Hougaard Malan Photography Blog

January 20, 2013

Hiking the Drakensberg

After months of planning myself and four other keen hikers were finally on our way to the Cathedral Peak region of the Drakensberg. Rian, Stephen and myself were driving down from Gauteng and we were to meet up with two Durban okes, Carl and Mark in Winterton. We made the mistake of taking Oliviershoek pass, or rather what’s left of it, and we ended up with a flat run-on-flat tire. Some kind folk in Winterton were happy to take in the car and see that it gets fixed by the time we come down from the mountains 6 days later. It was already 9pm, but nothing would stand in the way of our hike and we continued to Didima camp where we checked into the mountain register and one of their staff took us to the top of Mike’s Pass with the mountain taxi.

And so our hike started at 10pm on a Tuesday night in thick and cold mist. The group comprised one full-time photographer, 3 hobbyists and one victim of our passion who was just there for the experience. The plan was to follow the jeep track to a flat clearing where we could pitch our tents for the first night. After walking for about 90 minutes and obviously not finding anything other than jeep track, mist and darkness, we decided to pitch our tents in the middle of the road. Spirits and energy levels were high; we had dinner and retreated to our tents.

Starting on a misty night

We awoke to the same thick mist and a soft rain the next morning. If Rian (our navigator) didn’t know the mountains as well as he did then we would have had no option but to stay in the tents, but we packed up and started heading uphill to get to the bottom of Organ Pipes Pass. Rian told us that two or three hours up there is a mountain hut in which we could take a proper break and have a solid warm breakfast, so we slogged up the little berg in the mist looking forward to a warm brew and oats. Worse than the physical effort of going uphill is the psychological effect that the mist and hills create in the little berg. You ascend a ridge thinking that you’ll see the Basalt cliffs in the distance, but the mist just reveals another blind ridge. Endlessly. As with the flat area the previous night, the hut was never found and by the time the mist cleared slightly we realized we were very close to the top of the escarpment. We had been hiking for 6 hours, everyone was soaked from underwear to socks and gatvol, to put it politely.

Ascending above the mist near the base of the cliffs

We had a good meal, mustered what spirit we had left and continued up behind the Organ Pipes via Tuthumi pass. It was another 2 hours from our break spot that the mist fooled us yet again on our way to the top. What we thought was the escarpment edge was the neck behind the Organ Pipes and we could see that it was at least another hour to the top. Everyone was properly exhausted, we had one member feeling slightly sick and having ascended 1200m, two of us had a headache from the altitude. We had been walking for 8 hours and the photo-opportunities to the North were amazing, so we made the call to pitch camp.

A fleeting moment of magic as the upper clouds let some light through and the mist pulled away from the escarpment

As we were putting up the tents, there was a slight moment of perfection. The mist pulled away from the escarpment and the upper clouds opened to let some light through. There were strong rain clouds sitting quite low and it felt as if we ad ascended into another world. Changing into dry clothes after 8 hours of walking was certainly welcome and buying thermal underwear for the hike was a good call. Carl and I went up onto a ridge in anticipation of the clouds giving us a break, which it did momentarily. He got one great photo of me standing on a ledge overlooking the mist and that was to be the only clearing for nearly two days.

Image by Carl Jason Smorenburg

The next morning revealed the same thick mist we had become accustomed to. While we were disappointed, we did need the rest and Rian said we could stay in our tents until it cleared. It rained most of the day and even put down a proper amount of hail. That day was spent sleeping, chatting and being optimistic about the weather. Hopes were high as night fell, but we kept a realistic mind and it was very possible to have another day in the mist.

Setting up camp in the neck behind the organ pipes

Rian woke me very early the next morning and I was expecting to open the tent door and look at the same cold mist of the past two days. Opening the door revealed a star-filled night sky and a frosty breeze. As dawn approached the skies revealed mid-level cloud that was certain to make for a good sunrise, which it did. With some great shots on everyone’s memory cards and the sun climbing in the sky, elation was in abundance. The neck of Tuthumi pass looked like a squatter camp as everyone’s whole kit was spread out on the grass and rocks to dry.

Brilliant sunrise made for a cheerful start to the day

With everything dried out and bags repacked, we set off aiming to get to the Cockade. It was a perfect day in the berg and we hadn’t walked 500 meters when the first amazing photos started presenting themselves. Just before the last ascent of Tuthumi you have Cleft peak on the left, the spires of the Organ Pipes on the right, and the cathedral spur in the distance. There was mist in the valleys and the clouds overhead cast fleeting shadows through the foreground of our images. Snap snap snap.

The view through the organ pipes

After taking too many photos, the cameras were packed away and the uphill started. Climbing a steep pass is never a pleasant experience and it isn’t made any more pleasant by a 25kg backpack. Add to that the altitude of just over 3000masl and it’s a physical experience you can compare to those school sport fitness sessions you had to endure when the coach was having a bad day. Nonetheless I had done some dieting and training prior to the hike and most importantly, I was motivated. To the rest of the guys it may have looked like I was dying, but as long as I maintained my 20 steps, 30 seconds rest pace I always got to the top.

When I finally did Rian posed for us on a ledge and we got some dramatic shots of him dwarfed by the scale of the pass descending into the mist. It was about 11am and the thunderclouds were building. Looking across the plains of Lesotho, we could see the neck behind the mighty Cleft peak that we had to go through. Conditions were lovely and we got going at a strong pace. After an hour we took a break at a stream to refuel and before we got to the bottom of the neck we had descended about 200m into Lesotho and it was time for another hellish uphill. 20 paces, 30 seconds break, 20 paces, 30 second break…and we eventually crested the neck at just under 3200m.

Rian posing just below the crest of Tuthumi pass

The wind was pumping on top, but we found a sheltered spot and took a break before heading down towards the Cockade. As we came down around the Northern side of Cleft we saw the Pyramid and Column sticking out of the mist. Upon seeing it there was just an immediate consensus that for photography’s sake we wouldn’t be carrying on to the back of the Cockade. The skies were thick with building thundercloud and below us was a carpet of mist cloud swirling up the escarpment wall in a cool mountain breeze. About 500 meters from the main escarpment wall was the pyramid and the column rising out of the mist like watch towers at earth’s edge. We hadn’t seen other people in 3 days, behind us lay the wilderness of Lesotho and the scene in front of us seemed like the frontiers of existence. That afternoon was one of my lifetime highlights.

The Pyramid and the Column rising out of the mist

After filling a memory card, we had to find a spot to pitch our tents. The wind had picked up and we were on an exposed plain, not the ideal place for a tent. We carefully selected our spots and set up camp. Tent pegs were weighed down with rocks, as were the edges of the outer sails, a small bit of extra effort that would prove vital later that night. It was about 5pm and the wind had pretty much died down. The skies were just getting better and we could hear the rumble of thunder from the hills of Lesotho. Far out from the escarpment the horizon over Natal was full of vast mushroom clouds. Most of the sunset was spent running around between compositions as the light peaked.

Last light of the day slipping in below the approaching storm

We gathered at the tents for a chat over dinner as butane flames whistled away, everyone was recalling what an amazing day it had been. The rumble was coming closer, but there was no wind and I mentioned how lucky we were with the weather, foolishly. Everyone was done eating and the first rain hit us just as we got into our sleeping bags. Softly at first with little wind, then as darkness fell the skies started lighting up and the rumble was getting louder. Within 15 minutes the soft drizzle had turned into hell, Stephen and I could barely hear each other as a torrential downpour rattled the tent sail. Gusts of wind bent the tent’s aluminum poles almost down onto our chests and the rumble had turned into a bombardment of deafening crackles. We were holding up the main pole with our arms in fear of the wind snapping it and in doing so the cold got to us very quickly. Luckily thunderstorms move quickly and we were waiting for it to let up any moment, but it was the perfect escarpment storm and it lasted…and lasted. After about two hours we decided to give up the fight and let nature do what it wants to. The storm died down somewhere between 11 and 12pm and I spent the rest of the night trying to get warm again.

Soft dawn light on the Cathedral Range

Peering out of the tent the next morning it felt like the whole storm experience was a dream. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky from Lesotho to the Eastern horizon. Breakfast was made, bags packed and plenty of jokes were going around about the storm. Rian and Mark had spent most of the night with their boots and rain gear on, ready for the tent sail to give in at any moment. We were all unharmed, rested (sort of) and it was another beautiful day in the berg. We were to make a call at the head of uMhlambonja pass. Head for Easter cave or go all the way down to one tree hill. We arrived at the pass eager for a good lunch, when Rian revealed that we had walked too far. We all took a 5 minute break, except Rian who immediately went off in search of the pass. Waving arms confirmed the correct neck and we all sat down amongst the cairns for a proper lunch before descending the never-ending pass.

The escarpment wall stretching off to the South East

The descent was done one careful step at a time, down zigzags in the grass, then over boulders. After an hour of boulders and zigzags we reached the river. We crisscrossed the stream over and over as the trail widened and narrowed from level paths to ledges along a gorge wall. At places we had to give each other a hand to climb up and down steep sections. The discomfort of the descent quickly trumped the beauty of the uMhlambonja valley and about 5 hours after starting we reached the bottom of the contour path. We had a wash and a snack, and we started the last section, our destination was a 30-minute walk at a soft incline away. Backs aching, we crested the hill only to see that one tree hill was at least another hour away along a deep cutback. Next to us was a large flat hilltop with soft grass and there was no deliberation about what to do. Backpacks were thrown off to huge sighs of relief after just over 10 hours of walking.

After 10 hours of walking the faces convey a deceitful message!

We were back down at a comfortable altitude; the air was warm and the breathing easy. The whole of the escarpment stretched out in front of us, we had the cathedral spur at the back and the previous night’s rains were still coming down every valley in dramatic waterfalls. For the first time on the hike we didn’t have to flee for the cover of a tent after having a meal. We made dinner one last time, reminisced about the storm and laughed at Mark who still had enough food to last a month in the mountains. The next morning was a pleasant 3 hour walk down to the hotel, but the prospect of taking the backpacks off for good set a motivated pace!

The pyramid and column below stormy skies

The car’s tire was fixed, we parted ways with the Durbanites and we headed back up to Gauteng relieved to be returning to our modern comforts. Make no mistake that hearts were heavy as Monday waited on us all and we wouldn’t be back in such nature for months. In the days after the hike it really hit me that despite all the physical hardship and horrible weather it was still one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It’s the effort that you put in to experience it that makes you appreciate it. It’s effort that the absolute minority of people, even nature lovers are prepared to invest. It is thus an appreciation of nature that few people share, but it is certainly the most amazing one that I have shared. Of all the places I’ve seen and experienced in my search for the ultimate photos, hiking the Drakensberg takes the prize by a long haul. Hiking may not be for everyone, but getting atop the Drakensberg is something every South African has to do at least once in his or her life

August 9, 2012

In Search of South Africa’s Eden

While I was building up my portfolio as an aspiring landscape photographer, I spent a lot of time admiring the work of certain American photographers. There was that one ecology in their portfolios that I had never seen in South Africa. Not with my eyes, in print or on the Internet. It was an element of nature that had a great attraction to me and I craved to experience and capture it. Rain Forest. Utopias of towering hardwood trees covered in moss that rise from a carpet of ferns and undergrowth. Branches draped in lichen and populated with Epiphytes like small villages living in the air, hanging above a network of bubbling mountain streams. Flora thriving at it’s full potential with unlimited resources and doing so as it has for thousands of years without the interference of man.

Unfortunately for me, South Africa doesn’t really have much temperate rainforest. If you say Forests to a South African, the first word that pops into their head is Knysna. That is about the average South African’s knowledge on where to find an indigenous forest. Apart from such common knowledge, even in many scientific articles on forests in South Africa, there is no mention of the place where I eventually found my Eden. Up until writing this I was also in belief of the common statistic that the European colonists destroyed more than 95% of the forests that existed prior to 1652. One article with a lot of substantiating facts tells a very different story, but I’m not writing about what used to be…this is about my quest for what still is.

The best shot I got from many vists to the Knysna forests

So where do you start if you’re looking for forests in South Africa? My starting point was my wise old father, who has a great knowledge of botany in South Africa. Unluckily there’s a very big gap between what the average person calls a beautiful forest and a photographer’s understanding of what will produce the shot he/she is looking for. While we (me and the old man) have made great progress at bridging that gap, he just gave me the typical Knysna answer and also said there’s great forests along the wild coast. Then it was on to the Internet and books, which also just yielded Knysna. After hearing that place’s name so many times, I was so irritated I didn’t even want to go check out the most obvious place!

I was on a trip in Mpumalanga in 2008 when my father randomly told me that a colleague of his lived in an old forestry station near Tzaneen. This colleague knew the area’s forests well and they had talked about these lush forests with thousands of Clivia as my father’s hobby was cultivating the flowers. Since Knysna had been drilled into my head and I had never heard of any forests near Tzaneen, I brushed off the suggestion and forgot about it.

Over the following three years I visited both the Knysna and Wild Coast forests and in both I wandered off the path and into the odd gorge/valley in search of proper green…without success. Even here at home I properly explored the valleys of Jonkershoek with some reward. I discovered the lesser known Tweede Waterval gorge. A narrow twisting tunnel that leads to a waterfall concealed by two large cascades. I found a few other worthwhile streams and forested valleys high up the slopes of the Jonkershoek Mountains, but they all lacked that magical green.

Second Waterfall Gorge in Jonkershoek

I might not have explored 2% of the forested valleys in the country, but I did do a fair amount of research and I did explore the results that my research yielded. Short of becoming a bushman and going to live in the Knysna forests for a year, I gave up on my search and added Oregon/Washington’s Colombia River Gorge to an already lengthy bucket list.

Then late in 2011, thanks to the source of all procrastination; Facebook, I had a breakthrough. One of my Facebook friends from the photographic industry had gone on a hike in Limpopo…near Tzaneen. As much as any other South African, he had not expected serious photographic potential and he only took a point and shoot camera along. He posted some photos from the hike and those snaps taken with a point and shoot revealed a secret I had stubbornly ignored 4 years ago. The photos showed typical Afromontane forest, but the elements that were missing in all the other locations were there. Thick green undergrowth, lichen hanging from tree branches, moss covered trunks, all enveloped in thick mist. I immediately contacted him to find out where it was and made it a top priority to get there.

One of Villiers Steyn's images from his hike that caught my attention. Click on the imageto go to his site.

Late in May this year I was finally on my way to Limpopo after a very dusty week at Khubu Island. I had done some research on the area prior to leaving the Cape two weeks earlier, but I had 7-10 days there so I had a lot of time to explore the area.

Someone had told me that there’s a very scenic 4×4 route through the forests and on my first morning I took a slow drive up the mentioned kloof. I saw the well-known Debengeni Falls and witnessed patchy bits of that magical green I was looking for along the drive. The end of the road brought me atop the escarpment again and I decided to explore the maze of forestry roads. The amount of turns, road forks and times that the scenery changes from plantation to forest are impossible to keep track of.

Magoebaskloof's Debengeni Falls

Somehow (after about two hours of driving) I found myself entering a section of forest with a sign stating that it is a protected indigenous forest, so I was hoping that it would be a large section. Up until that point I had only been going through patchy areas of forest left between the unsightly pine and eucalyptus aliens. Past the sign the light quickly faded as the forest wrapped around the road like a shrinking tunnel. The road descended a Northern slope and as it did I entered the mist that was hanging below the escarpment. The photographer in me got excited as I started seeing potential photographs of trees and lichen disappearing in the mist, but just as my hopes started climbing I saw (ironically) the light at the end of tunnel – plantation. My heart sank, but my eye caught a slightly overgrown road cutting away downwards into a similar dark tunnel. I followed this road and the exact same thing happened. Just before the forest turned to plantation, a road would lead off downwards into the forest again. With each of these turns, the road became more overgrown and full of spider webs. Signs that few people ever get there. I wanted to stop and shoot, but I kept telling myself I have plenty of time and that the first day is a reccy. See the whole area and shoot it systematically as the weather dictates. The ever-downward sloping road suddenly leveled out and what I had been in pursuit of for almost 5 years unfolded before my eyes. Whatever the culmination of geographic circumstances created on that small plateau on the escarpment, it created the superfluous green I wanted.

Looking up a small valley stream

I pulled off the road where I could, got my gear and popped the polarizer on the lens to capture those amazing greens. The mist limited visibility to about 25 meters, so apart from that 25 meters in front of me I never really knew where I was headed. The main problem was that the forest was too dense. There were no open spots to take a photo and the going was slow. Every 2^nd tree was bursting with a ‘colony’ of Clivia, many of which had ‘trunks’ that revealed them to be decades old. They were flourishing better than the most coddled prize winning plants, but without any of the fertilizers, special soils or hours of weekly attention that the breeders give them. Seeing these plants that I was so familiar with in the wild, instead of in a pot or in a garden was a revelation. The stopping and staring wasn’t helping my progress of finding the perfect photo, but If there was ever a time to pause and appreciate nature, this was it.

Clivia perched atop a tree in the forests

After about 30 minutes in, the slope descended slightly before leveling off. Once again, I don’t quite know what the circumstances were, but I got lucky. I had found the ideal spot. The forest looked like the interior of a building, with walls of trees leading into open chambers of lush fern undergrowth. There was the odd dead tree strewn about, covered in moss and smaller ferns. Now I had found exactly what I was looking for. Little light penetrated the mist and forest canopy…even at f/8 and ISO200 my exposure time was over a second. The wind was blowing quite strongly, but every few minutes it would die down as if catching its breath and then I had to capture the moment. When the wind slowly picked up again, it swept the mist away and the entire forest appeared out of the cold white. In an instant a gust would blow it back through the forest like an approaching wall of disguise, concealing the secrets of the woodland. For what seemed like an eternity, I forgot about my camera. I just stood frozen by the contentment of what I had finally found. Watching that mist sweeping in and out of the trees was an experience rivaled only by the view from atop the amphitheater wall.

Foliage blurred by the wind sweeping banks of mist through the forest

After about 3 hours of crawling and climbing through the vegetation, the mist lifted and I headed back to my car.

Over the next few days I identified a few more spots that might produce the same circumstances and two of them paid off. Even after driving as close as possible to the potential places, getting into the heart of the forest on foot wasn’t easy. It usually required the descent or ascent of very steep slopes. ‘Wading’ through 1.5m-high undergrowth and trying not to imagine what could be hiding below it. At the time of writing this (10 weeks later) I still have bite marks on my legs from whatever lived in those forests. After my adventures I got the flu, which then turned out to be tick fever. After a blood test it was confirmed as tick fever AND malaria, caught before it started doing damage luckily.

Two ancient trees rising into the mist side by side

I finally achieved my goal to photograph a properly green indigenous forest. The fact that I couldn’t find one probably escalated my need to do so and drove me 2000km away from home to go look for it. Without deliberately doing so I ‘discovered’ (within the photographic community at least) a prime photographic ecology that most people thought didn’t exist in South Africa. It took five years, over 10000km of travels and contracting Malaria, but that has made me appreciate it ten times more than I would have.

For the sake of conservation the exact location of these forests will remain with me, but there are clues within the article that can get a reader close enough. From there you will have to get lost on the forestry roads as I did and go crawling through the forests to see what I did. To those who rejoice in the surrounds of untouched, thriving nature, it will be worth it. To those who lack the respect to conserve the few patches of pristine forest in our country, it will hopefully forever remain out of sight.

Tree trunks covered in lichen

You can view more images in my Magoebaskloof Gallery on my website. Bookings and details for a workshop to Blyde River Canyon, Mariepskop and Magoebaskloof will be available on Sunday.

April 29, 2012

Namibia Workshop 2013

Bookings for the 2013 Namibia workshop are now open. There is a slight, but very nice change from the last two years. We’re adding the spectacular Fish River Canyon lodge to the list of destinations, lengthening the workshop by 1 more night to 8 nights.

The workshop will kick off with 3 nights in the Namib Rand on the 16th of March. After that we’ll head South to the Fish River Canyon for 2 nights and then finish off with 3 nights at Sossusvlei.

Dates: 16-24 March 2013

Cost: R24950.00 pp sharing

Single Supplement: R3200.00

To book or enquire about more info, simply send me a mail at hougaard@hougaardmalan.com or call me on 0762792202

Close outside the Sossusvlei Lodge

Fish River Canyon

The Namib Rand

Deadvlei

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