When I was 17 I left Johannesburg and went as an AFS student (American Field Scholar) to live in Chicago for a year. My host family took me to Miami for a holiday. I sent glossy postcards (of highrises, palm trees, colorfully populated beaches) to my family in South Africa. They mailed me photos of their holiday at Natures Valley. A small wooden house at the edge of a red dirt road --the house barely visible in the thick forest which rose steeply up the mountain behind. A long sweep of beach, deserted except for my two brothers and sister standing proudly next to the intricate sand dribble castle they had built.
That was my family’s first holiday at Nature’s Valley. It would take two days to drive down from Johannesburg and we would rent a house for several weeks. There was no electricity. At night we sat around the scrabble board with the whiff of paraffin lamps and the occasional sizzle as a moth got too close to the flames. From the beach you could see no sign of habitation. Dunes hid the houses. There were no high-rises. As you walked the long golden beach all you saw were densely forested mountains, the wide lagoon where the river gathered before it emptied to the sea and dramatic high cliffs plunging into the ocean. The lagoon was warm and gentle, the color of whiskey. The sea was untamed – blue and turquoise with the white foam of crashing breakers.
I holidayed there with my family during my university years. It was at Nature’s Valley that I announced my engagement in 1974 – showed off the little ring Graham and I had chosen in an outdoor flea market in London. I was living in England at the time and had escaped a raw winter to join my family at the Valley. And then, in the 1980ies it was to Nature’s Valley that I took my young children, fleeing the chill of Canadian and New England winters to head to the southern tip of Africa. We picnicked at the side of the lagoon, my children chased seagulls, braved the waves, build castles of sand. Came to know their grandparents.
In the room where I am typing this now, is a painting my mother did of a picnic at the edge of the lagoon – champagne in evidence at my back, my daughter raising a glass in a toast and several renditions of my son at different ages.
Until this trip I hadn’t been back to Nature’s Valley in well over 10 years. Wild Spirit, the backpackers lodge where we stayed is deep in the Tsitsikamma Forest in the mountains above Nature’s Valley. From here, to get to the Valley you either drive down the winding pass (more than 30 sharp bends if I recall) or make a day of it and hike steeply down a narrow trail.
I have taken both of these routes in the past month.
In April, Nancy and I drove down, slowing around the hairpin turns; remarking on the Spanish moss hanging off towering old trees, pausing to watch a troop of baboons – swaggering males, tiny clinging babies. We meandered along the edge of the lagoon and walked along the tide-packed sand to picnic at the base of the cliffs. I climbed up to the top for the view using the path which marks one end of the Otter Trail. (This challenging and spectacularly beautiful trail between Natures Valley and Storms River Mouth is internationally renown. It takes 3 days and needs to be reserved well in advance.)
And then just a few days ago I was back in the area and, this time, hiked down to Natures Valley from the top of the pass with my daughter and two friends from Durham, North Carolina. We passed through high protea fynbos and dense forest, boulder hopped along a rushing stream and then paused in awe beneath ancient giant Yellowwood trees. We ate our well deserved picnic lunch on the beach under the hopeful eye of a large, perfectly groomed seagull who chased off any other would- be- contenders. Our return trail to the top of the pass was at the far end of the wide bay. We passed a huge beached jellyfish, kept our eye out for dolphins and didn’t see another soul on the beach.
Nor could we see a house. There are still no high-rises, still only the one small shop at the end of the valley we used to walk to to buy basic supplies and candy treats. From the beach, Nature’s Valley looks just as it did when I first went there more than 40 years ago. There are a few informational signboards near the lagoon about birds and rare endemic insects but otherwise it feels like the world has stood still here. Thankfully, reassuringly, still.
A timeless rootedness, like the Yellowwood giants, like memory.
That was my family’s first holiday at Nature’s Valley. It would take two days to drive down from Johannesburg and we would rent a house for several weeks. There was no electricity. At night we sat around the scrabble board with the whiff of paraffin lamps and the occasional sizzle as a moth got too close to the flames. From the beach you could see no sign of habitation. Dunes hid the houses. There were no high-rises. As you walked the long golden beach all you saw were densely forested mountains, the wide lagoon where the river gathered before it emptied to the sea and dramatic high cliffs plunging into the ocean. The lagoon was warm and gentle, the color of whiskey. The sea was untamed – blue and turquoise with the white foam of crashing breakers.
I holidayed there with my family during my university years. It was at Nature’s Valley that I announced my engagement in 1974 – showed off the little ring Graham and I had chosen in an outdoor flea market in London. I was living in England at the time and had escaped a raw winter to join my family at the Valley. And then, in the 1980ies it was to Nature’s Valley that I took my young children, fleeing the chill of Canadian and New England winters to head to the southern tip of Africa. We picnicked at the side of the lagoon, my children chased seagulls, braved the waves, build castles of sand. Came to know their grandparents.
In the room where I am typing this now, is a painting my mother did of a picnic at the edge of the lagoon – champagne in evidence at my back, my daughter raising a glass in a toast and several renditions of my son at different ages.
 |
| By Shirley Bell |
Until this trip I hadn’t been back to Nature’s Valley in well over 10 years. Wild Spirit, the backpackers lodge where we stayed is deep in the Tsitsikamma Forest in the mountains above Nature’s Valley. From here, to get to the Valley you either drive down the winding pass (more than 30 sharp bends if I recall) or make a day of it and hike steeply down a narrow trail.
I have taken both of these routes in the past month.
In April, Nancy and I drove down, slowing around the hairpin turns; remarking on the Spanish moss hanging off towering old trees, pausing to watch a troop of baboons – swaggering males, tiny clinging babies. We meandered along the edge of the lagoon and walked along the tide-packed sand to picnic at the base of the cliffs. I climbed up to the top for the view using the path which marks one end of the Otter Trail. (This challenging and spectacularly beautiful trail between Natures Valley and Storms River Mouth is internationally renown. It takes 3 days and needs to be reserved well in advance.)
 |
| Lagoon at Nature's Valley |
 |
| Nancy at the edge of the lagoon |
 |
| Cliffs at the start of the Otter Trail |
 |
| On my way up |
 | |||
| Spot me -- a turquoise speck |
 |
| The View! Worth the climb. |
And then just a few days ago I was back in the area and, this time, hiked down to Natures Valley from the top of the pass with my daughter and two friends from Durham, North Carolina. We passed through high protea fynbos and dense forest, boulder hopped along a rushing stream and then paused in awe beneath ancient giant Yellowwood trees. We ate our well deserved picnic lunch on the beach under the hopeful eye of a large, perfectly groomed seagull who chased off any other would- be- contenders. Our return trail to the top of the pass was at the far end of the wide bay. We passed a huge beached jellyfish, kept our eye out for dolphins and didn’t see another soul on the beach.
Nor could we see a house. There are still no high-rises, still only the one small shop at the end of the valley we used to walk to to buy basic supplies and candy treats. From the beach, Nature’s Valley looks just as it did when I first went there more than 40 years ago. There are a few informational signboards near the lagoon about birds and rare endemic insects but otherwise it feels like the world has stood still here. Thankfully, reassuringly, still.
A timeless rootedness, like the Yellowwood giants, like memory.
 |
| About to descend |
 |
| Julia at a river crossing |
 |
| Looking back along the length of the beach |
 |
| Climbing back up the other side |
1 comment:
Your words and pictures take me back and have me sighing. To your other readers: Yes, it is just like this. Hard to believe, yes? And that this miraculous place should remain unchanged is such a gift.
Post a Comment