Beaverlac

Thanks to my cousin Andrea and the paragliding dudes at Go! Vince and I found the little, slightly Deliverance-y campsite of Beaverlac. You drive up the Dasklip Pass outside Porterville and down again in low gear on a rutted dust track and either camp out or stay in a little shack, which is what we did. Shack being the operative word. Aint no pictures of the shack heah, because it just wudnt purdy... And hottern hell.

But the river just beyond Beaverlac was. Purdy, I mean. It has pools along it and we hiked up the bouldered bed after finding some people at the first big pool, below.

Then we bundubashed and found our own super private (I hoped - there had been an odd character in short khaki shorts peering at the first pool - I imagined him lurking in the bushes waiting hopefully for skinny dippers. But then I always imagine things lurking in the bushes).

The rocks were smooth and soft as soap (and as slippery) and we basked like seals. Vince took about a million pictures which will at some stage find their way to his blog.






Dragonflies the colour of M&M's (that's Smarties to the Safrican contingent) allowed me to put my camera practically up their noses.

The upside-down man.

He was unimpressed by what I term coca-cola water. It's clean! I kept saying. Having seen Lynn Canyon's emerald cataracts though, I think I get it [and after reading that post of Vince's just now I understand why I should have seen more. I'm sorry, Vince]. I also think it's creepy swimming where I can't see the dead bodies on the bottom.