Fangs Pass - Into the Cathedral of Stone - Northern Drakensberg

                                                  

                                                     

 

Endurance is not just the ability to bear a great thing………but to turn it into glory…….. 

– Unknown

 

Fangs Pass

Into the Cathedral of Stone - Northern Drakensberg

 

"There are passes you climb... and there are passes you remember for the rest of your life."

 

The Name

Fangs Pass takes its name from The Fangs, two extraordinary basalt pinnacles that rise like enormous canine teeth from the escarpment.

They dominate the skyline above the Mnweni Cutback and are among the most photographed rock formations in the Northern Drakensberg.

No matter how many times you see them...

...they never lose their power.

 

The Approach

The journey begins in the Mnweni Valley.

Already the mountains begin closing around you.

The further you walk...

the quieter the world becomes.

Eventually you reach Shepherd's Cave.

It has welcomed generations of mountaineers preparing for:

• Fangs Pass,
• Mnweni Pass,
• Mbundini Pass,
• Rockeries Pass.

Many a nervous conversation has taken place there the evening before tackling the pass.

 

The Mnweni Cutback

Then comes one of the greatest landscapes in Africa.

The Mnweni Cutback.

Words struggle to describe it.

Imagine standing inside a gigantic stone amphitheater.

Cliffs tower more than a kilometer above you.

Waterfalls plunge after summer rains.

Rock towers guard the skyline.

Every direction offers another masterpiece.

 

The Cutback belongs among the very finest. 

                                  

The Pass

Fangs Pass is long.

Steep.

Remote.

And wonderfully wild.

Unlike many passes, it doesn't present one dramatic obstacle.

Instead...

it simply keeps climbing.

The higher you go...

the steeper the slopes become.

Loose basalt.

Grass ledges.

Rock bands.

Occasional scrambling.

Nothing impossible.

Nothing to take lightly.

 

The Final Climb

Near the summit the pass narrows.

The cliffs seem to lean closer.

The Fangs themselves stand like giant sentinels watching over the ascent.

The final pull onto the escarpment feels almost ceremonial.

One last effort...

One final breath...

Then...

Lesotho.

The wind.

The endless horizon.

 

Incidents and Tragedies

Fangs Pass has earned immense respect.

Not because of technical climbing...

But because it magnifies small mistakes.

                                              

Rockfall

Loose basalt is a constant companion.

Parties climbing close together risk dislodging rocks onto one another.

Experienced groups spread out carefully.

Every foothold deserves respect.

 

Lightning

The upper slopes are completely exposed.

Summer thunderstorms can build with frightening speed.

There is virtually nowhere to shelter.

Several serious incidents over the years have involved hikers caught high on the pass during electrical storms.

 

Falls

While Fangs Pass has not acquired the same grim reputation as some technical passes, falls have occurred on the steeper upper sections, particularly where loose rock and fatigue combine.

A simple slip near the top can have severe consequences.

 

Rescue Operations

Mountain Rescue teams have responded to numerous call-outs involving:

• ankle fractures,
• exhaustion,
• dehydration,
• hypothermia,
• navigational errors in mist,
• and stranded parties unable to continue.

The remoteness of Mnweni means rescues often take many hours before help even reaches the casualty.

 

The Wilderness

It still feels...

untouched.

You can spend an entire day there and encounter nobody.

No signposts.

No infrastructure.

No crowds.

Only mountains.

Just as they have stood for millions of years.

 

Why It Changes People

Nobody says:

"We did Fangs Pass."

They say:

"We experienced Fangs."

There's a subtle difference.

The mountain becomes the subject.

The hikers merely pass through.

 

Bosun's Reflection

"The wilderness owns my soul."

If there is anywhere in the Drakensberg where that sentence feels completely at home...

It is here.

Standing beneath The Fangs.

Listening to the river.

Watching mist pour over the escarpment.

Realising how small we really are.

 

A story that deserves telling

One of the most sobering incidents associated with the Mnweni region occurred in December 2007, when respected climber and hiking leader Luciano Colombo lost his life after a fall while leading a party in the nearby Camel Pass area. Although it was not on Fangs Pass itself, the tragedy served as a reminder throughout the Berg community that even the most experienced mountain men remain subject to the mountains' unforgiving nature. The news deeply affected hikers across South Africa and reinforced the old mountain truth: experience reduces risk, but never removes it.

 

"Fangs Pass is not dangerous because it is technically difficult. It is dangerous because it is remote. Small problems become large problems when the nearest help may be many hours away."

That, in my opinion, is the real lesson of Fangs.

 

"There are mountains that impress us with their height, and there are mountains that humble us with their silence. Fangs Pass belongs to the latter. Beneath the towering basalt teeth that gave it its name, every hiker becomes simply another traveler crossing an ancient landscape. Here, the wilderness has no interest in our achievements. It asks only that we walk with respect, tread lightly, and remember that we are visitors in a kingdom millions of years older than ourselves."

 

We as hikers, explorers, and
adventurers have the absolute duty to respect and protect our Wildernesses.
Nobody else will do it for us. Take ownership!

The End.

Safe Hiking.

References and Acknowledgements

Article:  W Pelser

Photos:  Google Images

Compiled by:  Willem Pelser

 

Jurassic Park Lotheni - Drakensberg

  

   

A WORLD OF INDESCRIBABLE BEAUTY AND EVER-CHANGING SPLENDOR, OF BASALT GIANTS THAT STAND AS SENTINELS ON THE ROOF OF SOUTH AFRICA……………

UNKNOWN

Jurassic Park

Lotheni - Drakensberg

A story from many years ago...

I have hiked the Emandundwini Trail many times over the years. It remains one of my favorite routes because it winds through magnificent forests, crystal-clear rivers and some of the most beautiful scenery in the Drakensberg. The first half of the trail is demanding, but every step is rewarded by breathtaking views and unforgettable wilderness.

On one particular hike, my attention was drawn to a side valley that I noticed from higher up on the trail. At the point where two rivers met, I could see what appeared to be a beautiful forest with a river rushing out from beneath its canopy. Towering above the forest stood an immense cliff face, decorated with strange rock formations. More mountain than cliff, it looked completely unclimbable.

Leaving the trail behind, I made my way towards the valley. As I stood at its entrance for a moment, I was immediately struck by how prehistoric it looked. It seemed like exactly the sort of place where dinosaurs and dragons might still roam. Since the valley had no name, I promptly christened it Jurassic Park.

It was an extraordinarily beautiful place.

Tall grass and dense vegetation covered the valley floor, while enormous boulders lay scattered everywhere as though giants had thrown them around in anger. The deeper I ventured, the more difficult the going became. The valley was steep and narrow, with the river flowing through a thick forest on one side.

Stopping to catch my breath, I looked up towards the cliffs and noticed a dense patch of bushes, perhaps ten meters across, clinging to the mountainside. By then I had begun to recognize the tell-tale signs that often indicated the presence of a cave. I became convinced those bushes were hiding one.

Caves had always fascinated me, especially those containing San rock art.

Although the climb would be difficult, curiosity got the better of me.

Numerous streams cascaded down the cliff face, creating a marshy terrace covered in long grass. The streams disappeared underground, leaving deep holes filled with flowing water hidden beneath the grass. The danger was almost invisible.

Before long, I would become intimately acquainted with one of those holes. Eventually I reached the bushes, and to my delight they concealed a large cave. Stepping inside, I experienced one of the greatest moments of my hiking life. Covering the walls were my very first San rock paintings.

Every difficult step had suddenly become worthwhile. For nearly an hour I photographed the paintings before finally sitting down on the cave floor, tired but completely content. The cave even had its own fresh water supply.

As I rested, I gazed out across Jurassic Park and the surrounding valleys. Looking down over the forest canopy, my imagination drifted backwards through time. I could almost see the San people who had once called this place home.

Children ran laughing down to the river to swim while watchful mothers kept an eye on them. Women gathered herbs and edible plants along the valley floor. As darkness fell, families gathered around a warm fire inside the cave. I could almost hear their conversations and see the dancers moving in the flickering firelight while an artist carefully painted the cave walls.

They lived in harmony with nature when the wilderness was even more untouched than it is today.

It is sad that such a way of life eventually came to an end. Returning to reality, I continued exploring.

To my surprise, another cave stood immediately beside the first, and it too contained paintings. Nearby I even discovered a painted boulder. The higher I explored, the more caves I found.

It was astonishing. There wasn't just one cave; there was an entire complex of caves scattered across the mountainside. Many contained rock art.

It felt like discovering a forgotten San suburb—a city in the mountains. With daylight fading, I returned to the first cave, as it provided the safest route back down into the valley.

 

The marsh crossing demanded extreme caution. One careless step into one of the concealed underground river holes could easily result in broken legs. Unfortunately, that warning soon became very personal.

I tripped over the marsh grass right beside a hole nearly three meters deep and fell forward. Trying desperately to avoid falling into it, I twisted onto my back. That single movement was enough.

Suddenly I was airborne. My backpack acted like a giant spring, launching me into a series of uncontrollable somersaults down the steep mountainside. Every time I landed on my back, the backpack bounced me into the air again.

Between each somersault I desperately grabbed at grass, bushes—anything that might stop me. Nothing did. After tumbling nearly forty meters, my final somersault ended with me plunging headfirst into a two-meter-deep underground river hole.

Only my boots remained sticking out above the grass. The fall had stopped. Now I had a different problem. I was hanging upside down in flowing water. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to pull myself out of the hole. Sitting beside it afterwards, soaked and bruised, I expressed a few very colorful opinions about the entire experience.

But beneath the frustration was immense gratitude. I could easily have been seriously injured—or killed.

Eventually I left Jurassic Park and, after several kilometers, rejoined the hiking trail. Only then did I notice something missing. My hat. It suddenly dawned on me that it had almost certainly been left behind in the very hole where my dramatic descent had ended.

I looked back towards Jurassic Park. There was absolutely no chance I was going back through that terrain just to retrieve a hat.

Or so I thought.

 

That evening my mind replayed everything I had experienced that day—the caves, the paintings, the spectacular valley. I was tired, happy and deeply content.

Except...

I couldn't stop thinking about my hat. Oddly enough, losing the hat bothered me far more than tumbling down a mountain. I told myself it had simply become a donation to the mountain gods and that buying a new one would be far easier than making the journey again.

Yet by sunrise the following morning, my decision had been made. I wanted my hat back.

At first light I retraced my route. Four hours later I was once again climbing back towards Jurassic Park.

Fortunately, I had marked the location of my fall on my GPS the previous day. Searching around the hidden river holes, I eventually located the exact one where my descent had ended. Carefully parting the long marsh grass, I looked down.

There it was.

Lying upside down at the bottom of the hole was my faithful old hat, exactly where it had been left behind. I laughed out loud. Mission accomplished.

As I rested nearby, however, my attention kept drifting back towards the forest below. Since I was already there, I decided I might as well explore it.

Finding a way through the dense vegetation, I finally reached the river. It was one of the most beautiful forests I have ever entered. Massive yellowwood trees towered overhead while the river tumbled over boulders, waterfalls and crystal-clear pools. Tiny moss gardens decorated the rocks, creating scenes that seemed almost unreal.

Almost immediately I noticed something else. In the damp sand lay the fresh spoor of a large leopard.

Needless to say, I became considerably more cautious. The only way through the forest was to follow the river itself. Where the rocks became impassable, I had to wade through icy pools and scramble around rapids. The going was difficult, slow and occasionally hazardous.

Had it been the rainy season, entering this forest would have been impossible—and probably fatal. Fortunately, it was midwinter, and the river levels were low enough to allow safe passage.

For nearly two hours I made my way downstream through what remains one of the most magical places I have ever visited. The images of that forest have stayed with me ever since.

Eventually I emerged from the trees, made my way back to the trail and returned to camp.

I was a very happy man.

I had recovered my hat...

...and discovered one of nature's hidden masterpieces.

That day marked my very first encounter with the San people through the places they once lived and the art they left behind.

It was a remarkable meeting.

And it was only the beginning.

We as hikers, explorers, and
adventurers have the absolute duty to respect and protect our Wildernesses.
Nobody else will do it for us. Take ownership!

The End.

Safe Hiking.

References and Acknowledgements

From the book:   Drakensberg Wilderness – A Solo Journey Through Paradise –                               W Pelser

Photos:  ©Willem Pelser

Compiled by:  Willem Pelser