My Klipspringer

People who are tired of the luxury of gamedrives - i.e. sitting inside your airconditioned-kick-ass-Landrover with the windows turned up - are often found at Augrabies because one of the main outdoor "eco-adventures" available at the park is a 3-day hiking trail named the Klipspringer Trail. The klipspringer itself is a cute little antilope and our park boasts the highest population of them in South Africa (together with Karoo NP), this fact combined with their unnerving ability to scale sheer cliffs made the decision of naming this trail very easy. What is not so easy on the other hand is the trail itself. It opens for an eager public at the end of March and I thought it would be a good idea (and good fun) to walk the 40km myself first to check if everything is in proper order. This to hopefully prevent some unprepared ass sueing the park because he got lost due to a lack of signs and was forced to eat his own leg. Or something. Anyway it felt like a good idea as I was sitting in my airconditioned office.

Prologue: Hazardous Materials

It is apparently not uncommon for people to request a pick-up from the park rangers after doing one or two days of the Klipspringer Trail. Perhaps it is due to the fact that those same people do not realize the vastness of Augrabies Falls National Park - and at over 550 square kilometers of arid wilderness it is not advised to get lost. Sure, it is tiny compared to say for instance the Kruger Park which is nearly the size of the Netherlands or the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park which is in fact larger than the Netherlands, but still nothing to sneeze at I think. Obviously some ambitious would-be hikers think walking our trail believe it is just a brisk walk through some lovely scenery with a comfortable overnight hut and a cold beer waiting at the end of each day. And it was in this frame of mind that I set out on Friday morning, ready for a "brisk" walk through my back yard...

Being an avid reader of travel books detailing far-away places, humorous culture clashes and a healthy amount of adventure, I could never miss reading Bill Bryson's hilarious accounts of his journeys across the globe. Among my favourites is his book entitled "A Walk In The Woods" in which he describes his trials and tribulations whilst walking the (in)famous Apalachian Trail running from West-Virginia all the way to Maine throughout the eastern United States. Amazingly (for our Western society at least) this trail is not hindered by any towns or cities along its course so it is possible to travel the whole length without really encountering signs of modern civilization - over a 2000 mile (or 3500km) stretch that is impressive. And obviously does not compare to our tiny 40km excuse-for-a-trail, but it's all relative of course. Except for the difference in length the similarieties are striking: the terrain is usually rough and some boulder bashing will be required; overnight huts only have the bare-minimum i.e. a roof and a bed; you are pretty much alone and cellphone reception is unreliable; and finally nature can really whoop your behind if she so desires.

Bryson tends to describe the hazards of any journey he is about to attempt in much horrified detail - flesh-rending animals, carnivorous plants, trigger-happy rednecks and deadly diseases are all part of the deal if you are going to step outside your door according to him. So in honour of my favourite travel writer I will also describe briefly what could happen to you when walking through Augrabies Falls:

This park is not a "Big 5" area which is why having an unguided hiking trail in the park is possible in the first place. What a relief. No chance in the world of encountering a stampeding herd of buffalo or a rampaging bull elephant with bad breath. No chance indeed...but here be leopards instead...While it is an extremely rare event to see a leopard in the park and even rarer to see one while walking, there is a very small chance. Simply put: it will be the last thing you see. But rest assured, in the history of the park no hikers have had a "negative" encounter with one of the big cats.

Eland. Biggest antilope of southern Africa. Bulls can weigh over 800kg...that's heavier than any African buffalo. What's the catch? They are extremely shy and skittish, and will always choose flight over fight. Lucky us. Although an animal of that size can pretty much "flight" over anything it wants. Get it?

As with most outdoor experiences the little annoyances are usually the ones that are encountered most often. Hundreds of black flies hovering around your face, getting into your nose, ears and eyes, impossible to get rid of no matter how hard you try; ants taking over any source of food that is even remotely accessible to them; and bugs in all shapes and sizes making their way into your sleeping bag because it looks so darned cozy. Annoying sure, but hardly life threatening. However, in the same creepy-crawlie category are some of the most terrifying creatures Africa can throw at you: chief among which is the cape cobra. The venom of this snake is as poisonous as the better known (thanks Tarantino) black mamba, which occurs in eastern parts of the country, and if bitten by this snake it is advised to completely tie off the bloodflow with a tourniquet because unfortunately the choice is between losing a limb or losing a life. But as with the leopard it is a rare sight indeed so if you do happen to see one and you are out of harms way just enjoy it. If that was not enough for you, the park also has puff adders and black spitting cobras to cater for your poisonous snake needs. The fun does not end there though! The arid regions of southern Africa are a haven for scorpions as well and the best known of these is undoubtebly the Parabuthus genus which is home to the most venomous scorpion of the sub-continent, namely the P. granulatus. In case you are losing track, that is the most venomous snake and scorpion we have on our list so far. To make the hat-trick complete let us add the most dangerous spiders of the continent as well: the black-button (or black widow) spider and violin spider both occur in the region and together are responsible for the majority of deadly spider bites in South Africa. The violin spider is especially nasty as its bite can cause extensive tissue damage throughout the body, not just at the location of the bite.

Now before some worried conservationist starts screaming bloody murder over the above, let me point out that on average 20 people are killed by snakes in South Africa every year and about 4 by spiders. Those figures stand in sharp contrast with over 10,000 traffic related fatilities and even 200 death-by-lightning-strike. So although these animals have some impressive offensive capabilities it is unlikely you will even see one of them, let alone be hurt by one. But it is always exciting to read about all the possibilities right?

In the end if something bad did happen it would most likely be something "boring" such as blisters, fatigue or cuts and bruises. Things you should worry about whenever you go for a long walk in the bush in other words.

Day 1: A Walk In The Wilderness

After all that you may be wondering why I would be irresponsible enough to walk this trail all by myself. If that is the case you obviously do not know me at all. I am the kind of person who wears his seatbelt while the car is parked so the idea of doing this alone never even entered my mind. Accompanying me - and picking me up when necesarry - was one of the conservation students doing their practical year at Augrabies before graduating. Fortunately all the "younger" members of staff get along great together so this trip would feel more like a short holiday with a good friend than work. But it was with a purpose that the two of us were hiking the trail before the holiday season started: we were going to check if the path was well marked and accessible, note GPS coordinates at certain landmarks to make orientation easier, and finally give the overnight huts a review.

Feeling very confident in my hiking ability but aware that a decent meal was going to be hard to find in the coming days, I suggested we meet early at my house for a breakfast of champions: bacon and eggs, of course, before setting out on the path which starts right in front of my door. The previous day I had bought supplies for myself at the park shop which I thought would fit easily in the large backpack which I had brought with me to Africa, but combined with some essential items of clothing, first-aid kit, cups and plates and (I now regret) my mp3 player plus portable stereo it actually did not fit. So I was forced to take a small second backpack and carry that on my chest. My sleepingbag was hanging from my bigger bag, adding to the already considerable weight. The confidence I had felt earlier quickly ebbed away as I hoisted the backpack on, lost my balance, and realized that I would have to carry this weight around for 40km. I ate as much breakfast as I could before heading out and in the back of my mind a sneaking suspiscion was forming that this was going to be tough.

The start of the Klipspringer Trail follows the same path as the Dassie Trail, a very scenic 5km walk which can be completed in just 2 hours. But although the Dassie Trail is very nice and beautiful, there are some areas where a little rock climbing is required. Nothing too serious, but with two backpacks and very unstable sleeping bag this suddenly becomes quite a challenge. I managed it fine of course, but this again made me realize the difference when walking with a heavy pack. This was going to be very tough.

As we made our way towards the Moon Rock, one of the defining geological features of the park, we startled a herd of eland which were hiding in the dense bushes ahead of us. The morning silence was broken by a massive stampede as they scrambled to get out of our way, the ground shaking slightly by the passing of these huge animals. A herd of these antilopes is a magnificent sight any time, but seeing them so close while walking is truly breathtaking and humbling. I wonder why they are so afraid of us? Most likely they were hunted by the original inhabitants of this land, the bushmen, and somehow still hold the memories of those days. Anyway, we took this sighting as a positive sign, feeling more and more that we were well and truly alone in the wilderness.

The reason why the trail is closed from October till April is because it is summertime in the desert. For anybody unfamiliar with what that feels like it is hard to describe. I usually compare stepping outside around noon to walking into an oven which instantaneously sucks any fluid from your body leaving you with a nice wrinkly look. In fact, finding yourself outside during some of the hotter days could be considered a suicidal act and you may require professional assistance. As it is still two weeks before the trail opens to an eager public the weather is still very hot and average temperatures range from 35 to 40 degrees. So now I'm walking with a overweight backpack, over rocks, in the desert sun. These are trying times indeed...

I will admit the first day was hard. My shoulders were certainly not used to carrying such a burden around and they made their displeasure felt at the end of the day. The overnight hut was amongst the most appealing objects I've ever seen in my life - and I've lived in Paris. There wasn't much there, but some shade and a reasonably soft mattress was all I was looking for. We reached the hut around 13.00, the hottest time of day, and we did not get off our mattresses until the sun was in serious decline. The soreness of my feet and shoulders coupled with being utterly exhausted prevented me from having a good look at my surroundings for the night. The hut is in fact beautifully located at the foot of a rocky hill and the view is stunning; there is a primitive (and therefore appealling) fireplace for boiling water and cooking, some pots and pans and the two bedrooms can hold 12 people in bunkbeds.
Now the reason I brought my portable speakers along was because I had recently downloaded some animal sounds. Specifically a few leopard and lion roars. As you may have read in a previous post, the baboons in the park could potentially cause serious damage and perhaps if they heard the roar of their most feared enemy, the leopard, they might take to the trees and not bother us again. But that was not why I had brought it along on this occassion. Since I am almost obsessed with leopards I am doing my utmost to see at least one while I am living in the park. I know from track sightings that the leopards do not live close to the restcamp area (probably a good thing) but prefer to roam the dry riverbeds far from any roads or human interference. As we were now pretty much in leopard territory I was curious to see if anything would happen if I played my leopard roar from the hut. My companion was also very eager to try it out but the longer I played the fearsome roar the more uncomfortable we both got and after about five minutes we decided to hit the bunkbeds and securely lock the door by placing out backpacks in front of them...finally the weight came in handy.

Needless to say nothing interesting happened during the night and we were up again at first light to face what was going to be the most difficult of the three-day hike.

Foam: The Party

(for reasons that will become readily apparent the names or descriptions of the people involved in this story are not mentioned - especially that of a certain paramedic)

They were ready for anything…except foam.

Nightlife in rural South Africa is generally a rather colourful affair. Not necesarrilly because black, white, coloured and everything in between mixes up together – although that can also contribute to the fun – but more due to the fact that the drinks here have all the colours of a rainbow on acid. In the following account, which takes place in a very Afrikaans drinking/dancing hole (yes, I do mean “hole” and not “hall”), these observations have been made:

• Taking a paramedic with you might seem like a good idea at first.
• Drinking vodka/redbull from plastic pint glasses might not seem like a good idea, but can actually be very cost-effective.
• The heating inside a BMW 330 will not dry your clothes in one hour.
• Racist assholes are closer than they appear.
• Playing the same cd all night does not mean it will be a bad party.
• Do not open your eyes while covered in foam. It’s real soap you twat.

Curious yet? I know you are.

The plans to go to Upington on this fateful Saturday evening (3rd March 2007, for those of you keeping track) had been hatched some time before, because on Sunday it would be the birthday of one of our interns. Any call for celebration is quickly grasped out here – since there is little else to do in the evenings – and birthdays don’t require coming up with an imaginative reason for once. Some friends of hers from home were coming over on Friday and staying the weekend as well which meant that, adding the other students, myself and some of our newly acquired Germanic pals to the equation, we would be quite a large group – splendid.

The fully comprehend how awful the evening started out, you really had to be there yourself. But it will attempt to make it clear to you. Driving to Upington went without a hitch, but that was simply due to the fact that we were driving a BMW 330 at highspeed with Bon Jovi’s Dead or Alive blasting through the surround soundsystem. I am definitely not a “car-person”, but that is one sweet ride.

We arrived around 7 o’clock at the centre of Upington, its shopping area, and we headed over to Dros (a SA restaurant chain) for dinner and pre-drinks. This is where things went awry…Being deprived of the wide variety of food choices which were available to me in Europe, or any other Western-style urban environment, I immediately lunged (figuratively) for the pizza’s on the menu. I might risk sounding spoiled, but having a braai every other night gets a bit tedious and the opportunity to eat a pizza – regardless of quality – was not going to be missed.

Three hours later. No pizza. Lukewarm beer. Bad atmosphere. Worse service. Shit.

To make a long story short: the pizza had been taken to the birthday girl’s friends who were sitting inside (the rest of us were on the terrace) and they were told by the waitress that they had actually ordered it despite their arguments to the contrary. Once the mistake was discovered it was all too late, the clueless waitress having nearly force-fed my pizza to the people inside, and we had to wait another 1,5 hours for my replacement to arrive – by which time I was so hungry I was actually feeling nauseous. I had two slices of my mediocre-at-best pizza when it finally arrived, asked for a doggy-bag (which took another 15 trillion hours to do), settled the bill and we tore ourselves free of Dros, vowing never to return.

Very much subdued and in a mind to go back home, we made our way to what was supposed to be the main event of the evening, the pièce-de-resistance, the venue…the club. Keeping the spirit of the evening (up to this point) at heart, the “club” was a dissapointment beyond words: it was not a club at all, but rather the club’s older, uglier, adopted brother who had not seen the inside of a shower in several weeks. Ironically we were asked for a 25 Rand entrance fee in order to be allowed into this magical place of fun and fornication. Grudgingly we all paid in turn, still cherishing a distant hope that the night would turn around for the better. I could not help but think back to other nights in years gone by when I had to pay an entrance fee to get into a club: mostly the unforgettable times spent in the bars and clubs of Europe – in Paris, London, Barcelona…too many to mention. And now here I found myself once again being asked to pay a fee but this time the venue was quite different than those I was used to. But I came here with an open mind and obviously I could not expect things to be the same as back home – I was in the most remote province of South Africa, in a no-name town and about to enter a clearly “white’s only” establishment – the Champs-Elysees this was not.

Very cautiously walking into the place, I realized that we were nearly the only people present. Perhaps the 25 Rand fee was keeping the locals away…The atmosphere that greeted us as we entered the bar did nothing to improve our collective state of mind: a group of white males was huddled in one corner, quietly staring at their Castle lagers, the barroom itself was simply a large concrete, square-shaped area with few distinguishing features besides a dirty bar counter and some dirtier bartenders standing behind it. As I was hypnotized by the greasy fingerprints on my plastic cup which were clearly not my own, I once again decided that I truly did not want to be here. Sometimes you just have to realize a bad investment when you see it and cut your losses…and I was about to do just that when someone mentioned that this was not where the party was taking place.

With very mixed feelings I followed the group to where the actual party was taking place, apparently in a hall at the back, and when I saw this latest architectural miracle (“where germs are born” – although I had not seen the bathrooms at this point) I nearly fainted. But that could also have been due to the lack of food in my stomach. Basically it was the same kind of interior as the bar we had just left, only bigger and, if possible, even uglier. A large concrete hangar, the paint on the walls had mostly disappeared (probably out of sheer misery) and once again the only distinguishing feature was a barcounter in one corner. One thing which did improve – relatively speaking – was the music. While in the “upstairs” we were being treated to the best local Afrikaans folk on offer, “dowstairs” they were playing more mainstream dance mixes: the fact that I thought it was an improvement already indicates how low my standards had sunk by this point.

Our group had silently congregated up and around one of the pic-nic style table/benches when I realized two things: one, I was in dire need of either food or a substance which would allow me to live through this night; two, there was foam coming down from the ceiling.

This signified a turning point in the evening. Either I could take to the hills while I was still dry, or I could jump in without a lifepreserver. I took a cue from a friend, who was as unimpressed with our current situation as I was, and we decided to “test the water” so to speak by ordering a vodka/red bull at the bar. Waiting for this hellish concoction to take effect, I noticed that another of our motley crew had already taken to the foam with great gusto, apparently without the aid of any (legal) stimulants. Seeing a grown up man laughing and dancing while covered in foam, barely-legal local girls in provocative outfits surrounding him, can have a very ambigious effect on one’s state of mind. On the one hand I was appauled that anyone from my group would stoop this low, but on the other I realized that I had nowhere else to go and it was either sulk or swim! So I swam.

Epilogue:

In the end the whole thing was a huge success, despite a very uncertain start and dubious location. The combination of energy drink and Russian liquor did wonders for my constitution and my ability to dive into the foam and come round for seconds. The evening failed to become a complete utopia due to the fact that several local girls and boys – who I suspect have been lobotomized from birth – thought it necessary to point out that one of the girls in our group was coloured. Indeed, what is the world coming to when coloured girls are seen dancing and having fun with friends in what can only be described as a white’s only bar (the only thing missing was the sign saying so)? What really knocked me over – metaphorically – was the unnerving feeling that violence could actually ensue because of this lack of basic humanity exhibited by these local yokels. Fortunately our group consisted of 12 individuals of whom several did not look as if they came last in line when brawn was handed out (don’t look at me, I was last) so our racially & IQ challenged friends soon left us alone. In South Africa nobody can expect the past to be so easily forgotten and attitudes to have changed in a matter of years and while time in this case is certainly a healer it also works extremely slowly – especially in the Northern Cape it seems.

Driving back home after an, all-in-all, enjoyable (and rare) night out, I discovered that even a smooth ride like the BMW 330 cannot distract you from the painful truth of being completely and utterly soaking wet. Murphy’s African branch decided this night would also be ideal to drop the temperature to around 12 degrees, something that had not happened since I arrived here and has obviously never happened again. Of course the car has a state-of-the-art climate control system, which would have worked miracles if we had been a tad damp but we weren’t damp. We were soaked. My toes were doing the back-stroke in my shoes because there was a centimeter of water in them – gore-tex my ass; although I will admit that it was very difficult getting the water out of my shoes.

With an acute outbreak of pneumonia looming over each and every one of us, we eventually arrived back at my appartment in the park. Hot showers were taken, a fire was started with the utmost urgency, wet clothes were being liberally tossed on the braai and whiskey and Southern Comfort were conjured up to (ineffectively of course) combat any viruses and germs we had almost certainly caught. The end of the night would not be reached until the early morning hours, with a hardy few still hugging their blankets around the fire. I cannot describe the look on the faces of the campers who were waking up and making their way to ablution blocks for a wash when they saw what was left over from our “foam group” because yours truly had already taken to bed, but I am assured it was hilarious.

My National Park

(Cheesy tourist pic alert -->)

The people who work and live here know it as the edge of the world, those who merely visit the place as Augrabies Falls National Park. It is the final oasis before an endless stretch of barren, semi-arid desert in which all but the hardiest of life can survive. As you stand on the terrace of the park’s restaurant, the view that greets you is truly impressive. The first thing one notices is the rumbling of the main “attraction” of this area, the Orange River gorge and waterfall. For those residents with a healthy dose of imagination the intimidating sound of the cascading water combined with the fact that the origin of this noise can’t be seen from the safety of the terrace, makes the sense that there is an incredibly powerful yet invisible force very close by only stronger. After further inspection this feeling of awe is only enhanced when the waterfall and gorge through which the river flows are seen from the safety of one of the (sturdy) viewing platforms. At its average size, the waterfall is impressive, but observe it when the waterlevel is much higher and suddenly it becomes quite clear how the river has been able to cut through nearly 100 meters of solid rock over a length of 18 kilometers – few things, if any, could resist such a force.

The second characteristic of Augrabies Falls is the temperature. Slightly more difficult to take a picture of then the waterfalls or the animals and therefore not mentioned as a “must-see” in the brochures, it is nonetheless very interesting. Few inhabited places on earth experience such temperature fluctuations as do the poor residents of the so-called Green Kalahari (not to mention the Kalahari proper!). The summer highs usually reach 40 degrees and over, with temperatures on sun scorched rocks reaching 50 to 60 degrees – and thus even making the short distance to the falls an unpleasant experience at best. To make up for this incredible heat, winter nights can get as cold as –5 degrees – this means that you can actually experience severe heatstroke and frostbite if you stand on the same rock long enough! Truly an amazing place.

Now to get a little bit more specific. The time I have spent here so far has been very interesting – and I do not mean interesting as in “that’s great, can we go yet?”, but interesting as in the true meaning of the word. Although a very remote place, all the basics (and a touch of luxury) are present to make even a year-long stay a definite possibility for a spoiled European. First of all the accomodation: it’s sweet. A little ground-floor appartment with all the basics and large enough so you don’t get that “boarding school feeling”of being trapped in a closet. It is a comfortable 5-minute walk from the office, lying on the edge of the park’s campgrounds – removed enough so you don’t have to deal with the tourists the second you walk out the door (and no worries about turning up the music), but close enough to the restcamp area to make social interaction with visitors (or baboons) a sure thing if desired.

What about the bugs? Good question. Even though I consider South Africa as "Africa For Beginners" when it comes to the whole outdoor/jungle-experience (go to the Congo instead for that), we do have our share of creepy-crawlies making daily-life miserable. Number one suspect around here are the black flies or "muggies": minuscule flying terrors which will buzz around your face (and often IN your face) continuously the moment you step outside. These buggers aside, there are legions of ants (all shapes, sizes and colours), armies of termites and numerous unidentifiable things which haunt your accomodation. Yes there are spiders, but personally I do not consider these to be pests. Luckily there is relief - and not in the form of a can of "Doom" spray: gekko's. The bug-busters of southern Africa are the most efficient reptiles when it comes to keeping your house creepy-crawlie-free. I am lucky to host several in my appartment alone, hiding behind the curtains or fridge during the day but coming out at night to kill kill kill...

Moving on: there’s a shop, take-away, restaurant…blablabla. (One word though: milkshakes)

Working here is certainly not a dull proposition either. There’s quite a lot of staff, present which makes for intriguing watercooler gossip (which I never indulge in, obviously, but it’s certainly present), but there’s plenty to do nonetheless. We’re getting Kids in Parks this year, which I am looking forward to with an equal amount of excitement and apprehension – for somebody who has never worked with or taught kids, getting over 500 of the little rascals in a six week period is daunting to say the least. Another big thing we have started is the formation of an Eco-Club. The idea is to involve young people and making them aware of their environment and how they can help improve and sustain it. It is early days yet, but some of the activities that they could be doing are: community clean-up days, environmental education classes, national park visits and cultural heritage awareness, to name a few. Interest is high so hopefully this will be a successful project.

A pet project I am working on is an information brochure and presentation about the creepy-crawlies of Augrabies Falls. Obviously not a lecture on the technical specs of those swimmingpool-cleaners, but (hopefully) a clear and fun introduction to some of the lesser seen animals of the park. I am still stunned every time somebody recoils in fear at the mere mention of snakes and scorpions. Yes they are predators, yes they are poisonous, no they are not out to get you. Simple, but very difficult to get into people’s heads. While I’m not out to cure a phobia, most people simply see these animals as pests and will kill them at any opportune moment – that attitude is what I hope to change by doing this project.

And as will probably be the case in most of the other parks as well, there are several students here either working for tourism or nature conservation. Augrabies is home to three, one of whom (the Victoria’s Secret model, remember guys??) lives next door to me. As far as good company goes I could not have done much better I think, as all three of them are great to hang out with (Note: they’ll probably read this newsletter so what else am I going to write?). To emphasize this point, read the foam party story below.

Last but definitely not least: the baboons. Oh, have we got baboons baby! Big ones too. Little fact: a full-grown male’s teeth are as large as (and sometimes larger than) a lion’s. And they love to party – especially with any objects (chairs, glasses, garbage cans, electricity boxes…) that might break with the application of enough blunt force. The monkey-proof trashcans which have been placed in most national parks – with much success, it has to be said – are unfortunately not proof to the violent tactics of our local gangsta’s. They have a hard time with them sure, but several bins have already had their lids smashed in. Quite a feat because those bins are pretty sturdy. But have no fear: the GVI Augrabies is on the case! Due to a rather fatal encounter between rangers and baboons several weeks ago, the primates – unafraid of anything or anybody – now have a healthy dose of respect for the green uniforms. The same green uniform yours truly has been issued with at Skukuza, hence (yes, hence!) it is up to me to keep encounters between monkey and man to a bare minimum around the campsite. More exciting monkey business is sure to follow!!

Sixth Report - My Arrival

My first look at Augrabies Falls National Park, after driving another 1,5 hours from Upington at break-neck speed, was not really a look at all. It was so dark the only visibility came from the car's headlights and that is hardly an exaggeration. The windows of the car might for all intent and purposes have been painted black - just as Mick wanted. Adding to the gloom was a pretty powerful sandstorm which caused anything you could actually see through the windows - while passing a lonely street light for instance - to be sand. After a couple of very long days, a gruelling busride and a healthy amount of uncertainty, this was not improving my state of mind...

I'm still in the dark (no pun intended) about how Gert, the technical manager who picked me up, managed to find my little ground-floor appartment at the very tip of the restcamp area, but he did. He left the headlights on as I unloaded my luggage and the bags of groceries I had bought in Upington. A good thing he did too because otherwise I would not have found the keyhole...actually it was so dark I would not have noticed the entire building until I had walked against it.

So here I was, standing in the one-room flat where I would spend an entire year. As far as my bleak and tired mind was concerned, things were still not looking up. It is a very strange sensation: having absolutely no knowledge of where you are or what the world around your tiny appartment looks like. I looked out the window but all I could see was an inky darkness which did not allow the light from my room to penetrate it even slightly. The scratching noises I heard on the roof reminded me that there was a big tree next to my house, but that was all I knew about my new environment. Unsettling.

It would be fitting for me to tell you at this point that I had a restless night, waking up every so often to strange noises outside my door, the heat keeping me up, not giving me five minutes peace. Unfortunately that was not so dear readers. I fell asleep like a log and didn't open my eyes until the alarm on my mobile phone went off at 6.30 the next morning.

If not knowing what the outside looked like when I arrived was unsettling, than nothing could prepare me for what I faced on my first morning in Augrabies Falls. But far from being unsettling, it was in fact stunning. As if I had woken up from a bad dream and gone straight to the Elysian Fields of Greek myth. Gorgeous sunshine, a clear blue sky as far as my eyes could see, the prehistoric majesty of the Nama Plateau on the horizon and right outside my window, just a few paces outside the door, the Orange river raged. It is as if the river has lost all patience and wants nothing more than to reach the Atlantic - and nothing will stand in its way. Not even millions of years old granite. The Orange plunges down 60 meters and then proceeds to travel through a massive 18km gorge until the soil becomes softer and it reaches its final destination, the ocean. Augrabies means "The Place of Big Noise" in the Nama language and it's a most fitting name. Whenever I am sitting outside, especially at night, the sound of the falls make me think I'm close to a highway or in the middle of a city - a constant reminder of who is running this place. It is the 6th largest waterfall in the world in volume, with an average flow of about 50 to 70.000 liters per second - although last year it reached an impressive 1.6 million liters at one stage, which is nothing compared to the floods of 1988 when a comfortable 7.8 million (!!) liters flowed through. This flood cut off the park from the rest of the country and staff had to be choppered in and out on a daily basis.

In much better spirit I prepared myself for my first day of work. Looking very sharp in my ranger outfit - if I say so myself - I walked through the park campsite and past the typical Augrabies chalets towards the office of the Social Ecologist, Angela Isaks, my supervisor...