Chambe Hut basks in the evening sunshine
June 25, 2005
Mt. Mulanje
We were up early and I was forced to eat an entire tin of baked beans on top of my two egg butties after a misunderstanding with Carlyn, who didn’t really feel like eating much. We got ourselves down to the Forestry office to pay our hut fees and park admission and finally got underway around 8 o’clock. I was carrying all the food as well as Carlyn’s sleeping bag, as she only had a small rucksack and the occasional sunshine breaking through the clouds was soon enough to bring me out in a healthy sweat.
The climbing wasn’t too arduous and I was able to enjoy the beautiful woodland surroundings as we passed up a deep cleft on the massif’s western flank. Occasionally, through breaks in the trees, we’d glimpse magnificent views back over the plains behind us. We passed many smiling woodcutters, carrying improbably heavy loads and yet, quite happy to pass the time of day and seemingly genuinely pleased to meet us. We stopped at a picturesque waterfall, where it would have been nice to take a dip and enjoy the peace and quiet of our surroundings. However, the sun – not to mention the majority of the mountain – remained resolutely hidden behind thick grey clouds and drifting mist so the ambient temperature wasn’t warm enough for swimming.
The girls (from the flat lowlands of The Netherlands, don’t forget!) were finding the going a little tougher than me, despite their lighter packs. At one point Chalna was forced to borrow Carlyn’s inhaler to suppress a bout of mild asthma and, unfortunately, the high dose of Ventolin had the unpleasant effect of increasing her heart rate to a worrying, fast flutter. We slowed the pace somewhat after this to keep her from over-exerting herself and inducing a panic attack. Still, we continued to climb through the attractive, indigenous forest, peppered with bright flowers, including aloe veras in full bloom. Eventually though, as we neared the level of the lower plateau, we found ourselves trudging through unsightly, managed pine forest. In an effort to restore indigenous flora to the area, the Forestry workers had been felling the pines for several months in order to replace them with the Mulanje cedar. It was through the uncleared detritus of this felling that our path led and, as well as being non-too-pleasing on the eye, it forced us to pick our way around the frequently-blocked path.
We arrived at the Chambe Hut, ready for a change of clothes and a little rest. The view of Chambe Peak was impressive enough with its sheer cliffs towering above us but the destroyed pine plantation in the foreground was undeniably ugly and sitting on the veranda was not as pleasant as it could have been. We sorted out our gear and then took a break until it was time for Francis to guide us on a short, afternoon walk. The same woodland was nothing to write home about and the walk merely served as a means of stretching stiff muscles and keeping warm in the cloudy heights.
In the end, as we tramped back to the hut, the sun finally came low enough in the sky to break free from the clouds and the girls were able to bask in the remaining daylight as I started preparing vegetables for dinner. I made a passable tomato and potato stew, which Carlyn and I gobbled down with bread and butter. The others has brought a bag of pasta and a tin of pilchards in tomato sauce…so nobody starved.
Once night had fallen and a good fire was roaring in the hearth, the mountain hut finally came into its own. The daytime clouds had cleared and we were able to gaze at the unfamiliar ocean of southern hemisphere stars, without the annoyance of sodium light pollution. There was a slight breeze stirring the fresh mountain air and we all agreed that the climb had been worth it, if only to be so close to the stars and so far from the sounds and smells of habitation.
Disturbingly, later in the evening, Francis had to warn us about a robbery from the hut just a few days previously, explaining that we should keep all our belongings inside the dormitory and not to go to the toilet alone. While I remained unfazed by the tale, reasoning that the perpetrators would be unlikely to return to the scene of the crime, it really worried the girls – to the point where they were too scared to go to sleep. I stayed in front of the warm fire for a while, trying to give them chance to drop off before I came in and started sawing out the Z’s but I’m sure they were all still awake when I finally went in and bedded down.
The climbing wasn’t too arduous and I was able to enjoy the beautiful woodland surroundings as we passed up a deep cleft on the massif’s western flank. Occasionally, through breaks in the trees, we’d glimpse magnificent views back over the plains behind us. We passed many smiling woodcutters, carrying improbably heavy loads and yet, quite happy to pass the time of day and seemingly genuinely pleased to meet us. We stopped at a picturesque waterfall, where it would have been nice to take a dip and enjoy the peace and quiet of our surroundings. However, the sun – not to mention the majority of the mountain – remained resolutely hidden behind thick grey clouds and drifting mist so the ambient temperature wasn’t warm enough for swimming.
The girls (from the flat lowlands of The Netherlands, don’t forget!) were finding the going a little tougher than me, despite their lighter packs. At one point Chalna was forced to borrow Carlyn’s inhaler to suppress a bout of mild asthma and, unfortunately, the high dose of Ventolin had the unpleasant effect of increasing her heart rate to a worrying, fast flutter. We slowed the pace somewhat after this to keep her from over-exerting herself and inducing a panic attack. Still, we continued to climb through the attractive, indigenous forest, peppered with bright flowers, including aloe veras in full bloom. Eventually though, as we neared the level of the lower plateau, we found ourselves trudging through unsightly, managed pine forest. In an effort to restore indigenous flora to the area, the Forestry workers had been felling the pines for several months in order to replace them with the Mulanje cedar. It was through the uncleared detritus of this felling that our path led and, as well as being non-too-pleasing on the eye, it forced us to pick our way around the frequently-blocked path.
We arrived at the Chambe Hut, ready for a change of clothes and a little rest. The view of Chambe Peak was impressive enough with its sheer cliffs towering above us but the destroyed pine plantation in the foreground was undeniably ugly and sitting on the veranda was not as pleasant as it could have been. We sorted out our gear and then took a break until it was time for Francis to guide us on a short, afternoon walk. The same woodland was nothing to write home about and the walk merely served as a means of stretching stiff muscles and keeping warm in the cloudy heights.
In the end, as we tramped back to the hut, the sun finally came low enough in the sky to break free from the clouds and the girls were able to bask in the remaining daylight as I started preparing vegetables for dinner. I made a passable tomato and potato stew, which Carlyn and I gobbled down with bread and butter. The others has brought a bag of pasta and a tin of pilchards in tomato sauce…so nobody starved.
Once night had fallen and a good fire was roaring in the hearth, the mountain hut finally came into its own. The daytime clouds had cleared and we were able to gaze at the unfamiliar ocean of southern hemisphere stars, without the annoyance of sodium light pollution. There was a slight breeze stirring the fresh mountain air and we all agreed that the climb had been worth it, if only to be so close to the stars and so far from the sounds and smells of habitation.
Disturbingly, later in the evening, Francis had to warn us about a robbery from the hut just a few days previously, explaining that we should keep all our belongings inside the dormitory and not to go to the toilet alone. While I remained unfazed by the tale, reasoning that the perpetrators would be unlikely to return to the scene of the crime, it really worried the girls – to the point where they were too scared to go to sleep. I stayed in front of the warm fire for a while, trying to give them chance to drop off before I came in and started sawing out the Z’s but I’m sure they were all still awake when I finally went in and bedded down.
June 24, 2005
Likhabula Forest Lodge
All of Thursday and much of Friday morning were consumed in front of the computer screen as I raced to type up journal notes in order to update the blog. I was disturbed to hear that Neville had been admitted to hospital with a nasty infection (no confirmation as to the cause) and, frustratingly, as a result, was unable to talk to him about my role at Open Arms. I was keen to make myself useful to him in my ‘unofficial’ volunteer status (the ‘official’ volunteers are usually booked up to 18 months in advance and, as I’ve mentioned, with Rosemarie’s illness, Neville had been far too busy to be able to come up with a definitive project for me) but I was unsure as to whether I would be welcome to help out with the children themselves. I’d wanted to clarify this point with Neville as I believed it would be beneficial, certainly for the older kids (particularly the boys?) in Harrogate House, to have another male role-model around the place and I couldn’t really see that my DIY and handy-man efforts would make all that much difference to his well-trained crew of grounds staff. However, I certainly wasn’t going to pester him about it while in his sickbed so I decided to leave it until after my proposed trip to Mulanje with Carlyn (this is the correct spelling as opposed to Caroline, which she uses for ease with the locals), my Dutch neighbour.
At 10.30 on Friday morning I made a quick dash into town and managed to load up all the updates for the site, arriving back at Kabula lodge at 12 to meet Carlyn and make the journey back into town to catch the bus to Mulanje.
Carlyn and I had an excellent journey down to the mountain. Less than 5 minutes after arriving at the departure point for buses to Limbe, we were picked up by a nearly-full minibus, which took us rapidly to the big minibus depot in Limbe’s thriving market centre. Once there, a very kind gentleman directed us to the correct place from which to catch the bus to Mulanje and, once again, we found one that was almost full and ready to go. I took a place in the front with my packed squashed between my thighs and from this vantage point I was able to observe the changing scenery as we climbed up from the river valley into the rolling tea plantations of Thyolo. I was also able to witness the kamikaze edge to our driver’s style but I wasn’t complaining as we thundered through the 70km to Mulanje, barely stopping like some kind of express.
We were in Mulanje by 2.30, far sooner than expected and, after completing our shopping at the supermarket, we went to enquire about the pick-up that would take us on the final 18km journey to Likhabula, where we intended to spend the night to facilitate an early start in the morning. We were informed that the journey would take around 40 minutes and decided that, as we had plenty of daylight left, we should go and get a good filling meal from Pizza Basilico before we threw ourselves on the mountain’s mercy.
The pizza was almost as good as my favourite Kathmandu haunt, Road House and the Caprese (tomato, mozzarella and basil) salad was as Italian as a Ferrari…and almost as quick, with the exemplary service. We didn’t waste any time getting such delicious food down our necks and it was well before 4pm when we returned to the find a full pick-up, soon to depart. Of course our definition of ‘full’ differs considerably from that of your average Malawian, let alone that of your average, Kwacha-hungry pick-up driver and we sat twiddling our thumbs for a good half-hour as they squeezed more and more people inside. Without this delay, though, we wouldn’t have had the good fortune of meeting two pretty Dutch girls, who had actually been on my water safari at Liwonde the previous weekend. More coincidentally, one of them – called Chalna – just happened to be going out with a guy who was the best friend of Teun, Carlyn’s boyfriend. In fact, it turns out that all of them study at the same university in Nijmegen and they were soon all gabbling away in Dutch.
Neville had given Carlyn and I the number for a guide called Francis but, thus far, we’d been unable to contact him and now realised that we’d both contrived to leave his number in Blantyre. However this didn’t prevent us from using his name when we were asked by a fellow-passenger if we had a guide – if only to prevent us being hassled by eager porters and guides when we reached Likhabula. Our actual intention was to sort out a registered guide at the forestry lodge in the morning so we weren’t unduly worried about engaging someone that evening.
The pick-up ride was both bumpy and dusty – very reminiscent of my travels in the wilds of Cambodia – and we didn’t arrive a moment too soon at the junction for Likhabula Forest Lodge. As we walked up the track, we were besieged by would-be employees, asking us all manner of questions, trying to find a way through our indifference. When one more wannabe came running up behind us we didn’t give him much encouragement either – even when he proudly proclaimed that he was Mr. Attiya, which made no impression on us. However, he then mentioned Neville’s name and easily answered a few telling questions and we realised that we’d discovered Francis, who had been tipped off by our fellow-passenger.
He took us up to the Lodge, where we were able to hire a 4-bed room (Chalna and Hilde, having decided to join us for the weekend). We had the entire place to ourselves with the added luxury of a cook, who made a delicious omelette for us from my supplies (the other two had been misinformed that food was available in Likhabula and had only brought food for Saturday night on the mountain). Fortunately, Francis offered to replenish our supplies from the local market before meeting us in the morning. That settled, we made arrangements to see him at 7 and he and the cook left us in peace to enjoy the quiet luxury of the empty lodge.
All three girls were both bright (Carlyn studied Biomedical Science at uni and the other two are medical students) and personable and the conversation flowed easily enough with their excellent English. The girls discovered a Bao board (a local game played on a board, carved traditionally from the wood of the baobab tree) and, stocking it with valerian pills, Carlyn proceeded to teach it to Chalna before they played an extremely long, drawn-out game. It really didn’t look like my cup of tea and, with Hilde thumbing the pages of her own book, I borrowed Chalna’s ‘Into Africa’. This excellent and detailed retelling of the Livingstone-Stanley saga had me riveted until late into the night, long after the others had gone to bed and I bedded down on the sofa so as not to disturb them when getting into bed…or worse still, with my snoring.
At 10.30 on Friday morning I made a quick dash into town and managed to load up all the updates for the site, arriving back at Kabula lodge at 12 to meet Carlyn and make the journey back into town to catch the bus to Mulanje.
Carlyn and I had an excellent journey down to the mountain. Less than 5 minutes after arriving at the departure point for buses to Limbe, we were picked up by a nearly-full minibus, which took us rapidly to the big minibus depot in Limbe’s thriving market centre. Once there, a very kind gentleman directed us to the correct place from which to catch the bus to Mulanje and, once again, we found one that was almost full and ready to go. I took a place in the front with my packed squashed between my thighs and from this vantage point I was able to observe the changing scenery as we climbed up from the river valley into the rolling tea plantations of Thyolo. I was also able to witness the kamikaze edge to our driver’s style but I wasn’t complaining as we thundered through the 70km to Mulanje, barely stopping like some kind of express.
We were in Mulanje by 2.30, far sooner than expected and, after completing our shopping at the supermarket, we went to enquire about the pick-up that would take us on the final 18km journey to Likhabula, where we intended to spend the night to facilitate an early start in the morning. We were informed that the journey would take around 40 minutes and decided that, as we had plenty of daylight left, we should go and get a good filling meal from Pizza Basilico before we threw ourselves on the mountain’s mercy.
The pizza was almost as good as my favourite Kathmandu haunt, Road House and the Caprese (tomato, mozzarella and basil) salad was as Italian as a Ferrari…and almost as quick, with the exemplary service. We didn’t waste any time getting such delicious food down our necks and it was well before 4pm when we returned to the find a full pick-up, soon to depart. Of course our definition of ‘full’ differs considerably from that of your average Malawian, let alone that of your average, Kwacha-hungry pick-up driver and we sat twiddling our thumbs for a good half-hour as they squeezed more and more people inside. Without this delay, though, we wouldn’t have had the good fortune of meeting two pretty Dutch girls, who had actually been on my water safari at Liwonde the previous weekend. More coincidentally, one of them – called Chalna – just happened to be going out with a guy who was the best friend of Teun, Carlyn’s boyfriend. In fact, it turns out that all of them study at the same university in Nijmegen and they were soon all gabbling away in Dutch.
Neville had given Carlyn and I the number for a guide called Francis but, thus far, we’d been unable to contact him and now realised that we’d both contrived to leave his number in Blantyre. However this didn’t prevent us from using his name when we were asked by a fellow-passenger if we had a guide – if only to prevent us being hassled by eager porters and guides when we reached Likhabula. Our actual intention was to sort out a registered guide at the forestry lodge in the morning so we weren’t unduly worried about engaging someone that evening.
The pick-up ride was both bumpy and dusty – very reminiscent of my travels in the wilds of Cambodia – and we didn’t arrive a moment too soon at the junction for Likhabula Forest Lodge. As we walked up the track, we were besieged by would-be employees, asking us all manner of questions, trying to find a way through our indifference. When one more wannabe came running up behind us we didn’t give him much encouragement either – even when he proudly proclaimed that he was Mr. Attiya, which made no impression on us. However, he then mentioned Neville’s name and easily answered a few telling questions and we realised that we’d discovered Francis, who had been tipped off by our fellow-passenger.
He took us up to the Lodge, where we were able to hire a 4-bed room (Chalna and Hilde, having decided to join us for the weekend). We had the entire place to ourselves with the added luxury of a cook, who made a delicious omelette for us from my supplies (the other two had been misinformed that food was available in Likhabula and had only brought food for Saturday night on the mountain). Fortunately, Francis offered to replenish our supplies from the local market before meeting us in the morning. That settled, we made arrangements to see him at 7 and he and the cook left us in peace to enjoy the quiet luxury of the empty lodge.
All three girls were both bright (Carlyn studied Biomedical Science at uni and the other two are medical students) and personable and the conversation flowed easily enough with their excellent English. The girls discovered a Bao board (a local game played on a board, carved traditionally from the wood of the baobab tree) and, stocking it with valerian pills, Carlyn proceeded to teach it to Chalna before they played an extremely long, drawn-out game. It really didn’t look like my cup of tea and, with Hilde thumbing the pages of her own book, I borrowed Chalna’s ‘Into Africa’. This excellent and detailed retelling of the Livingstone-Stanley saga had me riveted until late into the night, long after the others had gone to bed and I bedded down on the sofa so as not to disturb them when getting into bed…or worse still, with my snoring.
June 22, 2005
Back behind the wheel
I was up with the birds again and disappointed to see considerably more cloud than blue sky. I made egg butties for breakfast and took some time packing my kit up before making any decisions as the clouds lingered around my intended hiking route. Most of the time, sun shone down on our campsite and I began to feel like spending the time basking and catching up on some more of my journal. Eventually Trish came over and put a seal on my plans for the day. Although Ian was a little better, he still wasn’t fully recovered and she was worried about their plan to stay another night before meeting Cliff and Gay (just about to leave) in Blantyre, early the following morning. She wondered if I would consider driving her and Ian down south to make the following day (a planned 560km haul through Mozambique) more manageable for them. Despite not having driven for over 10 months, I reasoned that Malawi’s quiet roads would be an ideal re-training ground and readily agreed to help them out. I was despairing of getting a clear shot at my climb as more clouds continued to float overhead and, with this definitive plan of action for the afternoon, I decided to lounge around camp, reading and writing until their laundry had dried and they were ready to go. Once decided, is settled back to enjoy the warm sun, grinning smugly every time the clouds settled on Nawimbe’s rocky summit.
After a fine lunch of peanut butter sarnies (!) and fresh strawberries (courtesy of Trish), we packed up their well-stocked Hi-Lux and I climbed into the driver’s seat to tentatively test my clutch control. Both the South Africans and the Malawians drive on the correct side of the road so, with right-hand drive and quiet, well-metalled roads, we made short work of the 80km ride into the city. We found Trish and Ian a room at Kabula Lodge and I left them to get some rest for their long journey the next day.
We’d arrived back a little late for shopping so I decided to try out the local Indian, The Bombay Palace, where I, as the only customer, was treated to exemplary, smiling service by a team of 6 waiters. My onion bhaji – far from the grizzled, hard lump found in Blighty – was a veritable mountain of lightly-crisped, delicately seasoned tidbits and my paneer jalfrezi, Aloo-stuffed paratha and garlic naan, as my good friend Mr Winner might say, were absolutely historic!
Satisfied and a little tipsy, I trundled home to sleep soundly in the warm comfort of a bed.
After a fine lunch of peanut butter sarnies (!) and fresh strawberries (courtesy of Trish), we packed up their well-stocked Hi-Lux and I climbed into the driver’s seat to tentatively test my clutch control. Both the South Africans and the Malawians drive on the correct side of the road so, with right-hand drive and quiet, well-metalled roads, we made short work of the 80km ride into the city. We found Trish and Ian a room at Kabula Lodge and I left them to get some rest for their long journey the next day.
We’d arrived back a little late for shopping so I decided to try out the local Indian, The Bombay Palace, where I, as the only customer, was treated to exemplary, smiling service by a team of 6 waiters. My onion bhaji – far from the grizzled, hard lump found in Blighty – was a veritable mountain of lightly-crisped, delicately seasoned tidbits and my paneer jalfrezi, Aloo-stuffed paratha and garlic naan, as my good friend Mr Winner might say, were absolutely historic!
Satisfied and a little tipsy, I trundled home to sleep soundly in the warm comfort of a bed.
June 21, 2005
Stroll
I was up at sparrow’s fart to see the sun come up and took a wander up the road to Le Meridien Ku Chawe to enjoy their recommended breakfast, whilst drinking in the stunning view from the terrace. At MK2100 it cost me more than my camping and meals for the rest of my stay on the plateau but the views were worth it and, with my magical expandable stomach, I certainly filled my boots! Fresh fruit, juice, toast, muesli, yoghurt and a full grill with more of that delicious Mzuzu coffee and I was more than ready for the day ahead.
I went back to the campsite and noticed that the night’s chill had left a considerable amount of condensation on the tent. I’d woken a few times wishing I’d had my sleeping bag or more clothes and it had occurred to me that I was lucky to have my England rugby top, thrown on in haste as I dashed out of Sue’s flat on an uncharacteristically cold May morning, to catch my flight to Malaysia’s sweltering, tropical heat. Regardless of my own discomfort, the cold weather meant that I’d need to wait for the tent to dry out before packing up and moving on. No matter – I sat basking in the warm morning sunshine and took the opportunity to read, listen to music and write my journal, surrounded by green woodlands and craggy peaks, overhearing the raucous laughter and shouts from the nearby school. I figured the walk to my next campsite would take about 4-5 hours and didn’t feel pressed to leave in a hurry.
As the day drew on I found myself chatting occasionally to Wende or one of his men, going about their usual business as forestry workers. I don’t know if there was any intent on Wende’s part to increase his profits (I’m pretty sure the proceeds from the campsite are his to keep as part of a low-basic pay package) and I’m more inclined to believe that he was merely looking out for me when he warned me that my intended destination was likely to be colder and wetter, due to its higher elevation. I’d noticed the way the clouds seemed to sit on the peak that I knew was next to my intended camping ground and had been pondering the matter after my uncomfortable night. I was also not too keen on having a wet tent as I wanted to come down the plateau in plenty of time to get back to Blantyre the following afternoon. In the end, I made the decision to stay put for another night and was then left with the choice of what to do with myself for the remainder of the day: I could follow my original route, past the view points on the south-eastern rim of the plateau, before turning inland and completing a circuit back to camp; or, I could head west and climb the escarpment’s two peaks and hope to see views from their potentially cloud-covered summits.
In the end, I went for the former option on account of the changeable weather and, as I surmised this would only take me around 3-4 hours, I saw no need to leave until after lunch – thus minimising the amount I’d have to carry with me. Energy-rich peanut-butter sandwiches and some custard creams were the order of the day and I set off a little after one, wearing my sunhat to ward off the midday heat and with my jersey tied round my waist in case of cold or rain. With a copy of the most recent map from the hotel, I set off on an expected ‘light’ stroll. Just as I was leaving, a Toyota Hi-lux pulled in and I was surprised and pleased to recognise the South African couple who I’d met at Liwonde the previous morning. They were going to stay the night at the Forestry campsite and I promised to catch up with them later on.
My first port of call was Mandala Falls – a beautiful, shady spot with a musical, fast-flowing cascade set amongst trees in a narrow river valley. It’s end, it appeared, was the lake formed by the Mlunguzi Dam – somewhat at odds with the topography of my map, which showed the falls to be a couple of hundred metres from the edge of the standing water. I assumed that the lake had been extended to improve the efficacy of this water catchment project and wasn’t overly worried, as the increased water level didn’t appear to affect any of the paths marked on my map. Two minutes later, having tried to link up with a non-existent path on the other side of the stream, I was beginning to have second thoughts…but so soon into my walk, I was unwilling to give up and decided to cross the valley by the most obvious means: the dam.
The views from the dam – both back over the lake and out over the steep edge of the plateau – were sufficiently pleasing to quieten my irritation at the map’s inaccuracies and, after a fruitless walk around the lake to discover another dead-end, I decided to take the first path I could find uphill and continue north until I hit the well-worn and unmistakable ‘Outer Circular Drive’ (the main vehicle route around the plateau). I encountered 2 hours of arduous uphill slog, back-tracking and tail-chasing before I finally made it to my intended destination, Queen’s View. Fortunately the views from there to Mount Mulanje and back over Zomba town to the plains of the Great Rift Valley were so magnificent that I considered all my efforts to have been worthwhile. As I sat there, allowing a cooling breeze to evaporate the honest sweat of my labours, I counted myself lucky that I had decided to leave my pack et al. at the campsite. I realised that with the extra weight on my back I’d have been completely knackered by this point – and still only 1/3 of the way to the campsite. As it was, I still had 4-5km of eastward walking (to see the views from other lauded viewpoints) before I could join the Outer Circular Drive and head back to the ranch. By the time I got to Emperor’s View, westward-racing storm clouds had obscured much of the view as well as taking the warmth out of the afternoon. I started the hike to Songani Viewpoint, as I was keen to catch a glimpse of Malawi’s third lake, Chilwa, but, most of the way there, I decided to turn back when I felt a few, heavy spots of rain. I was ill-prepared for wet weather and worried about the poorly protected contents of my fly-less tent and decided that the quicker I got back the better. I’d come much further and climbed a lot higher than I realised as my homeward path seemed to stretch interminably westward at a constant downward incline. Even at my usual fast march it was an hour before I reached William’s Falls where the path finally began to head south back to camp. The falls were picturesque but a little unimpressive, so late in the dry season and I didn’t stop long before stomping back to camp before the waning daylight failed altogether. I rolled in to camp, steaming and damp-browed, with about 15 minutes to spare to find that my South African friends were there, parked a few yards from my tent and with another 4-WD for company. I said a quick hello as I dumped my water bottle and camera at the tent and rushed out to try and catch the roadside vendors before they packed up for the evening. This time I was too late for tomatoes and raspberries but managed to find some delicious fresh bread, potatoes and cape gooseberries.
On the way back to camp, I bumped into Cliff and Gay (the two Saffies from Liwonde), heading up to the Ku Chawe for dinner and drinks. I had a quick chat about my day’s adventures and how cold it had been the previous night, before hurrying back to start dinner before it got too dark.
I managed to cobble together some mashed potatoes with a chilli, garlic and onion sauce, topped off with a couple of fried eggs (for protein). With the cape gooseberries for dessert, I proclaimed myself well-satisfied and set to clearing up camp and getting settled in for the night. To my consternation I found the outside of the tent wet through and then discovered water inside under the roof vents. I went over to see Cliff and Gay’s friend – a lovely lady called Trish – and discovered that there had been a brief, heavy shower while I’d been up the road buying provisions. I looked up to inspect the ominous-looking clouds and realised just how precarious my position really was: I had no flysheet, no wet weather clothing and a considerable amount of kit to carry down the hill, which would be even heavier if it was soaked with rain…not to mention that the Potato Path I’d climbed up would become but one long mudslide if the rain did decide to come in properly.
Back at the tent, I busied myself washing pans and trying to stow as much of my kit as possible inside plastic bags. A final precaution was to drape my towel over the two, gaping gauze vents in the roof. Trish came over for a little chat at one point and it eventually came to light that her husband Ian (who I’d seen nothing of) was in fact tucked up in bed in their tent, trying to get over a bout of malaria. I was amazed that he was still out camping after making only the briefest stop at the hospital to confirm diagnosis and receive some medication and I could see that Trish was worried and, perhaps, looking for a little reassurance. I tried to set her mind at ease as best I could and I think she felt the better for the human contact and also for knowing that there was someone else nearby while Cliff and Gay were out to dinner.
The others returned a little later and I heard them discussing alternative courses of action, dependant on Ian’s health the following morning. I didn’t have too much trouble falling asleep after my extended ‘stroll’ and, with the cloud cover (mercifully unemptied!) and an extra T-shirt, I didn’t really feel the cold. My plan for the morning would be to leave the tent to dry and head up to Malumbe and Nawimbe peaks on the South-western ridge, before returning, packing-up and bussing it back to Blantyre by late afternoon. All would depend on the vagaries of the weather but, in the meantime, I was just grateful for an undisturbed sleep.
I went back to the campsite and noticed that the night’s chill had left a considerable amount of condensation on the tent. I’d woken a few times wishing I’d had my sleeping bag or more clothes and it had occurred to me that I was lucky to have my England rugby top, thrown on in haste as I dashed out of Sue’s flat on an uncharacteristically cold May morning, to catch my flight to Malaysia’s sweltering, tropical heat. Regardless of my own discomfort, the cold weather meant that I’d need to wait for the tent to dry out before packing up and moving on. No matter – I sat basking in the warm morning sunshine and took the opportunity to read, listen to music and write my journal, surrounded by green woodlands and craggy peaks, overhearing the raucous laughter and shouts from the nearby school. I figured the walk to my next campsite would take about 4-5 hours and didn’t feel pressed to leave in a hurry.
As the day drew on I found myself chatting occasionally to Wende or one of his men, going about their usual business as forestry workers. I don’t know if there was any intent on Wende’s part to increase his profits (I’m pretty sure the proceeds from the campsite are his to keep as part of a low-basic pay package) and I’m more inclined to believe that he was merely looking out for me when he warned me that my intended destination was likely to be colder and wetter, due to its higher elevation. I’d noticed the way the clouds seemed to sit on the peak that I knew was next to my intended camping ground and had been pondering the matter after my uncomfortable night. I was also not too keen on having a wet tent as I wanted to come down the plateau in plenty of time to get back to Blantyre the following afternoon. In the end, I made the decision to stay put for another night and was then left with the choice of what to do with myself for the remainder of the day: I could follow my original route, past the view points on the south-eastern rim of the plateau, before turning inland and completing a circuit back to camp; or, I could head west and climb the escarpment’s two peaks and hope to see views from their potentially cloud-covered summits.
In the end, I went for the former option on account of the changeable weather and, as I surmised this would only take me around 3-4 hours, I saw no need to leave until after lunch – thus minimising the amount I’d have to carry with me. Energy-rich peanut-butter sandwiches and some custard creams were the order of the day and I set off a little after one, wearing my sunhat to ward off the midday heat and with my jersey tied round my waist in case of cold or rain. With a copy of the most recent map from the hotel, I set off on an expected ‘light’ stroll. Just as I was leaving, a Toyota Hi-lux pulled in and I was surprised and pleased to recognise the South African couple who I’d met at Liwonde the previous morning. They were going to stay the night at the Forestry campsite and I promised to catch up with them later on.
My first port of call was Mandala Falls – a beautiful, shady spot with a musical, fast-flowing cascade set amongst trees in a narrow river valley. It’s end, it appeared, was the lake formed by the Mlunguzi Dam – somewhat at odds with the topography of my map, which showed the falls to be a couple of hundred metres from the edge of the standing water. I assumed that the lake had been extended to improve the efficacy of this water catchment project and wasn’t overly worried, as the increased water level didn’t appear to affect any of the paths marked on my map. Two minutes later, having tried to link up with a non-existent path on the other side of the stream, I was beginning to have second thoughts…but so soon into my walk, I was unwilling to give up and decided to cross the valley by the most obvious means: the dam.
The views from the dam – both back over the lake and out over the steep edge of the plateau – were sufficiently pleasing to quieten my irritation at the map’s inaccuracies and, after a fruitless walk around the lake to discover another dead-end, I decided to take the first path I could find uphill and continue north until I hit the well-worn and unmistakable ‘Outer Circular Drive’ (the main vehicle route around the plateau). I encountered 2 hours of arduous uphill slog, back-tracking and tail-chasing before I finally made it to my intended destination, Queen’s View. Fortunately the views from there to Mount Mulanje and back over Zomba town to the plains of the Great Rift Valley were so magnificent that I considered all my efforts to have been worthwhile. As I sat there, allowing a cooling breeze to evaporate the honest sweat of my labours, I counted myself lucky that I had decided to leave my pack et al. at the campsite. I realised that with the extra weight on my back I’d have been completely knackered by this point – and still only 1/3 of the way to the campsite. As it was, I still had 4-5km of eastward walking (to see the views from other lauded viewpoints) before I could join the Outer Circular Drive and head back to the ranch. By the time I got to Emperor’s View, westward-racing storm clouds had obscured much of the view as well as taking the warmth out of the afternoon. I started the hike to Songani Viewpoint, as I was keen to catch a glimpse of Malawi’s third lake, Chilwa, but, most of the way there, I decided to turn back when I felt a few, heavy spots of rain. I was ill-prepared for wet weather and worried about the poorly protected contents of my fly-less tent and decided that the quicker I got back the better. I’d come much further and climbed a lot higher than I realised as my homeward path seemed to stretch interminably westward at a constant downward incline. Even at my usual fast march it was an hour before I reached William’s Falls where the path finally began to head south back to camp. The falls were picturesque but a little unimpressive, so late in the dry season and I didn’t stop long before stomping back to camp before the waning daylight failed altogether. I rolled in to camp, steaming and damp-browed, with about 15 minutes to spare to find that my South African friends were there, parked a few yards from my tent and with another 4-WD for company. I said a quick hello as I dumped my water bottle and camera at the tent and rushed out to try and catch the roadside vendors before they packed up for the evening. This time I was too late for tomatoes and raspberries but managed to find some delicious fresh bread, potatoes and cape gooseberries.
On the way back to camp, I bumped into Cliff and Gay (the two Saffies from Liwonde), heading up to the Ku Chawe for dinner and drinks. I had a quick chat about my day’s adventures and how cold it had been the previous night, before hurrying back to start dinner before it got too dark.
I managed to cobble together some mashed potatoes with a chilli, garlic and onion sauce, topped off with a couple of fried eggs (for protein). With the cape gooseberries for dessert, I proclaimed myself well-satisfied and set to clearing up camp and getting settled in for the night. To my consternation I found the outside of the tent wet through and then discovered water inside under the roof vents. I went over to see Cliff and Gay’s friend – a lovely lady called Trish – and discovered that there had been a brief, heavy shower while I’d been up the road buying provisions. I looked up to inspect the ominous-looking clouds and realised just how precarious my position really was: I had no flysheet, no wet weather clothing and a considerable amount of kit to carry down the hill, which would be even heavier if it was soaked with rain…not to mention that the Potato Path I’d climbed up would become but one long mudslide if the rain did decide to come in properly.
Back at the tent, I busied myself washing pans and trying to stow as much of my kit as possible inside plastic bags. A final precaution was to drape my towel over the two, gaping gauze vents in the roof. Trish came over for a little chat at one point and it eventually came to light that her husband Ian (who I’d seen nothing of) was in fact tucked up in bed in their tent, trying to get over a bout of malaria. I was amazed that he was still out camping after making only the briefest stop at the hospital to confirm diagnosis and receive some medication and I could see that Trish was worried and, perhaps, looking for a little reassurance. I tried to set her mind at ease as best I could and I think she felt the better for the human contact and also for knowing that there was someone else nearby while Cliff and Gay were out to dinner.
The others returned a little later and I heard them discussing alternative courses of action, dependant on Ian’s health the following morning. I didn’t have too much trouble falling asleep after my extended ‘stroll’ and, with the cloud cover (mercifully unemptied!) and an extra T-shirt, I didn’t really feel the cold. My plan for the morning would be to leave the tent to dry and head up to Malumbe and Nawimbe peaks on the South-western ridge, before returning, packing-up and bussing it back to Blantyre by late afternoon. All would depend on the vagaries of the weather but, in the meantime, I was just grateful for an undisturbed sleep.
June 20, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)