1st July 1999: We’re back in “The Hub of the Universe”.

On our way home we stopped over again at Gariep Dam. That night we got an E-mail from Land Rover. Hurrah Hurrah, they had agreed to pick up all our costs for the breakdown in Namibia. Joyous toasts were drunk that night, and next morning we set off along the back roads of the Free State in a happy frame of mind, Sean in particular, saying how wise we were in buying a Land Rover. An hour on the road, tooling along minding our own business, when, Bang! Clatter, Clatter, Clatter, and we came to a grinding halt. Fractured rocker arm, 2 bent push rods, in short, a very sorry state of affairs indeed.  We were about 10 kms outside Bethulie and 800 kms from Durban, so we decided to get the van towed into Bethulie and have the Landy towed back to Durban. Son-in-law Keith and his pal G.C. set off immediately from Durban, got to us that night, and towed the van back to Glengarry next day.

 While waiting we found a charming (and reasonable) B & B, and explored – it was almost worth the breakdown. An interesting little village, birthplace of Patrick Mynhardt and founded – of course – by a missionary. This time, however it was a Frenchman, Pellissier, who was sent out by the Paris Missionary Society to set up a school for the Bushmen. It is said that that the French became involved because the London Missionaries did not have the intellect to learn the Bushman’s language. A point that could start yet another cross-channel punch up.  The local museum was opened up just for us, and we were given a conducted tour by a dear old lady – two hours, however, were more than enough!

Meantime the vehicle towing the Landy also broke down – Happy days. Anyway, they eventually arrived, and Land Rover World have fixed everything and we are mobile again. Now we must have words with Land Rover. The thought is that, when Club Motors fixed the original problem in Windhoek, they repaired the obvious but didn’t look for any strains or fractures.

When we left Jongensfontein, replete with Ostrich Knees, (which were delicious) we set up camp in Swellendam. From there we started to explore the Overberg (Literally “Over the mountains from Cape Town”). Beautiful farm lands making a huge patchwork vista of lush green pastures spreading Eastwards from Swellendam nestling under the mountains, for 60 or so kms  toward the sea. Many of these farms date back to the 18th Century, raising cattle, sheep, ostriches, and wheat . We travelled the back, dirt roads down to Port Beaufort, opposite Cape Infanta, on the Breede River, and then up to Malgas 20 kms up-river, where a man-powered pont took across to the southern banks.

Pont tariff

Malgas Pont. Man-powered.

The Barry family started a shipping line in the mid 1800s to run from Cape Town up to Malgas  to serve the farming area, and the trade carried on into the late 1930’s when Dart and Howes were involved. It is somewhat ironic to note that the trade eventually ended because the railways pleaded unfair competition (Plus the fact that a number of the vessels had the unfortunate habit of running aground.)

Beach at Arniston

After Swellendam, still in the Overberg, down to Arniston and the fishing village of Kassiemeer, about 20 km out of Bredasdorp. Here we watched a lone dolphin playing with 3 young surfers for over an hour.

Dolphin playing with surfers but can only see two – one of them must have been eaten.

Bredasdorp is a typical market town, pleasant in its way but nothing really going for it apart from an intriguing and well-presented shipwreck museum. Shipwrecks have been more than abundant on the Southern Cape coast, but none more so than in the Overberg area. Since the early settlers it has been commonplace to furnish one’s home with goods bought at shipwreck auctions.  The modus operandi would be that after the poor vessel had an Oops, the local farmers would hightail it down to the coast and put in an offer to the underwriters. This accepted, they would then salvage whatever possible of the cargo and fittings, including the ship’s timbers, and flog it off at an auction on the beach. Even the church at Bredasdorp is partially constructed with ship’s timber. The Barry family were foremost in these recoveries, and had some really sophisticated equipment for the era, including diving suits.

Now here’s a contentious point unlikely to endear us with the local inhabitants.  Wrecking was a popular pastime and source of revenue on the Cornish coast, why not here? Very little is said about the actual reasons for all these ships going ashore. True, weather conditions and primitive navigation played a large part, but the odd bonfire on the wrong hill would surely have aided the local economy.

One incident has in fact been recorded. Way back in 1722. the master of the Dutch vessel “Schoonberg” had an arrangement with none other than the owners of the Vergelegen estate. He put his vessel up the beach at Struisbaai. The owners of Vergelegen were camped in the area awaiting his arrival (that in itself was extraordinary – no telexes in those days), and with their help, he landed his cargo and hid it ashore. Unfortunately, he wasn’t too bright. He did all this in broad daylight and without cutting his crew in on the deal. The rotten curs spilled the beans, and their captain was hanged, drawn, and quartered in Cape Town – he probably lost his ticket too.

Kleinmond. Visiting Francolin

After Arniston we trekked across to Kleinmond and sat the Election out at the mouth of the Palmiet River. Another charming spot. Reasonably priced and relaxing within a hundred metres of the beach. We had a very pleasant weekend with the Linnows and a couple of nocturnal visits from a Spotted Genet. Whilst in the area we wandered over to Somerset West and travelled the local Wine Route. Quite frankly it’s a rip off. True, there are a number of very good and reputable Estates in the area and the wine they produce is excellent, but they are also Tourist Traps, there to ensnare the foreign visitor.  Later we drove through the Robertson and Worcester areas – a totally different kettle of fish.

We left Kleinmond after a week and moved to the Municipal camp site at Gansbaai. The camp here is right next to the fishing harbour, and the workers walk through it going to and from work. No problem.

Just outside the harbour gates is a pleasant little establishment – “Ernie’s. The Pub with the Grub.” Naturally, we tried it out and met Attie the barman. Sean had for some time wanted to go out on a commercial fishing boat. Could this be arranged? Not a problem said Attie. A lot of the skippers use the pub – he would see what he could do.

Sure enough, calling back later that evening, we were told that Sean was to meet Jaci outside his house at 0700 the next day.

Came the morn, duly equipped with sandwiches and a flask of coffee, Sean made his rendezvous and met Jaci  Kriel – a tall Afrikaner in his early thirties. He was waiting for his crew – 5 in all. Eventually 3 arrived, of the other 2, one was spending the night in the local goal (Sean didn’t ask why), and the other it appears had made a romantic conquest the night before and was an unlikely starter.

Jaci and Ou Jan in Tasja

First job was to start Jaci’s vintage Landy. This was done by pushing it for a couple of hundred metres until we came to a downward slope. Much coughing, spluttering, and diesel fumes, but it eventually roared into life. Then back to hitch up the boat, load up 2 large plastic crates of sardines, and get into our fishing gear. Sean was handed a set of waterproof overalls and a pair of wellies (Sea boots).

Now when Sean had the original idea, he had envisaged a trip on a trawler, comfortably ensconced in a corner of the bridge, sipping a mug of hot coffee. This was not to be.

Jaci’s boat, “Tasja”, was 20 foot long, and powered with 2 outboards. Forward of the steering console the boat was divided into 6 compartments, 3 on each side. A fisherman stands in each and the fish he catches are dropped into his compartment. Each man is paid half the value of his catch the skipper gets the other half. The man supplies his own gear – hand lines – and the skipper supplies the boat, fuel, and bait.

The boat was eventually launched, and Sean was given a hand line and 2 objects that resembled 2 inch lengths of thick hose – finger protectors.

O.K. Off we go. Out through the harbour entrance, past a pair of playful Dolphins, and off into the Blue, and out of sight of land.

My fellow fishermen were Klein Jan, a young man in his early 20s, Frikkie – he only had one eye, and Ou Jan a grizzled veteran of undermined age who spent his non fishing time smoking huge quantities of what appeared to be dried seaweed wrapped in the local newspaper.

Klein Jan, Ou Jan and Frikkie

Right.   “Jaci, what are we after – Kob or Snoek?”

“No, not too many around. We’ll go after shark”

” Oh……….” Sean sneaked a look at his hand line and realised that he was likely to be very grateful for the finger guards.

” Er …… are these sharks very big?”

” Naah, about one and a half to two metres”

” Oh …….. Good.” murmured Sean

” Sometimes though, when we’ve got one on the line, a Great White will have a crack at it.”

Ruddy marvellous.

We got to the fishing grounds and baited up. Very large hooks and 4 or 5 sardines hooked though the head.

It was absolutely wonderful. As we stopped and anchored in about 30 metres, a number Albatross settled down in the water around us, also quite a few unidentified big brown fluffy birds. They had come for breakfast and weren’t disappointed. Liberal handfuls of sardines were thrown to them. Not all philanthropy. The crumbs were supposed to attract the sharks.

After a few minutes of fishing “Swoosh”, we were surrounded by a pod of whales with what Ou Jan referred to as a “Groot Wit Kop” lying about 100 metres away. The “Groot Wit Kop” was truly Groot and the Wit was the barnacles and other growth that covered his head.

For those with good eyes – or a good imagination – the Groot Wit Kop.

Jaci told Sean that the whales rarely gave any trouble but were sometimes a nuisance when they rubbed up against the side of the boat.

The shark fishing was slow, Klein Jan caught a couple of about one and a half metres and so did Jaci. Hauled up hand over hand and then given a couple of smart cracks over the head with a wooden club. Sean, thankfully caught nothing although at one time he thought he had a monster on.

“Grond” grunted Ou Jan. (He meant that I had caught Africa)

We moved on to other grounds and caught reef fish. Here Sean was moderately successful. Another area produced a plethora of sea barbel. Not a popular fish. They are thrown back but taken off the hook with great care in view of their poison barbs. Many muttered grumbles from the crew. Sean, whose Afrikaans is not good, was not sure why Ou Jan kept chuntering on about a make of Dutch aircraft used by the German air force.

The day moved on and although the catch was not the best, the compartments started to fill. We were visited by a travelling Penguin, and later, when we went alongside a trawler for a chat, we were surrounded by dozens of seals.

It was truly a memorable day. We bought Jaci several drinks in the pub that day, but he absolutely refused any other form of payment.

It was at Gansbaai where we met Vera Rankin. She came across and invited us to her van for sun downers. Vera travels with her dog, but otherwise is alone. She pulls her Jürgen’s van with an Isuzu bakkie, which she complains is not giving her enough power (She tows at 120 k!). Vera is 86 years old!  There’s hope for us yet.

Well we are now at home. Sally and Michael will be back in August and then we will head off for a real family trek – hopefully Fiona and family will also join us. Where are we going? Who knows? We’ll see which way we point when we leave.