Lesotho; Part Two

I mentioned Mount Morosi (also spelt Moorosi) in my previous post on Lesotho and here is a bit more about Chief Morosi.

Mount Moorosi is named after a chief, who moved to the region in the 1850s, living in the cliffs around the town. He was an ally of the San and had several San wives, but made an enemy of the British in the 1870s when they captured his son as a hostage and Moorosi promptly snatched him back. British troops retaliated by attacking his stronghold in 1879, but he held out for eight months, until finally captured when the soldiers used scaling ladders on the steep cliffs, and then cut off and publicly displayed Moorosi's severed head.

He must have been a real pain in the neck for the British for them to have bothered about him for eight months. Either that or there was a question of pride involved. Feelings in those days would have been "we are the mighty British Empire and we are not going to let a bunch of savages mess us around". This, I must say, is not my point of view but one which I heard proffered during a discussion on the radio about Chief Morosi. Knowing men's pride and colonialism in those days I reckon there was probably truth in the suggestion.


The weather now started changing and there was a bit of a nip in the air as we set up camp for the night; most of us in tents and some in bungalows. The next morning saw us heading up a steep tarred pass and then onto dirt roads shortly after. The weather had really begun a turn for the worse and strong winds were now starting to blow. I felt sorry for Mike at this time because the wind was howling in one side of his landy and straight out the other. The lack of vegetation in Lesotho meant that dust or, more importantly, top soil, was having us chewing grit. The temperature was dropping due to the wind chill factor but the worst was the dust in your eyes and mouth and actually everywhere.

We were again climbing up huge passes and then descending to the depths of Lesotho only to again climb and all the while being buffetted by the wind. There is an Anglican Church mission called Christ the King which commands the most awesome view of the Senqu River doing a 180 degree turn in a canyon of magnificent proportions. To get there Marc sought out the priest and was granted permission for us to drive to the edge of the canyon. The wind was fortunately blowing up from the canyon towards us because had it been blwoing in the other direction we would have surely been blown off the precipice. The views were utterly amazing. My camera just does not do justice to the grandeur. I needed a fish eye lens, which I don't possess, to incorporate the whole vista.

We then headed off again literally eating dust as we did so. We then sought out a place to have lunch where there would be shelter from the incessant wind. We found such a place down in a river where we sought shelter from the wind but found it just as bad if not worse because it had a channel to speed up the velocity. Whilst we were driving our vehicles were breaking through the hard crust and we had to keep moving to prevent ourselves bogging down in the loose shale like gravel sands of the river. Brigid decided to walk through the river to the other side and Emlyn thought if she can walk then he can drive through. Hmmmm. Emlyn if the dry sand on the edges was bad why would it be better in the river itself? Halfway through and that's where Emlyn sank in.

Roger by now was getting anxious but Mike pulled up his shortie to pull Emlyn out. Problem was we just couldn't get him far enough from the side of the water to get any traction. Marc then brought his Defender forward towards Mike but sank right down to the axles. Roger was now really anxious about our escapades. I then went in search of some truck sides we had seen abandoned after being used as sand tracks by someone. Just as I was towing them back behind my Land Rover I started losing traction and then stalled. Basil then did his ultimate bit and refused to restart.

We now had Emlyn stuck in the river. Mike free but unable to pull Emlyn out. Marc stuck and me immobilised. Henk was on the side watching and wondering if he should venture down towards the stranded vehicles just yet or not. Marc then attached his winch to Mike who was attached to Emlyn like piggy-in-the-middle and there came Emlyn out of the river with one very wet Land Rover.


Mike then had to pull Marc out and then come over to me to give my battery a jump start. This was our so-called lunch stop which produced no food and only a long delay, lots of effort and very sand blasted legs from the sand and the wind.

We then climbed back out the river bed and onto the road and headed for a night stop. Our intended stop was never going to be reached so we decided to head towards Sehlabathebe Game Reserve and seek shelter there for the night. Marc knew of a lodge there but there was no way of knowing whether the accomodation would be full or not.

The temerature was dropping further and after quite some rigorous mountain passes we reached Sehlabathebe Game Reserve. The drive into the park was a torturous, twisting extremely narrow track with drops to the side that didn't need to be thought about. A mistake would have been disastrous. Night had fallen by the time we reached the lodge.
We found three Land Rovers already there which worried us about the accommodation. The chap in charge of the lodge however was expecting a tour group and said there would be no room for anyone else other than the tour. We suggested to him that at this time of the night no tour group would be arriving and he should let us two groups of Land Rovers use the place. We were sneaking in and taking brief baths much to his annoyance but we needed to get rid of tons of Lesotho top soil. There was no communications but Marc had international roaming on his cell phone and suggested we phone the tour group and confirm if they would actually come or not. Fortunately they too were far behind their schedule and said they would not need the place. The previous group of Land Rovers and us then shared the place and there were bodies in the bedrooms, lounge and dining room and anywhere we could find space. Much Captain Morgan was drunk that night to help ease tired muscles and build a bit of body heat. At about midnight another group of travellers arrived and bodies were shifted to make space for them too.



The park is a haunting place with wide open vistas of mountains and plateaus. Animal life is minimal and the flora exotic. They is a succulent plant that spirals either colckwise or anti-clockwise according to the sex of the plant.

Emlyn and Brigid needed to get back to Johannesburg and so Marc bid farewell to Brigid and she and Emlyn headed out early for the southern border of Lesotho at Quacha's Nek.

The rest of us bid farewell to the other Land Rover owners who warned us of a really difficult pass (Matabeng) that lay ahead for us. They had come down in and we were needing to go up it. They had told tales of how their V8 Land Rovers were on the limit of being pushed out to the edges of the precipices during the descent. We were intrepid travellers and would manage and bravely set off on a very crisp morning.

There was evidence of snow on the next pass we took. The altitudes on this pass were now in excess of 3000 metres and the Land Rovers were struggling with a huge lack of power in this rarified atmosphere.

Andy was teamed up with me and back home in safe, comfortable England he drives a Discovery automatic. I asked if he had driven series Land Rovers and until driving Mike's the previous day had actually never driven one. Mike had helped him understand the finesse of double de-clutch gear changes and I offered that he could drive mine. Having just been over a very high pass and thinking the other group had exaggerated about the pass I thought it would be perfect countryside for Andy to drive.

That was not the pass!

The other group had not exaggerated! We did not know this until Shirley came on the radio, and thinking I was the driver, warned me of an extremely tight bend. This is a series long wheel base. Aircraft carriers have a tighter turning circle than a series long wheel base. I spotted the bend and there was no time to change drivers. This was it. Andy's moment of truth had arrived. Baptism of fire and all that. I said to Andy that when I shouted turn, then he must turn for all he was worth. Series Land Rovers and Discovery Land Rovers have absolutely nothing in common in the area of steering. In fact the only thing they have in common at all is a badge that says Land Rover.

I shouted "TURN" and Andy started a very sedate turn to which I responded with another "TURN, ANDY, TURN". Too little, too late. We were up against the cliff face with three quarters of the hairpin bend still ahead of us. Andy brought the Land Rover to a stop and then it happened. All four wheels were locked but the gradient was extremely steep and we started sliding backwards on the gravel towards the precipice. There was nothing more Andy could do other than stay standing on the brakes. I was watching the precipice getting closer thinking when the best time would be to bale out and let the Land Rover go over the edge without us. Then it happened. Basil stopped. My heart was pounding so loud I could hear nothing above it. Andy's leg was shaking through fright and strain of keeping intense pressure on the brake pedal. I then got out and packed the biggest boulders I could move behind all four wheels with smaller rocks holding the boulders. Andy slowly and very gingerly released the brakes and I took over the driving seat. I think I heard Andy heave a sigh of the hugest proportions. I can't be sure my heart was still pounding from the excitement and the altitude.

Many forwards and backward movements with poor Andy running and packing rocks behind the wheel whilst I made a fifty-five point turn. Mike and Marc were filming this and not quite aware of the gravity of the situation were parked in the road beyond the corner. At this point there was no way I was going to try stop behind and shouted on the radio for Mike to move because there was no way I was going to stop. I think he heard the urgency and at the last minute moved off before he got the imprint of the front of a series Land Rover on the rear of his series Land Rover.

Drama was not yet finished. There was an extremely steep climb ahead and Shirley was passnger with Roger who was driving Marc's 110 Defender. Roger had chosen the wrong line by picking loose gravel instead of the firm slab of rock. Then when his forward momentum stopped he depressed the clutch and started rolling backwards with the front wheels locked and no steering which meant him sliding backwards towards the rock face. He brought it to a stop just in time. All the while Marc was filming while watching a potential disaster with his Land Rover. Roger then chose the firmer line and cruised up through the pass, followed by the rest of us. I had again been worried about stopping but kept slow forward momentum whilst Roger's knowledge of Lesotho grew.



We then made it without further mishap to St James mission where there was a guest lodge where we camped for the night under the attention and care of Sipho. The night was chilly by Africa standards but the excitement of the day had us not even aware of the cold. Captain Morgan also helps.

The next morning after a hearty breakfast we set off for the last leg of the trip in Lesotho towards Sani Pass. I was tail-end Charlie and soon got a shock when I applied brakes for the first time and found the pedal went straight to the floor. This is not a good thing to happen in Lesotho. After about ten frantic pumps I got enough pressure to roll to a stop. The same happened again. I quickly passed this on to the others over the radio. My first thought was that the intense pressure on the brakes the day before had perhaps let air in through the brake cylinders. We then decided to bleed the system only to have air bubbles pouring out through the master cylinder. None of us had seen this before and more bleeding just produced more bubbles. A few phone calls to mechanic friends back in South Africa had the problem diagnosed as master cylinder seals.

About forty kilometres away was a small town, and one one mountain pass stood between it and us. By now the brake pedal gave no pressure at all. This meant driving with absolutely no brakes at all. Could we achieve it? To say I was nervous was an understatement of the biggest proportions. I asked Shirley to travel in another Land Rover as I wanted to be the only one in my Land Rover in case things went wrong. This was going to be a case of low range first gear and crawl down the mountain. Ahead were one or two hair pin bends which concerned me as I didn't know if I could make it around in one turn or not. What if I had to stop to reverse? It was suggested Marc attach himself to me with a tow rope with me leading so that he could drag me to a stop if needed. All went well and the hair pin bends were fortunatelytaken in one manouvre. At the bottom of the pass we unhitched and I continued on my own at a very gingerly pace.

The rest of the way was typical Lesotho with many ups and downs but no more passes. My next headache was entering the town. How was I going to stop? I decided low range would be all I would use and, if need be, stall the vehicle and then restart when necessary. I managed to stop for all the herds of sheep and the many children and also smile nonchalantly at the police as I drove past.

Despite all our efforts to acquire master cylinder seals we ended up spending the better part of the day bleeding and re-bleeding ad infinitum. We tried manufacturing a seal for the end of the piston rod from a rubber tube. No luck. We hunted down the few Land Rovers in Lesotho (this is definitely Toyota country) with no one having a spare master cylinder. Even the three scrap Land Rovers we found had no master cylinder.

What to do now. Drive the rest of Lesotho without brakes. Would my heart withstand the punishment. Do the infamous Sani Pass attached to a Land Rover behind me? Leave the veicle and return in a few weekks with the right part and fix it? The latter option was chosen after much deliberation and soul searching but I didn't want to leave it in this town and return to nothing more than a shell. Vehicles can be stripped very quickly in Africa. The decision was made that we would drive back t St James and ask Sipho to look after the vehicle and Mike would bring me back in two weeks to fix it. By now we were way behind schedule and Shirley had to be back in Johannesburg for work as did Henk and Annalet so I bid farewell to Shirley as she left with the Coetzees.

Marc headed off to St James to secure some accommodation whilst Mike and Roger crawled along at my pace with me. The previous mountain pass was now looming again and so Mike hooked up behind me with a tow strap just as a safety measure, although it was not needed. We did have one interesting moment when at one of the hairpin bends I took a line that would ensure I would get through in one turn not realising that Mike would be pulled though the hairpin over the steepest section where there was actually no road. Roger's heart nearly gave up and Mike in his usually relaxed and unflappable manner merely said to Roger "we just go with the flow".

At the bottom of the pass we again unhitched and soon we were back in St James guest lodge and quite a few Captain Morgan rums were required to ease the adrenalin. The lodge gives me images of being built in Scotland in the eighteenth century with doors so low one has to duck to get in and walls about two feet thick. The water has to be fetched from the river at the bottom of the pass and driven up in a huge container on a tractor. The next morning saw us heading for the the border with one huge pass before we would see Sani Pass. Then it began snowing. With the altitudes in Lesotho it is not unusual to have snow in summer at all. This was for us well into spring and very nearly summer.



Boy oh boy, was I now happy I decided not to try the rest of the trip without brakes with this snow. Mike and I were now freezing to death with his canvas roof and no sides. Eventually we stopped and attached the sides for a small reprieve from the snow albeit not from the cold.
Andy and Roger then decided South Africans were the barmiest people they had met when we stopped in the snow to down a few beers. Mike, believe it or not, was his usual self with bare feet!

At Sani Pass we stopped to take in the scenery and to thaw out somewhat. The Lesotho border post is at the top of Sani Pass and the South African border post is at the bottom of the pass. The pass is spectacular but the hype about it did not match the degree of difficulty. I was rather disappointed. The passes in Lesotho made this look like a stroll in the park. What was impressive was seeing the pass snaking its was down in a near vertical drop. In the rain or snow I'm sure the pass would come back and bite me for saying what I've said, but in the dry there's no real sweat. Shirley, Henk and Annalet did not see the view as the mist when they went down gave visibility of less than thirty metres. This last leg was quite long but we enjoyed it. Marc headed off into the distance while Mike and I took the normal series leisurely pace back to Johannesburg arriving after twenty hours of driving.The adventure was not over yet; I still had to go back to Lesotho to retrieve my Land Rover.

Party Three: The Recovery. (To come)



Have a look here for some fun: http://youtube.com/watch?v=4Apm86FH2Uo

and here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=Tzr2uzrCgn0

Forward to the 20th century

This is the 21st Century. Actually it's not. South Africa was colonised. Prospered. Developed. Built industries. Received majority rule. Hosted a world cup rugby event. Everybody thought, wow, Africa can be different.

I am writing this in complete darkness. Three times a week, for a four hour period, we are in complete and utter darkness because South Africa is unable to supply sufficient electricity to keep the lights burning. Surely in the 21st Century there is electricity? My Dad was born in 1920. They had candles when he was growing up. Their fridge contained a huge block of ice delivered regularly to them. If that's how it was in the twenties then surely I'm still part of the 20th century. Shirley and I just ate our meal by candle light. Hmmm, you might think that's part of sexy foreplay. Not so. Sexy meals and foreplay these days is with the lights on.

I had better become more in tune with Africa's huge advancement and instead of teaching people to drive cars I'll start a new profession and teach people to ride horses.

Why not? Our northern neighbour from whom I've been in exile for the past twenty-eight years has shown true African democracy. Hold an election. Let the people vote. That's democracy isn't it. But wait! Do the people vote for the opposition? It can't be! We've got people so scared they daren't vote for anyone other than the dictatorship. What happened to all the votes from all those dead people? You mean the people still don't want us? But we've made sure there aren't any whites owning farms. We've stopped the western capatalist economy whereby people produced goods for payment. We;ve increased inflation to 1000% per month. Don't the people know anything. I mean even South Africa's president knows. He alone has the guts to stand against world opinion and admit there isn't a crisis in his northern neighbour.

So I'll just put my watch back eigthy years and enjoy life.

The End: Cape Town

Well my Mom has gone full circle. She started life eigthy-three years ago in Touws River some hundred or so kilometres outside Cape Town, spent the majority of her youth in Cape Town, and last weekend took her last trip to Cape Town where she was finally laid to rest.

My eigthy-eight year old Dad and I flew to Cape Town to bury my Mom's ashes in her family's grave. My Dad has been anxious for this to happen but, for a number of reasons, it took a couple of months to be realised.

I know he feels better about it now and I must say until writing this blog I was rather cold to the whole thing. It's just that my duties have managed to make feelings take second place. I can now see his urgency but I still believe when you are that age with very little to do you forget that life doesn't stand still for others.

Shirley asked me if I have closure now to which I replied that I don't believe in this closure thing. Closure comes when a person dies and you know they are dead. It's a realisation. Too much emphasis is put on all this psychiatric come psychological nonsense. Take a hold of your own feelings and deal with it. But enough. This is not about that but about Phyllis Emily Moss, nee Hoggan.

Rest in peace, Mom.