Maden Dam

African pied wagtail.

This was published in Leisure on June 16, 2001, under the headline, “Of near misses and little wagtails”.

I HAVE a theory about the Cape wagtail. We all know the little bird with the black breast band which will land nonchalantly on the lawn near you – after all the other birds have fled the garden on your arrival to hang out the washing.

With its tail bobbing up and down, while issuing a shrill, squeaky call, it will set about foraging in the grass for worms and mites.

And my theory is that it is taking advantage of the human presence. Its apparent tameness is a ploy. It knows it is too quick to be in any real danger from a person – in the rare likelihood that anyone would want to do it any harm.

So, while the doves, sparrows and starlings are away, it makes hay.

But this isn’t an article about the Cape wagtail.

As a relative newcomer to bird-watching, I recently had my first sighting of its close relation, which I had not known existed: the pied wagtail.

Rarely, if ever, seen in Port Elizabeth and environs, I encountered the pied version during a trip to the picturesque Maden Dam, about 40km outside King William’s Town.

Setting off from East London over the Easter weekend, we were initially on the look-out for Cape parrots, which are known to feed on the cashew nut plantations near King, but actually live in the indigenous forest which runs along the edge of the Amatola Mountains.

Cape parrot

Sadly, we were a bit late and never spotted any parrots heading home after an early morning binge. About 20km inland of King, on the Stutterheim road, you turn left onto gravel and, before long, you are at the Rooikrantz Dam. A little upstream lies the stately old Maden Dam, which was built in 1910 and was full to overflowing when we were there. After spotting some yellow-eyed canaries near the car park – plentiful in the East London area but rarely seen in Port Elizabeth – we set off on a walk along the edge of the lake.

Cape otter

And our first sighting had me thinking Loch Ness Monster thoughts. Except, the curved brown shape playing in the water a few metres from the shore was small – and soon identified as a Cape clawless otter.

Our walk along the edge of the dam was punctuated by near misses. At one point a flourish of big wings indicated a giant kingfisher, but the bird was seen only fleetingly, so there was no certainty there.

Further on, a possible green-backed heron or dwarf bittern – according to my knowledgeable nephew and guide, Dylan Weyer – flew out of a thicket of reeds to our right, and disappeared in the forest a few metres away – again unidentified. A little later, two raptors were heard and fleetingly seen through the thick canopy, but disappeared before we could determine what they were, although Dylan said they may have been black sparrow-hawks. A chattering of vervet monkeys had earlier alerted us to the presence of these raptors, which are among their main predators.

But we did get lucky a few times. A brilliant-yellow forest weaver was seen for some time from across a narrow stream that feeds the dam. This was at a point where the six-day, 105km Amatola Trail begins (it ends at Hogsback), as well as a separate three-hour walk to Sandile’s cave.

Cape batis

We did not have that sort of time available, but on our return walk struck it lucky when a mini-bird party yielded, well, many mini-birds. These included a couple of delightful brown, white and black Cape batises, along with yellow-throated warblers and yellow-breasted apalises.

Back at the carpark, we set out to explore the area below the dam wall, and were rewarded when a magnificent crowned eagle hove majestically into view.

Then, back at the car, as we were about to set off, a shrill, insistent call from the roof of a little building on the dam wall caught our attention.

It was a wagtail, but not the grey and white Cape version. No this species was stark black and white – a pied wagtail – which is apparently highly territorial, hence the loud chirping from such a small (20cm) bird.

Golden-breasted bunting

As so often happens, some of our best sightings occurred on the gravel stretch while travelling back to the main road. Bringing back memories of a recent trip to the Addo Elephant Park, we spotted the conspicuous black and white lines on the head of a golden-breasted bunting.

Red-throated wryneck

On the ground beside the road, several swee waxbills busied themselves in the long grass. And then, to cap it all, a red-throated wryneck was seen, an unexpected bonus.

A Karoo Odyssey

This article was written in about April 2000, but not published.

One of South Africa’s great natural wonders, the dolorite columns at the Valley of Desolation.

A FOUR-DAY, 1000km round trip through the Karoo left me convinced that the area offers scenery unparalleled anywhere in the world.

And the Valley of Desolation, near Graaff-Reinet, is truly an Eastern Cape tourism treasure.

We left Port Elizabeth in pouring rain and arrived mid-afternoon at the Cradock Spa, with its sulphur springs, just outside the town.

Here we cooled off with a swim in the large outdoor pool, before transferring to the indoor pool – to warm up again.

Scaly-feathered finch

In perfect weather, a braai using the facilities provided at our comfortable, fully furnished – and inexpensive – cottage, enabled us to take in the clear Karoo air. In nearby trees, the unfamiliar (to us) sociable weavers provided ornithological interest, along with a scaly-feathered finch, yellow-throated sparrow and African hoopoe.

Cradock’s main claim to fame is Olive Schreiner, whose book, The Story of an African Farm, was based on her life on a local farm. Olive Schreiner House in Cross Street illustrates her story.

But the dominant sight in the town, towering above other splendid old buildings, many in the Cape Dutch style, is the 1866 Dutch Reformed Church, which is similar in design to St Martin-in-the-Fields, next to the South African High Commission on Trafalgar Square in London.

Unlike its illustrious English counterpart, however, the stone-work on the Cradock church is largely unsullied by pollution.

Mountain zebra magic

Two mountain zebras enjoy the lush veld after rains at the Mountain Zebra National Park.

The next morning we set off early for the Mountain Zebra National Park, just 23km outside Cradock. Dew drops nestling in a myriad spider webs created delicate tracery patterns in fences along the roadside as we approached our destination.

Paying a mere R10 per adult and R5 each for children for a day visit, we first stopped at the information centre to pick up a map of the various drives available. We were also delighted to come across an acacia pied barbet, chirping merrily in a nearby tree.

We essentially wanted to see the famed mountain zebras, which the park saved from virtual extinction after it was established in July 1937, starting with a population of just five stallions and one mare.

Today, thanks to the acquisition of neighbouring farms, and the inclusion of the zebras on them, 200 to 230 mountain zebras populate the park, with about 20 others being translocated annually.

By the early 2000s some 1 100 had been re-established in recognised conservation areas and on private land.

While this is a wonderful conservation success story, the mountain zebra – which is distinguished from the more common Burchell’s zebra by the absence of shadow stripes – remains among the rarest mammals in the world.

The 14,5km Rooiplaat drive, we were informed, was the area where the zebras were most likely to be spotted. A tarred road took us higher and higher up the mountain, offering ever more spectacular views as we navigated between massive boulders.

But no sign of a zebra.

Then, finally, on a vast, pristine grassland plateau, we saw a herd of about half a dozen, grazing peacefully. As we journeyed slowly onwards, many more of these magnificent animals were spotted, along with hordes of springbok, blesbok, black wildebeest – with their ungainly gait – and eland.

We came across a huge red hartebeest dozing in the sun on the side of the road, just metres from our car. As he ambled off, we saw several young springbok perform their unique jumping act, with legs outstretched and heads bowed.

Clapper lark

Among birds spotted in the grass and scrub were sabota and clapper larks and a chestnut-vented titbabbler, while a pallid harrier soared overhead.

Returning to the rest camp, we took a short 30-minute walk during which we got our first sighting of a red-eyed bulbul, among other birds. After a tasty and inexpensive lunch, we headed back to Cradock.

Teebus and Koffiebus

Teebus and Koffiebus, near the farm Spring Valley, west of Steynsburg.

Our next destination was a farm just to the west of Steynsburg, near the northern border of the Eastern Cape.

The farm, Spring Valley, has been in my wife’s family for generations, and driving up from Cradock there is no mistaking your imminent arrival. The harbingers are as large as life and as old as the hills – the adjacent koppies known as Teebus and Koffiebus.

But things were different in the Karoo this time, compared to previous visits. It was already autumn, but the normally arid countryside was a sea of swaying grass. We had to negotiate several pools of water before arriving at the farm, which three months earlier was in the grip of one of the worst droughts in years.

Here our hosts, Bill and Colleen Elliott, provided us with the kind of hospitality for which South African farming families are famous.

Bill drove us around a sheep farm turned into an oasis by the rains.

Ironically, it was two devastating lightning strikes, last December, which initiated the transformation. The first killed a couple of his sheep, while the second struck a tall tree right next to the house, with a huge branch falling harmlessly a few metres from the roof.

From then on, the formerly black-scorched countryside turned an emerald green as the dams filled – and the farmers smiled again.

Bill enlightened us on the various Karoo bushes and grasses which are the staple of his flocks, while also pointing out the spoor of several buck and hare species. Birds spotted included red-billed quelea, common quail and the redheaded finch.

The next day it was time for our odyssey to continue. Our journey west took us between Teebus and Koffiebus and more breathtaking mountainous countryside, to Middelburg, and then south to Graaff-Reinet.

Picking up a local map in the “Gem of the Karoo” – which has more national monuments than any other town in the country – we set off along the edge of the still almost-empty Van Rynevelds Pass Dam. There was no entry fee at the Karoo Nature Reserve entrance to the Valley of Desolation, one of the most impressive natural phenomena in South Africa.

A well-maintained tarred road winds through Karoo vegetation ever upwards – your ears “pop” before you reach the top. For yes, the Valley of Desolation is a misnomer – it is actually at the top of a mountain.

Declared a national monument due to its geological and scientific significance, the valley consists of piled dolerite columns stretching hundreds of metres into the air. A large cluster of these rise from a valley carved out of the top of the mountain by volcanic and erosive forces during the Jurassic Period, between 190- and 150-million years ago.

Spandau Kop

A silhouetted Spandou Kop seen from the Valley of Desolation above Graaff-Reinet.

The first glimpse one gets of the area is from the toposcope look-out point. This offers a panoramic view of the historic town, encircled almost entirely by the Sundays River, with the splendid 1886 Dutch Reformed Church dominating the latticework of roads. To the right, Graaff-Reinet’s most famous landmark, Spandaukop, hogs the skyline, with the plains of the Camdeboo spreading out into the distance.

A row of outjutting crags, which resemble bottom teeth, led to the naming of the awe-inspiring Tantjiesberg, which can be seen in the distance.

A couple of minutes’ drive up from the toposcope, we stopped the car at a parking area and followed a well-laid-out path up to a point overlooking the valley itself. Wow! When you are up there among those dolerite columns, where each precariously balanced boulder must weigh hundreds of tons, you realise just how small and vulnerable we humans are. And children especially.

With that vertigo feeling almost beckoning you to tumble down into the depths below, we had to remain constantly on the look-out for crevices which could gobble up a wayward waif.

Pale-winged starling

While we never saw any of the famed black eagles soaring through the air between the cliffs, we did hear the low bellowing of baboons, and caught sight of flashes of cream on the plumage of pale-winged starlings as they rode the thermals.

Bird Party

A red-billed woodhoopoe

THIS appeared in Leisure in late 2000 (probably December), under the headline “Welcome to the bird party!”.

DID you know that our fine, feathered friends have a strange proclivity for getting together in a group of trees and, well, doing what birds do – eat fruit and insects, chirp and sing, and generally create a bit of a stir?

Normally bird-watching can be a bit of a bind, as you seek out those often very tiny specimens amid the leaves and shadows. But not so during our recent visit to the Dassie Trail, a nature reserve comprising thick riverine forest beside the Nahoon River estuary in East London.

Grey heron

We kicked off by surveying the river itself, and found on its surface and banks, among others, a grey heron, its feathers flapping in the breeze, a white-breasted cormorant sunning itself on a piece of driftwood, and a juvenile kelp gull swimming along duck-like.

Common terns wheeled across the surface, while a great white egret (85-92cm) stood absolutely still then spread its giant wings and traced a graceful path along the river before – watched through the binoculars – landing a few hundred metres away.

Half-collared kingfisher

Running across the mud flats (the tide was out) were a busy group of white-fronted plovers, as a tiny half-collared kingfisher darted hither and thither along the bank.

In a thicket of trees beneath a cliff we first heard, then saw, a Knysna lourie, which then flew off in a flash of scarlet wings to find a new perch.

All this and the party hadn’t even begun!

As we headed into the forest right next to the river, we encountered . . . nothing. Silence. Then, with a jolt my son, Luke, 9, and I were frightened out of our wits by a pair of hadedah ibises which flew off a branch just metres away from us, with loud, wailing shrieks.

A few minutes later we found ourselves in the thick of a real, unadulterated bird party.

High above us in the canopy we picked up a grey-headed bush shrike, one of the more elusive birds, with its beautiful yellow-orange breast and distinctive bill. Known as the ghost bird, the reason became obvious as it made its haunting “oooooop” call. I first thought two other large birds which fluttered out of a tree ahead of us were louries. But, with such big bills they could be only one thing: hornbills. This magnificent pair of trumpeter hornbills moved playfully from tree to tree, seemingly unconcerned about the human presence.

By now the bird party was in full swing in the canopy above as black-eyed and sombre bulbuls, forest weavers, Cape weavers and red-fronted tinker barbets, among many others, were either seen or heard.

Bronze mannikin

To cap a superb outing, a flourish of bronze mannikins alighted in a tree just ahead of us on the path, and as we returned to the river bank we saw two red-necked francolins fly hurriedly out of one thicket, only to conceal themselves equally quickly in another.

But if this outing had been a party, what was to come would constitute a bird banquet, so plentiful and diverse were the species encountered.

My nephew, Dylan Weyer, who has just completed matric and has been an avid birder for years, told us matter-of-factly that he thought we might have some success at the Amalinda Nature Reserve, on the outskirts of East London. The reserve comprises a dam, some fish hatcheries and a substantial area of bushveld and forest.

Dabchicks and yellow-billed ducks playfully swanned around on the dam as we heard and identified a host of species – but saw very few. However, the sight of a huge eland on the hillside across the lake enchanted us, as did a long-crested eagle, which remained perched atop a distant thorn tree throughout our visit.

As we headed along a gravel road towards a picnic area, the banquet broke out around us. Dylan was almost overcome with excitement as he battled to note down the numerous species seen and heard on his check-list. In all, that morning, 58 types were identified.

Black-collared barbet

Anyone with a knowledge of birds will find it hard to believe that within a radius of about 100 metres we saw, among others, several bizarrely behaved red-billed woodhoopoes, half a dozen crowned hornbills, a cuddly brown-hooded kingfisher, Knysna and cardinal woodpeckers, a paradise flychatcher, yellow-eyed canaries, a madness of forktailed drongos, a tambourine dove and a pair of black-collared barbets.

And, as we tiptoed through the grass for a better view of an elusive olive bush shrike, Dylan caught sight, in a low acacia bush a few metres away, of the truly magnificent Klaas’s cuckoo, surely one of the most attractive wild birds in southern Africa.

With a Knysna lourie “barking” away in the distance, and the southern boubous, sombre bulbuls and a myriad others keeping the music going, an intended hour-long visit had turned into three before, satiated by such a glut of God’s finest creatures, we had to become our own bouncers and throw ourselves out.

As we drove off, the party continued unabated in the balmy heat.

Kariega

Green-spotted dove

This was first published in the Herald on February 25, 2000, under the headline, “Wildlife wonderland”.

IT’S not often you get to see the rare green-spotted dove, let alone hold one in your hand.

But this happened on a recent visit to Kariega Game Reserve, a people-friendly game park just inland from Kenton-on-Sea.

A pair of giraffes

Arriving via a short gravel road, we got our first sightings of many of the species of buck in the park, along with zebra and giraffes.

After a friendly welcome at reception, we set off through the bush – stopping briefly to let a herd of impala cross the road – before reaching the comfortable timber lodges a couple of kilometres down the track.

Built on stilts, these are dotted along the thickly forested ridge on the western flank of the Kariega River valley.

Our lodge had an undisturbed 270-degree view across virgin valley forest and down over grassy plains towards Kenton.

Kariega doesn’t try to compete with the major game parks, which boast several if not all of the “big five”. Instead, it deliberately has no dangerous predators – so you are free to roam its 660 hectares – along about a dozen marked trails – without having to watch your back. (NOTE: This has changed in recent years, with several major predators having been introduced in parts of the reserve.)

Crowned hornbill

From the wooden deck of our lodge we spotted our first exciting bird life – a large crowned hornbill, which flew from tree to tree about 50 metres away. We were to spot another (or was it the same one?) during a walk the next day.

A new addition to Kariega is a restaurant, built on several layered decks on the western side of the ridge overlooking another valley, and offering superb sunset views. It was here that we had our amazing meeting with that green-spotted dove. The restaurant, in true bush style, has several walls “missing”, with spaces left open to the elements. The dove had flown in and stunned itself after colliding with a window.

It was my brother-in-law, Dundee doctor Grant Rodney, who found the bird and cradled it gently as he took it out onto the wooden deck to release it. The iridescent green spots on the dove’s wings shone brilliantly as it flew off back into the thicket below.

The next day we took a trail down to the river and back up to the crest of the valley through dense riverine forest. The absolute silence, broken only by birdsong, was awe-inspiring. But, as often happens, we were unable to spot the birds themselves.

Against a backdrop of indigenous vallery forest, bathers enjoy the facilities at Kariega Park.

Then followed a dunk in the Kariega pool, set in tiers of wooden deck on the north-eastern side of the ridge.

Later, on another longer walk over flatter terrain, we had close sightings of a host of buck species, including impala, springbok, wildebeest and blesbok. It was here that we also again saw that crowned hornbill, perched on an aloe.

Also on offer are game drives. Apart from the excellent game-viewing, these take you to a look-out point, high up a cliff, offering a magnificent view of the river.

Those with vertigo don’t want to get too close to the edge!

While the park boasts some 200 species of bird, apart from the green-spotted dove, the highlight of our visit involved fauna, not birdlife, when we did a walk called the sunset trail.

A classic African summer sunset at Kariega.

As the sun sank in the west in true African game park tradition, we had close encounters with, among others, a huge eland about 10 metres away and a stately female impala which stood impassively in our path before graciously giving way.

An elegant kudu

Across a narrow valley we saw a female kudu on the move, its flanks flecked with white.

On the grassy plain above this more densely forested area, with the sun dropping fast, herds of various species of antelope tucked into their dinner.

It was time for ours.

The birds of Settlers Park

In Settlers Park. Luke, around the age of 8, with Doug, 6, playing a supporting role.

This was published in the Herald in January 2000, under the headline “Abundant birdlife in the heart of PE’s green lung”.

WHEN I wrote a piece in the Herald five months ago about discovering the delights of bird-watching, I never imagined the positive reaction it would receive.

Colleagues at work, the principal of my younger son’s pre-primary school, friends, relatives and acquaintances – all had a tale to tell about their own sightings or tips to assist us in our quest to find new lifers – birds seen and identified for the first time.

But the most enthusiastic response came from the Eastern Cape Wild Bird Society (now BirdLife Eastern Cape), which invited my son and mentor, Luke (8), to an introduction to birds at the Newton Park library, followed by a Saturday morning bird-spotting walk through Settlers Park. Led by Ken and Jen Munro, we were given “inside information” that has proved invaluable. Since then, Luke’s knowledge of birds has grown considerably.

A quiet corner of Settlers Park where many birding surprises occur. Shame about the tower.

The black-headed oriole, Cape robin, fork-tailed drongo, sombre bulbul, olive thrush and many more have become fairly old hat – though we still follow their calls to make sure we see them.

And of course the Knysna lourie never fails to impress.

But it was only recently that I fully came to appreciate the rich diversity which Settlers Park has to offer the bird-watcher.

Little egret

A while ago, Luke, his brother Douglas (6) and I had ventured through the park to a section of the Baakens River at the park’s seaward end where a fairly open expanse of water can be seen through a curtain of reeds. Luke and I spotted a graceful egret perched on a branch a couple of metres above the surface. We were trying to establish the exact type from its feet when Douglas piped up: “How can you see the feet when they’re in the water?”

We laughed, until we noticed that Douglas was looking at another bird, standing in the shallows just below the egret. It was an Egyptian goose, which then set off down the river.

The egret flew a few metres to the other bank, its yellow feet confirming its identity: a little egret (though I thought it quite large).

Dabchick

In the distance we also spotted a tiny, short-tailed duck, which the boys – fresh from a visit to Swartvlei near Sedgefield – confirmed was a dabchick (little grebe).

Anyway, a couple of weeks later we were back at the same spot – elated after a delightful five-minute sighting on the countour path of a Knysna lourie tucking into some berries about six metres away from us.

Giant kingfisher

But this time the little section of river was devoid of birdlife. As we turned to leave, we heard a few sharp calls, which Luke said sounded like a helmeted guineafowl. We turned around in time to see a large bird with black and white spots, its wings outstretched, land on the same outjutting branch above the water’s edge.

“No,” I said to Luke as I spied the thick, straight black bill, “that’s no guineafowl. It looks like a pied kingfisher (which I had first seen a month earlier in the George area).”

“It’s too big,” came the reply. “It’s a giant kingfisher.”

“A what?” That was one I’d not heard of, but Luke opened his Sasol Birds of Southern Africa and there it was. This great big fowl of a bird (38cm to 43cm) then took to its wings and sped off down the river.

As we headed back up-river, I remarked that it would be great to see a red bishop in the Settlers Park reeds, among the many weavers.

But, it would seem, these oddly shaped, almost luminous red birds prefer more secluded surroundings.

We had first spotted them – at least half a dozen – on a walk along the Baakens River between the Third Avenue Dip and Dodds Farm. They are apparently summer visitors – like the plethora of greater striped swallows and white-rumped swifts we have been seeing of late, wheeling and swirling through the sky.

Anyway, with the giant kingfisher “on record”, I told Luke it would make my day if I saw a woodpecker. We set off down a tree-overhung path along the edge of the river when a bird with a darkish back shot up-stream ahead of us, a few metres above the surface. I was convinced it was a kingfisher, but the sighting was too brief to be sure.

A glimmering malachite sunbird on a strelitzia in Settlers Park.

A few metres down the path we stopped – and Luke thought the tapping he was hearing was me hitting the stick I was carrying against my shoe. Confirming it was coming from up a nearby tree, he soon located an olive woodpecker, its bright red crown visible as it tucked into a feast of creepy-crawlies, oblivious to our presence.

Malachite kingfisher

We set off again. Then, alerted by a sudden movement, I turned quickly to see what had to be a malachite kingfisher flying back down the river. Luke missed it, so we backtracked, but there was no sign of it.

When we returned to the spot where I had seen it, there it was again, a few metres away, a tiny silver fish in its beak.

It was indeed a malachite kingfisher. Bright blue and orange, with a disproportionately large orange bill, this tiny fellow – about 14cm long – moved from one reed to the next in search of brunch.

Paradise flycatcher

As an added bonus, we saw a male and female paradise flycatcher merrily dancing about above the river, doing what comes naturally: catching insects! Luke also got a lifer – his first sighting of a collared sunbird.

Collared sunbird

Sunbirds there are aplenty in Settlers Park, with the greater- and lesser-double-collared and African black varieties being fairly easily spotted, particularly in the winter.

But when a tiny, short-billed bird darted overhead making a staccato chit-chit-chit sound, I was at a loss as to its identity. Smaller than a Cape white-eye, with much brighter plumage, the bird kept returning to the same spot with something in its beak. We discovered it was taking food to a rather scruffy nest.

But it moved at such speed, and so furtively, it took several journeys to and fro before Luke confirmed his suspicion that it was a collared sunbird, all 10cm of it.

Neddicky

Along with the delightful swee waxbill (9-10cm) and neddicky (small cisticola) which is 11cm, it was one of the smallest birds we’d seen in the wild.

In two hours that Saturday morning we spotted about 30 different species, not to mention some – like the bar-throated apalis – which we only heard.

The park boasts over 100 of South Africa’s approximately 900 bird species. Not bad for a small green lung in the heart of a major city.

Long may it survive.

Victoria Bay and Swartvlei

The caravan park and foreshore houses as seen from the railway line at Victoria Bay.

This was published in the Weekend Post's Leisure supplement on January 15, 2000.

VICTORIA Bay nestles between steep green hills like a cradled child.

It is a delightful little village with a caravan park geared for tourists wishing to get close to nature.

But it is also sufficiently developed to enable you to relax without having to rough it too much.

Having booked a caravan and site, we set off down the coast from Port Elizabeth at the start of the spring holidays.

Unlike on our trips to East London, where seemingly never-ending roadworks and potholes in the Ciskei make travelling arduous, the journey to George – also just more than 300km – was a breeze.

A pre-teen Luke, his binoculars ever-present, at the Storms River Bridge.

We stopped for lunch at the Storms River bridge and spotted a Knysna lourie in the magnificent yellowwoods nearby – a harbinger of further avian delights to come.

Passing through Plett, the ever-busy Knysna, Sedgefield and Wilderness, we finally turned left off the N2 about 8km before George.

The Tsitsikamma mountains that had graced our northern flank through much of the journey turned even more spectacular when they became the Outeniqua range and, as we meandered down towards Vic Bay, it was apparent that, like Storms River Mouth, those steep mountainous gradients continued right to the shoreline.

The one main difference is that at Vic Bay there is no river, only a pristine bay with a sandy beach a couple of hundred metres wide.

The caravan site is set above a row of guest houses and B&Bs, which front onto the ocean, with only a narrow road dividing them from the sea. A delightful little pier is ideal for lovers on a moonlit night.

As we entered the site I thought of the old Brookes Hill caravan park in Port Elizabeth, where generations of visitors woke to a panoramic view of Algoa Bay.

The view from this small site – it only takes a few dozen caravans and tents – was a sight for sore, city eyes. With waves pounding across the bay, we were bordered behind and to our right by a hill that soared steeply several hundred metres above us, covered in thick indigenous bush.

A similar hill on the east side makes the other half of the “V” forming the bay. A tunnel pierces the furthest rocky reaches of the eastern hill, and every so often the Outeniqua Choo-Tjoe and other steam trains traverse this slope, their whistles sounding jubilantly ahead of plumes of dark smoke.

We met other family members at the site after booking two caravans, which were ready for occupation when we arrived around 4pm.

Having honed our bird-watching skills in Settlers Park, we were delighted to find the elusive Cape bulbul was a regular visitor to Vic Bay.

Cape rock thrush

Another joy was to tune in to the “conversation” which a male Cape rock thrush, sitting on one telephone pole, held with his female partner on an adjacent pole in front of our caravan.

Cape robin

Greater double-collared sunbirds, Cape white-eyes, Cape robins and southern boubous were in plentiful supply.

While the ablution facilities were by no means luxurious, they were adequate and – most importantly – had a seemingly endless supply of hot water. No one enjoyed this more than a group of surfers camping at the site, as they thawed out in the showers after many hours in the water.

For the three days we were there the wave was consistently good, which explains why Vic Bay is such a famous surfing spot.

With built-in braais and an unimpeded view of the ocean a stone’s throw away, we found ourselves cooking outdoors each evening, something even a light drizzle on the last night couldn’t spoil.

Regularly during our stay we caught sight of the rock-like forms of several southern right whales, secure in the protection provided by the bay.

What to do while there? Some of us opted to join the fairly large throng of bathers in the sparkling waters of the Indian Ocean as others whiled away their time in the pages of a book.

We took a lengthy walk along the railway line and through the tunnel, where we were rewarded with a view of the sprawling Wilderness coastline.

There were cormorants and darters aplenty at Swartvlei. These were seen from the bird hide.

As an outing, we back-tracked about 30km to Swartvlei, near Sedgefied, where a hide set in a wide reed bed affords one an ideal opportunity of seeing fairly rare birdlife. Indeed, as we walked along the boardwalk to the hide we spotted the majestic paradise flycatcher, with its long orange tail. We were to see the short-tailed female version of this bird later, outside our campsite ablution facility.

Red-knobbed coot

From the hide itself we spotted, among others, white-throated swallows, an African marsh harrier, red-knobbed coots, dabchicks, moorhens, African darters, white-breasted cormorants, reed cormorants, African black crakes and pied kingfishers.

George itself seems to have been transformed since the last time I was there, when the freeway used to run through it. Then it had a character which somehow reflected the dour disposition of its incumbent member of parliament, P W Botha.

It is now a clean, lively place with top-class restaurants, pubs, shops and supermarkets. So, if you are unable to get what you want at the well-equipped shop/restaurant at Vic Bay, it’s just a short hop into town where your needs will be met.

Another accessible spot is the Cango Caves, about 110km away in the foothills of the Swartberge.

This was the first time I had seen this prime tourist attraction and I was most impressed with the 1,2km long display of formations built up over more than a million years.

God’s sculptural hand has been hard at work here. It’s just such a pity that over the years vandals have caused so much damage.

But the place still attracts more than 250 000 visitors a year and is well worth the trek and the hefty entrance fee.

Storms River

Just a small segment of the mountainous majesty visible from the dairy farm we visited at Storms River Mouth.

This first appeared in the Weekend Post’s Leisure supplement on October 30, 1999, under the headline, “Storms’ natural beauty” – and there was barely a mention of birds!

IF I lived in a place like Storms River I’d battle to get anything done. When you’re surrounded by so much natural beauty you can’t stop admiring it.

Kind relatives put us up for a few days in a cottage on their dairy farm, just east of the river and not far from the mouth.

It was an idyllic time, particularly for our two boys, aged six and eight, who experienced a taste of the sort of world Dylan Thomas wrote about in his poem, Fern Hill.

They were more than a trifle envious of our hosts’ children, for whom barefoot walks along cow-dung covered roads and over lush green pastures are part of daily life.

A group of sacred ibises enjoy rich pickings on the farm.

Add to that the allure of fishing in scenic dams or rowing around in a boat to explore them and you get a picture of, well, bucolic bliss.

There was a delightful moment when the five children, all nine or younger, returned with a farm hand after a successful afternoon’s fishing. Klaas, it emerged, had caught not one but two carp, and had given one to the boys.

As we parents watched World Cup rugby on the telly, in walked Bruce, aged four, with this fairly sizeable fish, beaming.

“We caught a vis!” he exclaimed. “We caught a vis!”

In a rush of excitement he told us what had happened, before slapping the slippery silver fish onto the coffee table. As for myself, I couldn’t take my eyes off the surrounding Tsitsikamma mountains. Particularly impressive is Witels Peak, which stands proud and aloof, just demanding to be climbed.

Getting a taste of the local lifestyle, we drove off one evening into a light rain (most of the time the weather was perfect) to have supper at the annual Forest Festival held at a sawmill, ahead of a half-marathon being run the next day.

The rays of the setting sun, itself a glowing ember in the swirling mist, encrusted the row of receding mountains with gold. Awesome.

Earlier, a walk from the top of the eastern cliff down to the Storms River Mouth yielded more spectacular views. While we did not take the rather costly boat trip up the river, from the swaying suspension footbridge the vertical cliffs loomed impressively as they plunged down into a narrow, mirror-smooth body of water.

During our ensuing walk from the bridge to the tourist complex at the mouth, we climbed a steep flight of wooden steps at the top of which a group of English tourists were staring at something just above them.

A Knysna lourie was perched in a tree not three metres from us. We could see the delicate white lines around its eyes and, as it flew a short way onto a rocky outcrop, the brilliant scarlet of its wings.

What an exciting sighting!

We were pleased to find that, since our last visit about a decade previously, a boardwalk has been constructed along the entire length of the walk between the bridge and the tourist complex.

The same applies with the walk through the indigenous forest to the Big Tree, which is about a kilometre north of the N2.

About 800 years old, this towering – and leaning – yellowwood tree is some 36m high. It takes eight men standing hand in hand with arms outstretched to surround the base of its trunk.

One interesting observation we made at the mouth was that timber, no matter how well treated, doesn’t survive in very damp areas. It rots.

Which is why large sections of the boardwalk are being replaced – with replica plastic planks!