Thursday, May 13, 2010

Botlierskop - A Natural Connection

Mountains and magic - words and images by Nick van der Leek

Despite an ignominious flight number -- MN 911 -- I emerge alive from the rear end of the green, missile-shaped McDonnell Douglas. A cold front is converging on my position, but right now it is still pleasantly cool and breathless on the tarmac.

Michelle and I (we met on the plane) walk under the green wing toward the neat building that is George Airport. It is the only airport in the country with such a spectacular purple and green backdrop.

The large jagged Outeniqua Mountains push against the deadweight of stress that has built up inside me. I feel it begin to shift, and in its place life emerges; grassroots stir in the still dry soil of my soul.

At the conveyor belt my bag arrives first; I bid the young lady, my once-off traveling companion, adieu. I find Jacques Venter, a ranger from Botlierskop Private Game Reserve, at the arrivals exit. He wears a leather cowboy hat and he has that affable good nature that reminds me of Marius Weyers in "The God's Must Be Crazy."

Getting There

Botlierskop is a 20-minute drive from the airport in the direction of Mossel Bay. After two minutes Jacques points out a vervet monkey on the side of the road. I'm still too jaded and sleep deprived to see it. Jacques keeps up a lively conversation. He tells me that Outeniqua means "honey bringers," a Bushmen word, and yes, this area is one of the haunts favored by these original people, the first people of Southern Africa.

Just outside Mossel Bay we turn off the tar road for a short stretch. As the hillsides roar upward around us, I reflect that once the wanted posters went up, the Bushmen, like Al Qaeda, made for the mountains.

Lord of the Rings

Jacques points out a bizarre rock formation rumored to be behind the nomenclature of the place. From the summit of Botlierskop, he tells me, a large fire was made to alert local farmers that ships were coming in and they could start moving fresh supplies to the ships. The fire was lit in the "Lord of the Rings" style after a faraway beacon was set alight near the present Mossel Bay lighthouse.

The rocks here seem to be sculpted by extreme wear and tear: ice, rain and wind. Finding myself similarly weathered by the world of work, the rugged surroundings are a comfort to me. I'm happy to escape the chatter, the clutter, and anything and everything manmade. Just get me away from it all!




Six-week-old Shima is the newest addition to the Botlierskop Reserve.


©2007 Nick van der Leek


From the beach-white dirt road I see a big African elephant towering over a very tiny calf. Jacques tells me the calf is only five weeks old and his parents, both former Zimbabweans, are movie stars. I feel a positive cosmos begin to spark along the deadwood of my spine.

Close Encounters

Soon after passing the pair of elephants, we encounter a large tortoise racing up the dusty road. We stop, Jacques opens the hatch of the bakkie and I climb out to lift the leopard tortoise off the ground, its turtle-like legs still swimming in the air. Jacques tells me it is the most common tortoise species on the African continent.

We drive on, soon approaching a saw-tooth scene of massive tree trunks hewn together. This is the hotel entrance. We drive through the gate and ascend the drive while a series of high, dry boulder-strewn mountains rise like a giant oxidized wave around us. Yes, these porous hills make good hiding; for Bushmen and men of the West who must hide in the mountains to get away from the maddening lights of the city.


Luxurious tented suites are situated right beside the river.

©2007 Botlierskop Private Game Reserve

Jacques tells me in lightly accented English that the rainy reason -- winter in this part of the Cape -- has just ended, and they've had no rain. I ask him about the rugby; will I be able to watch it in my room, will we be in time for the start of the game? He tells me there are no televisions in the tented suites. For a moment I feel myself bristling with irritation. We city slickers are used to convenience, especially our home comforts, aren't we?

But Jacques' good nature is infectious, and it gets the better of me. He says there is a big wedding on the deck, and they'll make a plan so that I can watch the game on the big screen in the conference room.

African Ethos

When I arrive the decor takes me into Africa. There's thatch, skins, ostrich shells on wrought-iron chandeliers, themed deckchairs and wide light-khaki umbrellas holding off the African sun. All very tastefully and thoughtfully put together. There's a view toward the high purple Outeniqua, a river sprinkled with stars directly below.

Yes, the African ethos is immediately apparent, and to begin with, for a few minutes I completely forget about the rugby game. When I finally settle down to watch, the Tongans give the South Africans a huge run for their money. Somehow we win, but after the game I'm feeling wound up once more. Maybe TV isn't such a good idea, I'm thinking, sipping cool, dry white wine.

On cue a ranger emerges and offers to take me to my suite. My bags are already there he says. We drive down to the Moordkuil river -- so named because a large number of Bushman were rumored to have been killed here -- a blue crane stands between the parked cars, like a very strict parking attendant.

Riverside Tents

We step onto a boat and hum around a bend toward the wooden jetty on the other side. Those few moments on the river, the gurgle and flow of the river continue nature's gentle washing of tired feet and ruffled feathers. I follow the wooden path between the thick green stems of a Cape Ash, and there it is. I'm number 15, Byevanger (Bee Catcher). The Bushmen would have enjoyed that.

I'm perched a few meters directly above the shining river, with forest hugging me on every side. I step across the wooden deck and into the tent. Inside, the floor is pine. There's a big four-poster bed softened with mosquito nets, tastefully arranged wicker chairs -- leather-bound -- and rustic metal lamps giving off a warm golden glow. There are skins on the floor.


Soak up the sounds and scenery. Taking a bath is just one way to connect to the outside world.

©2007 Nick van der Leek

Behind the bed is a nice little nook: a solid giant earthenware cauldron is a bath, Eartherapy toiletries on hand for all sorts of bath time pampering and a refrigerator stocked with everything you might need. You can order room service for those incidental necessities; otherwise candles and heaters provide the finishing touches for a perfectly natural atmosphere.

Au Natural

And that's what it is. All natural. It's the sounds you see that permeate the walls of your riverine abode that are one of the absolute highlights. While in the bath (the water is clean and piping hot) I hear the twitter of birds then, that most African of sounds, the sharp cry of the fish eagle. It's a delight to be so close, so connected to nature. As darkness folds around me, lions roar and an elephant bellows.

Now it's time for the crickets to join the nocturnal symphony. They sing. They sound like really happy crickets. In nature, you know, there is no such thing as noise. There are just sounds, and they do soothe. It washes over me, and the cactus begins to soften. The barbs turn into buds. I get out of the bath suddenly hungry. As I'm getting dressed I get a call: "What drinks would I like served at the Boma?" I put down the phone. I feel like singing with the crickets. The 40-strong staff has thought of everything.

Magical

The rest of the Botlierskop experience is gentle and magical. Whether you eat in the Fireplace Restaurant or the Boma lower down, expect a feast, and a feast of wild meat in particular. You'll have a choice between zebra, kudu, ostrich, warthog, crocodile -- the list goes on. Try to save some space for dessert. The food really is so good it's difficult not to stuff oneself.

You can do a game drive first thing in the morning. Because I slept so well -- the best sleep in months -- I went on the second drive, at 10 a.m. The cold front had already passed over us, so I was glad for the later, warmer start. The tent was cozy since they have electric blankets and heaters in all 19 suites.

Game Drive

Early on the drive we see impala (including the rare black impala) near the owners' residence, white rhino, zebra between the neon-green sunshine cone bushes, giraffe, wildebeest, waterbuck (some people called them kringgatte), bontebok and the most elegant antelope of all, the regal eland.

The eland features a great deal in Bushmen rock art, and it's not difficult to understand why. It is massive, yet it can clear 2-meter-high fences like the kudu. They survive seemingly without effort, and because they draw moisture out of plants and leaves they never have to drink water. The guides are knowledgeable and nice; their enthusiasm about the environment is matched by their warmth to visitors.


The cigarette bush is pollinated by one bird that has a specially adapted (curved) beak in the same shape as the flowers.

©2007 Nick van der Leek

Higher up on the plateau, our ranger points out the cigarette plant, a flower that requires a specialized tool to extract nectar. Only the orange-breasted sugarbird has the curvature right, and so only these birds can pollinate cigarette bushes. As we climb up the saddle, we see the sea and Mossel Bay, its tiny matchbox buildings colorful in the distance.

Our guide shows us the extent of a devastating fire: on one side of the fence thick fynbos, on the other side, short, stunted grass. The advantage is that it is easier to see the wildlife where the grass is shorter. The game drive ends with a visit to a small pride of four lions, and some impressive vistas over the Botlierskop valley.

Helicopter


Arnold, Dirk and John, standing in front of the Raven helicopter.

©2007 Nick van der Leek

Guests who stay two days or longer may make use of the helicopter on the premises, a Raven II. Flights are around 8 a.m., and the owner's son, Arnold Neethling, is your pilot. I was privileged to fly with Arnold, his veterinarian father, Dr. Dirk Neethling, and John Lee, a ranger at Botlierskop. Dr. Neethling tells me: "Bewaarders moet benutters wees" ("Conservers must also utilize").

Dr. Neethling pioneered the breeding of the black impala, and it's thanks to his success with them that he was able to develop Botlierskop into the large-scale success it is today. We flew over the reserve, and then looked beyond, to the seascapes around the Klein Brak River. Helicopter flight is of course totally different to flying in an airplane. There's something faintly God-like in the ability to position yourself in the air wherever you mean to be.


View toward Klein Brak River, a stone's throw from the Botkierskop Reserve.

©2007 Nick van der Leek

Highlight

The highlight of a visit to Botlierskop is still to come though. While elephant rides on the movie stars Sam and Tsotsi are a treat, the elephant picnic is even more so. A nice light lunch is served on crisp linen-covered tables out in the open, beside the cool of a large tree and the river sliding by below. You can choose to drink wine, champagne, whatever you want with your meal. Once done, guides bring Tsotsi and the adorable months-old baby elephant, Shimba into the clearing.


Riding the elehants is one of the highlights at Botlierskop.

©2007 Nick van der Leek

If you hear a rumble in the jungle, it's one of the big elephants saying, "I'm hungry, let's get on with feeding time." Don't miss the brilliant photo opportunity that follows. Guests have a chance to stand beside an adult elephant and feed it apples by hand. First you offer an apple to the trunk, then, with a hand holding the tusk (Tsotsi only has one), you say, "Up, up, up!" She raises her trunk and opens her mouth, exposing a large, triangular, soft (and I can confirm slimy!) pink tongue.

Put the apple on the tongue and make sure someone is there to capture the moment. It's a test of mettle. A little girl was too terrified to do it. I laughed seeing how nervous some of the men were, placing their apples in the elephant's mouth, and then pulling back quickly in terror.

The elephants are exceedingly gentle, and your commune with them is likely to be the closest you will get to these gentle and intelligent animals. It's likely to be the most delightful of your experiences at Botlierskop.

First People

The Bushmen chose the Botlierskop Valley as their hunting ground. They had good reasons. It is a giver and restorer of life. Even after fires and floods, the valley still teems with life, from its fynbos and flowers, to the large idiosyncratic animals you'll find all over the reserve.


Panoramic view of the Botlierskop Valley.

©2007 N. van der Leek

Before I leave, I climb Botlierskop with John Lee -- an interesting fellow and part-time hunter -- who first discovered Bushman paintings near the summit of the peak.

Standing in the cave, flint stones in my hands, the whorls of my fingers moving over the soft ochre stains, I feel myself moved to the moment when these first people were here, clicking softly in the firelight and hiding from the people who would come in an endless tide in their ships. John and I decide the Bushmen chose this cave as a lookout and a hideaway.

I believe they were happy here, while they lived in this place. They found the full moon, and honey, and a short-term safety from the dangers beyond the valley. When you go, let go of television and the Internet and you will discover the same elixir, like a soft rain falling on dry soil.

It rained on my second day at Botlierskop. I listened to the sounds. I reached out to the animals. The dry soil softened, and I came away fully restored. It seems to me that the way to connect with nature is to find those places specially chosen by the Bushmen in this country. The Bushmen chose places that could look after them. Botlierskop is just such a place.


Unwind in the jacuzzi.

©2007 Botlierskop Private Game Reserve

Getting There

Fly Kulula.com from major centers in South Africa to George Airport.

Rates

Special rate of 595 South African rand (US$90) per person sharing per night including Bed and Breakfast.

Terms and conditions:
  • Valid now until Dec. 20, 2007.
  • Rate quoted is for Luxury rooms only.
  • Subject to availability.
  • Minimum 2-night stay.
Other Activities Offered

Bushwalks, horseback safaris and further afield: Boat-based whale watching (June to October), Seal Island trips, white shark cage diving.

Contact Information

Visit www.botlierskop.co.za.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Random Places*

*Samples of writing and photography by Nick van der Leek covering travel, economics and sport.  Three are published under pseudonyms.




Perspective on Bicycle Crashes*

*Published in April issue of Bicycling Magazine

Injuries in pro cycling average out to around five serious injuries per week among the four hundred or so professional cyclists. During a six-month season, that amounts to a one-in-four chance that they'll log hospital time. That’s more attrition than you’ll find in an international rugby team.  The average NASCAR season has even fewer injuries, perhaps five serious injuries all year.* But you don’t have to be a professional cyclist to run the risk of a serious injury.  If you’re regularly riding on the roads you’ll need to know what to do when it happens– by Nick van der Leek

There’s a reason for our rituals; for our good luck charms.  Riders and coaches will do almost anything to feel safer, to be able to ride with less fear.  Even so cyclists make mistakes. Sometimes we’re arrogant and those ‘mistakes’ are intentional, it comes from cheeky riding.  Let’s face it, there’s an exuberance and enthusiasm that comes from exerting our will on an uncaring world; this sometimes makes us brash and reckless. 

Motorists sometimes mis-interpret why cyclists don’t stop at intersections.  I’m not condoning it, but I’d like to offer an explanation.  The reason is that the cleat, fixed to the shoe, is almost like a key that fits into a lock [in the pedal].  You can imagine, not being able to see the keyhole, it can get tricky to maneuver the cleat into a specific space.  But every time a rider stops, he or she has to unclick both feet.  When a rider pushes off there’s a tricky moment where the rider must try to find the pedal and click into it.  Remember this is a blind process, the rider must feel his way, and many amateur riders fall either because they can’t get their feet in or out of their pedals. And it’s for these reasons that cyclists try to avoid having to stop altogether, if they possibly can.

Some years ago I was cruising down Bloemfontein’s biggest hill, down Harrismith Road, and a third of the way down I saw the traffic light blink red.  I decided I wasn’t going to go through the rigmarole of stopping.  So I went through the intersection – without slowing down – and then a car immediately ahead of me turned left into a driveway and I because I was flying down I couldn’t stop.  I hit the passenger door and flew, in a somersault, over the bonnet. I landed and rolled in one movement and stood up without a scratch.  My bicycle was fine, front wheel alignment slightly out, but not enough to preventing me from completing the day’s training.  The driver, shocked, feeling responsible [unaware that I had gone through the red light] assured me he would pay for repairs the dent to his front door.  I cycled away feeling like Superman.

For every story like that there are a handful of stories about arrogant or aggressive drivers, and usually the cyclists come off second best, often dead [see below] with their bicycle frames in pieces.  This article doesn’t intend to lay blame in either case – but I’m sure we can all agree that being on the road, whether in a car or on a bike, is dangerous.

What a lot of cyclists don’t realize – and probably don’t like to think about – is just how dangerous the sport is, and how easily freak accidents happen when you’re riding on less than an inch of rubber touching the road. And when a serious accident does happen, what should the accompanying peloton do?
When I started out cycling, this is around twenty years ago, I encountered a rider with massive cuts in his face, to his lips and tongue.  What had happened was due to a manufacturers fault.  The frame’s fork [supporting the handlebars] had snapped.  The rider – a skilled cyclist - was doing criteriums and without warning fell face first into the pavement.  That’s not something you can prepare for other than to have your frame X-rayed.  The point is that accidents happen and because they do, it always pays to be extra-cautious.

What I am about to tell you is a true story that happened on the morning of December 8th, a Tuesday.  I joined a large bunch of the Illovo Riders as they turned into Hope Road, at around 5:15am. Around thirty of us negotiated Hope Roads speedbumps and avoided the occasional potholes and a few kilometers later, we were freewheeling down the smooth and straight [and obstacle free] Club Street.  On our left was the foliage and greenery of the Huddle Park Golf Club, while on our right, the suburbs of Linksfield were still sleeping.

We were freewheeling at 48.8km/h.  This was unusual – we often motored down this section at a heady 55-65km/h. But since all the major races were behind us, we were in a relaxed mood, a pre-holiday buzz.   It was due to this slower speed that two riders moved forward.  One of them, a strong rider originally from the Free State, Barry Burger**, stood up and as he did, his foot slipped off his pedal.  This happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that Barry lost control of his handlebars and from the standing position fell onto the road, face first. 

From where I was, 10-15 metres back, I saw the sudden bottlenecking of riders, and sparks fly as Barry’s bicycle pedals scratched against the tar.  Within 2 or 3 seconds I was beside him, having seen another rider go straight over the top of him and falling, but at a much reduced speed.  The entire peloton pulled over. Fortunately we had a safety vehicle escorting us – the Yaris idled in the road, emergencies on, providing protection against traffic coming in from the rear.

It was immediately obvious that it was a very serious fall.  For starters, Barry wasn’t moving.  Also, the position of his body, head against the road, body facing flat against the road, and hands and arms at the side of his body.  I immediately pulled out my phone and said we should call an ambulance.  Someone else beat me to it.  The next thing we noticed was thick tomato sauce red blood on the road surface around his head.  The leader of our group, Jeremy Maccelari, kneeled over Barry.  One of the lady riders, seeing what we’d all seen, started sobbing. 
Someone removed Barry’s bicycle and loaded it into the hovering Yaris. 

Given the obvious seriousness of the injuries, time now moved agonisingly slowly.  Barry remained motionless, Jeremy spoke to him but there was no response.  A few riders went on ahead to slow traffic approaching in the opposite direction, others directed traffic around the accident scene.  After around a minute Barry’s breathing became audible.  A horrible, gurgling, almost snoring noise.  It was clear that the haemorrhage he’d suffered was interfering with respiration. 

I suggested that we turn Barry onto his back since he was lying on his lungs, causing his body to heave more and more with each breath.  But the risk was, if he had suffered damage to his neck or skull, that movement could aggravate this.  Also, by leaving him face down, the blood was more likely to exit the body than flow into his mouth and lungs, something that was already happening.
I warned that if the wheezing stopped we’d have to immediately begin CPR.  The next few minutes were brutal.  Barry’s breathing became more labored, and finally he made small ineffectual movements of his arms and legs.  Jeremy spoke to him throughout, trying to keep him still.  Barry did not seem to be fully conscious.  By the fifth minute Barry had turned himself slightly, so that he was lying more on his side.  Jeremy kept a hand on him, saying his name  and encouraging him to lie still, reassuring him that help was on the way. 

The ambulance arrived and the paramedic walked calmly to where Barry was lying, by now the patch of blood was about two square feet, and we could see obvious damage to his face around his eye, directly below the helmet. The paramedic didn’t run around in a panic.  His movements were careful and considered.  After a brief examination Barry was turned onto his back, his helmet straps cut and the helmet removed, and a transparent oxygen mask slipped over his mouth.  I noticed a thin red line of blood erupt from his mouth and flow down his cheek. 

His cycle shirt was also removed to check for injuries to his torso – there didn’t seem to be any.  Two or three riders then assisted in loading Barry onto a stretcher, and during this time his phone was used to contact his wife and inform her which hospital he was going to.
While one of the riders in our group – Allan – is a doctor, Jeremy supervised the entire process and Allan had no problems with what we were doing or how we were doing it.
After the ambulance left a subdued group turned around and cycled back the way we had come.  Since that day it is difficult to get on the bike and not have flashbacks.  The trick is to be aware of the dangers and how easily they can happen, to be prepared, but not to be overcome with fear.  The trick is a balance then of preparation and alertness.

The Aftermath

I called Barry’s phone later that day; his wife answered.  She sounded concerned, but not distraught.  Barry had been induced in a coma, and was on a ventilator.  He had suffered a fractured eye socket, a broken jawbone and broken nose.  The concern was brain damage, and unfortunately it was later ascertained he had some bruising to the brain and small internal ruptures in the brain.  A week later Barry ‘came to’ but has remained under heavy sedation and is still on a ventilator.  Progress is slow.
Lessons Learned

Although injuries are by their very nature idiosyncratic, these general rules apply:

-         Have your phone with you on all rides
-         Call an ambulance immediately [make sure you know the numbers of hospitals in your area]
-         don’t move or interfere with the body [if the rider is unconscious]
-         have one person attend to the fallen rider
-         observe the injuries without touching them
-         be vigilant and try to gather as much information which can then be conveyed to paramedics.  If possible try to convey this information to the paramedics whilst they’re en route
-         secure the area [both sides of the road]
-         don’t forget the bicycle [get it out of the road, organise for someone to collect it]
-         call the cyclist’s family
-         assist the paramedic where necessary

This particular accident happened as a result of a cleat slipping out of a pedal.  Check yours.  Check your frame for signs of cracks, warping or rust.

Prevention

-         check your equipment [for rust, for wear and tear]
-         service your bicycle every 3-6 months
-         try to arrange a support vehicle for road training [otherwise ride with bigger, organised groups or clubs that do make these arrangements on a regular basis]
-         stay alert and cycle defensively
-         as far as possible, when in a tight knit group, don’t make any sudden movements.

Note: In my original article this paragraph [below] was left out.  Instead of ending on a downer ['progress is slow.' I wanted to end with a bit of perspective.  Hence 'Now go out there and have fun.']

The guys in our group have observed that we have ridden literally thousands of kilometres together since the last crash.  This crash happened not due to a touch of wheels, or a pothole, or due to traffic but was entirely a freak accident.  It can happen.  Check your equipment and stay alert to your environment and fellow riders.  Now go out there and have fun. 

*From Daniel Coyle’s book Tour de Force, on Lance Armstrong. 
**Name has been changed