ADVENTURES IN HI-RI

TALE OF THE GINGER BEARD MAN FROM ‘HELL’

Asmall shop and eatery of sorts appears alongside the snaking road. We’ve earned a cold drink. Cutting straight through the gloom for the illuminated fridge, I select refreshments and deal smartly with the otherwise welcoming woman behind the counter. It’s likely she is Annetjie Joubert – the last of the original Gamkaskloof ‘kloovers’ [canyon dwellers]. But I don’t stick around to ask as her smile fails to dispel a nagging feeling that something’s not right here – an uneasiness without obvious cause. Maybe coming to a place colloquially known as ‘The Hell’ wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Three hours earlier . . .

All this started weeks before, an idea dreamt up late one night: Take Jaguar’s new adventure in high-riding, the F-Pace SUV, where it would be truly tested. No, not some gnarly, specialist 4x4 trail fit for tricked-out Defenders but to one of the remotest destinations in South Africa – the once-hidden Gamkaskloof valley. Why the F-Pace? Simple, it’s a fast-evolving world, and the vehicles we’re choosing as travel companions are changing too. Sure, an old double cab pickup is still the pragmatist’s choice, but for those with the necessary means, the all-purpose efficacy of a luxury SUV is undeniable – a raised estate equally adept at mounting kerbs outside the opera house as it is at wading streams to reach an off-the-grid stone dwelling in the Karoo. But not just for the sake of it either, why not also go in search of a real South African fable, a story at the end of a snake. If you don’t know the legend of the red-haired man in Die Hel [The Hell], down there in the Gamkaskloof, it goes like this…

Thirsty, and more than a touch delirious from a hot day’s digging in the Swartberg mountains, a red-haired miner (and his pet jackal) stumbles off track, loses his way and never returns home.

Nope, still doesn’t ring a bell? That’s probably because he hasn’t quite made the leap to Google, yet. But then, why let the facts get in the way of a good travel story?

Blitz the Huisrivier Pass, ignore the cafes of Oudtshoorn, take a left and… up

We hit the iconic Swartberg Pass, the gateway to the Gamkaskloof, bang on schedule and begin the climb, the Jag’s firm ride and 20-inch rim and 50-section tyre combo coping pretty well with the unsealed surface.

The generally consistent condition of the dirt road means progress is surprisingly quick. It’s busy near the top though, hardly the deserted escape we expected. And the pock marks have become potholes in sections, causing two things: immediate reduction in F-Pace pace and an immediate increase in driver stress. A flat tyre here won’t be the end of the adventure as a full-size spare gobbles much of the boot space, but I’d prefer to return it untouched.

Down the rabbit hole

It turns out the Swartberg Pass is only a portent of what’s to come – an All Ages prequel to the R18-rated Otto Du Plessis ‘Die Hel’ road that lies ahead. But then, built in 1962 by Koos Van Zyl with one bulldozer and 12 labourers, it was never going to be a freeway. The guide books say to allow 2-3 hours for the drive down from the turnoff. Three hours to cover less than 50km?

Surely not...

Surely. With an average of 18 rock-strewn corners per kilometre, it keeps you interested. High erosion rates from frequent flooding, steep drop-offs and the road’s sheer twistiness mean it’s definitely not on the national road agency’s maintenance radar. Extremely conscious of the repercussions of cutting a tyre on the shale shards or heaven forbid, gouging a rim, progress is snaily. When you are used to travelling at 120km/h, averaging 16 is a severe test of sanity.

Are we there yet?

Far in the distance, the road slithers slowly up towards the sky like a drugged snake. ‘Surely we don’t have to go all the way there?’ We do. Worse still, it’s only the first of three such incredulous views of the road still to be conquered, each one almost an hour in the future. Three hours? They weren’t kidding. Gunning for zero damage, I apologise once more for the crawling pace before letting silence fill the cabin. The mental monotony is broken only by the sight of nervous klipspringers, smiling dassies and obstinate baboons. Finally we inch our way around yet another turn and the once-secret valley reveals itself.

The view from here, the highest point of the Elands Pass, is breath-taking, a broad ochre pallete laid across a wide V-shaped canvas beneath the Great Blue. To the west, the narrow valley lies more than 400 metres below, nestled between the ridges of the mighty Swartberg range. From up here it appears to be a kind of paradise that cannot come soon enough. The rocky, harrowing switchback descent depletes my remaining faculties. It’s time for a break and something cold to drink. It’s then that we see the small shop.

A hard life

Two Cokes in hand, eager to escape the dimly-lit interior and the tingle under my skin, I walk briskly back into the sunlight, partly relax and look around. There’s evidence of a hard, subsistence lifestyle everywhere: rusty hand tools, well-used nowabandoned wooden toys, what appears to be a witblits [local moonshine] still and the scariest scarecrow ever, standing guard over a corn patch straight from a horror set. There may not be a banjo backtrack but a Deliverance meets Children of the Corn vibe is palpable, though clearly not intentional. Still, we down our drinks and split. Nine more kilometres of treacherous gravel track must be negotiated as we tread Legolas-like into the heart of the

When scaling the Swartberg Pass, a quick pause to admire the view appears to be the thing to do. Klipspringers, dassies and danger: a proper test of the stealthy new Jaguar’s gravel travel prowess. Red leather and digital dials not a grade of luxury usually seen in The Hell

GAMKASKLOOF: THE DETAILS

The first settlers arrived in the Gamkaskloof (Lion Valley) in the early 1830s. Fertile, and with an abundant water supply from the Gamka River, it must have seemed idyllic, provided you could stand the intense isolation. For more than 100 years a handful of families made it their home, growing fruit, vegetables, grain and tea. To help pass the time, they also grew tobacco and made witblits and honey beer. Ironically, the access road’s completion in 1962, which should have breathed new life into the community, ultimately led to its demise with the last resident leaving in 1992.

Annetjie Joubert has since returned, though this time to try her hand at the tourism trade. Apart from the few privately owned farms, the area is managed by Cape Nature, and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage site.

How do you get there?

From Cape Town, the scenic Route 62 to Oudsthoorn is best. Then, head left towards the Cango Caves, left onto the Swartberg Pass and left again onto the road into the Gamkaskloof. Where to stay? Several of the old houses in the valley have been restored as selfcatered accommodation. We opted for the authentic sounding ‘Vaal Johannes’. Used as a store room by the early settlers, it was repurposed as a cosy cottage in 2014.

Sleeps two – perfect for photographer Peet and me. (It was only upon arrival that we realised this charming abode with its solitary bed is definitely more suited to eloping honeymooners. ‘I’ll take the sofa’, said Peet.)

600 metre-wide green valley, crossing the Gamka River along the way. Eventually, cabin Vaal Johannes appears through the trees, complete with manicured lawn, covered outside chill area and miniature rim pool. Inside it has been beautifully converted from store room to cosy quarters for two with a bedroom, sitting area and kitchen linked by doorways fit for hobbits. A woodfired Dover oven stands ready for those with bread-baking fantasies and there’s an outside shower and toilet. Solar-fed lights complete the list of luxuries – everything you’d need for a proper escape.

The art of the golden car

But there’s little time to enjoy the tranquillity, Peet needs us back at the top of the pass before sunset. Snappers rule! We dump our bags and inch back up for the sake of art. The diesel-drinking F-Pace never skips a beat. Though seldom out of second gear, and in the deathly dry heat of a Karoo summer, it hums along only once giving off the faintest whiff of over-worked gearbox fluid after half an hour of torturously slow climbing.

Cottage ‘Vaal Johannes’ a surprisingly wellappointed oasis after an arduous journey. Right: A sliver of fertile land, an emerald among the great stones of the Karoo.

Bottom: The Elands Pass with its 51 corners and 400m elevation change is an adventure in itself

It’s easy to fall for this British bulldog – imposing visuals, decent punch and adroit dynamics take care of that. Softer touch points would do wonders for its perceived interior quality, while a larger fuel tank and roomier rear quarters wouldn’t go amiss either.

We crest the pass as the sun threatens to leave and Peet goes into overdrive. There’s an art to taking pictures of cars, and I watch as he works his magic. Finally, with cameras powered down for the night we return in the dark – against the advice of locals. I’m grateful for the Jag’s commanding seat height and strobe-like cornering headlights.

What man?

Finally back in the heart of the valley, the small matter of an additional mattress seen to, it’s time to unwind. That evening, glowing coals launching sparks into a diamond-studded night, the depth of the silence suggests nothing less than a parallel universe. Peet switches from contemporary, city professional to contemplative, small town barbeque master: ‘Did you see the man in that shop with the ginger face-furniture sitting in the corner? He was stroking some animal on his lap. A cat maybe, but I’m not sure it was even alive. I tried to greet him but he never said a word, didn’t even look up at me.’

‘What man?’ I ask, remembering my earlier uneasiness but also positive there was no one else in the place. Had Peet seen the Ginger Beard Man of the Gamkaskloof? We’ll never know. But we do know the F-Pace can go to [The] Hell. And that’s a good thing.

From the top of Elands Pass looking west, the fertile Gamkaskloof valley – 400 metres below – is a paradise, provided you can stand the intense isolation