city to lodge is pretty pointless. We don't do it.


Meandering through the countryside for the sake of meandering; the golden fields, green trees and country houses just a subconscious veneer in lazy stupor, must eventually grind too. That is, of course, unless you stop regularly, widen the senses and harness the power of peace from the dust on your shoes. Some people do just that and appreciate the scenery for what it is. Kudos to them. We prefer to do things a little differently.

We love to travel for the wanderlust is strong in both of us but more so, we're passionate about birds. Birds through binoculars do just fine but birds in the hand are so much better.. As 'citizen scientists' we catch, ring (SA terminology) or band (US) [- a steel ring is attached, usually on the leg, for record purposes] and collect data from as many birds as possible. The data is collated in the field, centrally analysed [@ the University of Cape Town] and relied on for conservation purposes. We do so countrywide; internationally too. So that explains the owl.

In our winter (June to August), which is generally mild and dry, particularly inland, the vegetation dries and in some cases, dies. Food becomes scarce. Birds either migrate internationally or regionally in search of opportunity. Regional migration is usually in an easterly direction away from the very dry western districts. Magoebaskloof lies in the north east on the misty Limpopo escarpment and is characterised by both indigenous and exotic forest, clear mountain streams and in some areas, high-altitude grasslands. There's natural food aplenty for both mammal & bird. So that explains Magoebaskloof.

Most visitors to the region prefer the accommodation options at nearby Haenertsberg which offers an eclectic mix of old and new. We however and for our purposes at least, prefer the Magoebaskloof Hotel. With an idyllic setting and misty ambiance, the buildings take on a charm which modern options never offer and in winter, log fires warm the soul.




Closely guarded by the King Makgoba statue and recently absorbed and marketed under the Orion banner, this old lady seemingly enjoys a refreshing new lease on life. Genuine hospitality, acquired over sixty years, equips the front-line staff and kitchen with an appreciation for their guests and this is the abiding memory. Fail to appreciate that gift and the hotel is just another aging Queen of Hearts left too long at the piano.

Precariously balanced atop the escarpment with sweeping views across the valley where the vista is reward enough for even the most jaded of travelers, Magoebaskloof Hotel is still the local favorite. Friends meet on cold nights in the local pub surrounded by memories of activities past. Genuine, belly-aching laughter echoes in the hallways. Pretentious ceremony and bling-believe is not welcomed here. Wit and charm wins the beer.

Early morning rains (unseasonal) settled the dust, an earthy smell.

Rates are fair, rooms are palatial and the facilities are adequate for those who rate these things. Ask the right questions at the right time of the year and enjoy the Log Fire special at an all inclusive rate, meals included, equivalent to a meal for two in up-town Johannesburg. The food is not an embellishment of the arts. Don't expect it to be and why should it be? It's home cooking away from home, freshly prepared by local chefs, trained not in Paris but behind a local hob. Servings are expansive and somewhat surprisingly, patrons select from an impressive a la carte menu all inclusive in the room-rate whether that be fillet, fowl or flapjack. An interesting yet uniquely delightful concept!

Not fancy. Adequate.

Breakfasts are a buffet from 'granny's table'

Look closely and the decor is hardly uniform. In fact it's decidedly odd. Old oils cling regally to freshly coated walls. Country-English clashes broadly with Afro-Asian mystique. It's truly an abomination but strangely feels quite normal here. Home baked cakes, fresh scones & strawberry jam and richly-brewed coffee are not to be missed.




So there you have it and that's Magoebaskloof Hotel. It's not fancy, nor is it fancily dressed but it's warm, charming and well worth a visit.

It's the little things that count in life....

Dew drops clinging to a blade of grass in the early-morning mists can be so much more than mere drops of water.