C I R O T S I H E R PSolitude by Tony Lourens
Bakkrans in the Red Cederberg is one of South Africa’s bestkept secrets – a place of rugged and unparalleled beauty. A place, which once visited, will remain in the channels of your mind for eternity. Alone, absolutely alone. Complete and utter solitude. Not a murmur, save for the comforting sounds of the resident bird life swooping across the skies, or reptiles as they bask in the sun, or busy themselves with the job of nocturnal feeding, and of course the gentle rustle of the fynbos, tossed lazily from side to side by a gentle and welcoming breeze. This is Bakkrans, a remote, rugged piece of land tucked away behind the scenes in what is known as the Red Cederberg, seemingly lost in time and offering an experience far removed from the normal run-of-the-mill Cederberg. I first met the owner of Bakkrans, Johan van der Westhuizen, about year ago when I was doing research for the Cederberg climbing guides. I was immediately impressed by this somewhat gentle man with a burning passion for this special place and the Cederberg as a whole. A salt of the earth character, Johan kept me enthralled with stories about Bakkrans, as we sipped our lattes at trendy Giovanni’s in Green Point, and I knew then
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that I had to experience this place firsthand. He also added that he thought he had rock on his land that could be looked at for climbing. Well that was that, we simply had to go. But it wasn’t until nearly a year later that this actually came to fruition. Talking Heads’ Road to Nowhere was playing relentlessly through my mind as we negotiated the narrow stony track that lead for seemingly endless kilometres over pristine Cederberg mountain tract, as we made our way to this mystical Bakkrans. Views of endless valleys, mountains and Karoo plains stretched away for an eternity as we were drawn closer to our destination. Finally, when we were beginning to doubt its existence, we rounded a corner to see a funny little stone hut with a thatched roof as thick as an elephant’s leg and stretching way over the tops of the walls, giving it an almost fairy tale appearance. I half expected Bilbo Baggins to step out puffing away on his pipe and inviting us in for fresh bread, honey and milk. We had arrived! There are actually about five of these stone
huts, almost unseen, as they lay disguised and scattered around the rocky hills, each rustically, but neatly renovated inside, to accommodate two people in comfort. Outside each hut there is also an ‘en suite’ bathroom built into the rock, complete with a proper flushing toilet and a hot shower that works. Further exploration revealed a communal area with a hut which has a fridge and all the kitchen utilities you may need, plus some first aid kits, thermos flasks and other handy items. Just across the way stands a sort of rectangular boma where all cooking, braaing and general living takes place. We stood for a while and gazed around at what was to be our home for the next three days and realised that this is as secluded as one can get unless you are casting off on a solo mission across the Atlantic. No power, no cell phone reception, not a soul for many kilometres around you and surrounded by prehistoric landscape. Wasting no time, we set about exploring the area. To the west lay a deep gorge, which ran for about eight kilometres, ending in an undercut waterfall in the middle of a huge overhanging amphitheatre about 70 metres high and about 300 metres wide. The amphitheatre was impressive, but at first glance I wasn’t overly excited about the rock, which had a rather flaky appearance, but I would imagine that on closer inspection
Karin sitting at the edge of solitude. Photo TONY LOURENS
better rock could be revealed. We scrambled down the narrow gorge, past fresh (and disturbingly large) leopard spoor, to the lip of the dry waterfall, which in full regalia, would launch itself from this last flat platform where we sat, to fall unhindered to the talus below. Quite an overpowering position to be in. In the other direction the gorge cleaved through the mountains to the unknown, but that was for tomorrow’s explorations. Strolling languidly back to camp as darkness was slowly winning the battle with a huge fiery setting sun, the stress and worries of life in the city fell from our shoulders and lay forgotten on the ground as our souls underwent a welcoming metamorphosis which went through its final stages as we sat around the fire, cooking our evening meal, before retiring to our hobbit huts. Not too early the next day found us following a reasonable path up the gorge past interesting crags on both sides, with the path at one point rising out of the bed of the gorge to meet the foot of the best section of rock in the immediate area. Here the walls looked interesting and yielded natural breaks that would give some good trad climbing between 20 and 30 metres in height, which was about 40 minutes walk from camp. Stuck firmly in languid mode I was not in the mood for shouldering a mound of ropes and gear, so we just admired the walls, picking out a few possible lines, as you do, then carried on up to eventually ‘top out’ at a dilapidated old hut where we stopped for lunch. The way back lay along an old dirt track, which ran around the back of the gorge taking in magnificent views of the mighty Cederberg Tafelberg from the seldom-seen eastern side. After about an hour or so we reached a noticeable bend in the track that went down to our right and there suddenly before us, the earth dropped away into a vast gargantuan valley, which looked like it was formed by the footprint of a huge giant. It must have measured about 20 kilometres each way, or so it seemed. This magical viewpoint held us like a magnet and we sat atop boulders
worshipping our incredible surroundings and waited for the sun to say farewell once again, turning the distant hills into a million shades of blue, as it sank slowly into the steely grey Atlantic. Still reeling from Mother Nature’s drugs we ambled, mesmerised, down the track towards camp and coming around the last corner before crossing the gorge, I was stopped dead in my tracks. I just stood and stared, grabbed Karin’s arm and silently pointed. There in front of us was a secluded boulder valley. Not even 10 minutes’ walk from camp, but hidden on a lower level, was a field of perfect boulders ranging from two metres to 15 metres in height and scattered over an area the size of a rugby field or slightly larger. Well, we knew where tomorrow’s plans lay. After another perfect evening of solitude and star gazing, we packed a daypack, shouldered the boulder pad and made our way to boulder heaven. On closer inspection, we weren’t disappointed. The boulders were beautiful and shapely. Some were mild and not so steep, giving interesting high-ball easy solos up to about 8 metres and others looked steep and brutal that were best left to the bouldering stalwarts. We spent the best part of the day there playing on a variety of boulders until the skin on our fingers told us it was time to head back to camp. Straight off I will be the first to admit that I am not a converted boulderer, but I have dabbled in it and have tickled a few classic easy problems here and there, so I can fairly safely say that there is potential here for a mini-bouldering paradise right on your doorstep if you take up residence at Bakkrans for a few days. Unfortunately our time was drawing to a close and with palpable sadness we packed the car early the following morning and after saying our farewells to one of the most special places we had ever had the privilege of experiencing, we slowly made our way back along the road to nowhere and back to civilisation.
Karin enjoying the campsite boulder. Photo TONY LOURENS
Tony playing in the virgin boulder field below. Photo KARIN IGESUND
Bakkrans is about 3½ hours’ drive from Cape Town and is best approached from the southern side through Ceres and up over the Gydo Pass. For more information on Bakkrans and to book, visit www.redcederberg.co.za.
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