WRATH OF THE DRAGON

“MAN’S SELFISHNESS AND GREED

IS THE CAUSE OF ALMOST ALL OF OUR PROBLEMS”

WRATH OF THE DRAGON

The following story as told by the writer John Hone:

“During 1995 I spent many days and weeks photographing Bushman Rock Art all over South Africa, but more particularly in the Drakensberg. Conservationist and friend Meridy Pfotenhauer, who had a broad knowledge of the foothills in this area, accompanied me on many of the berg trips. On one occasion the objective was to record the paintings found in three specific shelters in the Didima Gorge. As was so often the case, we set off late after the drive up from the coast. Rain and thunder activity was predicted, but we had no idea how severe it would be”

On Friday night, 15 December, we parked our vehicle at the old Brotherton store on the Cathedral road, above the emHlwazini River and paid the owner our parking fee. We set off in the dark at 7pm. It was a warm humid night, and in the torch light the path was alive with insects and even the odd snake.

“Lightning flickered above the high ground of the upper Didima, but held its distance. Eleven kilometers further on, and after two crossings of the emHlwazini River, a chilly swim under a forest waterfall and an obstacle course through a forest short cut, we eventually arrived at Leopard cave in the Didima Gorge sometime after midnight.

Heavy rain was forecast for the following day. Summer downpours are common at this time of the year, but it did not concern us as we were well prepared. I was looking forward to accomplishing some good recordings of the rock art, and damp, overcast weather would provide optimum conditions. After an early start on the Saturday morning, I was able to complete the planned photography of the sites along the north facing slopes of Didima well before midday. We then made our way down the grassy incline to a point were crossing to the opposite bank would be easy.

The next cave on our list was high up above the forest line of the steep, south facing slope. Crossing the river was easy ad we were soon struggling our way up under a dark forest canopy with its tangle of competing undergrowth. The ground was a slippery combination of algae-laden rocks entwined with wet, slippery roots and decomposing leaves. In fact, it was so slippery that we were forced to make use of a rope we carry for emergencies. The climb took us a lot longer than we anticipated, and we reached the cave only by mid-afternoon. After a quick look around I immediately set to work with the photography.

In the meantime the sky was becoming darker by the minute, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The plan was to complete the photography, retrace our steps down and cross back over the Didima River before nightfall. With this in mind, we had left our tents on the opposite side, well off the path, hidden under a distinctive Protea tree.

Through the lengthening duration of my camera exposures I was aware that the light was becoming increasingly dark, but soon was so intent on the task at hand that I did not notice how ominous the approaching storm was. Besides, the cave was facing away from the storm, and its built-up was not immediately apparent. Soon rain began to fall, slowly at first, increasing steadily until it built up into a crescendo, with continuous bright flashes of lightning followed by crashes of thunder.

We all moved into the most sheltered area of the cave, well away from the paintings, made supper and settled for the night. There’s something special about lying in a comfortable sleeping bag and drifting off to sleep to the sounds of a storm. Rain was falling in torrents. Because there was no wind we were able to remain dry even though the huge run-off from the ledge above was creating a wide sheet of water that cascaded down only meters away.

We awoke at 4:30am and made ready to move out. Rain continued to teem down and the river, far below, had the sounds and appearance of an angry sea. Some of the group thought that we might still be able to cross. Wisely, we decided against this. To climb all the way down through the difficult terrain to find we had no possibility of crossing was not the preferred option. Our tents were on the other side, and we were naturally concerned about how we would retrieve them. We stood there in the pelting rain gazing down at the raging torrent far below us.

We all agreed that we should climb up the high ground heading in the direction of the main Berg while remaining roughly parallel with the direction of the river. After a couple of hours of climbing steep grassy slopes, the rain which had stung our faces soaked down our necks and into our clothing. Our boots, too, were full of water, and we were wet through and starting to feel the cold. After a heavy slog up a succession of thickly grassed hills we eventually reached the contour path that leads down to the point where the Thuthumi and Didima Rivers have their confluence. The path was a slippery, muddy challenge. Everywhere water was streaming down the slopes, seeking out the nearest gully that would channel it into the thundering Didima. For a brief moment the clouds opened up to reveal the Didima Falls on the main escarpment bin full spate, to then be concealed once more as the grey cloud curtain closed in.

We arrived at the Thuthumi Stream. Normally not much more than a trickle, we were confronted with a violent, rushing torrent. There was absolutely no way we could cross. If this was the state of the Thuthumi Stream, the Didima River, 100m over the rise, would be many times worse. Reluctantly, after trying to figure out how to cross if our lives depended on it, we turned and headed back up the contour path. Rain continued to fall and the sounds of rushing water where everywhere. On arriving at the boom gate above Mike’s Pass, we were all feeling very cold. One of our party had his face all turn blue.

Several hours later, on reaching the Parks Board offices, we learnt of a terrible tragedy that had befallen three hikers. The three hikers had been walking in the storm at the same time as us. The three hikers had attempted to cross the Didima River near the point where we recently left. One of the hikers had crossed the river onto the Thuthumi ‘island’ where the two rivers meet. One hiker had been swept back onto the south bank and the other hiker had lost his footing and disappeared under the wild, rushing water.

The hiker on the island was stranded, but at least he was safe so long as he stayed where he was. He was only meters away from where we had to cross, but we had not seen him because of the lie of the land. Also, the noise of the river was such that he could never have hoped to hear us. On the far side, the hiker on the bank had no alternative but to run the 16km downstream for help. Little did he realize that the swollen Hlwazini river, 5km lower down, had to be crossed. On reaching it, panic and fear for his missing friend gave him the courage and strength to swim across its raging waters.

Over the following 48 hours the storm-front played itself out. For two brothers and their friend it ended tragically. Ours had been a mere ‘adventure’ and, looking back, I pause and feel grateful that none of those chances I have taken in the mountains from time to time have ever had an unhappy ending.

The power of floodwater in the Drakensberg can never be underestimated. If one loses one’s footing in a flooded river, a backpack becomes a major liability and getting it off would be an almost impossible task. Swimming or trying to recover one’s foothold with a backpack on one’s back is out of the question. One has to only observe an area after a flood to witness the awesome power of water. Massive boulders get moved about as if they are pebbles. New gullies form, islands disappear, trees get uprooted and debris clogs every channel and hollow.

Never camp in or close to a watercourse. If trapped by floodwaters rather wait the downpour out, and take comfort in the fact that floods in the mountains usually subside as quickly as they rise.

On the Wednesday, three days after the tragedy, I returned with a friend to retrieve our tents. All the rivers were rapidly subsiding. Newspapers were full of reports of roads that had been flooded and of stranded hikers. As we made our way down to the point where we had left our tents the search for the missing hiker was well underway. A helicopter droned overhead as it slowly traversed the Didima Valley, while others combed the banks of the river. Though an extensive search lasting several days was carried out, the missing hiker’s body was never found”.

The End.

Safe Hiking.