October 1, 2019.

And…… we made it to Zim!!!! A bit of a mission, but not too bad for a plan that was shaped up just 15 hours beforehand. After leaving the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans in Botswana at the crack of dawn today, with achy legs and a satisfied belly after yesterday’s indulgence of a few tequilas and an epic braai, after running 100km across those mighty salt pans for Botswana’s inaugural stage ultra marathon race The Freshpak Salt Pans Ultra, (that’s an entirely different story by the way..) it was time to head east and hit the Zim border, firstly ensuring the fuel tank was full with an additional couple of full jerry cans for luck. Or necessity. Navigating the Plumtree Border Crossing was no simple process.

A lack of a car registration paper on our part meant a quick backpedal to a local police station on the Botswana side. It went a bit like this…. Turned left at the T-Intersection, drove up a dusty road past a village of small houses. A young fit looking guy casually leaned against his car as we stopped to ask him where the police station was. He pointed us in the right direction, accompanied by ‘What do you need?’ ‘We need an affidavit signed to show we own the car… are you a policeman?’ ‘Yes, but I’m not on duty. My boss is there and will help you.’ Awesome, off we went. The police station was empty, but a lady at the house next door popped her head out, asking if we needed help. She was wearing pajamas, had her face caked in some sort of cosmetic clay, and it turned out she was the policewoman we were looking for. So with a big smile, and still in her mask and pyjamas on, she happily walked over to the Station, and willingly scribed up the required paperwork, (after we found her a pen in the car because she didn’t have one.)

Her superior arrived shortly after to second it, we gave them some cold drinks and chocolate brownie to say thanks, (they were super stoked) and we were then back to the border. Then we get to the Zim side. Africa time, at its best. Nothing was particularly wrong, (apart from the fact we had to smuggle our car in because the man behind the desk didn’t trust the affidavit, so a tale was made up which worked..)  it’s just that nothing happens in a hurry. In a nutshell, three hours from one border post to the next. Now, the Zim currency is quite hard to keep up with at the moment. So when we reached the first toll gate and were asked to pay in the Bond currency, we had no goods. But in Africa, you can always make a plan. Turns out the guy in the car in the bay parallel to us had lots of this stuff, and was after some USD, of which we’d managed to get our hands on a bit of at the border.

So he paid our toll, and we followed him half an hour up the road to Bulawayo, where he waved us over, and we did a little shifty swapsie of currency in the back seat of his car. Nicely done. Oh, that was after we got pulled off at one of the already many  police road blocks, and the man in uniform asked if we had a couple of dollars or some cold drinks from Botswana, (noting the number plate). Again, the chocolate brownie was a winner. But even with all of this organised chaos, it’s always so damn great to get back to this country, even if it is just for a couple of days this time.

The road opened up as we drove north to Harare, we dodged cows and goats and dogs and sketchy trucks and vans and buses unloading or loading masses of people, and my grin just got wider and wider and wider that eventually my face started to hurt. The Batswanan, the South African and the Kiwi – what a great day for a scavenger hunt. mountains haven’t changed a bit in nine years, and I don’t recon we have much either. 🥰

September 26, 2019.

So I’m really pleased the baboon didn’t thief off with the freshly baked scones when he snuck into the kitchen on Monday afternoon, and hooked into the fruit bowl. But he didn’t take the bananas – how weird…

It’s been nine years between innings, but the feeling of serenity and intimacy of the Drakensberg mountains was just the same as it was nine years ago, as my great mate Vic and I pulled into Mkomazana, at the foot of the Sani Pass, last weekend.

It was 2010 when we last visited this treat from Mother Nature together, and I’m pretty sure we had more ideas and rules about ‘being a grown up’ back then, than we do now…

Eight people in one house for four days amongst the mountains equals; feasts, wine, naps, laughs, and some epic stories.

A fun early morning hike, then enjoying the All Blacks won the opening RWC game, and it was totally fine being the only ABs supporter in the room, as long as I kept zipped.

A solo 30km return hike up Sani Pass had Sunday cut out well and truly; had a chat to a local Lesotho guy with a bundle of sticks strapped to his back, swapped him a photo of him for a juicy orange. Learned from a bakkie full of university students that Pretoria University has been studying ant life (yes, actual ants) in the Sani Pass for 16 years. No, I’m not sure why either.. And I met a group of ‘birders’ almost beside themselves as they clutched their binos and long lenses, when they sited their final bird on their list, just as they were on their way home; the Drakensberg Rock Jumper. Which, for matter of fact, lives only at 2700m altitude and above, I think. ‘This is GREAT, it’s like beating the All Blacks, in EXTRA TIME!!! Thank you for sharing this with us!!’ exclaimed my birder friend as she fought back tears. It was actually pretty cool – you’re one tiny dot in one massive mountain range, and each and everyone finds and appreciates different treasures.

Speaking of treasures, horse riding on the Monday was hilarious. My stomach was sore from laughing, and that’s before we got on the four-legged beasts. Loose horses, broken gear, biting, kicking, saddles falling off. My chestnut fluff ball was called Womble, (pronounced ‘Womblee’ like with a bit of French flair). Well Womble was the laziest horse there, except for when he must have been boring himself and decided to take a hunk out of Mr T’s arse (Mr T is a horse, not a person.) Well, Mr T was less than impressed, and Womble was counting his lucky stars the retaliative kick did not land him a big one. And the guy who was on foot walking with us keeping an eye on things, with ‘Dope Hands’ plastered across his chest, was about as helpful as tits on a bull. We did see a beautiful waterfall.

The  Richmond Ranges is one sky line that once you’ve seen it, it never leaves your thoughts. Standing grandly in the Marlborough region, it is stared at with absoloute awe no matter what time of year it is, or what the weather is doing. It’s the most wonderful playground to spend time in with friends, day and night, one foot in front of the other. Mt Fishtail, Mt Riley, Mt Sunday, Mt Richmond, Mt Patriarch – tales and memories galore.

February 2018

If you’re going to be late to work on a Monday, make it a good story! Didn’t quite do the day hike up Mt Tappy that we’d wanted, but a solid effort of 17 hours hiking yesterday, a quick 5 hour kip in the hut as darkness fell, and 7 more hours hiking this morning; totalling 160 river crossings, 40km of screes, rivers, horrible prickly bushes, and boulders.., and climbing JUST ABOUT .. ( so so close..) 2885 metres. That’s mountaineering for ya. We’ll be back Tappy. Fabulous weather and excellent company. Thanks heaps @TaylorPassHoney for more great fuel. #BeeWildStayPureNourishLife