Commuting to Rhodes has always been a pleasure. Not so much this time. The SAA flight departing Cape Town at 6am for Bloemfontein has generally worked like clockwork. Over the Christmas period that flight was cancelled. Catching a later flight with Mango we managed to depart Bloem just after 3pm, ready for the long drive ahead. We arrived in Rhodes in the dark of a depressingly dry and dusty night. But there was perhaps some hope of rain. Not a star could be seen in the heavens, usually magnificent with an enviable clarity hard to find elsewhere. A lonely arrival in a drought-stricken Rhodes. But the village was sure to be busy this time of year. We turned off the engine at the beginning of the Kraai River Bridge for the obligatory bridge stop, headlights illuminating the iconic metal structure.
Jumping down from the car, I crossed to the middle of the bridge, listening intently for the sound of the Kraai as it flowed downstream under the bridge, or the sound of the Sterkspruit as it flowed over the weir at its confluence with the Bell, a stone’s throw upstream. But the rivers were quiet. Everything was quiet. No sounds of livestock, insects, or humans. We were all silently waiting for the rain.
The sluggish river flows brought to mind many previous road trips through the OFS to Rhodes. I well remember the years of drought when there was literally no water available en route at our various pit stops. Purchasing large bottles of water in Bloem allowed us to lend a tiny helping hand to those we got to know over the years. No need, thankfully, for that this year.
Next morning we chilled on our stoep enjoying hot cappuccino, observing the intense dryness that surrounded Rhodes. If the roads were tarred one would have seen the heat rise off the tar! Within 48 hours of our arrival the heavens opened. Dark foreboding clouds formed in the distance above Tishy Lore. Lightning and thunder followed. The rain poured down and continued to do so on and off for most of our stay. I will never forget one particular hail storm. Hail stones of various sizes pelted down, most of them slightly smaller than golf balls. Bouncing too like golf balls as they landed and loped down the slopes in the village, the mountains glistening and shimmering as a backdrop, lathering the ground in white.
Deciding to enjoy the chill of the fresh night air after the hailstorm, Gavin and I went outside to the stoep to listen to the still pouring rain, leaving the front door open. We sat and reveled in the sound of the rain on the tin roof, feeling a sense of peace and serenity, secure in the knowledge that in the morning light everything would be greener. Going inside to fetch a shawl to drape over my gown, I closed the front door as I returned to the stoep.
Kraai River Bridge at Moshesh’s Ford by Sharland Urquhart
Some while later the rain abated, and then stopped. We listened to the unfamiliar sound of water dripping all around us, from the roof, the gutter, and of course the plants and trees. This, we were sure, was just a temporary lull. The rain would return soon. Gavin offered drinks, turned the handle of the front door, without effect. He swore softly, turned to me, and told me that we were locked out. He had failed to latch the Yale lock when he opened the door. We sat and considered the problem. We were sure that all the windows and doors were locked. Gavin did a quick tour of the house with the heavy metal Maglite that was always on the stoep. No joy. It looked like a case of deciding which window to break, using the ever-useful Maglite.
But perhaps all was not lost. The two small mock sash dormer windows upstairs were open. This was our only chance. Fortunately the ladder used for cutting branches earlier that day was not locked away. Gavin brought it around to the side of the stoep. This was not a new ladder, nor a good ladder. Rickety was an understatement. But needs must. I held the ladder while Gavin climbed onto the slippery stoep roof, armed with a small torch. Standing up on the wet and slippery tin roof was not an option. I gingerly climbed the ladder with the Maglite to watch Gavin slipping and sliding on his hands and knees toward the nearer window. Cat burglary did not seem to be his forte. Precariously perched on the wobbling ladder, with my elbows trying to find purchase on the stoep roof, I lit the window for him with the Maglite, feeling unstable and insecure.
Now the only issue was whether Gavin could actually get into the hinged top of the mock sash window, a meter and a half above the stoep roof. The rain, now back, was not helpful. Headfirst seemed to the only option, but the window, now banging on Gavin’s shoulders and back, seemed to be hampering progress. So too, no doubt, were the sharp bronze posts that secured and locked the window. He was clearly a novice at this.
Perseverance won out. I watched his legs slip through the window as his head descended to the floor. When he confirmed that he was in, I abandoned my insecure perch, and climbed back down to the safety of the stoep. The front door opened. The Yale lock, which had not been put on the latch when we went outside, was safely latched, checked, and checked again. Gavin brought out the drinks. The rain returned with a vengeance. The sound was soothing. All was well with the world.
The rain was good for the rivers, when the weather cleared a few days later. The clarity of the water on the upper Bokspruit was good, and the water levels had risen. Time to go fishing. Birnam beckoned.
Killmore from Birnam by Sharland Urquhart
Contemplation at Birnam by Sharland Urquhart