Near Death at the Big Tree. 08-08-2012

I had my usual stop at Storms River, enjoyed the view and had some oranges. That was rather droll compared to what happened next.

Thankfully, the rain stopped long enough for me to check out something I have been wanting to see for years: The Big Tree. I am not to sure why, I just always have. The many days of rain had brought out the rich colours of the forest, with all its deep greens and dark browns; cloaked in shade. Much of the soil on the path had been washed away, exposing a network of roots that seemed to connect the whole forest. They looked like the veins on the flexed forearm of the forest floor, with shimmering pools of water between them.

The Big Tree itself is only around one kilometer into the forest. The boardwalk around it makes it easily accessible, but it was not as insanely epic as I had build it up to be in my imagination for years. There were a few more trees on the longer trails so I decided to take the 2.6km trail to see more of the forest. But half way through the trail my whole body froze with a primal fear the moment I heard a loud and distinctive growl. With all my senses on high alert my eyes darted through the thick foliage and caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows. The steady falling droplets made a constant but disconcerting background to the forest. With adrenalin still thick in my veins I wondered if perhaps my senses were lying to me. As I stepped backwards I heard the rustling again. I was very afraid. I had just spoken to my mother, assuring her I was fine. Eventually when I got control of my body again I took my knife out of my bag, opened it (like that would do any good against what ever might be eyeing me) and started to back away slowly. After half an hour of careful backtracking I indulged myself in a good old fashioned 'run away'. I dared not do it earlier lest I looked to much like prey.

By the time I got back to the entrance, where had I paid to go in, I had calmed myself down enough to start thinking rationally. "There is no way that could have been something like a leopard out there in the woods, I must have been imagining things. Perhaps it was something completely harmless and I got scared for no reason", I told myself. Yet when I asked the people that worked there they told me that it was very likely that I had in fact encountered a leopard. Maybe it just wasn't that hungry.

Hen's Den

Tuesday night at Hen's Den felt like something out of a Hunter S. Thompson article. When I returned from the hotel, it appeared that word of me had spread and I hardly had time to get to the bar before I was led to a table amongst a group that had been there when I first arrived. Here are a few of the people I had the interesting privilege of spending time with.

Last Born
A gentle-faced man who was the first to offer me a seat. Many times through out the night he kept informing me that he was not a criminal. From his accent I could tell he was not from South Africa. It was quite clear that he did not feel part of the group, and the constant physical dismissal from others at the bar did not help ease that feeling. Often when he tried to approach me and talk to me other people would shove him aside and tell him "He is talking to me". When I eventually met him outside of the peering eyes of the others he told me a bit of his story. All I can say is that after hearing it I could not help but hug him, at reassure him that he was not the only one to feel like that, and that I understood. I do not know if it helped.
Jeraldo
So this is what he told me about his life: He lives in Humansdorp. He used to work for the newspaper but does not anymore. Others at the table informed me of his love of drinking. He has no home and no money. Both his parents are dead. In his words "Ek loop en loaf". Most nights he sleeps in the bushes behind the bar. Many people in Humansdorp know him; especially at the bar, and help him in his hand-to-mouth existence. His son, Gemano, is seven years old. He told me that George Bell invented the telephone. I did not have the heart to tell him it was actually Alexander Graham Bell.
J.J.
A passionate man who was very wary of what I was doing at the bar. He spoke powerfully about his views of God and the apostles and told me some wonderful stories of the many countries he has been to. He was extremely knowledgeable and enjoyed talking about his life.

As I left, a man who had been trying the whole night to get me aside and talk to me followed me to my car. He asked if we could speak to each other there. I will admit that I was a bit wary about this, but he seemed harmless enough. I drove him to his home, which appeared to be a squat in a construction site. At that point I was getting somewhat worried, but I had concealed my knife in my hand so at least I was prepared. When we got into his abode his reason for trying to get me aside became clear: he just wanted some one to talk to about his personal problems. This humbled me. For all the preconceptions I carried, I made the mistake of forgetting that people are just that. I left him to pass out on his couch and drove to the campsite confused, humbled and happy. It was an interesting start to my journey to say the least.